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filling the room with negative energy because i miss taehyung (insp)

fanfic writers NEVER contemplate or apologise for your fic being over 3-5k words long, we readers LOVE longer fics!! anyways have a good day/night 🙂‍↕️

live eat jin ATE

⁂ 4/100 days of kim seokjin | the beauty with the pink mic

WELCOME BACK KING!!! (240613)

seokjin aegyo for prosperity

THE ASTRONAUT ↳ message from jin | for @jinstronaut 💜

cr. @jung-koook

wow

(cr. sugrkook)

BTS - For Youth Comeback Stage - Mnet 220616 - Ending

do not remove my watermark

do not repost my work

me:*moves closer to the screen*

my entire world to him

for youth comeback stage, 220616 → kim seokjin

JIN

M! Countdown 220616 for @jeonwonwoo ♡

Another masterpiece 🙌🏽

Bite Me, Jeon | JJK | (m)

♦ Summary: Somehow you convince Jeon Jungkook to look into theories of vampirism for a research paper. What Jungkook doesn’t expect, is for vampirism to become a very real and very personal problem for him.

♦ Pairing: vampire/ college student! Jungkook x college student! female reader

♦ Rating: NSFW & 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging with this content. Any minors discovered interacting with adult content will be blocked immediately.

♦ Type: One shot

♦ Word Count: 19,376

♦ Genre: friends to lovers, supernatural, a hint of angst

♦ Warnings: Some angst, Taehyung is kinda an ass, blood play (Jungkook is a vampire, guys), ridiculous science and historical accounts that I MADE UP (I am not a scientist!!!), mentions of diseases, explicit language, verbal threats, turning someone into a vampire against their will, depictions of blood, biting, conspiracy theories, recreational drinking, mentions of recreational drug use in the past (briefly), a little bit of pining, sexually explicit content including: oral (f. and m. receiving, m. briefly receives) spitting, blood play and biting, spitting, sub-space themes post orgasm, fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex (pls practice safe sex guys). I think I got everything - pls tell me if I missed something.

♦ Main Masterlist: here

♦ faq |taglist request |

A/N: HAPPY HALFWAY TO HALLOWEEN EVERYONE AKA HALFWAY TO MY FAVORITE DAY OF THE YEAR. It's here! This took me absolutely forever to write because I wrote it in so many pieces. It is WAY longer than I anticipated, but as I've always said: I find it nearly impossible to write PWP because I live for plot and world building. This is the beloved sibling to Don't Read Dead Languages, the other installment of my Halfway to Halloween celly (est. post date is tomorrow) And yes - I did create characters in here with the intention of doing their stories for Halloween this year :) Please enjoy.

A/N 2: Please keep in mind that I am not a scientist and a historian and I took A LOT of liberties with mythology and historical accounts to make my own plot. While I mention real diseases and historical figures, I quite literally made this up. It's not accurate. Pls don't come for my scientist brain because it doesn't exist.

©2022 haliiimede. all rights reserved. Reposting and/or translating is not allowed, even if you credit the story.

The lights in your corner of the library are dim and flickering. The air is cold and damp- though that is common for the old part of the library where your group huddles. As the least favorite academic club in your school’s college of history and humanities, the table assignments in the warmer and brighter side of the library are rarely ever given to you.

The creepy table for the creeps, the student-run desk attendants usually murmur when you arrive first to check in for your allotted study time. 

You’ve requested the higher tech rooms over fifty times, but it’s the same response every time: Are you even a real academic club? Leave the digital screens and resources to the STEM majors. 

So Old Stacks it was. It had earned that name when the library was extended to above ground with three more floors. The subterranean parts were now reserved for the original study rooms and table areas that had gone years without updating. Most of the shelving is in disarray, containing old volumes of books no longer referenced. 

Most people dread the Old Stacks. You don’t mind them. There is a comfort in knowing you will be left alone among the silence and the flickering lights. Plus, you know how to accommodate for its quirks now. You always pack sweaters, always bring snacks since the vending machines are a mile away, and you bring a portable desk light. 

Making things work is mostly what your group does. Well- making things real is the focus. 

Sure, your Science and History of the Supernatural club was originally been created as an ode to the long-running television show Supernatural, but it has since developed into something legit, with academics studying the mysteries of the world and working to apply levels of historical research and scientific methods to prove and disprove a number of creatures, stories and legends. 

It's nerd shit, as Jungkook calls it. You don’t even want to get into the argument of what you define as a nerd with him. He has enough anime posters on his apartment walls and spends every cent he earns streaming toward his ridiculously flashy gaming setup. 

Nerd shit. 

Despite him making fun of your group, Jungkook sometimes comes to meetings. Even if it’s because you needed a sixth person to be considered a legitimate academic club. Even if it it’s because you offered to do his laundry every Saturday for a single semester as a bribe to keep the club going. 

Pulling your cardigan closer, you scroll through your tablet with the proposal you carefully put together for review. It’s for your final research paper in your folklore class- an elective you didn’t need to graduate, but an important elective toward your desired dream job of working for a private curation company in charge of recovering, investigating and selling ancient artifacts. Kim Namjoon, a professor who participated in the very group you now led, had given you some tips on what you needed to apply to the prestigious position. 

The subject of your final project is courageous. It leans heavily on a lot of pseudoscience and genuine historical events and documents. You know it doesn’t necessarily matter if the experiment itself yields a factual result. You’re not a scientist, but even a negative result is something worth noting in your paper. 

Jungkook is the first to arrive at the library. He’s got a paper bag shoved under his arms, the first signs of grease ruining the paper on the edges. You can smell the fries immediately, groaning as he sets up next to you with an evil grin. 

“Got your favorite,” he announces in a sing-song voice. 

You hate the way he spoils you with food. Jungkook’s habits at the gym and generally maintaining a healthy lifestyle help him to look… well perfect. Small waist, broad shoulders and thick biceps with a heartbreaking face made to love. 

Not thinking about how lovely his face was had become a favorite pastime of yours. 

“You’re going to make me gain weight,” you growl, snatching the back from him to find seasoned fries inside. You indulge, humming as you bite into the greasy goodness. “This isn’t fair, Jeon.”

“Who cares if you do?” Jungkook kicks his feet up on the table, ignoring you as you try to shove them off. Even if you’re in the worst part of the Old Stacks, you feel the urge to be respectful. “You’re pretty regardless, Indy.”

You smirk at the nickname. He was constantly calling you Indiana Jones and Indy for short. You wished you were as cool, but you’ll never tell him that. “Tell that to my long line of non-existent suitors. And get your feet off the table.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes but moves his feet, much to your pleasure.

Your club members file in one at a time, a mix of science majors and history majors. Jungkook is the only one out of his depth, but he usually enjoys the meetings. He doesn’t always say so, but you find open articles on his computer when he thinks you’re not looking about banshees and werewolves on occasion.

Hoseok opens a bag of chips, his notebooks perfectly placed as he leans on his elbows eagerly. “You’re running your folklore project by us today, right? I’ve been dying to see what you came up with.”  

“Why?” Mari asks, flipping through a textbook with an unimpressed pout. You try to fight the urge to lean over and bop her directly on the fucking head. “It’s just another project.”

Mari will never outright say she doesn’t like you. In general, you suppose she’s nice enough. She’s let you borrow a resource or two and she’ll peer review your work if Hoseok or Elena aren’t available. But she always makes sure to downplay your successes, and there is an undercurrent of something aggressive whenever she directs comments and questions your way.

Jungkook hates Mari. You notice the way he glares over the top of his computer screen at her now, his pout tilting downward and his eyes boring holes in her forehead. She doesn’t seem to notice. Even if she did, any reaction she can draw out of Jungkook is one she enjoys. From the moment Jungkook joined your club to save it, she has never passed a moment to thank him again and again for joining.

It's a topic that is hotly debated between you and Jungkook. He doesn’t think anyone is interested in him. He knows he’s a nerd by definition. He speaks in anime jokes and he doesn’t come out of his room on the weekends when he’s deep into and Overwatch binge. And no matter how many times you tell him, Jungkook has no idea how cute he is.

“Because,” Hoseok shoots back pointedly at Mari. “She’s also submitting this paper to Namjoon who is passing it to his boss at his very secretive artifact agency. It’s important.”

“Namjoon,” Mari sighs, putting her hand over her heart. “We will never have a president of this club like him.”

Jungkook looks at her pointedly. “I think ours is just fine.”

You shoot him a grateful look, ignoring the way Mari scrambles to correct herself and assure you that it wasn’t meant to be offensive. Especially when it definitely was.

Jimin is the last to show up, murmuring apologies as he tosses his things on the table. He looks effortlessly beautiful as always, pink hair styled back and subtle designer clothing hanging perfectly on his frame. Jimin is the type of beautiful that you envy- not because he gets attention, but because he is otherworldly.

“Project time, project time!” Jimin chants, clapping his hands together. He’s an English Literature major with a keen interest in folklore and mythology. You were pretty sure he kept a copy of The Iliad on him at all times. “I’m so excited to see what you’ve got.”

The group settles in and turn their eyes to you as you flip your iPad around. The topic is incredibly out there- even for you- and your palms get sweaty as you sift through your notes and cited sources regarding the topic.

“Okay don’t laugh,” you say seriously, levelling all of them with a glare. “And remember that the actual result doesn’t matter as much as the research and documentation process.”

“Spit it out,” Jimin whines.

So you do.

Flipping through the iPad, you launch into an incredibly lengthy and thorough relationship between the history of the legend of vampires through various time periods, starting the research specifically with the rumors and lack of historical data surrounding Vlad the Impaler, ruler of Walachia, Romania.

At first, the group seems unsure. You can sense their uneasiness on the topic, but you push forward, pulling out historical accounts and journals during the Middle Ages during years when the plague burned through European countries, cross-referencing it with the uptick in supposed vampire sightings and rumors.

The interesting part of your research surrounds a disease known as Porphyria, which was detected in the middle ages during a spike in the plague. There were several variations of the disease, resulting in skin blistering when exposed to sunlight.

“Okay so you get a sunburn with pory-whatever?” Jimin asks.

You glare. “Your skin literally blisters, but let me finish. They did studies on people who got the disease and discovered that ingesting blood relieved most if not all of the symptoms related to those who had it. Furthermore, people who ingested the blood of those with porphyria immediately displayed symptoms.”

“What does this have to do with vampirism?” Mari sighed.

“Though it’s implied in most of these medical documents that it can be passed through family members, look at this specifically family tree I pulled with one of the first patients who underwent testing.”

Jungkook took the sheet of paper from you, pouting his lip and furrowing his brow as he read. You chewed nervously on the inside of your cheek as he scanned the tree and tilted his head. “Wilhelmina Dracia- an ancestor of Vlad the Impaler.”

“Exactly, Jeon!” you announce. “So it got me thinking. There were other undocumented diseases during the plague. Even now, there were small towns marked as killed by the plague but they had no evidence that they actually suffered deaths from the plague. Do you know what the neighboring towns were suspected to have?”

“Porphyria?” Jungkook asked, glancing upward. “Do you think porphyria is vampirism?”

“I think it’s a strain of vampirism.”

“Just a strain?” Hoseok asks, taking one of the papers from your notes. You’re thrilled they’re asking questions and hand him two other family trees. “Wait- I though Anne Rice’s novel was total fiction? Lestat was a real person?”

“I think he was based on a real person. Loren de Lion was a real person born in a farming village outside of Paris.” You tap the top of his family tree. “What name do you see there?”

“Mihai Dracal.” Hoseok holds out his hand to Jungkook for Wilhelmina’s family tree and looks back and forth between them. “No way. They share an ancestor. So why isn’t Loren on this family tree?”

“He produced no heirs. This is where I began wondering about strains. Look at these journal entries from Loren de Lion in Paris and then compare it to these entries by Laure de Lions in New Orleans during the 1900s.”

“I remember this,” Hoseok reads from the newer entry. “It is all so familiar. I fear I am not alone in my dear city of New Orleans. I must flee, for there is no stronger breed of sickness than jiangshi. I hope to withstand this breed, but I must flee the city.”

“Breed of sickness?” It’s Mari who asks the question much to your surprise. And sort of pleasure. “Who calls sickness a breed.”

“Right?”

“Jiangshi?” Jungkook asks. “That’s an ancient story of creatures sucking the qi out of humans. It’s popular in Korean Dramas.”

Mari gestures to another family tree sitting on top of academic papers. You hand them over to her with a smirk. She’s so focused on scanning the family tree that she doesn’t notice. “This family- you associated them with Jiangshi?”

“Yes. In fact, they have a son who recently graduated from here. He owns a popular night club in the next city over.”

“Wait…” Jimin mutters, looking up Kim Taehyung on his phone. His eyes go round and he looks up at you. “You mean he owns Nightshade? That club is not only ridiculously exclusive and membership only, but last year there was a massive story on them. One of their members was arrested for aggravated assault on his boyfriend and he claimed that he was driven to insanity by the occult practices at the club.”

You lift up the article in question. “They were going to go to trial any everything. But the Kim family is stupid rich they’re represented by Min Associates.”

“Seriously? I’ve heard that Min Associates have the best lawyers in the world. You could be caught red-handed guilty and get away with it if they’re on the case.” Mari asks, snatching the article from Jimin. “I’ve heard their son is called the Demon in the court room. No one can beat him.”

You shrug. “My point is, this guy? He was willing to talk until he wasn’t. He was sentenced to a few years and let out on good behavior. No one has heard from him since.”

“So what’s your plan?” Jungkook asks, brows furrowed as he regards you. “Please don’t tell me you plan on getting involved with Nightshade and trying to become a member to see what’s going on. Come on, Indy.”

“Jimin?” You ask and he looks up at you. “Your friend Jin is in the entertainment sector, isn’t he?”

Jimin glares. You give him a soft pout and round eyes, earning a sigh and a roll of his eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.”

-

A week after you discuss your project with your peers, Jungkook shows up at your apartment with a box full of pizza, your favorite flavor of wings, and soda. You give him a narrowed look, letting him in nonetheless as the smell of grease makes your mouth water.

Though you live alone, Jungkook has spent most of his time at your small apartment two blocks away from school to be considered a roommate.  

“To what do I owe being spoiled?” You ask skeptically as Jungkook places the items on your kitchen counter. He moves confidently, taking out plates and setting them down before grabbing cups for your drinks. It’s entirely domestic and you chew your lip watching him. “That’s a lot of wings.”

“Can’t I just want to come watch movies with my best friend?”

“Yes, but it’s Friday. And on Fridays you usually do your Mario Party stream with viewers.”

“You know my schedule?” His cheeks are tinted pink when he asks, smiling at the ground as he places food on the plates. You don’t answer- of course you know his schedule- and take the plate offered to you. “I just wanted to hangout.”

“Sus.”

Jungkook takes a bite of his pizza, chewing happily as he levels you with a look. “Maybe I want to try and talk you out of your project.” You groan and he gestures to the couch. “Come on, we don’t have to fight while we eat.”

“So we’re going to fight?”

He gives a small smirk. “Maybe. I don’t know. Not during pizza and maybe an episode of One Piece?”

You hum in doubt but join him on the couch, pulling up the extended-top of the coffee table to set your food on top. You both cross your feet and settle in as Jungkook navigates the streaming service easily, picking up where you left off.

It’s hard to remember when exactly you let him talk you into watching the entire anime series, but it seems never ending. Jungkook won’t let you watch episodes without him, but he’s good about keeping a watch-schedule. And you have to admit- you like the show.

True to his word, Jungkook doesn’t bring up your project while you eat. It doesn’t stop you from stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye, trying to figure out what about it bothers him.

Clubbing isn’t really your thing. You gave it a good run when you were a freshman, slowing a bit when you were a sophomore. You didn’t mind drinking- wine was pretty much your preference- but being out around a bunch of sweaty strangers while someone always managed to have a bad night in your group was sort of exhausting.

So you limited your nights out to few and far between, but you always managed to have fun.

Perhaps it was the mysteriousness of the club that Jungkook didn’t like. After revealing your topic of interest, you had scoured the internet together to show him what you could find on Nightshade and its members. There was a website for the club, but the only information available was that it was an exclusive night club, and that memberships were limited. There was no information to apply. There was nothing but an address, a business license, and a small blurb on the owner- Kim Taehyung.

The infamous Kim Taehyung was easier to look up. He was a wealthy businessman in the next city over and was a wealthy contributor to your school. He participated in plenty of charity work- particularly organizations that specialized in raising money for rare blood diseases and their study.

That was interesting and on brand for your paper.

Every photo you saw of the man was nothing short of stunning. Dark hair that was usually styled back, eyes that could cut through a camera lens, and a face that belonged in high fashion. He was heartbreakingly beautiful. Even Jungkook had whistled and stared for a while.

Taehyung, as stunning as he was, had private social media and there wasn’t much beyond a few articles from business and entertainment magazines who had posted how elusive the club owner was. Even the articles containing information about the lawsuit against his club were difficult to find.

A few blogs were dedicated to uncovering and guessing what exactly went on at Nightshade, but they were thus far unsuccessful. You had no idea why you thought you were going to be the one to figure it out, but you were determined.

Jungkook leaned back and sighed. You chewed on your lip, watching as he leveled his gaze at you. You shifted nervously under his stare, unable to read his expression. Your heart and stomach fluttered- for reasons completely unrelated to knowing he was going to question you.

“I think you should turn in your paper without the investigation on the end,” Jungkook said finally. “You’re not an investigative journalist. Your class is about folklore and where it intersects with history, and I think you’ve done that. You’ve combined science, popular legends and historical documents and family trees to support your guess. I think that’s enough.”

“It isn’t,” you insist, shaking your head. “It’s a competitive job. Namjoon only started working there last year after his massive discovery in Egypt. This company- it’s the private sector, which means a lot of benefits and a lot of money. It would send me all over the world and give me assignments I’d never get at a museum or as a professor.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Your paper is good enough to get you in.”

“It’s not. What happens when they ask if I discovered what was at the club?”

“This is for a company that specializes in archaeology and history. They’re not Buzzfeed Unsolved.”

“It would demonstrate a lack of dedication for me not to do this.”

“How? You’re pulling from multiple types of sources and the Center for Disease Control for crying out loud! What about this fucking club is that important to a historical paper?”

“I need to know if I’m right!”

You shout it at Jungkook, making him flinch. You close your eyes and heave a sigh, running a hand over your face. You soften as you murmur, “What is the point of the paper if there isn’t an answer?”

“So that’s what it’s about. Proving you’re right. And if you’re wrong?” You shrug. “At the end of the day, this is folklore. You applied science and history, but… vampires, Indy?”

A sour feeling enters your stomach. You stand up and begin cleaning and Jungkook groans, knowing he’s upset you. You don’t care if he knows. You stomp to the kitchen, chucking the crumbs into the trash and shoving dishes into the sink. You’re cleaning and refusing to look at him as he calls your name from the couch.

You know the idea of vampires is… ridiculous. In reality, you know that your little club is laughed at. Ridiculed. No one takes is seriously. They won’t even let you rent a room in the library proper.

Your throat tightens as you fight the urge to cry. You don’t want to cry in front of Jungkook, especially over something so stupid. But being right is more than just… having put together a convoluted puzzle piece. It means your worth of a prestigious job and it means… well it means the museums you already applied to and failed to get in were wrong about you.

“Talk to me.” You flinch, not realizing Jungkook moved to the kitchen. He’s standing right behind you when you glance over your shoulder. You turn away and rub your face quickly on your shoulder, trying to hide that a tear escapes. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying, Jeon.”

You hear him laugh. “Okay, well I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

When you don’t answer, trying to stop the burn in your eyes and the weight of the rejections, Jungkook steps forward and wraps his arms around you, squeezeing You place your hands on his arms and squeeze back, knowing he didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.

“I’m sorry, Indy,” he whispers, his voice sincere. “I just care about you and even if we don’t find vampires, something about this place and Kim Taehyung gives me the creeps.”

“We?” You sniff, laughing slightly.

“Of course. You didn’t think you were going alone, did you?” He squeezes and places his chin on your shoulder. “Indiana Jones always had a sidekick. Sidekick Jeon Jungkook reporting for duty.”

A few minutes pass in the kitchen with Jungkook just holding you. And you let him. He’s warm and he smells floral, making you smile as he sways you back and forth a bit. You melt into him. You want to stay like that far more than you should.

Just when your nervous it’s going to get awkward, you murmur, “I didn’t get the apprenticeship at The Metropolitan or Louvre. They said that I didn’t stand out enough.”

“Oh, Indy…”

“And I don’t blame them. My projects and papers have been basic. Organized. Perfectly executed but… there is nothing special about them. Nothing special about me.”

“That isn’t true at all.”

The vehemence he states this leaves no room for argument, drawing a smile from you. He settles back on your shoulder as you murmur, “I just… want to do something different. Step out of my comfort zone, you know? I just want to be special.”

“You are to me, if that counts.”

Fuck. It counts so much more than Jungkook realizes. Every time he shows up to a club that he doesn’t have to be a part of, every time he brings you pizza, or lets you come watch him stream, or he talks you through an anime you don’t quite understand- you do feel special with Jungkook. Maybe not in the way you want most, but in a way that counts.

Jungkook sighs, pulling you from your thoughts. “Jimin said Jin can get you in, but there’s a shit ton of applications and documentation we have to do.”

You spin around. He drops his embrace, chewing the inside of his cheek as he looks down at you. Your heart skips as you grab his arms, nails digging in. “Seriously? Just like that?”

He laughs without humor. “Jin said that he can submit an application on our behalf. Not that it would get accepted and Indy… it’s pretty intense. We have to have background checks, blood tests-“

“Blood tests?”

He grimaces. “I knew you’d fixate on that.”

You ignore him. “This is perfect. It just lends itself to my paper. Who needs a blood test to get into a nightclub? There has to be something they’re looking for- maybe ensuring there’s no disease or latent vampire genes? This is great! Jungkook this is great.”

He winces but mutters, “Yeah. I guess.”

-

Jungkook exaggerates about a lot of things. For example, there was one time during Halloween where he swore that he was so drunk that he was going to die. Instead, he vomited in your Luna backpack two blocks away from your apartment, and then cried because you wouldn’t get him tacos after.

Or there was the time around Christmas where the two of you had edibles at a party, and Jungkook fucking swore he saw Santa Claus and his reindeer. You had a pretty difficult time explaining whilst high out of your mind that it was an airplane, Jungkook. The things that fly in the sky.

And of course, every world-ending time he lost a match or had a bad stream. Those were the days that the sky was falling and he was never going to recover from this financially- and he would send you the same Tiger King meme over and over again.

Those were all great examples of his usual reaction to minor things.

Jungkook was not exaggerating about the application requirements to potentially become a member at Nightshade.

While they did not require any up-front cost to the application, there was cost implied by the amount of blood work you had to get done- and sign a twelve-page legal agreement that you were consenting to provide medical history and knowledge.

Additionally, you were expected to provide STD results, which led you down a rabbit hole of wondering if Nightshade was a sex club- which, was currently in the lead for the most popular theory of what went on behind its closed doors.

And when the formal invitation and approval arrived, there was a very strict list of attire that required you to go beyond the realms of your closet.

Mari of all people was assisting you in the attire part. You generalyl dressed pretty simple. Heels weren’t a necessity when you weren’t working at a fancy museum just yet, and you never had formal events to attend since Jimin dropped out of his fraternity, calling them boring.

“I think the velvet is the way to go,” Mari says appreciatively, tapping her chin. “You have great legs, may as well show them off. And the red doesn’t totally wash you out like the green did.”

You struggle to take the compliment and look at the dress in the mirror. It’s skin tight and leaves little to the imagination, the hemline coming higher up on your thigh than you’re used to. The off the shoulders are a smooth fit, but the neckline dips dangerously to the top of your breasts.

It’s far more daring than anything you’ve worn before, but the entire night is supposed to be daring.

The plan is simple and stupid. Get inside the club, observe what’s going on, and report if there’s anything vampy. According to the nondisclosure and legal agreements you had to sign and get notarized after approval, there’s a probationary period until your inducted as a full-time member. You skipped over the levels of sponsorships, not intending on becoming a steady member of Kim Taehyung’s possible sex club.

A single night of investigative work. That’s what you’ve promised Jungkook, who is still set on going with you. He even booked a night in a hotel room in the next city over so that you don’t have to worry about rushing there and back.

You try not to think about sharing a hotel room with him alone. Because while you’ve done that in the past, it’s different now. You feel different these days.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you turn to Mari. She’s been more interested in you as a person since presenting the paper. Though she hasn’t admitted to it, you have a sneaking suspicion she was impressed and has decided to give you a chance at being an acquaintance.

Even if she is still giving less than ideal compliments.

“You don’t think the crimson is cliché?” you ask, brushing the soft, velvet material. “I feel vampy in it.”

“You look hot.” She shrugs. “Well, if you don’t get a vampire to go all ‘I vant to suck your blood,’ you’re probably going to get laid. If not by Jungkook, maybe by some masked stranger at the sex club.”

“It’s not a sex club.” She gives you a look and you grimace. “Okay, it might be a sex club. And sex with Jungkook are you drunk? We’re best friends, Mari.”

“Yeah,” she mutters as you walk into the changing room, heart set on the dress. “Best friends who need to fuck.”

“I heard that!”

-

The red neon above the door taunts you as you walk down the sidewalk. On either side of the tinted, glass door is a security member. The one to the right of the door holds his hand out for your invitation. You hand yours over, trying to keep your hand from shaking with nervousness and excitement. Jungkook does the same, standing close behind you as they open the door to a dark hallway. 

Scarlet, crushed velvet makes up the interior of the hallway. The lights above are dimly lit chandeliers, the soft gold glow barely enough to cast light down the entire length of the hall. The line to get into the actual club starts here, hidden away from the eyes of the outside world. You realize it’s to keep member identities hidden. 

Jungkook is still close behind you, his chest almost against your back. You join the line of finely dressed patrons, sending a silent thank you to Mari for her making you choose the red dress and pair it with the sky-high heels. Jungkook sticks out in his leather jacket and ripped black pants and yet somehow when you turn to look at him, he looks right- though you’re not entirely sure about dress code.

Shadows fall over half of his face in the hall. You find yourself staring at him over your shoulder as his dark eyes scan the line, mouth fixed in what you label as his serious expression.

A lock of dark hair falls into his eyes. Instead of looking disheveled, he looks beautiful, an angel of shadow. You want to run your fingers along the recently shaved undercut. His hair was still long, but the sides were cropped short, making his choice of slick-backed hair even better.

Jungkook’s eyes drop down to you and his features smooth out into softness. “What?”

“You look so serious,” you opt to say. It would be weird if you told him you were staring at how beautiful he was. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Of course I did,” he answers, frowning. “Who else is going to protect my girl?” 

The way he says it is so casual. It means nothing to him and everything to you. You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, instead turning your attention to the pictures on the wall. Your eyes nearly fall out of your head when you realize the black-and-white photos are people caught in different throes and moments of pleasure.

You divert your eyes to instead look at the people in line.

It’s a wide variety of people, though one thing is the same: everyone has an invitation, the matte black of their cards absorbing the light in the hall. The couple in front of you is murmuring quietly to themselves. The woman is dressed in a floor-length, emerald dress made from silk, her hair twisted up in an elegant bun. Her earrings catch the light, drawing attention to her slender neck. 

Glancing down at yourself, you don’t feel nearly as well-dressed. The velvet dress clings to you like a second skin, the hemline dangerously short for you. It’s certainly a daring outfit, but with just a simple gold necklace around your neck with your birthstone- a gift from Jungkook- you start to feel out of place. 

As though he senses your uneasiness, Jungkook bends down and murmurs, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just wish I looked a little nicer.”

The line moves forward. You’re three away from the door, heart rate kicking up. You can just barely hear the vibration of the music, though you cannot tell where it’s coming from. 

“What do you mean?” you hear the frown in Jungkook’s voice. You gesture to the woman in front of you and he scoffs. “I think you look absolutely beautiful. Hey- look at me.”

Heart skipping, you turn around and look at him. Jungkook brushes a loose strand of hair back into your French twist, eyes searching. He’s so painfully beautiful that you look at him, unblinking. “You’re always breathtaking,” Jungkook murmurs, smiling softly. “But tonight? You are devastating.” 

Jungkook has no idea the way his words affect you. Suddenly you’ve forgotten about the line and the club. It’s just you and Jungkook in a softly-lit space, and he’s watching you with those eyes and his soft smile. The one reserved only for you.

The moment breaks into pieces when the security guard asks you to move forward. In a daze, you hand him your invitation, your expensive medical results, legal forms, and two forms of ID. He runs the IDs through a scanner and thoroughly looks over the paperwork before asking you to hold out your wrist. He places a delicate, gold bracelet around your wrist with a red gemstone charm. 

“Welcome to Nightshade, Miss L/N.”

You step forward and watch as he repeats the process for Jungkook. Instead of a bracelet, he gives Jungkook a more visible lapel with the same stone. “Welcome to Nightshade, Mr. Jeon. Please ensure that your bracelet and brooch are displayed at all times. If you are warned more than once that it is not visible, you will be escorted out and your probation period will be revoked. You will wear this entry level color until a sponsor elevates your membership.” 

“Oh,” you breathe out. “Okay.”

“Sponsors are the members inside wearing mother of pearl broaches and bracelets, and are the only members who may invite you to a private room tonight. If any full-time member wearing emerald or sapphire invite you to a private room, please report them to any staff member immediately. Enjoy your night.”

The conversation is done and the line is pushing you through the curtained doorway. The stairs lead down down down. You look at Jungkook, unsure what you’ve gotten yourself into. He places his hand on your shoulder and says, “We can leave- that’s totally okay.”

“No,” you protest. “Let’s do this.” 

“Even if it’s a sex club?”

You shoot him a look as you begin a careful descent down the stairs. The further you go, the more you can feel the music humming through the ground to your ribcage. “Even if it’s a sex club.”

When another security guard opens the door to the main club, you think that maybe you’re not far off your guess. Music pulses from the middle of the dance floor where bodies twist in a writhing mass. There’s a DJ booth situated above the crowd on a catwalk, lights coalescing on the dance floor in colors you’ve never seen. 

Jungkook is attached to you as you push into the club. The air is cooler than you anticipated, a shiver working up your spine. The bar is near the door, long and carved from dark marble. Red lights are fixed beneath the bar counter, making it look as though the bartenders are gliding through a sea of red. 

A set of stairs leads upstairs to a landing where you can see private booths roped off with velvet markers. A security member stands at the foot of the stairs, letting people pass through after they display their jewelry. Some booths are curtained off while others have people lounging openly, watching the people below. 

You have no idea where to start. Jungkook nudges you on your lower back, starling you. He gives you an encouraging grin and nods toward the bar. “Let’s get drinks.”

With a nod, you let Jungkook lead the way. You’re too nervous to feel anything besides light panic when he wraps his fingers around yours, tugging you along. Your other hand clutches his elbow, securing yourself to his side as you move through the crowd. No one shoves and steps on you. Everyone is polite, parting as you navigate toward the bar. 

You’re almost dizzy with the dark space and flashing lights when a bartender appears in front of you immediately. He’s beautiful, blond hair slick back and uncanny amber eyes flicking between you two, smiling as he looks at the stones on your jewelry and shouts over the music, “Welcome first timers. You drink for free tonight, but please ensure you drink responsibly. What can I get you?” 

“An old fashioned for me,” Jungkook answers loudly. He pulls you in closer, placing you next to him with his hand appropriately placed on your back. “A vodka soda for her, please.” 

The bartender flashes a smile. “Coming right up, pretties.” 

Jungkook leans a single elbow on the bar and gazes out at the crowd. Colors splash across his golden skin, turning him red then blue then green. The music is loud, filled with bass and following a techno sound. You nod your head, looking around those at the bar. 

You don’t really know what to look for other than the cliche: bite marks on necks, hickies that look suspicious, patrons with fangs. There’s plenty of mirrors behind the bar, reflecting the bottles and club-goers back to you. Everyone appears in the mirror- no weird missing reflection. 

Everyone looks ordinary, for the most part. There are a few men and women who look so beautiful it’s painful to look at, but there’s nothing about them that screams vampire. There’s no pale, smooth skin or burning red eyes. There’s nothing that seems… supernatural at all. 

The bartender appears again with your drinks. Jungkook hands over money to tip him, but the bartender waves it off. “No tipping here. We’re paid handsomely. Enjoy your evening. My name is Emil if you need anything.” 

Emil flashes a smile. There are no fangs, but there is something about the way he glances between the two of you that sends a cool tingle down your spine. He moves away quickly, taking another order. You stare at him a second longer before you take the cold glass from the paper coaster. 

“Something about him seems… off,” you mention to Jungkook. 

Jungkook nods. “He’s very perfect looking.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jungkook shrugs. “This feels surprisingly ordinary.”

“Come on,” Jungkook murmurs, sipping his drink and gesturing to the edge of the dancefloor. A dark alcove with a soft, blue neon sign that said private glowed next to where he was pointing. “We can observe near there.” 

It feels as if the dark hall leading to private rooms goes on forever. You glance down at it, hypnotized by the way the space seems void of light and life. You and Jungkook sip your drinks, swaying to the music lightly. You're surprised at how strong the drink is, feeling light-headed by the time you’re halfway done. 

A woman comes up and asks Jungkook to dance, glancing at you from the side of her eyes. He politely declines and she pouts before she glances at you and slinks away again. It’s hard not to smile at Jungkook as he turns his focus away from her immediately, dark eyes still searching the crowd. 

Instead of observing for your own project, you keep watching him instead. Another woman comes up to spark conversation with him- she includes you this time, welcoming you to your first night there. She asks if you need any help and you fight the urge to ask her what it’s all about, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself. 

The woman wears a green jewel- so she is some sort of level higher than you. Perhaps she has a sponsor. She eventually asks Jungkook to join her for a drink and he politely declines again. She has the same reaction as the first, pouting lightly as she vanishes.

You can’t help but get a sick feeling in your stomach. You must be making a face, because Jungkook asks if you’re okay. “Let’s get a drink,” you respond. “I think I’m still nervous.”

And you are. But the inky feeling doesn’t go away when Jungkook is propositioned at the bar again- this time by a man. He’s beautiful with dark red hair and stunning green eyes. He wears a sapphire, glittering on an extravagant broach on the lapel of his suit. 

“You’re an exquisite pair,” the man calls, leaning further on the bar to address you. “You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen- I could just eat you up.” 

Jungkook makes a face. The man notices and he smiles- his smile reminds you of the bartender and you prickle again, straightening. “Ah, you don’t share. What a shame. I love the dynamic you two have- the shadow to her light, the darkness to her innocence. Well, I am here most weekends if you ever change your mind and want to share.” He hands Jungkook a card. “Have a wonderful night.”

You don’t know if it’s the base or your heartbeat pounding anymore. The way the man implied Jungkook doesn’t share- share what? You? 

In a way, you are his to share. He has no idea how much you are his. The thought of him not knowing as he sips his drink makes you toss yours back. He raises his eyebrows as you order another one, making it a double. 

Jungkook came all the way here with you because he’s your friend. Your best friend. Because he never lets you suffer through things alone. And instead of doing what you’re supposed to for your project, you’re being painfully awkward and letting Jungkook’s many suitors make you jealous. 

Finishing your drink with a half-gag and a spinning head, you pull his hand. “Let’s dance.”

“We already did that.”

“No. Let’s dance.”

Jungkook doesn’t ask what you mean. He follows your lead, throwing back the whisky with a sour face. You drag him onto the dance floor. A buzz has settled into your veins and you pressed yourself between people, pulling Jungkook behind you. You’re no stranger to dancing with him, but the music is in your bloodstream, humming as you become alive.

You sway your hips, tilting your head back and closing your eyes as you let rhythm and instinct guide you. Jungkook is quick to follow. He molds himself against you, hands tracing your hips to settle on your waist. Electricity shoots through you and you almost stumble. His fingers are firm, gripping you and pressing you to him so that you can feel his chest against your back.

This is different. You don’t know why, but it is. You feel the artful movement of his hips, feel Jungkook’s break on the back of your neck and shoulder, the way his fingers pull at you, greedy. Your breath shudders out for you. You can smell his cologne- floral and soft on his skin. You don’t know if it’s the cocktails or Jungkook against you, but you’re drunk and dizzy with elation.

Pulling at your hips, Jungkook turns you around. You look up at him with half-lidded eyes. He guides your hands to loop around his neck and settles his own hands dangerously low. Jungkook has never had his hands on the top of your ass before, but they are now. His forehead is almost pressed against yours as he takes the lead, guiding your hips with his. 

Your thighs are burning but you don’t care. The project has long been forgotten as his breath turns into yours. You fixate on his eyes, lips slowly curling into a smile. He grins back at you, pulling you closer, slotting a leg between your thighs and oh. 

That is different. Jungkook’s jeans rub against your clothed core and you let out a sound that sounds like a moan. You snap your mouth shut, flushing from more than the heat on the dance floor. Jungkook’s grip on you tightens a fraction as he looks at you. And you know without a doubt that he heard it. That he knows the effect he has on you.

“What was that, baby?”

The name makes you flush. He’s never called you that before. Suddenly he seems closer than he was and the urge to close the distance between your mouths is clawing at you. You twist your fingers in his shirt, ready to crush your lips to his in a sudden bout of courage- a presence appears in your peripheral, something ominous and demanding, making you look.

Your mouth almost falls open- or maybe it does. Standing beside you is one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen, and you can’t help but fixate on the man in front of you. 

It finally dawns on you that this is what you picture when you hear about vampires. The man is tall with broad shoulders, his gold skin almost glowing beneath the dark collar of a button-up shirt. His hair is ebony, wavy strands falling into a pair of amber eyes that burn so brightly you feel as though you’ll disintegrate on the spot.

Looking at him scrambles your brain. Something in his gaze is pulling pulling pulling. You stare and stare. Something is screaming at you to look away but you’re fixated, the world falling away piece by piece until there is nothing but muted sound of the music and a faded canvas of bodies behind the man in front of you.

He smiles. You know that smile. It’s got the same edge to the bartender, the same sharpness as the man who gave Jungkook his card.

Jungkook. 

You blind and the spell fades a little as you turn to look at Jungkook. His hands have moved from your waist to over your shoulders, crossing in front of you and hugging you to him. He’s staring at the man, enchanted for a moment. Then he blinks and he’s frowning, muscles coiling against you. 

“I’m Taehyung,” the man introduces, tawny eyes flicking between the two of you. You can’t help but think he has the gaze of a tiger, hungry and feral. “Aren’t you two the most heavenly thing I’ve seen?”

Taehyung.

You realize it’s Kim Taehyung standing in front of you. The subject of your project and oh my god if you didn’t believe in your theory before, you do now. Kim Taehyung looks the epitome of supernatural beauty and graze, eyes flickering back to you as his rose red lips twitch in a smile. 

“Cat got your tongue, pretty girl?” Taehyung purrs to you. People have made room for him to stand unbothered, but their eyes shift to him like a magnet.

“You’re wearing diamond,” Jungkook notes, eyes fixated on the jewel settled in the hollow of Taehyung’s throat and the single glittering earring. Taehyung smiles at Jungkook, pleased. “You’ve got a keen eye. I am, in fact, wearing diamonds. I’m the only member you’ll find here who does, though. Unless Yoongi is around, of course.” 

The name Yoongi sounds vaguely familiar, but you can’t recall where you’ve heard of it. Taehyung doesn’t give you a chance to ask, gesturing toward the dark alcove where the private rooms are. Your heart thunders.

“Join me,” he says lightly. Something in his voice tells you it’s not a request, it's an order. His eyes drift to Jungkook, whose grip has tightened over you. “I play nice.”

“The bouncer said only people with mother of pearl are allowed to invite us to private rooms.”

“Good girl, you listened.” Taehyung seems genuinely pleased by this, but you squirm at the way his voice croons. “As your friend pointed out, I’m wearing diamonds. The rules don’t apply to me,” he winks. 

Though Jungkook lets go of his protective hug, he doesn’t let go of your hand. You cling to him a little unbalanced and drunk. He keeps a firm grip on you, looking down to make sure you’re okay. At least, you think that’s why he’s looking at you and you nod, following Taehyung who has appeared on the other side of the dancefloor. 

Weird. You don’t remember seeing him walk there. 

A shiver crawls up your spine as Taehyung steps into the pitch black of the hall. You pass through the threshold- your ears pop, making you wince. You open your mouth, stretching your jaw to adjust the pressure once again. 

The hall isn’t nearly as dark as you thought it was. The same velvet material lines the walls as the hall for the queue. There are no pictures, but metal sconces lighting the way with dull, gold light. Black doors with small plaques on them are lined on either side of you, varying from unoccupied to occupied. 

Taehyung moves smoothly through the hall, passing all of the doors. You can hear nothing from any of the doors or behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, the hallway is dark as ever and no sound from the club reaches you. 

“You won’t find what you’re looking for the way we came, Y/N.”

Your heart freezes when he says your name. You didn’t tell him your name. You turn to look at Taehyung. He’s standing at the end of the hallway in front of a large, wooden door. There is nothing that labels the status of the door’s occupants. You tighten your grip on Jungkook’s hand, suddenly hating yourself for coming here. To hell with your project, to hell with your theory. This was a terrible idea.

“Follow me,” Taehyung calls. He opens the door, walking into a dimly lit room. 

You glance at Jungkook. His gaze is darker than you remember and his face is taught. “You’re safe with me,” Jungkook murmurs. “He’s not going to hurt you. Plus, this seems a bit theatric.”

“He knows my name.”

“You had to provide them a name and a blood test,” Jungkook points out. “I’m sure he would know your social security number, if you asked.”

The thought is unsettling, but Jungkook’s assurance for your safety warms you. It’s not just the liquor you consumed heating you. It’s the way he takes the lead, gently pulling you down the hall to the room where Taehyung vanished. It’s the way he ducks his head in first before nodding that it’s okay for you to enter. 

It’s the way he called you baby right before Taehyung had interrupted whatever was happening on the dancefloor. 

A lounge is what waits beyond the door for you. You arch your brow at how ornate and intimate the setting is. The floor is dark wood to match the small bar built in the back of the room. It smells like cigar smoke and spice. A record player in the corner plays soft jazz, setting the mood to match the soft chaise lounges, crackling fireplace and glittering sconces. 

It looks like something out of an old 20s crawl space during prohibition. You can’t help but let go of Jungkook’s hand and wander over to a shelf with books and knick-knacks, hands hovering over signed cards from Louis Armstrong and a stunning portrait of Ella Fitzgerald with a personal message to Taehyung.

You turn to look at him. He’s leaning on the bar with a smirk, sipping on what appears to be whisky neat. 

Your heart begins to thunder as you trail away from the mementos of a time that Taehyung seems to be fond of. As though he was there. As though he is intimately familiar with it. Jungkook only has eyes for you as you near him, offering his hand silently. You take it on instinct, though you were never really hand holders before. 

“I’m a bit nostalgic,” Taehyung announces with a lofty sigh. He walks around behind the bar and tosses a mixing cup in the air before catching it. He starts to pull bottles from the shelves, glancing up at you with a distinct gleam in his eye. “I don’t keep much of my prized possessions here, but it does help me feel at home.”

“And where is home for you?” Your surprised you ask the question, voice far more confident than you feel.

Taehyung appears delighted as he makes a drink and gestures to Jungkook. “You were drinking an old fashioned, right? Sorry I didn’t use the smoker, I have a feeling you won’t really care.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Taehyung arches a brow and produces another drink. “Vodka soda,” he calls to you, mouth lifting in a crooked grin. “I insist. Drink.”

There is no fighting his words. You find yourself moving toward the bar without remembering to make the decision. Jungkook is in tow, walking slower than you, as though he’s not as confident with his decision to approach.

The glass cools off your fingers as you lift it from the varnished top, hesitating while Taehyung looks at you through his bangs. You’re struck again by how intense his gaze is. He smiles slowly and something sparks inside of you- not the same way it does for Jungkook, but at a sudden wrongness.

You think it might be instinct, but you can’t put the drink down. You’re either unwilling or unable- you don’t know which.

Taehyung lifts his own drink and murmurs, “Salude,” before sipping his, amber eyes bouncing between you and Jungkook.

Both of you sip the drink- except you don’t just sip. You take a few gulps and set it back down, surprised at how much better his alcohol tastes than his bar.

“Why don’t you sit?” Taehyung gestures to the chase lounges. “You have questions, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

He pouts as he rounds the corner of the bar, walking over to you. Jungkook steps in front of you and Taehyung gives him a single annoyed glance. That single glance is enough to make you petrified.

In a single flash of emotion, you see something else in Taehyung’s face. Something cold and ancient and absolutely terrifying. You’re locked into place as you blink at him, but he’s smiling as he pats Jungkook on the shoulder and moving to a chair of his own, plopping down.

“I admire how protective you are of your girl, Jungkook. It’s admirable, really.” Taehyung sips his drinks as you and Jungkook stand frozen at the bar. A vein throbs in Jungkook’s neck as he stares at Taehyung, working his jaw. “However, if I wanted her, you couldn’t stop me. Now sit.”

Again, the decision to sit down is not your own.

Jungkook almost sits you on top of him. You’re sitting so close that your thigh almost overlaps his, a hand going tightly around your waist to tether you to him. You haven’t forgotten the low sound of his voice when he called you baby and you certainly haven’t forgotten the way his thigh felt between your legs. 

You can barely concentrate on your fear with Jungkook’s fingers on your waist, burning through the fabric of your shirt like an exposed flame. You shiver. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, his focus entirely on Taehyung. 

“You have questions, do you not?” Taehyung asks, kicking his feet up on the edge of his chair. He looks at you specifically, eyes dancing behind the sparkling rim of his glass. “I’m intrigued.” 

“You know us.”

“That’s not a question. And if it was, you’re wasting the time I’ve carved out for you.”

You fidget next to Jungkook, plucking at the rising hemline of your dress. You stare at Taehyung, watching as his eyes dip to your exposed thigh. You fight the urge to cover yourself- Jungkook splays a hand over your thigh, covering most of it. You want to sigh in relief and thank him, but instead your focus goes back to Taehyung. 

“Why did you carve out time to let me ask questions?” You ask. “You obviously know who I am and my intention of coming here. I’m not sure how you managed, but you did.”

“Good girl, asking better questions already. Let’s just say I was intrigued. Let’s just say when Seokjin gave me the tip that someone was looking into me, I did my homework.”

You grit your teeth. Jimin had asked Seokjin to get you an in- he wasn’t supposed to tell him what you were doing it for. You struggled with your momentary annoyance, realizing the danger that you were now in. You had come to Nightshade with the intention of breaking the NDA you signed and risking Taehyung’s clientele and business. 

That wasn’t nothing. And now he was watching you carefully as you struggled to come up with an answer. 

“Don’t be too hard on Jimin,” Taehyung purrs. “He didn’t tell Seokjin that you were doing research on vampires. Seokjin has… a sixth sense, if you will. He pulled the information from Jimin’s mind, just sitting there for the taking.” Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees as he cocks his head to the side. “Tell me about your research.”

Again, the urge to tell him doesn’t come from yourself. It comes from somewhere else, a strong sense of powerlessness along with it. 

So you tell him about your research. Every detail, starting with what turned you onto the subject and where you started. Jungkook’s pressure on your thigh increases as you speak, his eyes never leaving Taehyung for a moment. He’s so still that you almost forget he is there as you ramble, discussing Taehyung’s family tree and the journal entries that pointed you in the direction of what you believe is a third strain of vampirism. 

Taehyung is a good listener- or at least, he mimes listening well. He nods in all of the right places and hums when appropriate, even complimenting you throughout your explanation, which is the most unsettling. You hate how sincere and curious he seems. It’s almost as though he is fascinated at watching a child figure something out.

When you finish, Taehyung sits back, arm resting along the length of the couch. You notice the rings on his fingers. They look old. You can barely make out a signet ring and something that looks like a family crest.

Taehyung catches you looking and grins, flashing his hand at you. “You really are the cleverest little thing, aren’t you? You managed to put together a mostly accurate theory about strains of vampirism and you must realize by now what parts of your theories are correct.”

You lick your lips. Your mouth feels dry as you nod. “You must have arrived in New Orleans like the document suggests. You have…” you gesture around. “A lot of influence from that period and a love for the culture and music. You pushed out the vampires there.” 

Taehyung hums, setting his chin in his palm. “I did push them out. I don’t have any love for the strigoi. What you believe are strains aren’t strains at all- they’re breeds. But you had the right idea- congratulations.” 

“So… you’re a vampire?” you ask softly. Any excitement you have is gone. Taehyung looks lethal and you realize that if he doesn’t intend to let you walk out, there is nothing you can do.

You’re fucked. 

“For lack of a better term. Technically a jiangshi. I can walk in the sunlight, though it is a little irritating. I drink blood to survive. I don’t age. And I have a certain influence over people.”

“Compulsion,” Jungkook offers.

You're surprised he speaks. He’s been painfully silent the entire time. Taehyung looks just as surprised, a boxy smile spreading across his face. “Oh? You know a thing or two about it?”

Jungkook grimaces and gestures to you half-heartedly. “She likes watching vampire diaries.”

You go red in the face and push onwards, “That’s why when you told us to drink, we couldn’t resist. Or when you told us to sit.” 

“That’s true. I don’t like forcing people to do things, but the two of you are incredibly stubborn. But come on, darling. Please ask me something interesting.”

“Why? You’re not going to let me report what I find here.”

“No, but consider that I’m having fun and I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about what I am for a very long time. Though this club was established for the vampires that are around to feed in privacy, most of the humans who consent to being here for long periods of time come back because of the euphoria and high they get from being fed on. While they’re somewhat aware of what’s happening, we compel them to forget most details.”

“That seems incredibly non-consensual.”

“Not at all- they’ve signed plenty of papers consenting to what happens here. We only make them for get the supernatural part- many of them know they’re sharing blood- but the exchange is remembered often in a sexual nature. The people who frequent here are one-hundred percent here of their own desire and volition.” 

“And you want to answer the questions I have because it’s entertaining to you. Not because of any desire to let me finish my project.”

His grin was feline. “That would be correct.”

You glare. “I have no more questions.” 

For a moment, Taehyung just stares at you, eyes sharp. The next second, he’s laughing boisterously, the sound filling the room. His hand goes to his abdomen, pressing against his crisp shirt as he continues to laugh. You stiffen beside Jungkook and dig your nails into the chaise, knowing that he’s laughing at you and not with you.

Temper flaring, you stand abruptly, Jungkook’s hand falling from your leg. The rejection from your favorite museums is still burning in your mind. You feel the same hot embarrassment that drove you to tears with Jungkook in your kitchen. 

Taehyung's voice is like thunder when he says, “Sit.” 

You immediately follow, gnashing your teeth as you try to fight his stupid compulsion. “Ask me the questions you had before coming here.” 

Your mouth works over the words. There is an ache in your jaw as you clench your teeth together, feeling a strain working its way up your throat. Taehyung smirks and murmurs, “You’ll kill yourself fighting compulsion. Please don’t make me use my leer.”

Though you have no idea what his leer is, you let out a strangled breath. “Where did vampires originate from?”

“Egypt. The daughter of the goddess Sekhmet was sent to our plane to slaughter the Egyptians for their constant disobedience and disrespect of Ra. She produced offspring while she ravaged Ancient Egypt. Sekhmet was imprisoned in the city of the dead- I believe your friend Namjoon is acutely familiar with her.” 

That takes you by surprise. What would… you gasp lightly. Namjoon had come home after a harrowing research trip in Egypt. He had promptly quit his job at the school and joined the private acquisition company that specialized in ancient artifacts and history. 

“Is Namjoon a vampire?” you blurt, unable to help the question.

“No. He got lucky that his little tomb raider friend was versed beyond normal means in the supernatural. I believe you’re familiar with her branch of the Illuminati’s recovery business.” 

“T-the acquisition place Namjoon works at is a part of the Illuminati?”

“We’re going off track,” Taehyung sighs breezily. “Please focus and go back to asking questions for your paper.” 

“You mean questions about you?” You scoff. “You’re painfully cliche.”

Jungkook brushes his fingers on your arm in warning and murmurs, “I got it.”

You’re unsure what he means but he sits forward, glare on his face. “How many breeds of vampires are there and what- in a summary, please- is the difference between them?”

“Oh?” Taehyung turns his attention to Jungkook. “You’re not a history major.”

“Her research is important to me and I know it inside and out. Answer the questions.”

“I come from an ancient line that can stretch our heritage back to pre-dynastic China. The Mongol Empire drove my kind throughout regions of Asia. I was born in what is now considered South Korea. The differences between vampiric creatures are typically abilities and background, nothing more. The family trees you’ve mentioned in your research are not family trees by blood, but by turning. We share names as a part of our heritage and power.” 

“What do you mean, abilities?” 

“Just like different snakes have different types of venom and skin, vampires have different attributes. I’m not dead, though that might be hard to believe. Immortality and being alive are not mutually exclusive.”

“How does one make vampires?”

“The surest way is by consuming the blood of one. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t need to die to turn. Vampire blood contains a virus-like component that your blood cells will attack once it enters the stream. The moment your blood cells attack the vampire-cells, they’re infected and replaced with the same genetic material that makes up vampiric plasma.” 

“I said simple,” Jungkook mutters. “So it’s a virus?”

“It works like a virus and it can spread through blood contamination, but it is a crude way to identify the gene. Think of it as genetic material.” 

“So the plague?” You ask.

“Not the cause of vampires, but rather- people shared blood hoping that it would give immortality and healing abilities. Hence the massive spread of disease. The vampires you’ve identified in the Dracul bloodline are associated with what you’ve called porphyria- the disease gave them more mobility to openly interact with people during the plague.” 

“Another breed?” 

“Yes, the Upir,” he sighs. “Similar to strigoi. They come from the same region and have the same sensitivity in sunlight. Their blood has a thermal reaction to UV rays, so while they won’t burst into flames, they do get a mean sunburn faster than most people. They also tend to have blood lust far more than I’ve experienced.”

“What’s roughly the size of the population of vampires?” 

For the first time that night, Taehyung shows genuine emotion. It’s brief, but you recognize pain flashing across his eyes, the twitch of his mouth toward a frown and the way his nose flares. You know the answer before he says it. 

“Not many. At our height, there were probably around ten different breeds. Now? There’s two. Jiangshi and the strigoi.” 

“Why?”

Taehyung gestured to the room around them. “There are almost no places in the world like this. What you see here is years of work and methodical planning to come up with a way for my people to feed safely. There is too much science and technology in the world for us to thrive without getting caught. And like I say- vampires aren’t born. They’re made.”

“Getting caught?” Jungkook asks, brows furrowing. “Are there like- hunters or something?”

Taehyung’s smile is strained. “There are those who know we exist, and who would prefer for us not to exist.” He claps his hands together, rubbing his palms together softly. You realize that the fireplace is dying and your glass has long been finished. “This has been nice. Thank you both for indulging in some discussion, it’s been so nice to talk freely with such curious minds. Perhaps we can do it again sometime.”

“Wait?” You ask, shooting to your feet. “You’re just letting us go?”

“Of course. I’ve collected my insurance. You’re not going to go running your mouth once your boyfriend turns.”

It’s not Taehyung calling Jungkook your boyfriend that makes your heart catch. In fact, you hardly gesture that. It’s the self-satisfied smirk on Taehyung’s rose-red lips as he stands languidly, lifting his glass filled with amber liquid toward Jungkook before he downs it, strolling to the bar.

Jungkook is fixed in his spot, face sheet-white and eyes round as he stares at Taehyung. His knuckles are white as he holds his glass. His hands are shaking- there’s nothing left in the glass, the old fashioned drained dry.

Slowly, Jungkook’s eyes dip down to the glass before they drag back up to look at you. You’re frozen in mute horror, mouth parting lightly as Taehyung’s words settled into place, locking onto your shoulders and pressing with more weight than you’ve ever felt.

“You’re lying,” you growl, spinning to face Taehyung. You can feel the tremor in your voice and your hands.

You never expected Taehyung to answer your questions so succinctly without something being in it for you. You wouldn’t have asked the questions at all, had he not compelled you to do so.

There’s no way someone as carefully planned as Taehyung turned Jungkook on a whim. Your brain begins firing synapses, putting together reasons that Taehyung wouldn’t turn Jungkook. His entire club is built on the foundation of secrecy and he said it himself- years of planning.

So why turn Jungkook?

Taehyung leans on his elbows against the bar lazily, looking like the cat who ate the canary. “I’m not.”

“What do you get out of turning him?” You demanded. “There’s nothing. You wouldn’t-“

“I get your vow of secrecy for starters. I won’t help him during his transition if you run your mouth. Additionally, you seem to be a prime candidate for the open position your friend Namjoon has created at the Illuminati.”

“You want access.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Maybe I do.”

“You’re a vampire,” you spit between your teeth. “Compel them.”

“They know all about me, I’m afraid. Despite Yoongi’s influence with them, the Iluminati don’t like me.” His smile is predatory. “They’re not particularly fond of my involvement in stealing one of their artifacts.”

Taehyung gestures to Jungkook and says, “I will happily protect the little fledging provided your word you talk to no one about this place and that you provide research when I call on you. Yoongi is not nearly as dedicated to my projects as I need him to be and his loyalty cannot be bought. Yours can.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook murmurs.

You’re not thinking. Nothing makes sense and nothing matters. You see red on the edge of your vision and you hardly register your arm moving as you throw your glass at Taehyung. It surprises the vampire, based on his wide eyes. But he moves quickly, a blur of movement as the glass shatters against bottles behind the bar.

A horrible scream rips out of you, obscenities new and old as you leap over the coffee table with more agility than you expect. Taehyung grins wider as you behind to throw whatever you can at him, screaming at him to undo what he’s done.

What he’s done to Jungkook. Not you.

Nothing has been done to you for your prying. For your need to come here. For dragging Jungkook along.

Something horrible and terrifying is working its way through you and you feel the tears in your eyes as your rage peters out with a choke.

Guilt crashes on you so succinctly that you collapse on the chair, face in your hands as your tears spill over, hot on your palms and salty on your lips. “Fuck,” you whisper. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Taehyung announces, vanishing from the room.

You lift your head to see Jungkook is still standing in his spot. “Jungkook,” you plead, though you don’t know what you’re pleading for exactly. “This is my fault. I will find a way to fix this, Jungkook I am so sorry. Fuck this is all my fault, please, I-“

“Y/n.”

“I am so fucking stupid. I should have never brought us here. You were right, this wasn’t worth being right and I am a selfish, prideful idiot who-“

“Y/N,” he says your name again, softly but with purpose. You look at him through tear-stained eyes. “Let’s just go home.”

“I…”

Jungkook softens. “We don’t even know if he’s telling the truth, Indy. I don’t feel any different. The drink didn’t taste weird. Come on.” He holds out a hand. You drift to him, fingers yearning for his as you stretch your hand and lace your fingers with his. He gives you a squeeze and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Everything is going to be okay.”

-

Nothing is okay. A few days ago, you woke up to an empty hotel room in a city an hour away from home. You can’t remember falling asleep, spending the entire night stressing and looking for any signs of vampirism as the night stretched on, but Jungkook was fine. He was normal- albeit, nervous and tired.

Then the morning came. You had launched out of your bed to… nothing. Jungkook was nowhere to be found. His things were in his room, but his cell was gone and his clothes from the night before were folded on the dresser. You even went as far as to extending your stay another night, spending every moment calling and texting him.

That night, you had gone back to the club. Tear-stained and with bloodshot eyes, you marched up to the nondescript building, only to be turned away at the door. The bouncer wouldn’t answer your questions. Didn’t even blink when you gave him Taehyung’s name and threatened to go to the police.

He had simply said, “You should go to the police if you think your friend is missing. Have a good night.”

Every phone call, text and voicemail went unanswered into the late night. You don’t remember crying more than you had that entire day, worried to the point of making yourself physically ill, only finding comfort in the cool tile floor beneath your bruised knees and the cold touch of the toilet as you sagged against it.

You had to return home eventually. So you did. Dodging the text messages of your friends. Making excuses.

We found nothing you assured them with unsteady hands, sniffling in the dark of your room. We did get a little sick, though. Jungkook has a fever.

No we don’t need anything.

I’m just going to take that part out of my research.

No you can’t come over.

Yes you can send me the notes for class.

Sitting in the dark of your living room, the silence presses in. You look at your text thread with Jungkook. Everything is burned into your mind with startling permanence.

The internet is no longer comforting. You scour the internet and pour yourself over every article you can find. Your search history looks like you should check yourself into a mental ward. Signs of vampirism. How do you know if you’re a vampire? Cures to vampirism.

You revisit your research and begin a new project. You comb through the genetic findings and family trees, wondering if you missed something. Taehyung had said that vampirism was like a virus- plenty of viruses could be cured. So why not vampirism?

­Takeout cartons are piling on your counter and the sink smells something awful. You don’t take the time to clean- you have a single mission. Something stops you from calling the police- you know they won’t believe you and Taehyung’s threat… it holds sway over you.

Your searches and notes are littered- no, consumed with ways to kill a vampire.

It’s the thought of sticking a stake through Kim Taehyung that has you sitting in the living room in the dark, eyes burning. You scroll through the texts- you’ve sent over 100. Each one goes unanswered, but they’re delivered. Which counts for something, you think. It means Jungkook’s phone is on and even though he isn’t answering… he’s alive.

The thought that perhaps it’s about you occurs. You realize that maybe… maybe Jungkook doesn’t want to talk to you. Maybe this is real, and Taehyung did something horrible to him by turning him into a creature of legend and Jungkook rightfully blames you.

It’s fair. It’s what’s right.

You swallow past the lump in your throat but the tears break free anyway. You’re tired of crying but you can’t seem to find a way to stop. Jungkook is gone and you miss him.

The hole his lack of presence creates is pronounced and dangerous. For the last few years, the thought of you and Jungkook not being you and Jungkook had never occurred to you. You did everything together and nothing else… nothing else was like what you have.

What you had.

There are no updates on Jungkook’s streams. There are comments on social media and his YouTube page asking where he’s gone and why he isn’t streaming. You scour through them, hoping that maybe he’s logged in to look at comments or to tell people he’s taking a break.

But there’s nothing.

And it’s like Jungkook doesn’t exist anymore.

-

Something in your kitchen wakes you up. You’ve taken to not sleeping in your room- not a meaningful decision, but one driven by falling asleep on the couch crying or researching. Nights driven watching Jungkook’s favorite shows while staring at your phone.

Rubbing your eyes, you look around the room, eyes darting to the kitchen. At first, nothing looks different. The room is pitch black, your laptop dead with the cord unplugged. Someone in the parking lot drives by, lights flashing in your first-floor unit and-

A figure is standing in your kitchen. Your heart pitches to your stomach so violently that you feel like you might launch into a cardiac episode. A scream works its way up your throat and lodges itself there, unable to be set free.

You’ve never felt terror like this in your life.

And then the light over your stove flicks on, revealing Jungkook standing in your kitchen.

Your breath gets stuck for a new reason entirely. His hair is damp and hanging in his face. He’s in a giant t-shirt and sweats, his normal casual wear. Your heart begins pounding in your chest as you jump to your feet, ready to launch yourself at him.

“Please stay there,” he almost whispers. You stop moving. “I… just stay there.”

“Jungkook.” His name is soft and teary in your mouth. “Are you okay? Please tell me what you need.”

“Just need you to stay there I can… smell you.”

You inhale sharply and nod. You open and close your mouth. There are so many questions you want to ask but you shove them to the side. You just want to hug him and to ask what he needs you to do. You don’t care where he has been, you just want to know that he’s okay and help him. To fix whatever is broken.

To say sorry.

“Tell me what to do,” you murmur. “Tell me how to make this right.”

“I don’t know, but please don’t blame yourself.”

You break. You feel the seams rip loose as you collapse in on yourself and begin to weep in earnest. You just want to go back to the way things were. Before you ruined it. Before whatever… whatever was happening now.

It’s not fair that you’re crying. You’re not the one who has gone through hell and back- well you have, but it feels selfish. Why are you the one crying when Jungkook- perhaps a vampire- is standing in your kitchen looking lost. More lost than he’s ever looked.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, violently wiping your face. “It’s selfish of me to cry. I have no right to be crying.”

“Indy, it’s okay to cry.”

You shake your head. “I did this, Jungkook.” You bite your lip and nod as you think about it. “I wanted so badly to be right, to make myself feel important. I was… I was too obsessed with trying to prove something new to myself, as if it would make me feel better about the museum rejections.”

He drifts forward, soundless. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There is when it results in whatever has happened here. I missed you in a way I don’t know how to describe. I don’t know- I don’t know what happened to you but it’s my fault and I’m sorry.”

“I voluntarily went with you,” Jungkook says firmly. “In fact, the hotel room was in my name.”

“But you went because of me, because you supported me and I…” You shrug. “I wasn’t punished for my vanity and you’re… I don’t even know.”

On instinct, you stand up and step toward him. You can’t help but seek his comfort and to comfort him in return. What you don’t expect is the snarl that ripples through him, vibrating every dish in your cabinet.

“Don’t come near me,” he hisses, eyes narrowed.

You startle, gasping and skittering backward as your hand flies to your mouth to hide the sound coming out of you. Jungkook’s eyes flash silver in the dark, like a predator whose eyes have been exposed to light.

A scream threatens to break through and a gross terror slides into your mind unbidden- is Jungkook there to kill you for what you’ve done?

It is both ridiculous and firm in your mind, taking root as you step back unsteadily.

“No,” Jungkook whispers, voice something like pleading. “Please don’t do that. Please don’t… please.”

You’re unsure what he’s asking, but you can see him better with the kitchen light on and he looks… defeated. His bottom lip wobbles and his eyes are round- no longer narrowed the way you saw them a moment before. No dangerous flash. Just brown, and just… Jungkook.

“I’m sorry.” You shake your head because you don’t know how to form words. You don’t want him to apologize, but you don’t know how to shape the words through your fear. “I’m sorry that I came here, but I wanted to see you. I didn’t know you would… smell so good and I… I scared you. Taehyung told me not to come here- told me it might be too tempting but I did anyways.”

“You don’t understand,” he continues, unbidden. “You fell asleep in the hotel room that night and something happened to me. You always smell good but you smelled even better and then I could hear the soft pulse in your neck… your heart beat. It sang every song I ever wanted to hear and there was a brief moment where I… where I thought it wouldn’t be so bad, if I just tasted you.”

Jungkook looks at the floor, eyebrows pinched and fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt, hands unable to keep still. “It was the worst moment of my life,” he whispers. “For a split second, I thought- what would stop me from leaning down and taking what I wanted? What I’ve always wanted? So I left. I had to leave. I found Taehyung and he kept his word.”

“He’s helping you?”

“Yeah. He’s not… terrible, despite what he’s done to me. I don’t like him, but he’s helping. Didn’t want me to see you, though. Thought I might…”

He trails off. You know what he was going to say. Taehyung thought that Jungkook might kill you. Because he now drinks blood for a living, and because you smell nice.

Jungkook takes a step forward and you take one back. He looks at you and lets out something that sounds like a whine, a soft sound that is so desperate you almost run to him and throw yourself into his arms, danger be damned. You want to.

But keep keeps you rooted as a million emotions flit across his face.

Jungkook has always been intense when he’s upset, but this is like nothing you’ve ever seen before. He’s standing in the dark of your kitchen, but his eyes almost glow. Headlights in the parking lot flash by your window briefly again, lighting his eyes up like white beacons of fire. You take a step back and he makes a noise in the back of his throat, needy like a whimper.

“Please don’t be afraid of me,” Jungkook whispers. 

Of course you’re afraid. You haven’t seen him in days and he manifested in your kitchen like a shadow. He looks like your best friend and he sounds like your best friend, but he’s altogether different. There’s an edge to him as he soundlessly moves across the kitchen, tentative steps to you. He makes no sound, unusual for him. 

But it's Jungkook. And the soft pleading in his dark eyes that you can just register in the dim light and the way he wavers at the threshold of the kitchen, watching and waiting for your consent… it makes you crack. 

“I’m not,” you whisper.

“You are.” You hear the tremor in his voice. “I can smell it on you- just like I can smell everything else. You’re terrified of me and it’s my fault.” 

“Jungkook-”

“I shouldn’t be here.” 

He walks- no he glides to your door, moving with a grace that is more than just his usual, lithe steps. You bolt after him, reaching out to grab his arm as he reaches for the door. He reacts faster than your eyes can pick up the movement, wrapping a strong hand around your wrist and yanking you forward.

A sound of surprise laced with mild fears escapes you as he pins you against the hardwood door, caging you in as he steps forward. Your breath stutters as you look up at him, question dying on your lips as you really look at him.

Jungkook’s eyes are dark as midnight, but there is something glinting in them, sharp and shining. His hair hangs in his face and he’s breathing is shallow. His eyes are searching and burning and he presses a little bit closer to you and he’s warm warm warm. You shiver, despite the warmth and the smell of him- like rosewood and citrus, making your head dizzy. 

You’ve always been close to Jungkook, always ignoring one another’s personal space. But this feels different. This feels hotter as his hands skate up your sides until he reaches all the way to your jaw, angling your face to him. Your pulse hammers under the pads of his finger, and you watch his focus shift from your face to your neck.

You can’t see the little canines peeking behind his lush mouth. But you suspect that they’re there, two little sharp points that could bite into the soft flesh of your neck. The fear you had moments ago is suddenly dulling, replaced with something else that burns in the pit of your stomach. 

Everything you know about the fabric of the world has changed with him. And still… you’re pleading with him, murmuring, “Don’t leave.”

“You don’t understand,” he murmurs, almost a growl. He presses his forehead to yours and you push toward him instinctually. You’re drawn to him and your head is still spinning but you want nothing more in that moment for Jungkook to close the distance between you, to press his soft, pouty lips against yours. “If I don’t leave right now, I never will.”

“Please don’t,” you whisper. “Please.” 

“Baby…” 

Jungkook has only ever called you that once. Your mind flashes to that night, the single time during your friendship that you thought you could be more. When the touches weren’t familiar and they were intimate and you had been drowning in Jungkook. The night this all started, the night that Jungkook’s journey as… the word vampire sounds ridiculous and instead, you focus on the way he makes you feel. 

The pet name licks a flame inside you and you bring your hands up to pull at his waist, suddenly greedy for the feel and the smell of him. Your fear is gone. “Bite me, Jeon.”

Jungkook makes a sound that sounds close a moan and you echo it. Every emotion that changes his face pulls you in in in. Your fear is replaced with something headier- needier. You angle you head, exposing your neck.

“Will it help?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

He seems distracted and despite the rollercoaster of emotions, you smile. “Feeding,” you mumble. Your hands slide to his face, fingers delicately touching the bags under his eyes. “You look so tired. I just want to help.”

“I haven’t fed from a person.”

“How… do you?”

“Blood bags, like Vampire Diaries. Sometimes in cups.”

You trace your fingertips along his cheek bones. Brushing dark strands from his face, you cup his cheeks softly, searching. Jungkook is still there- your Jungkook. He’s reflected in his eyes, in the careful way he holds you and watches you.

“I trust you,” you whisper. What you really want to say is what’s weighed on you throughout his entire absence: I love you.

You love him. You know you do. it burns dully right at the center of your chest, flaring into an inferno when he gives you a gentle nod and leans forward. You feel your heartbeat quicken, threatening to burst from your chest as you drop your hands to clutch at his shoulders.

Jungkook’s breath hits your neck and you moan deep in your throat again. He echoes the sound but its deeper as he hesitates, lips so close you can feel him breathing. You twist your fingers further in his shirt, pulling gently and you feel him smile as he chuckles nervously.

A breath gets stuck in your throat as Jungkook brushes his mouth against your pulse point, a ghost of a kiss. You can’t help but shiver and his grip tightens on you. His name falls out of your lips in the soft voice. You feel it on your neck as he presses a firm kiss to your throat.

“That feels nice,” you sigh.

It does feel nice. His mouth is soft and intimate as he begins kissing your skin. It’s hard to focus on anything but the way his mouth presses closed mouth kisses down your throat, pausing at the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“Are you sure?” You nod your head, unable to come up with a response as your eyelids flutter shut. “Tell me if I need to stop.”

“Okay.”

Carefully, Jungkook kisses his way back to a spot on your throat that he seems to favor, nosing your delicate skin first before he brings his lips to your skin. His teeth scrap your flesh and you let out a breathy sound as Jungkook slowly bites down. The skin breaks and immediately the pinch of his teeth sends a sharp pain through you.

You tighten your hands but you don’t push him away, the throb dulling as he makes a sound deep in his chest. You pant against him, head cloudy. You feel lighter than you remember and you sag against your door, feeling the pull of Jungkook’s greedy mouth against you. His tongue laves at your neck and you moan loudly then.

Jungkook pulls away from you, gasping. He hides his face in your neck but you grab him- you want to see him. He protests and you pull his neck harder, moving his face away from your neck to in front of you.

For a moment, you don’t do anything but stare. You’re mutely aware that there is blood running down your throat. You can feel the hot liquid trailing on your skin, slowly dripping. Your neck hurts- but it’s a very soft pain, barely there.

Jungkook looks terrifyingly beautiful. Lips ruby, blood staining his chin. His eyes are black, pupils expanded as he stares at you in painful stillness. You know you should be horrified but you’re not. You know you should be concerned that he just bit into your neck, but you’re not.

“Kiss me,” you demand. You don’t know where the strength in your voice comes from. You push into him, tilting your mouth towards his but not closing the distance, letting him decide. “Please.”

Jungkook responds immediately. He presses his lips firmly against you, stick and wet with your blood. It’s just a press of lips and his mouth is soft soft soft and you inhale through your nose sharply, knees going weak and buckling.

Tightening his hold around you, Jungkook pulls away, staring down at you, eyes wild and bloody lips parted. “Can I really kiss you?”

“Please.”

This kiss is different. You can taste the salt and iron on Jungkook’s lips as he slots his mouth against yours, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. Your tongue brushes his bottom lip and he growls, pressing your lips open to slide his tongue against yours.

Jungkook’s hands slide down your waist to your ass, squeezing firmly as his tongue explores the warmth of your mouth. Your hips cant against his, seeking friction where you want him most. You whine into the metallic kiss, sweatpants too thick for the feeling you want.

Growling into your mouth, Jungkook presses you flat against the door. You can feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest as the kiss turns messy. Jungkook’s teeth catch your lip and you feel the pinch of broken skin before blood slowly blooms in your mouth. Jungkook sucks your lip into his mouth, moaning as his tongue brushes over the wound.

It spurs you forward, the way he claws at you and kisses you as though he might die if he doesn’t have you sends you into a frenzy. You push into him, as though you can meld yourself to him. Your teeth nip at him back, sharply catching the corner of his soft mouth.

Jungkook breaks away and makes a sound of surprise, hand shooting to his lips, swollen from kissing you. You’re panting against the door, staring at him as he wipes the bottom corner of his mouth. His finger comes away scarlet.

“You bit me,” he smirks looking down at you. “You little vampire.”

You blush. The blood is drying on your neck, itchy and cracking as you extend your head again, showing off the bruised and marred flesh. “Don’t you need…. More?”

“I’m hungry for something else entirely, baby.”

The way he is looking at you sends you into overdrive. You make a sound, wiggling against him and he smirks, eyes looking you up and down. You must look a pathetic mess, stained with dried blood, clothes disheveled and lips swollen. But when Jungkook looks at you like that- gaze dark, hungry for something deeper- you don’t care what you look like.

There’s just Jungkook. He’s all you can focus on as your hands slide up his neck, carding through his hair and looking at his face without the shadow of his bangs. He’s ethereal as always, but gone are the cute, round eyes you’re so familiar with. Gone is the soft smile, replaced with two tiny fangs as Jungkook bites his bottom lip.

You can’t help it- a hand drifts down to his mouth, thumb gently prying his lips open. He obeys, letting you brush the pad of your thumb against the newly exposed fangs. They’re small and white, two sharp canines under your touch.

Jungkook’s tongue darts out, licking your thumb playfully as you retract your hand and make a face of fake disgust. He grins. “Sorry,” his voice is low. “Can’t help myself.”

“You didn’t have them earlier?”

He shakes his head. “Only come out when hungry and…”

“And?”

“Aroused.”

Your brows shoot up. “I see.” Your fingers trail his jaw. He’s so painfully perfect. “We should fix that.”

“Thank fuck,” he mumbles, hands shooting to grab you by the waist and haul you up.

You squeak, jumping a little last second to help him secure you in his arms. You’re a little higher than him now, arms wrapped around his neck as he carries you to your bedroom. He navigates the dark easily. You wonder if it’s the years of being in your apartment or supernatural sight that helps him.

It doesn’t matter. The heat from his body is real. He’s still a living, breathing person. He’s altered- you see it in the way his eyes dilate when he lays you on your bed, gaze drifting to your neck. You see it in the way his eyes flash every time they catch the light.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jungkook says softly. His gaze doesn’t feel as innocent as his words. He climbs onto the bed, supporting himself so that he’s hovering over you. “I don’t tell you often enough- wasn’t brave enough to. But I think you are singularly the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You don’t know how to take the compliment. Your head automatically turns to the side as you grin into his forearm, placed next to your head. He laughs and leans down, nosing the side of your face, breath warm as he whispers, “Why does that make you shy? You weren’t shy a moment ago when you bit me.”

“It was different. That was physical.”

“So you only like me physically?”

“No!” you snap to look at him only to find that he’s grinning, back to leaning over you. You want to smack him for teasing you, but the feeling in your stomach and your chest make you fidget under him. His eyes track every movement, every reaction. “I like you… a lot.”

“As more than a friend?” You nod, eyes not meeting him. “Why can’t you look at me, then?”

“Because I’m afraid.” You feel Jungkook start to pull away and you grab at him. “Not of you! I’m afraid you don’t feel the same way. Because I’ve liked you for a very long time, and I didn’t know what to do about it.”

Jungkook presses you back down, head going to the side of your neck he hasn’t bitten. You’re pliant beneath him, head tilting to give him access. You’re already trained for what he wants or needs, ready to give him more.

Instead of biting you, he peppers your neck with wet kisses, tongue tasting your skin. “Indy,” he mumbles. “I have been in love with you since the first moment you walked into our Intro to Classical History class.”

“Really?”

His tongue licks along your jaw. You arch up into him, thighs rubbing together for friction. Of course he notices, smirking into your skin as he continues mapping your face with his mouth. “Yeah,” he breathes. “You wore the world’s tightest pair of jeans I’ve ever seen and an over-sized Tokyo Ghoul shirt- I remember being a little sad it covered your ass.”

You gasp as one hand moves from next to you to slide down your front, palming a breast gently. “You’re so gross, Jeon.”

He hums. “That’s nothing.” His hand goes further, tapping the outside of your thigh. “Open up for me, baby.”

Again, you follow his instruction without hesitation. You make room for him to settle on his knees between you. He sits up, eyes consuming you as you look up at him, batting your lashes. He inhales and his eyes flutter shut, fists opening and closing before he opens his eyes again. They’re zeroed in on you, making your heart catch.

“I can smell how wet you are,” he murmurs. He drags a fingertip along the sliver of skin showing between your shirt and sweats. “You’re dripping for me, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to do something about it?” He’s teasing you and you feel yourself flush. He pinches your skin slightly, making you squirm. “You gotta tell me what you want.”

“Want you.”

“Want me where?”

“My pussy, Jeon. Just do something.”

His saccharine smile makes you melt. Jungkook grips your sweat pants, pulling. You lift, helping him as he throws the clothing somewhere. You start to close your legs again but he grabs your knees, prying you open and tsking at you. “Such a pretty pussy,” he says, voice husky. “So fucking wet and pink. I told you,” he murmurs shuffling to his stomach. Your heart launches to your throat when he kisses a knee, eye-level with your dripping cunt. “I’m fucking starving.”

Despite his implications, Jungkook doesn’t go right where you’re hoping. He places hot kisses on your inner thighs, hands rubbing up and down your legs as he bites and worships them. You’re trembling, eyes fluttering shut as your hips twitch toward him.

“Jungkook,” you murmur, pleading. You don’t have it in you to be embarrassed being on display for him. Your core is throbbing for him to touch you, to do anything. He huffs a laugh as he presses his mouth dangerously close, nipping you as a lone finger brushes you from entrance to clit, pressing slightly. “Fuck.”

Jungkook’s eyes are glittering as he brings his finger to his mouth, glistening finger vanishing between red, sinful lips. He hums again, eyes focusing on your wetness. “Fucking delicious.”

You can’t stop the obscene moan that escapes your mouth when he ducks his head down, flattening his tongue to lick you slowly from hole to clit, where he pauses to circle his tongue a few times around the pulsing bud.

And oh fuck does it feel good. Every thought empties from your mind. It’s just the hot feeling coursing through you and the feeling of Jungkook’s tongue licking you slowly up and down. A guttural sound escapes you when he fastens his mouth to your pussy, sucking gently before popping his mouth off.

In a daze, you open your eyes in just enough time to see him let a line of spit drip out of his mouth onto your clit. Your hips jerk and you curse again when he grins, glancing up at you and murmuring, “I’m going to eat this fucking pussy until I’ve had my fill.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you time to consider what he means. His mouth is back on you, sucking and licking, making an absolute mess out of you. Your hands shoot to his hair, fingers twisting in his black locks as he gives appreciative sounds, tongue tracing your clenching hole.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Please.”

You don’t know what you’re asking for. Jungkook seems to, alternating from tracing his tongue through your folds expertly to sucking his clit into your mouth. His mouth sets of sparks with every lewd sound- and Jungkook isn’t quiet.

With anyone else, you might be embarrassed that the way he eats you out audibly, without shame and without a care in the world. It turns you on more, essence leaking out of you that his searching tongue catches.

Your orgasm is quickly approaching, that tight feeling mounting in your stomach as your breathing gets shorter. Your eyes are squeezed shut, hips rolling to time with his careful licks and sucks. You’re hot all over, a furnace under Jungkook’s mouth.

The dam breaks. You jerk forward, gasping as your legs squeeze Jungkook’s shoulders. You can hear nothing beyond the roar of your blood in your ears, see nothing but blinding stars behind your eyes. You sag back onto the bed, twitching and thighs shaking as Jungkook diverts from giving your clit attention to licking at your entrance.

Boneless, you try and move up the bed but Jungkook’s hands grab you by your ass, pulling back down toward his mouth. You look at him, feeling drunk as you see his dark head of hair between your legs.

Jungkook’s eyes are fathomless as he growls, “Did I say I was done, baby?”

“Sensitive,” you whine.

He kisses your inner thigh, leaving a wet mark of spit and your cum. “I’ll go slow,” he promises, not taking his eyes off of you as his tongue snakes out of his wicked mouth to prod at your hole. “Mmm. Want to taste you more.”

“Fuck,” you moan as his tongue relieves some of the pressure at your aching hole. But it’s not enough- not nearly.

Jungkook senses what you need, a hand leaving where he’s gripping you to trace between your legs. Gently, his finger circles the ring of your clenching muscles. Eyes finding yours, he raises a brow. “Is this what you need, baby? Need my fingers?”

“Please.” He kisses your clit, making you twitch. “Jungkook.”

“Sorry,” he smiles, though he doesn’t sound or look sorry. “Just wanna make you cum again.”

There’s not going to be a problem there. You swear as he slowly inserts a finger, brushing against the softness of you in all the right parts. You know you’re going to cum embarrassingly fast, especially when he inserts another finger, gently brushing your g-spot as he brushes his mouth over your thighs, wrist moving slowly.

You melt at his touch, letting him bring you to the edge again. You can’t stop the sounds coming out of your mouth or the way you writhe in his arms. He lets you squirm, attentive on fucking into you at a steady pace with his fingers.

When he deems you ready, he brings his mouth back down, tongue slowly laving at your clit.

You explode.

For a moment, you’re nowhere and everywhere all at once. You can’t think beyond anything other than the surging euphoria. You can’t recall ever cumming that hard, nearly unable to breathe as you float back down.

It takes a moment for you to realize Jungkook is kissing your lower stomach, hands rubbing up and down your quaking thighs as he looks up to you, eyes completely fucked out and mouth covered in your juices.

“You did so good,” he coos, placing a wet kiss on your navel. “You taste divine- better than blood. Much better.”

“Want you,” you mumble, surprised you manage to articulate the desire still burning in your stomach, hot and needy. “Please.”

“Yeah? Still want me?”

“Of course.”

“Fuck,” he mumbles, getting to his knees again. “You’ll have me, then. You’ll always have me- have always had me.”

Soft light filters in your room from the window. You watch in awe as he rips his shirt off. You’ve seen him shirtless before- he’s always been beautiful. But now in the glow of the dark room, Jungkook is a god.

You sit up, hands seeking. His skin is warm and flushed as your palms skim up his stomach and around his waist, careful and meaningful with their worship. Your mouth follows to pay penance, kissing at the newly exposed flesh, nipping at the delicate skin above his sweatpants.

Jungkook tilts his head to the sky, as if in prayer. Your tongue darts out to taste him, skin sweet and slightly salty from sweat. He lets out a soft mewl. Your fingers dig into his skin as they drag down, nails tracing red scripture in their descent.

You love him. Gone is the feral heat between you a moment ago when he licked at you with hot fury. Your touches are soft. Jungkook brings his hand to your hair, brushing it out of your face as he looks down at you, eyes round and curious.

“You’re hypnotizing.” You pull at his pants and he lets you, shifting to discard the sweatpants and boxers. You nearly collapse at the sight of his heavy cock, bouncing. Its tip is weeping and pink, begging for attention. “All of you is perfect.”

Your tongue darts out to taste him, kitten-licking the tip. He moans deep in his throat, eyes shut as his fingers tangle in your hair. You suckle the tip of his cock, tongue tracing lazy circles before you pull back with a lewd pop.

Gently, you bring a hand to stroke him, nearly keening at how velvety his skin is. His cock jumps in your hand, making you smile at how much you affect him.

Slowly, you stroke him, bringing him back to your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you take more of his cock into the warmth of your mouth, humming delicately at the salty tastes.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans loudly. You’ve hardly set a pace when he pulls you gently off of him, making you pout. “I can’t,” he pants. “I’ll cum in a second and I don’t want to cum down your throat tonight. We can do that another time. I just want to fuck you- please let me make love to you.”

Jungkook’s choice in words have you spinning. Make love. You don’t know what that’s like- you’ve fucked men before, but never with meaning. Never with intentions beyond pleasure.

Carefully, Jungkook pulls your shirt off, tossing it in the dim room. He presses you back down on the bed, bringing his mouth to yours. Your tongues tangle as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. You feel his cock brush your wet entrance and you groan into him.

The kiss tastes like a mix of him and you and the faint saltiness of blood- you don’t care. It’s a part of him, so it’s a part of you. Jungkook shuffles himself so that his mouth is pressed against your jaw, hot breath in your ear as he places open-mouthed kisses there.

“Condom?”

“I’m clean,” you gasp as his tip grazes your clit. “We got STD tests together, remember? I haven’t… since.”

You feel his mouth curve upward. “Me either. Taehyung mentioned vampires are… sterile.”

“Fine,” you mutter. “I don’t want kids- I want to adventure the world- with you.”

“Fuck.” His voice shakes when he says it.

Spurred by the need in his voice, you reach between you, gripping Jungkook’s cock in his head. He shakes above you as you brush the tip up and down your slit, gathering your essence to make him slick. You position his blunt head at your entrance, looking up at him. He doesn’t hesitate, rolling his hips forward to push into you.

The pressure doesn’t hurt, but you feel all of him. You make a sigh of relief and discomfort as he slowly slides into you. Jungkook fills every inch of you, the drag of his cock delicious. He bottoms out and stays there for a moment, stealing a searing kiss from you.

Your fingers wind in his hair. “Please move,” you mumbled between pressed lips. “Wanna feel you.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate, groaning as he slides his cock all the way out and pushes back in slowly. His pace is slow but deep, making it hard to breathe. Your hips roll in time to meet his thrust, an almost lazy pace like you have all the time in the world.

Your mouth is busy as you kiss Jungkook on his lips, jaw, chin, ear. It’s more teeth and tongue than anything, especially as he starts fucking into you with a smooth pace.

Everything in your mind goes haywire. You can barely think. You want to touch Jungkook everywhere, pulling and pulling him until he’s down on his forearms, chest pressed against yours. You moan at the feeling of his chest against your pert nipples, creating mind-numbing friction.

Jungkook notices. He ducks his dead down as he pumps into you, hitting deep every time. He wraps his mouth around a nipple, making you sing. Everything is overwhelming. You feel every part of him pressed against you and you want more. More more more

You want to drown in Jungkook.

You want him to sink his teeth in and never let go.

Turning your head to the side, you let out a high-pitch whimper. You can’t stop the noises coming out of you, squeaking and struggling to stop the shaky quality but you feel so fucking good as he fucks into you.

“Feels so good,” you gasp at a particularly deep thrust.

“Yeah it fucking does,” Jungkook agrees, licking at your neck where your blood has dried. “You’re fucking squeezing my cock, Indy. You gonna cum?”

“Yes yes yes yes.”

“Fuck I love the way you look right now. Dreamed of this for years.”

“Pervert- fuuuuuck Jungkook.”

“Cum for me, yeah?”

You nod and whisper, “Bite me.”

He grunts and bends down, immediately sinking his teeth in. There’s no pain this time. Heat blooms through you, a white-hot flame that catches you so off guard you go rigid, cumming with a scream.

You float. Jungkook slows his movements, fucking you gentle through the white noise in your ears and the heavenly feeling of weightlessness. It takes you a few moments to come back down from your high, feeling the way Jungkook’s mouth pulls at your neck greedily.

Tired and spent, you grab Jungkook by the hips, fingers sliding against sweaty skin. He detaches from your neck and kisses you, messy with spit and blood again. You don’t care, moaning into him without abandon, digging your nails into his ass.

Jungkook loses his slow pace and begins to slam into you, kiss turning to teeth bumping into teeth. He growls into your mouth, the snarl sending shivers down your body as you hold into him.

He fucks you with wild abandon, chasing his high. His moans get higher pitched and you run your nails down his thighs, pushing yourself into him with whatever energy you can gather. “Cum for me,” you beg. “Give it to me, Jeon. Come on.”

With a loud moan, he buries himself into your shoulder, shuddering above you. His muscles clench as he cums and pants your name, shivering above you for a moment.

Gently, you run your hands up and down his sides, kissing the side of his fact. You can see his mouth is covered in blood- and it doesn’t nearly freak you out as much as you expect. Because it’s Jungkook, and even though this is weird and he just drank your blood… you’re his. You have been for a long time.

Jungkook pulls out of you and collapses next to you, an arm going around your waist. He peeks at you from his sweaty hair and you can’t help but feel your heart leap in your chest.

“You didn’t kill me,” you murmur. “Pretty impressive, Jeon.”

He grins, tired. “It’s because I love you.” He shifts so that he can hold your gaze in full. “I know I have a lot to figure out, and I understand if you don’t-“

“I want to,” you cut him off. “Because I love you too.”

“Yeah?” He brushes the hair from your face. You nod and nip at his wrist, making him laugh. “Maybe you’re a little bit of a vampire too, hmm?”

“I’ll leave that to you,” you yawn. Jungkook pulls you close and nuzzles you. You don’t care that your sweaty and sticky with cum and blood. You just want to be close to him.

And your happy. Despite how afraid you were while he was gone. Despite the fact that there is an entire unknown ahead of you. It’ll be okay because you have Jungkook and he has you.

“By the way,” Jungkook muses. “Were you researching how to kill Taehyung?”

You hesitate. “I was kind of mad.”

“I see. And now?”

“Jury is still out.”

He chuckles. “Love you, Indy.”

“Love you, Jeon.”

-

Dear Miss L/N,

Thank you for applying for our entry level Acquisition Agent position here at Ilum Agency. We have received many applicants for the position, and take careful considerations to presented research, experience in the field, and recommendations.

After reviewing your final research project regarding Vampirism: Throughout the Ages, and additionally receiving recommendations from Kim Namjoon and Min Yoongi, we are pleased to offer you the position. Upon written receipt of this offer, you will receive a formal offer letter with your job responsibilities, salary and additional benefits.

Warmest Regards,

The Director of Acquisitions

Ilum Agency

Sector 11

-

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The Iron Ring | Two | pjm (m)

♦ Summary: After finding a mysterious ring while cleaning out your late grandmother’s attic, you receive the unlikeliest of visitors: a fae prince who claims you have something that belongs to him. Discovering the fairytales your grandmother told you are true is the least of your problems when you’re taken to a world dangerous and unfamiliar.

♦ Pairing: fae prince! Jimin x human! reader

♦ Rating: NSFW & 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging with this content. Any minors discovered interacting with adult content will be blocked immediately.

♦ Warnings: Explicit language, bickering Jimin and reader, sexual tension, semi-toxicity between Jimin and reader (frenemies), mentions of death, depictions of death, minor character death, betrayal, self-doubt, light depictions of depression, reader is very confused™️, Jimin's mood swings, sexually explicit content including making out, nipple play, oral (f. receiving) and fingering, depictions of dismemberment, weapons and use of weapons

♦ Type: Mini Series

♦ Genre: fantasy au, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers

♦ Word Count: 21,217

♦ Main Masterlist: here

♦ Series Masterlist: here

♦ faq | taglist request |

A/N: I'm not going to lie - I really struggled through this chapter. Not because I didn't want to write it, but because I really kept doubting what was I doing and then I was getting worried that I'm making it too slow burn. Sometimes I really get in my head about what I write and I think that really effects how chapters / content turns out so I really hope that this is enjoyable and still makes sense to the story. Again, it's a really long chapter and I hope that I'm moving the plot in the same way I think I am. Keep in mind that Jimin and reader are purposefully inconsistent with one another - they're battling some instincts *wink wink* and in the world of Faerie, everyone is a liar in their own way. Idk I'm going to shut up now and hope the next chapter is easier for me to write - sorry for the self-doubt dump.

Fear is a funny thing. You’ve never understood the kind of fear that roots you to the spot. Usually your fight or flight sends you running – though in Jimin’s case, he’s received your fight several times.

Standing in front of Seokjin as he asks you to bend the knee, your fear manifests in an entirely different manner. A giggle escapes your mouth, so shrill and high-pitched that you sound like an absolute lunatic. You clap your hand over your mouth to try and hide the noise, but it echoes in the large room – everyone hears it.

You go white as a sheet, holding your breath as Seokjin cocks his head to the side, eyes pinning you. “You think swearing fealty is cause for mirth?”

“Um – no.” His gaze darkens. “Your Highness,” you add, grimacing. You’re unsure how to address him. Jimin hasn’t prepared you for this, hasn’t told you what to expect. “I must apologize. I’m unfamiliar with the customs of court and I don’t mean to offend. Your words reminded me of… something back home.”

It’s a shame that Seokjin wouldn’t understand how much he reminds you of Danaery’s Targaryen, asking you to bend the knee. Before you can cackle again, you do as asked, knee touching the ground and quickly ducking your head.

You imagine the way Jon Snow did it – single knee on the ground, elbows resting atop of it to support your weight as you lean and bow your head. Never in your life did you think you would be applying what you observed in Game of Thrones to keep your head attached to shoulders – if it’s working, that is.

Seokjin says nothing. For a moment, there is painful silence and you think that this is it. Your head is going to roll like Ned Stark, all because you couldn’t contain the horrible, sticky fear that is making your palms slick as you continue to kneel.

“Jimin,” Seokjin calls softly. “Take my place. Say the words.”

You hear shuffling. A look upward through your lashes reveals Jimin’s smaller feet on the top of the dais. You remain where you’re at, knee hurting from the pressure against the cool marble. The dress doesn’t provide much comfort, and you’re starting to sweat down your back. You hope that the gown doesn’t start to get soggy with your sweat, as the material is so thin and –

“Do you so hereby pledge yourself to me as your lord,” Jimin says softly, words wrapping around you like a velvet kiss. “Do you promise on your name and your blood to be faithful to me as your lord, to never cause me harm, and to by my vassal in life and death, to act as my sword and shield without deceit?”

The words feel heavy as he says them. Shackling you. You remember what he said – any promise you make to him isn’t binding. You’re barely fae – you have no pointed ears, you command no immortality, and the magic you’ve felt is not your own, but rather attached to the ring on your finger.

“I swear it,” you murmur. Something guides your words as you repeat back to Jimin, “I pledge myself to you, my lord. I promise on my name and my blood to be faithful to you as my lord, to never cause you harm, and to be your vassal in life and death. I swear to act as your sword and shield, and to act without deceit.”

Something shivers inside of you. You haven’t been given permission to look up at Jimin, but you do anyways. His face is blank as a slate, but his eyes are burning burning burning.

You feel that draw to him again. The urge to get up and go to him, to brush your fingers over his face and to be near him. You clench your teeth, physically fighting the magnetic force.

“I swear to be yours,” Jimin murmurs. There’s a sound of surprise from the faeries gathered at your back. “I pledged myself to you, as your lord. I promise on my name and blood to be faithful to you, to never cause you harm, and to act as your sword and shield without deceit.”

“Jimin.” Seokjin’s hiss cuts the air like a blade. “What are you doing?”

Ignoring his brother, Jimin steps forward and offers a hand. You sit up straight and slide your hand in his. A spark pops at your fingertips, making you gasp. Jimin doesn’t let go of your hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around yours and tugging you lightly.

On unsteady feet, you rise. Your eyes hold a question, but he gives a tiny shake of his head. Now is not the time to answer questions, though you undoubtedly know Jimin has done something he isn’t supposed to.

Turning to face the king – your uncle, in a way – any warmth at Jimin’s fingers laced with your goes out, a flame guttered in a storm. Seokjin’s face is icy cool, eyes swirling. You remember the horrible feeling when you stared into his eyes, the helpless trance he could pull you into.

You don’t want to go back to that place.

“Swearing fealty,” Jimin finally answers, brows furrowed. “I want to ensure members of my court know I am equally bound to them.” His eyes slid to you, shinning. “I’m supposed to be as faithful to my vassal as they to me.”

Irritation flashes across Seokjin’s face. Instead of answering, he turns to the room behind you. “Let the feast commence.”

Jimin begins to tug you toward him and away from Seokjin. You turn to follow, heart still pounding and unsure what Jimin’s vow to you means, but Seokjin cuts you off quickly. “My study,” he growls. “Now.”

Seokjin is gone in the blink of an eye. There’s music coming from somewhere in the palace as people filter out of the room. Jimin clicks his teeth at you, beckoning you like a horse. You screw up your face and clench your fists, readying to throw another insult but he walks down the dais, aloof and casual.

Staring at him with your mouth open, you watch as Jimin cuts through the crowd, leaving you standing alone. The people he passes preen when he walks by – touching his shoulders, bowing deeply, giggling and throwing flowers of starlight at his feet.

They worship him.

When their eyes turn to you, there is no kindness there. You step off the dais and there are only suspicious stares. Of red eyes, of yellow, of black. Eyes with scales and eyes of more than just two. Eyes on willow men and brownies, their ears twitching. Eyes on dryads, pink and blue and green, who sneer at you as you trail after Jimin.

You had no idea that hate was something you could feel when directed at you silently. You feel it now – feel the way they hate you. Hate you so passionately it makes you want to vomit.

Rushing out of the room, you follow the back of Jimin as he waltzes past the guards. The sound of the throne room is dying down, replaced by cheerful music elsewhere.

But there’s another sound – string instruments and a single voice that sings hauntingly, plucking at your soul. You feel your entire being shiver, turning your head toward the sound. It calls calls calls.

The sound is haunting, drawing your attention to it. Jimin is saying something to you, but you resist. You turn from him, walking toward the sound.

You close your eyes. You don’t know why – you feel the need to be closer to the sound. The music swells and you feel tears burn your eyes as you walk toward it, blind and confused.

A kiss as soft as a butterfly wing.

Rough hands like silk against your skin.

The smell of orange blossom.

A deep wanting worse than anything you’ve ever felt, so deep it chokes you.

The color green.

A voice like silky wine.

An ache. So powerful that you feel like you’re gasping, like you’re falling apart.

Seven stars above your head.

A silver tree taller than any you’ve ever seen before.

Desire. Hot and scorching and burning burning burning – destroying -

Two moons in the sky, circling one another in a dance.

Rough hands grab you and shake you. You’re startled from the images and feelings. You’re on your knees gasping for air. Tears run down your face as you gulp down cool air. Blinking past the tears, your hands are gripping someone else’s forearms – the voice of someone familiar calling your name over and over again.

You feel dizzy. The ache is still there and you sob past it, squeezing your eyes shut through the pain. Stars explode across your vision as you squeeze squeeze squeeze your eyes shut.

“Enaid.”

The word pulls you back. You open your eyes, staring into the dark pool of Jimin’s green gaze. He’s kneeling on the floor in front of you, his hands clasping your face. You’re crying – you don’t know when you started. His face is pinched with pain – so acute you nearly gasp.

It’s one of the rawest emotions you’ve seen on his face, and he is staring at you with the weight of ten thousand words. You don’t understand. But the music as stopped. Your hands are on his wrists, holding his palms to your face.

Rough hands like silk against your skin.

Jimin is so close to you that you notice he has the faintest freckles under his eyes. You count them, like stars in the sky – one, two three, four, five, six, seven. Seven freckles across his face, carefully placed like the stars of the courts.

He is so beautiful. You could count his lashes. His breath is sweet as he cradles your face. If you leaned forward just a touch – barely a hairsbreadth – you’d brush your lips against his.

Butterfly-wing delicate.

“Are you okay?” he whispers. You didn’t know his voice could be so soft. Dulcet. “Answer me.”

You nod. The tears are drying on your face, sticky and damp. “I don’t understand.”

“Never go toward music like that again. Ever. If you hear something that calls to you like that, you run the other way. Even here in the palace. Do you understand.”

“No.”

He surprises you with a laugh and a roll of his eyes, full lips twitching. “Of course you don’t. Just promise me you won’t run toward music like that again.”

“Okay.”

He sighs in relief. “If they ever do that again, I’ll skin them alive.”

Jimin drops his hands from your face. It’s then that you look around. You’re kneeling in front of the Midnight Tree. The world is shrouded in darkness – there is no light or visibility beyond the yard of the tree. You frown. You don’t remember getting here, and the darkness feels familiar to you. Like if you reached out to touch it, it would welcome you like a friend.

“We must speak to Jin,” Jimin offers you a hand up. Instead, you haul yourself up, gathering your skirts. He smirks and drops his hand, eyes still on you. “I’ve annoyed him again.”

“You annoy most people, it appears.”

“Hmm, and yet I still went running after you when you took off like a banshee.”

“Do banshees do that often?” He hums, confused as he cocks his head. “Go running around.”

“Quite. They have places to be and they’re skittish.”

“I see. What was the music?”

His face darkens. “Come on, Jin is waiting.”

“What was the music, Jimin?”

He lifts his chin a little. “You’re a sworn vassal of my personal court, Y/N. Using my first name is no longer appropriate. You will address me as ‘My Lord’ or ‘Lord’ if I’m feeling casual. Now let’s go.”

The Jimin from moments ago is gone. You half wonder if you imagined him – if his kindness was a figment of your imagination. Perhaps your mind was trying to comfort you – deluding you into thinking that Jimin was a kind person because you were afraid.

Under the excitement and the obeying all of the orders and taking things in stride – you were fucking terrified. A little girl in a corner, quaking in the size of her grandmother’s legends.

So perhaps you did imagine the softness. To make it all seem bearable, to make it feel like you weren’t going to die at any moment.

It must be. Because Jimin is walking away from you again, albeit slower. He doesn’t storm off this time without watching you, but he is deliberate in his steps as he leads you through the winding, dark halls of the palace.

The shroud moves with you, a barrier that shrinks and grows as you move. You want to ask Jimin what it is, but you’re nervous he’ll embarrass you again. Or worse – your brain’s trauma response will continue to paint him as the nice guy.

Is that what this is? You wonder. Have you already began reducing your experience to Stockholm syndrome?

A twisted stairwell made in the side of a tree trunk appears. Jimin begins to climb it, leaving you at the base to stare at it. It’s several meters thick – a massive tree you’re shocked you’re just noticing. Like other rooms in the palace, there is no ceiling. The tree stretches high into the upper levels, the boughs dark with black leaves.

Sprites and pixies flit through the tree. Fae light orbs hover, giving the tree the appearance that it has stars among the branches.

Jimin realizes you’re staring up at the tree. He makes an annoyed noise, hand on his hip and demands. “Now what?”

“It looks like the trees in Lothlorien,” you murmur. “The elves there live in the threes. It’s beautiful.”

“What is this Lothlorien? You have elves in the human world? I didn’t think your Sight was that functioning – I mean you hardly saw me.”

“It’s from a movie. For a prince you’re awfully uncultured about the human world.” You begin to climb the steps, fingers tracing the smooth bark. “Isn’t it like – important to know about the human world if you live alongside it?”

“Hardly. We don’t interact with humans much since the end of the War of the Divide. The few humans in Faerie are from very, very large family trees that have dwindled down to less than a thousand.” He resumes his climb. “Your great-grandmother was one of those rarities. The human families in this world still serve the fae.”

“Serve? How unsurprising.”

“It is better than it once was.” His eyes are hard when he looks at you. “Thousands of fae were slaughtered to give the humans the realm you call earth. Don’t be so flippant about those who cling to ancient tradition here.”

Jimin’s words sting. You curl your fists in fury, hating the way his dismissive tone makes you feel small, ignorant. You know nothing of his world – it gives him no right to speak to you as though you’re a child or causing offense.

Marching up the steps, you intend to tell him just that. Instead, Jimin knocks on a heavy, wooden door down a hallway. You precariously walk across the branch that functions as a walkway, rushing to catch him. The reprimand is on your tongue when the door swings open.

Inside the office it smells like jasmine and citrus. It's dark, lit only by candles. Jimin steps in and bows – he doesn’t have to look at you for you to do the same. The door swings shut behind you as you step into the office proper.

Bookshelves makeup all four walls of the study. They stretch up to the high ceiling, where a painting of the midnight tree glows. There are tables with artifacts and maps rolled atop the surfaces, wax melting over books and dripping onto floors.

Seokjin sits behind a heavy desk, leaning back in his chair with his heavy gaze on you as you follow Jimin to the seats in front of the king. You feel ridiculous sitting in an ornate gown in a meeting-like setting, but you do it anyway. The seat squeaks when you sit, causing you to jump up and turn around as a tiny, fluffy critter climbs from between the cushion and runs away. You’d think it was a mouse – except it was green and had two tales.

With more care, you sit down on the chair before bringing your gaze forward to where the king is watching you.

“You really have no working knowledge of our world.”

It’s not a question. You answer him anyways. “Not really. My grandmother told me stories, but I didn’t think they were real. What I know is limited.”

“She robbed you of your heritage.”

“She was protecting me, I think.”

“From what, I presume?”

Your temper flares. This is the man that killed your grandfather. You try to simmer, shifting in your seat. “No one seems keen on liking me much.”

“You’ve stolen the power of the High Court and quite frankly, your grandmother was not quite loved by this court.”

“Because she was half-human?”

Seokjin raises a brow at your obvious irritation. Your nails dig into the arms of the chair. You cannot imagine what your grandmother must have gone through, being half-human and thought less of. It must have been difficult, growing up unfavored and -

“I have a human ancestor as well. That’s hardly the reason. Yvaine acted without the full discretion of the court and bound the power of the High Court to that ring.” His eyes flicker down to the glinting band on your finger. It takes all of you not to move it. “Without considering the eventual consequences. And here we are now, with Jimin trying to steal it under my nose and the Day Court threatening war.”

You're unable to mask your surprise. Seokjin has human blood in him. Your eyes dart to his ears – they're hidden behind silky, black hair. He looks fae – the keen features, smooth slopes of his face and sensuous mouth. And his eyes – you don’t want to remember the feeling of hopelessness as you tumbled into them.

“My mother was half-fae,” Seokjin says, sensing your disbelief. “Though there are many who scorn half-fae, I’m not one of them.” His gaze flickers to Jimin, who stares straight ahead. A sinking feeling pulls at you, remembering that Jimin had called out that very trait of yours.

Seokjin continued, “You’re ill-received because Yvaine went on her little hero campaign without consulting any of the courts and without care and without considering that the consequences in the future might be worse than the consequences of delay processes among the courts.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t,” Seokjin agreed. “She bought the world temporary piece from an enemy that could have been dealt with. Now the High Court is dying, fae are fighting over their lands, and there are strange misgivings about the world. And yet despite that, your presence here is more trouble than you’re worth. My enemies will seek to replace me with you.”

“Which is why,” Jimin cuts in, “I was looking for the ring, and I’ve found it. I’m not trying to deceive you, brother. I want to use the ring to restore the balance in the High Court.”

“And give yourself a throne.”

“The throne is my birth right.”

“The throne corrupted your father; how do we know it won’t corrupt you? You aren’t the most honest of us and you’re certainly the most cunning.”

“How you feel about my methods aren’t a factor. The High Court needs a king, and I’m the only heir.” Jimin leans back, looking Seokjin up and down. “Unless, of course, you intend on making the High Court a part of the Night Court, which would make you just as greedy and treacherous as the others.”

Seokjin’s grin is unkind. You watch the silent standoff between the two of them. Jimin seems self-satisfied. It appears he’s guessed at Seokjin’s intentions. “You swore fealty back to her,” Seokjin comments, flicking a finger at you. You’re surprised by the change of subject. “Why?”

“She is my vassal.”

“Kings don’t swear fealty to their servants.”

“They used to.”

Rage flares in Seokjin’s face. You feel the temperate in the room cool, gooseflesh appearing on your skin as Seokjin sits a little straighter, eyes boring in to Jimin’s. You have to give Jimin credit, he doesn't back down from the king. He stares at the older without trepidation. “

I’m not stupid, Jimin.” Each word is clipped as Seokjin speaks. “You bound yourself to her because she’s a powerful ally. Is she a Shade?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Jimin rolls his eyes but doesn’t answer the question. You realize he can’t answer the question. He can’t lie. “She doesn’t want the throne.”

“Is she a Shade?”

“I don’t know the extent of what gifts she has.”

“You aren’t answering the question.”

“I’m not a Shade,” you huff. “I don’t know what that is, but it’s not what I am. I summoned magic a single time - I burned Jimin when he tried to take me from my grandmother’s attic.”

Seokjin glances at you. “Burned out.”

“Like a hot poker,” you answer easily. You remember the way the iron burned him. “Nothing else.”

“Show me.”

“What?”

Seokjin grins. “Show me what you did.”

You begin to protest before you realize the iron won’t harm him. He’s a fae who can lie. You realize why your grandma mentioned it – like her and like you, Seokjin has the ability to lie. His vows and sworn promises mean nothing. The iron won’t harm him wither.

Glancing at Jimin, you find no help. He seems uninterested in the request, leaving you to figure it out for your own.

You don’t know how to replicate what the ring did. You don’t even know how you conjured the shadow fire the first time when Jimin betrayed Hoseok. You remember being angry – so so angry and finding that pulse of energy.

It is there now. You reach toward it – like a stone of pulsing other in your mind, both separate and together from you. Licking your lips, you tentatively lift your hand and lean forward. Jimin is aloof in his seat, eyes following your every movement, but you swear there is a moment of panic in his face when Seokjin reaches out for you.

Recalling the snap of energy, you hold on to what it felt like. You focus on it, shaping that burning feeling and imagining it coming from your fingertips. Before Seokjin’s finger can reach yours, there’s a hot snap of feeling in your fingertips and the air smells singe as Seokjin jerks his hand back. You visibly sink into the chair, relief flooding you.

“Simple defense magic,” Seokjin observes. His attention settles on Jimin. “A side effect of the ring?”

Jimin nods. “She grew up without the ability to use magic.” It’s true in part – Jimin leaves out that whatever gifts you had were bound. “I want to unbind the ring from her.”

Seokjin sighs. “Jimin -”

“Listen to me. The High Tree is dying. My father’s people are dying. I have no intention to assert myself over the courts like he did. I have only the desire to serve my people. Let me unbind the ring from her. She is united in my cause.”

“I am,” you offer. “I don’t want his magic. And I don’t want to rule – I just... want to make things right.”

Seokjin taps the top of the table for a bit. He sighs again and gestures to you. “Have her trained. I will not have one of the gentries of my court acting like a fool. Traditions, magic, light fighting. She’ll be able to follow our laws and customs, or she’ll be punished to the extent of any member of this court.”

“Thank you,” Jimin says softly to his brother, bowing his head. “I want the best for the Night Court. I swear it.”

“Your interpretation of what’s best for my court might not be the same as mine.” Seokjin waves a hand. “Leave me. I need to figure out how to answer this reparations demand from King Taehyung.”

-

You're given a new room – smaller than the one you were dressed in, which you now understand was Jimin’s. There is a connecting door between the two rooms – you ensure to lock it and move a chaise in front of it for good measure.

The room is beautiful. There is no waterfall, but there is a stream that travels the space between the bathroom and the bedroom. There's also a sitting room and a balcony- you avoid the balcony, as Jimin’s balcony is right next to your own.

A jasmine breeze cools the room. You don’t know the true time, but you believe it’s night. The swirling sky above you does nothing to clarify time of day. But you’re bone weary, and you feel heavy as you peel off the dress. The two shadow figures reappear, helping you slip out of it and carefully taking the gown away.

Soreness seeps in your limbs as you approach the massive tub. It's sunken into the floor with natural rock. There are multiple faucets, all of them confusing as you stare at them, unsure which one to turn on. One of the shadowy figures appears and turns to of them – steaming water rushes into the stone tub, a foaming essence coming from the other faucet head.

Immediately the smell of mint fills the room, making you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” you tell the shadow as it bows and fades through the wall.

Hot water scalds your skin as you step in. You clench your teeth and keep going until you’re soaking to the waist, letting the water turning your skin warm and pink. When the water reaches an appropriate level, you turn off the faucet, sinking down to the chest and finding the small ledge to sit on.

Thoughts swirl like the bubbles in the bath water. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. Jimin kept conversation minimal as he escorted you to the room that you’re now in with posted guards outside the door. Though you suppose you’re expected to be a loyal member of his court, you can’t help but feel like you’re a prisoner.

You miss your mom. You miss your grandmother. You hope Namjoon isn’t worried sick.

Tears that you’ve been choking down since Jimin knocked you out in the attic come. You don’t know if this is some crazy dream – you still doubt the reality of your situation.

You close your eyes and lean your head back. You try to imagine the feeling of your bed. The smell of in your room. You will yourself to wake up. You beg. This has to be a weird chaotic dream – perhaps you’re sick with grief over your grandmother’s death.

That has to be it. So you squeeze your eyes shut, tears running down your cheeks as you sniff, trying to catch your breath.

Opening your eyes, you realize you’re still in the same place. You don’t understand how any of this is real or how you’re expected to learn to survive here. Hoseok’s warning that you may never go home come back to haunt you and you hide your face in your warm hands, crying hard into them.

Despite Seokjin and Jimin’s implications that somehow the High Court dying and courts fighting is your grandmother’s fault, you wish that she could be here with you. You try to float back to that place of twilight, but it doesn’t come.

You are utterly alone.

A presence alerts you. You lift your head from your palms, face swollen from crying. You can barely see through the burn of your tears, but you scream when you see Jimin crouched not far from you at the edge of the tub. You sink further into the water on instinct, using the bubbles to hide yourself.

“What are you doing?” you shriek at him, embarrassed in more ways than one. “Get out!”

“You’re crying.” He says it like it’s the answer to why he’s in your bathroom while you are painfully naked.

“So what? Get out – I'm naked!”

“So what?” He echoes. “You think I haven’t seen naked bodies?”

“I don’t care what you do in your free time, pervert! You can’t just come into my bathroom while I'm bathing! What are you trying to do?”

Jimin appears perplexed. “I don’t understand – it's just a body.”

It dawns on you that Jimin has grown up in Faerie. Their understanding of the body and human customs may be different than yours. In fact, the two smoky shapes that helped you dressed seemed perplexed by your shyness to nudity as well. Still, it doesn’t lessen the terror and vulnerability as you continued to hide in the bubbles.

“Please leave,” you demand evenly. “In the human world, nudity is intimate and not for just anyone to see.”

“Why? Everyone has a body.”

“Because it is, Jimin! I’m incredibly uncomfortable with you sitting there, crouched while I am naked in the water with nothing to defend myself. I have no idea what your intentions are-”

“I told you,” he interrupts. “You were crying. So I came. I’m not going to force myself on you. I don’t do that.”

Nonetheless, Jimin stands up. He walks toward the exit and vanishes to the other side. You sag in relief, but don’t feel comfortable coming out from the bubbles just yet. You're still shaking with anxiety – and a little of excitement, which troubles you.

Again, there is that lingering feeling that it wouldn’t be the worst thing if Jimin saw you. You hate that your mind goes there. Among the terror and the confusion, you hate that your brain makes matters worse by acknowledging insignificant facts, like how beautiful Jimin is or how there is a tiny part of you that craves his attention.

It's like poison and you can’t get rid of it.

You begin to get out of the bathtub when Jimin calls, “I’m still in your room. So if you’re still embarrassed, I suggest having Nox and Nyx dress you in there.”

“Nox and Nyx?” The two shadow fae appear. “Oh,” you hum in surprise. “Those are your names.”

They bow their head and say nothing. You're shy as you clutch the towel to you. One of them – you're not sure if it’s Nox or Nyx – brings you a soft tunic and pants. The other drains the tub and vanishes. When you take the clothes, so does the other.

Dressing quickly, you pad to the room, peeking out of the bathroom first. Jimin is by the balcony, flipping through a book he removed from the shelf. You carefully step over the stream, glancing down and squeaking when you see a strange, eel creature slither by, scales aglow.

“You didn’t think the stream was empty, did you?” You look up at Jimin. He’s in similar clothes – a long, grey tunic and soft linen pants. His earrings glitter in the soft light. His crown is gone. “That’s a real stream – one of many throughout the palace. King Samar spelled the Umbra River hundreds of years ago to pass through here so that he could collect information from the river folk.”

“Fascinating. Why are you in my room intruding?”

“You were crying,” he states again. “And you blocked the door. I was concerned.”

“How did you even know I was crying? And what do you care if I cry? So far, you’ve kidnapped me, asked me to lie, betrayed your friend, knocked me out twice, and have physically assaulted me. I think I have some reason to cry.”

He frowns. “I told you I didn’t wish to hurt you.”

“And yet, you have.”

“Hurt is inevitable.” He snaps the book shut and replaces it on the bookshelf. “Why were you crying?”

“Why do you care?”

“I pledged myself to you. My life is forever bound to yours. If you’re in danger, I'm bound by ancient magic to protect you.”

“Oh.”

You still didn’t understand the weight of his words. Seokjin had not been happy when Jimin recited your vow back to him. You had been surprised, sure, but you figured it was another one of Jimin’s ploys. It had not occurred to you that his words were more than words, and that they bound him to your life.

“I was upset,” you admit carefully. To keep a distance, you sit on the edge of your bed, spine rod straight. Jimin doesn’t move from near the balcony. “I don’t know anything about this place, I’ve been banged up pretty good, and none of you like me.”

“I don’t mind you.”

“You’re not very nice to me.”

“You make me impatient.”

“Well I don’t know what you expect from me. You keep asking me to just know and understand what you want. But I don’t.” You grind your teeth. “Where is Hoseok.”

“Where he’s supposed to be.”

You throw your hands up in the air. “And you wonder why I'm upset. Go away, Jimin.”

“I can’t tell you everything all the time. It's too dangerous. I’m not keeping you in the dark for pleasure.” instead of answering him, you crawl into your bed and pull back the covers. It smells soothing like lavender. You pull the thick blankets to your chin, sighing in relief. “Shade...”

“Go away. And stop calling me Shade before your brother zaps me.”

There are soft footsteps. Jimin appears at the edge of your bed, peering down at you. You growl and roll in the other direction, away from him. Your heart twists when you do it. The juxtaposition of his soft caring and refusal to enlighten you is dizzying.

“Jin isn’t going to zap you – there are about a hundred different glamours in this room. He can’t hear us, and neither can any of his little spies.”

“What about the eel in the river?”

“Rela is my spy. She’s harmless.” Of course, the eel had a name. “You’re being particularly whiney. Where's the woman who threatened to burn me to a crisp?”

“She’s exhausted and scared, Jimin.” You pull the blankets closer. “Just leave me alone.”

Jimin says nothing. He doesn't make a sound and you’re unsure if he’s moved until his voice comes to you from the main entrance of your room. His words are soft as a feather. “I’m sorry for hurting you. And I’m sorry if I’m the reason you cried.”

The click of the door is the only sound the follows.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and shut out everything, eventually drifting to sleep.

-

Pain blooms in your ribs, hot and sudden. You gasp for air, dropping the wooden weapon in your hand and gripping your ribs as you double over. It's hard to breathe, the wind forced out of you by Iarlath’s blow. You try to pant through it as your vision blinds with sweat. When you feel like you can stand again, you do so slowly, hand pressed against the tender flesh.

Purple, green and yellow bruises cover your skin. Every time you peel your clothes off to soak, you feel horror at seeing the wounded flesh. They fade slowly and they’re ugly, but you have less of them than you did two weeks ago.

Iarlath waits impatiently, sighing loud enough for you to hear as he sticks the end of his wooden sword in the ground, leaning on the cross guard. You catch your breath and wipe the sweat from your brow with the long sleeve of your tunic – it’s charcoal grey and stained with dirt. No matter how many clothes you bleed on and soil with the earth beneath you, a fresh one is given to you by Nox and Nyx every day.

“How many times must I tell you to bring your arms in closer?” Iarlath drawls.

You glare at the weapons master. He’s much taller than you, ebony skin like the night sky and braided hair that is blacker still. His vulpine features are sharp and intelligent, with keen eyes and a blade then nose. He's beautiful in an alien way, but his uncanny silver eyes make it difficult to hold his gaze.

And the fact that for every morning he has beat you into a pulp with mandatory weapons lessons.

Iarlath has made it clear that training you is beneath him. Every time he disarms you and goes easy on you, he’s sure to remind you that he should be training better warriors. Those of important station. Not a human-blooded brat who whines every time she takes a whack.

His own words, not yours.

Stretching to pick up your practice sword makes your body scream. You dodge more of the fae’s attacks now, but you never land your own blows. Your arms still tremble when you hold the wooden sword and your footwork is clumsy.

It feels hopeless. And yet it’s still not nearly as bad as your glamour lessons with Sylvie. The only time you find peace is in the library with the lore master Quinn, an odd little brownie who speaks in odd turns of phrase. Sylvie hates you silently and you don’t think Quinn hates you at all, but Iarlath is relentless.

“You remain hopeless,” he observes. “Sword up. Protect your sides and stop holding your sword at arm's length or you’re going to be dismembered.”

Gritting your teeth, you take your stance: knees bent gently, elbows tucked and arms in. Your hands squeeze the grip as you watch Iarlath remove his weapon from the ground. He moves like water, slipping over the grass and into form in a way that you know you will never master.

You try to look at Iarlath’s eyes to see where he wants to attack – observe where the eyes look and move. Watch the way the body twists, and block.

Still, you don’t see the blow coming. He moves so quickly that one moment he is in front of you and the next, pain is exploding on the side of your head. The earth moves swiftly to meet you. You're a boneless pile, groaning and unmoving as the pain spreads rapidly. Your vision blinks on the edges and you’re sure you’re going to pass out.

Voices are dulled as you blink, seeing stars. A pair of feet appears in your field of vision. Rolling you your back – which makes the pain throb wildly – you look up to see Jimin staring down at you. You're surprised – you haven’t seen him in two weeks. Only from a distance and even then, briefly. He's made himself scarce since the scare in the washroom.

Which confuses you – you're supposed to be his vassal.

The question escapes you before you can stop it from slipping out, the same question you ask each of your teachers. “Where’s Hoseok?”

It's something you ask everyone you come across. No one gives you a satisfying answer. What is Hoseok? Quinn had inquired back, frustrating you further.

You don’t know why your loyalty to a faerie you barely know is so fierce, but you worry about him. He was willing to help you and you haven’t managed to locate his whereabouts.

Jimin sighs, looking up to the sky. His exasperation is obvious. “He’s back home where you first met him.” The answer shocks you. But not nearly as much as when Jimin offers you a hand. Instead of taking it, you push yourself up. The world spins and you stumble, Jimin catching you to keep you from falling back down. The pain in your head is so severe that your stomach turns. “Take help when offered.”

You jerk away from him. “I don’t need it.”

Instead of responding, Jimin turns to Iarlath, who is watching with an apathetic gaze. “How are your lessons?”

“Abysmal. She does not learn. She has the ferocity but lacks the elegance.”

“Any suggestions?”

Iarlath seems thoughtful. You scowl at him over Jimin’s shoulder, a little braver now that the prince is standing between you and the man who haunts your mornings. “Her grandmother was an archer. Perhaps the sword is not for her.”

Jimin sighs. “Not great in a close fight.”

“Yvaine managed. Arrows are equally good for stabbing in a pinch.”

Jimin nods and dismisses Iarlath. “Tomorrow.”

With a deep bow and a soft, Your Highness, Iarlath leaves without giving you a second glance.

Jimin turns back to look at you, green eyes flickering. He looks impeccable, not a silver hair out of place. He’s dressed in a sky-blue shirt, sheer enough that you can see the lithe figure underneath. His pants are white today, and the lace on the sleeves is the most delicate silver you’ve ever seen. His circlet is a simple one today, just twisted pieces of silver.

You waver. Your head is pounding and the urge to vomit begins to grow. He nods toward the exit of the garden to the south. “Let’s pay a visit to Sumi. They can fix you up.”

“Suddenly you’re playing tour guide?”

The concept of a tour guide seems to elude Jimin, his round eyes hint enough. You push past him, tossing the wooden sword to the ground as you go. When you realize he’s not following, you turn to see him picking it up and putting it back in its rightful place. The image immediately makes you feel guilty.

“Were you lying about Hoseok?” you ask, trying to ignore the way you walk tilted and uneven.

Jimin reaches you pull you back to walk a straight line but you pull your arm away, avoiding his touch. You hate the way your skin warms at the contact. Just having him next to you for the first time in two weeks makes you dizzy.

You're effected by him and you hate it. You dream of him, when you dream at all. You wake up and you swear the scent of orange blossom lingers in your room, as though he was just there, and you’ve missed him. Every time you spot him across the way, it’s like the room fades away and there’s just Jimin.

But your life is not a fairy tale – not in the traditional sense. It is not like the movies, where it’s just you and Jimin. There are very real dangers and though something in you cries for him, you hate him. He is everything wrong with your life and he has abandoned you.

Until now.

“Faeries cannot lie.”

“We have established you’re good at omitting the truth. Saying ‘he’s back home where you first met him’ can mean he’s just in the Night Court, since that’s his home and I met him in the Night Court.” Jimin stops walking. You turn and look at him, heading spinning. “What?”

“You’re starting to think like the fae.” He walks past you, beckoning you to follow. “Good. I was not playing on words – Hoseok is back at his cabin at the south edge of the Night Court. Unharmed, though angry at me. We’ll see him soon.”

“I doubt he wants to see you again.”

“You’re right, but he has no choice.”

You don’t respond. You want to ask why he’s been avoiding you, but you don’t. You know he isn’t avoiding you – he has no need for you until he figures out how to unbind the ring from you. Something, that you thought, would be a much faster process than it had been thus far. You had hoped it would only take a few days.

It had been two weeks and the ring was still on your finger, and you were unsure if Jimin had figured out who the maker was.

In your lore lessons with Quinn, you learned that there were two types of powerful skill among the fae: the namers and the makers.

The namers inherently knew the true names of all things, gaining incredibly power over them. They were born with a sense to feel the nature of an object, creature or person, giving them the ability to manipulate it.

Makers were fae who could make things into existence. They didn’t need the true names of things, because they made the true names of creations. The Maker was the first of these fae – creating life and courts from the power within her.

You know that these fae are gone now. There's no known makers or namers, though there are rumors. Faeries could be particularly gifted at naming after years and years of research, but no one could learn to be a maker.

Quinn theorized that the ring on your finger was made by a maker to hold the power of the High Court. When you asked if Quinn knew any, he had replied in his normal, puzzling way: Does Quinn ever really know anyone? To know is to see, and to see inspires grief. No, Quinn doesn’t like to know.

Sumi's corner of the palace is familiar to you. It's on the ground floor with open doorways overlooking the pond, small cots usually empty and the sound of rippling water and the giggling nyads that like to swim in the lake, much to Sumi’s annoyance.

The room smells of witch hazel and earth, immediately calming your senses as you hobble to your favorite cot – it's the furthest away from the pond and the big black eyes of the nyads and other creatures that swim by. You swear you saw the razor-sharp teeth of a kelpie when you were recovering from a bad gash in your head and Sumi had left the room.

Sumi herself is a tiny fae. You're not sure what kind, you’ve never asked. She is rotund but moves quickly, her green skin waxy. Her face is slightly squished and her large, circular eyes remind you somewhat of a frog.

When she sees you, she begins to frown, thick lips curling into irritation. “What has the human done to herself today?”

Sumi doesn’t notice that Jimin has entered the room as she moves around your cot, grunting. She drops her jar of poultice when she hears Jimin’s voice answer, “Iarlath is hard on her.”

“Your Highness! I apologize, I didn’t see you there.”

Jimin sits on the edge of your cot. You scoot away from him, nearly growling. Sumi looks horrified at your display of irritation, but Jimin smirks. He turns to address her, “That’s alright. Just making sure my friend got here safely. She took a good knock on the head.”

Sumi works faster than she ever has when you’ve come alone. You know she isn’t mean to just you – she reserves her nasty attitude for everyone except the royals, it seems. That is gone now as she begins asking you questions, checking your eyes and whipping up something to help with your concussion right away.

“We’re friends now?” you ask Jimin, unable to help yourself. “In what world?”

“You are my vassal, and I am your lord.” He leans forward on one arm, eyes narrowing. They're jade green today, calm waters after a storm. “And you haven’t been addressing me properly.”

“I apologize my lord, how would you expect me to use your ornate title when I never see you, my lord?”

“If you miss me, just knock on the door we share.”

You scoff. His eyes hold mirth, glittering as he falls silent when Sumi returns. She forces you to drink a terrible, bitter tonic and applies a salve to your additional bruises. She gives you a handful of small bottles with cork stoppers, instructing you to drink them once every four hours.

Jimin thanks Sumi, making a lotus appear when he unfolds his hand. She giggles with delight and bows repeatedly in a kinder voice than she has ever used with you. You don’t know why it grates your nerves, but it does. You leave the room as she thanks him again.

A jasmine breeze follows you as you sweep down the halls toward the library. You're thankful you have no lessons in glamour today. You can’t bear the thought of struggling even more after being knocked around. Lore with Quinn doesn’t start for roughly another hour – though time is relative to the faerie. He shows up when he feels like it, often leaving you alone for an hour or scolding you that you’re late.

You turn to the east of the palace and flinch when Jimin falls into step with you. You had not realized he caught up with you. The sight of him and his affection for Sumi turns your stomach sour. You walk faster, but he keeps pace no problem.

“What are you doing?”

“Walking.”

“Where are you walking?”

“In the hall.”

You snap. “What do you want, Jimin?”

He moves so quickly that you don’t register what’s happened until you’re pinned against the wall, his hand pressed against the center of your chest. He doesn’t grip your through, but the pressure of his hand weighs on you as you gasp, startled. He's an inches away from you, sweet breath on your lips. Your heart rate skyrockets as he leers down at you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says the words so quietly you almost don’t hear them. You blink up at him, unable to look away. You can almost count each one of his eyelashes and the seven freckles are there again. “There are fae loyal to my brother around the corner who can hear how informally you speak to me. I must look harsh - I apologize.”

Your eyes dart to the side. You see the fae come around the corner – they look human enough, though one has hair that is sapphire blue. Her eyes are pinned to you an Jimin with interest as Jimin slides his hand to your throat, fingers pressing firmly on the sides to dampen your airflow.

Panic is not what fills you as he bares his teeth and growls. You lean away from him, breathless as you push yourself into the stone wall behind you. You suppose you look afraid but you're not – it's worse than that. Heat pools in your stomach and you feel a wave of attraction to Jimin flood through you.

The grip on your throat tightens just a little, his bared teeth centimeters from the soft flesh of your throat. You don’t know why, but you roll your head to the side, showing him the smooth skin there. Vulnerable. Open. It's a submissive act and you know it – you hate it, but your instincts are screaming to do it.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t sink my teeth in.” Jimin’s voice is no longer a growl. It's low and shaking, his breath hot against your skin. You shiver under him, and his pupils dilate, feeling you. “Tell me why I shouldn’t just make you mine.”

You have no idea what he means. But whatever the passing fae see there must work, because they snicker as they walk by. Jimin doesn’t acknowledge them. He’s pressed up against you. Rough hands like silk against your skin. The smell of orange blossom.

The memory of the music that you chased down almost two weeks ago makes you flinch. Jimin pushes off you when he feels your sudden spike of panic. There's a dark expression on his face as he backs away from you, but you barely register it. The song that you heard – the swelling strings and soft voice – it’s strong again and the feelings from that night return.

Licking your lips, you step away from Jimin, eager to get away from him and the memory of the music, of that voice calling you. But it doesn’t leave.

“Enaid,” you murmur, turning to Jimin. He is statue still. It's unnatural, the way he can go motionless. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink. “What does that word mean?”

“Why?”

“You said that the night I swore fealty to you. When I went running after the music.” Your fingers tangle in the dirty edges of your tunic. “What does it mean?”

“It means different things to different people.”

“What does it mean to you?”

That stumps him. One of his fingers taps his leg as he’s in thought, eyes looking you up and down. “It’s just something I thought would break the spell that night. Come on, Quinn is waiting.”

Quinn is waiting. You enter the library, silent and wary. Jimin goes off on his own, throwing himself on one of the velvet, emerald couches near the fireplace. The fire is pink today – or tonight, as it always is – casting a magenta light over the carpet and Jimin’s hair. You can’t figure out why the fire changes colors, and whenever you ask Quinn the answer is the same: magic.

Ignoring the prince, you find the brownie shuffling through papers on one of the many tables in the library. The stacks go up several floors. You know if you look up, you’ll see vines among the shelves, and bats and birds flitting in the empty space.

No one else is among the stacks. It is the only place you have to yourself, much like the morning beating sessions with Iarlath.

“Hello, Quinn,” you greet, sitting down at the table. He is spilling ink all over one of the documents. He looks suspiciously like Dobby from Harry potter, though he’s dressed much better with a dark green tunic and brown pants. Spectacles sit on his massive eyes as he blinks owlishly at you. “How are you today?”

“You are late.”

“You are early.”

“Time is something mortals made up,” Quinn answers. He mops the black ink with his sleeve. “We faeries have forever. Mortals?” He snaps and there’s a wisp of smoke between his dark fingers. “Like smoke, burnt out so quickly.”

“Thanks.”

Quinn puts his hands on his hips, frowning at you. His eyes are bright yellow and inquisitive. “You are not just mortal.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you are not just mortal.”

“Does that mean I wouldn’t age?”

He shrugs. “How would Quinn know? Not many of you. You all get murdered.”

“Quinn,” Jimin warns. His voice is like a whip, startling the brownie. He turns around and looks at the prince, who is glaring from where he lounges with his hands behind his head. “That was not very kind of you.”

“Quinn was not brought here to be kind,” the brownie quips. He shuffles to a pile of books and drops them in front of you without ceremony. “And Master Jimin should not put his shoes on the velvet. Very unkind.”

“Ignore him,” you mutter. “I usually do.”

“Apt advice, human.”

Across the room, Jimin makes a disagreeable sound. You and the brownie both ignore him as Quinn goes into a lesson completing veering off from the day before. You sigh, unsurprised by his change of course but disappointed. You had left off learning about the nature of true names and how they world. It was a fascinating, complex system, and was largely the reason your grandmother told you never to give your name to the fae.

But names and true names were not the same thing. While even given names had power, everyone had a name that marked their very being, their soul. A true name was the very essence of something. Many fae were born with the innate knowledge of their own true name, but you couldn’t begin to think what yours would be.

Still, given names could lead fae to suspect what your true name was. So you only used your first name – never nicknames, never surnames.

While Quinn rambled about banshees, your mind wandered. You already knew what banshees were – faeries that could sense death, screaming as they felt the passing of a life not yet taken. The thought of them gave you a shiver. You didn’t have any plans to meet the haunted faeries of the Night Court.

You wonder what Jimin’s true name would be. You glance at him. He's reading something, flipping through pages. You can’t see his face, but it’s like he senses you. He dips the top of the book down to peer over at you, eyes piercing. You frown and look away, nose and cheeks pink.

It would probably be something about being two-faced, you decide. Or perhaps about being a liar. Jimin says one thing but does another at every chance he gets. You want to think that perhaps he’s kind – there are moments you see raw kindness and the way he treats his people... they love Jimin.

But if Jimin was kind, you wouldn’t be here. Bound to him and some stupid quest to rid yourself of the ring on your finger.

“Can I ask you something, Quinn?”

“Human already asks Quinn many questions.”

Jimin snorts. You smile without mirth. “What does enaid mean?”

The prince is up and storming toward you with fury in his eyes in a moment. You ignore him, despite the mounting tension in the air. Quinn frowns as he sets down his book, peering through his glasses. “Why does human want to know about soul-”

Jimin shouts something in a language foreign to you. Quinn whimpers, immediately going to his knees and covering his ears, cowering. You shoot to your feet as Jimin grabs your wrist, yanking you from your seat. With an explosion of fury, you slap at him. A spark pops between the two of you, sending him stumbling backwards. The air smells singed – like when you shocked Seokjin – and Jimin snarls.

Quinn is still cowering when you kick a chair at Jimin who approaches again – but this time, the chair chares to ash immediately. You realize with a shock that you’re outline with dark flame again, the shadows licking hungrily around you.

Good. You’re on even ground.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you demand, feeling the shadows flare.

“You never leave well enough alone!” he shouts back. Jimin kicks a chair and it splinters. You throw a book at him – and another and another. They turn to ash before they can hit the prince in the head like you want. The room is darker than you remember and the fire in the fireplace flashes red to black.

Darkness writhes around Jimin’s fingertips. The air is thick, crackling with magic. His face is terrifying, the twisted anger that you remember that first day. Fear shoots to your stomach – Jimin is a prince of the Night Court. Though people seem to love him, he’s also powerful and old.

And yet you’re angry. You’re mad at him for everything he’s done leading up to this moment. Angry at him for the body aches, angry at him for the confusion, angry at him for the fear, angry at him for the way that even when you hate him, even when you want to cry in anguish, you still want to take a step toward him, to cross that threshold.

“You always push,” Jimin seethes. “It’s going to get you killed.”

“Yeah? Then kill me!” you shout. Anger is good. Anger is safe. “Just cut the fucking ring off and be done with it! Enough games!”

“I’m not playing games!”

“You are! One moment you’re nice, the next you’re mean. You say things that you have no intention on explaining and-” you huff, surprised at how much you want to cry. “- and you left me all alone in this palace to get my ass kicked every morning, to get yelled at by these teachers you gave me, and then you show up today like we’re friends.”

Jimin deflates. He closes his eyes as you pant, heaving with anger. The room lightens again as he calms down. “Y/N – “

“So excuse me if I push you, but you cannot ask me to suffer in silence. I won’t do it.” You point to Quinn, who is cowering on the floor. “Where is the prince who said he’d do anything for his people? That doesn’t look like the kindness you’re capable of.”

Jimin’s face is impassive. He murmurs, “Hurt is inevitable.”

Without another word, Jimin turns on his heel and leaves the room. You’re trembling as he goes, feeling heated coursing through every part of you. Your flames die out as though they were never there, leaving swiftly with the threat of Jimin’s power.

When you’re sure he’s gone, you turn to Quinn who is still on the floor.

Kneeling slowly, you look around the table at Quinn. You lower your voice, holding your hands up as a surrender. “Are you okay, Quinn? I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry.” Quinn looks at you and nods. “Are you hurt?”

“No, Mistress.”

You frown. It’s the first time he’s ever called you that – he’s always referred to the royal family as Master Jimin and Master Seokjin – but he has always just called you human. You don’t think the change in title is a coincidence, but you don’t push him.

“I’m sorry. What did… what did Jimin do to you?”

“He used Quinn’s true name.”

Your mouth opens slightly. “He knows your true name?”

“Quinn belongs to the royal family. First to Master Samar, and then to Master Seokjin. The masters know Quinn’s true name.”

“Belongs?” You question. “They own you?”

“Yes.” Quinn looks at your hands. “Mistress is a Shade.”

“Yeah, whatever that means.”

You sit on the floor. “I’m sorry he hurt you, Quinn.” The brownie edges toward you. You hold out your hand and he waddles over, sitting on the floor across from you. He’s suspicious, looking at you up and down. “I won’t use the shadow flame – I don’t know how. I won’t hurt you like Master Jimin.”

He offers you his hand – his skin is clammy and rough, but you hold it anyway. “Can you tell me about naming, Quinn? Let’s talk about naming.”

Because if naming can give you power over a person, you think perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to contemplate Jimin’s true name after all.

Quinn tells you quietly about naming and you commit each word to memory. Because you’ll be damned if Jimin ever does that again in front of you.

A new plan forms in your mind. When you leave the library, you collect some books on the faerie language and alphabet. With a new determination to learn Jimin’s name, you rush to your room for the night.

And you pull more furniture in front of the door that splits your room from Jimin’s. Nyx and Nox even help you, bowing and skipping away when you thank them.

-

Another two weeks goes by without Jimin approaching you again. Your bruises aren’t as terrible now that Iarlath as switched to teaching you archery, but your mood doesn’t improve with the dragging days.

Dark bags are reflected back at you. Your face is different. With blistered fingers from pulling the taught string of the practice bow, you trace your cheekbones. They feel sharper, more pronounced. The color of your eyes seems richer, brighter. Tracing along your nose and the slope of your mouth, the frame of your face feels alien.

Tilting your head, your hair falls to the side. With careful hands, you pull the long hair back, brushing the top of your ear. You’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but the ear there feels more tapered. Sharper than before. Quickly, you cover it with your hair again and back away from the mirror.

You have no idea who the creature is staring back at you. Because it can’t be you. You look all wrong, and it terrifies you. Ducking away from the mirror, you got back to the large bed, crawling under the covers.

A shadow appears, placing a glass of water next to your bed. You smile fondly. “Thanks,” you whisper. You think it’s Nox, who bows their head and vanishes.

Nox, you’ve come to notice, is the bolder of the too. Nyx is shier, leaving things without being seen. They are the steadiest companions you have. Even though they don’t speak, you’re grateful for them.

You skipped lessons with Iarlath that morning. No one came looking for you, so you skipped your magic lessons too. After a month of practice, all you have managed is the same static shock that you had used on Jimin and Seokjin, but beyond that, you are unable to tap into that bead of energy that still hums with you now.

The room is dark. Wind gutters out the candles as you curl further into your bed. There is meat and cheese left near the door for you from Nyx, but you leave it untouched. You have no appetite. And you don’t want to leave the bed either.

Night creeps into further night. You miss the sun more than you realize and you start to resent the swirling constellations outside of your balcony.

Hours or minutes pass by and there’s a knock on your door. You don’t move to answer it. You’re sure someone is angry you’ve skipped lessons for the day, but you don’t care. You’re no closer in your studies to figuring out Jimin’s true name – now your only plan of escape – and Jimin seems to have abandoned looking for a way to remove the ring from your finger.

Closing your eyes, you see your mom. You want to run to her and tell her she was right – you should not have gone looking in the attic. A kind of tired that you’re unfamiliar with drags you and it feels like you’re sinking further into the bed and further away from the memory of her.

Even picturing Namjoon is difficult. It’s only been a month – at least, in Faerie. The journal next to your bed is pinned open with a mug to show the tally marks you make every day.

It’s day thirty-one.

The knock comes again but you ignore it.

Down down down the tiredness pulls you until there’s nothing left but darkness.

-

It’s freezing in the dark room. You swivel your head back and forth. It feels heavy, this unknown place. And though you’re sure that you’re not awake, you don’t feel asleep.

Prickling awareness comes to you. The shroud of darkness is not unlike that clouded shield that followed you weeks ago when you had walked the palace halls after swearing fealty to Jimin. There is nothing that you can perceive beyond the shadow.

Ahead, there is a man sitting in a chair. At least – the shape is that of a man, but you can’t see his fac. It’s darkened and featureless. Something about it sends a child through your spine as you walk forward on soundless steps.

Hello, the voice greets. It’s the deepest voice you’ve ever heard, reaching deep within you and rattling your ribcage. You have wandered to a strange place.

I did not mean to, you answer carefully. I thought… I think I am dreaming.

To dream is to wander. What is your name?

I have many names. You’re hesitant in your answer. You still cannot make out his features and the prickling sense begins to feel sharper – a sense of wrongness. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, I’ll be on my way.

Stay. The voice steals your breath away, ringing like iron. You suddenly feel pressure pushing down on your chest. It’s so strong and you begin to panic. If you are here, it means one of my children find you a suitable host.

Host?

What is your name?

I have no name.

He hums, contemplative. The pressure turns into something sharp like a blade. You think you’re screaming – you can hear your own scream but you’re not screaming in your locked dream scape. A hot knife is tearing at your chest, but you can’t move your hands.

You carry the shadow within you – and something else. The High Court? His laugh is terrifying. Oh you will be a good host.

The pain mounts and so does you’re scream. Everything is on fire and it feels like your chest is being cracked open. It reaches its peak and –

A horrible snarl drowns out a high-pitched noise that you belatedly realize is you. You’re screaming, arched off the bed as something rips from your chest. It feels like someone has pressed a hot iron between your breasts, the skin blistered and peeling with pain.

You can’t stop screaming as the room slowly pieces together in your vision. A wolf the size of a horse near the foot of your bed, a faerie between his teeth as the wolf shakes. Blood flies from his jaws, the faerie screaming and thrashing as the creature bites down harder.

A shadowy splatter looks particularly haunting near the doorway. There’s another near the floor of the washroom, black ichor puddled. A dead faerie you don’t know lays near the splatter, and there is another by the doorway where Night Court guards pour in.

You’re still crying out in pain, hands clutching your chest. It hurts ­– more than anything you’ve ever felt. Hot tears spill down your cheeks as you gasp for air but it’s hard, your lungs struggling to work around the searing heat that singes its way through you.

Jimin materializes in front of you. He’s straddling your waist, blocking you from the vision of the wolf – you think, it might be Jungkook – tearing into the faerie. You hear the snap of bounds and a shriek. The sound would make you sick if you weren’t shrieking under Jimin’s weight tearing at your tunic with your own hands.

My chest my chest my chest my chest.

“I’m going to cut your tunic open I’m sorry – no one will look but me,” Jimin murmurs. You don’t realize that you were screaming the words to him – my chest my chest my chest ­– until he slides the dagger he stole from you through the shirt. “Fuck.”

“Jimin, it hurts, please!”

“I know, fuck I know,” his tone is soft. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll fix it, Enaid.”

It doesn’t matter that you’re naked from the waist up. You don’t think twice about the compromising position, bare breasts displayed for Jimin. You look down to where his gaze is fixed – there is no lust there, only horror – to the black spot that looks like rotted, burned flesh.

You scream louder. You squeeze your eyes shut – your heart is pounding and it becomes the only thing you can hear. The deep beat of your heart mounting and mounting and mounting and you’re sure you’re going to have a heart attack.

Darkness sweeps in all at once and all you know is nothing.

-

Enaid. Wake up, please.

Please.

Your tongue feels heavy and your head is fuzzy. It feels like there’s cotton in your ears and holy fuck you are thirsty. All you can think about how thirsty you are as you blink your eyes open, ceiling spinning above you.

Groaning, you turn on your side and squeezes your eyes shut. Your chest hurts a little and the memories of the pain snap back like a rubber band, catapulting you up in bed with a gasp.

Your hands shoot to your chest – you’re covered again thankfully, a soft tunic protecting your modesty once more. Your curious hands go up your shirt, feeling the bandages that are wrapped around you. With a sigh, you close your eyes for a moment, collecting yourself.

When you open your eyes again, you see Jimin sitting next to you.

It takes you a moment to form thoughts. His hair is disheveled and he’s in what you consider pajamas – white buttoned shirt half-opened at the collar and linen pants. There’s no jewelry, no crown. It’s just Jimin and though his skin is glowing, you see the little signs that he’s not in his normal state of dress

Jimin’s lips are chapped and scabbed, as though he had been picking at them. Fae have remarkable healing, making you wonder how much he was peeling at his soft lips to inflict lasting damage. He seems paler than usual – you’re unsure if lack of sleep can affect the fae, but he looks off. Not as polished. Still beautiful, but it’s not the radiance you’ve learned to loathe.

“You asked for water,” Jimin reminds you, offering you a bronze cup. You take it from him, gulping down water. Some of it escapes the sides of your mouth, running down in cold rivulets down your chin and throat. He chuckles, holding his hands out to take it away from you. “Easy, you’re going to choke.”

You gasp and lean back in the soft bed. It smells like orange blossoms and night, and it’s only then you realize you’re not in the medical room on the first floor. You’re in the same room that you were dressed in by Nyx and Nox on your first night in the Night Court.

Jimin’s room, you realize. The sheets are soft and smell like Jimin, making you feel flushed all over. The heat of his closeness is entirely different from the pain you felt before.

“What happened?” you rasp. Your throat is still scratched and rough from screaming. “I… it was so painful.”

Jimin nods and licks his lips. “I have to start back a little for this to explain what happened to you. First, how are you feeling?”

“Not as bad as when Iarlath beats the shit out of me.”

Jimin grins and glances toward his bedroom door. “He’s one of my men standing guard outside the door. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear.”

“He does hate me.”

“He doesn’t, actually. He just has that disposition with everyone.”

“Not with you.”

“I’m the prince.” Jimin smiles. “And he used to, when I was his student.” Jimin gestures to the spot next to you. “May I sit?”

You eye him wearily. “I don’t know, are you going to start screaming at me.” Jimin’s expression is soft and he shakes his head. “Alright, then. Your bed, your rules.”

“Careful,” Jimin warns as he sits down next to you. The bed sinks and pulls you closer. You’re not touching, but you can feel the heat from his body. “Or I might get too distracted to tell the story.”

You’re unsure what he means. He seems in a playful mood, which is mostly unfamiliar to you. You want to point out that he is yet again swinging back and forth between mean and kind, but you keep it to yourself.

“Do you remember the Midnight Tree?” Jimin asks gently. You nod your head that you do and he grins softly. “Each court has a tree like it. they hold the power of each court, protecting it in a way. But the High Tree in the High Court no longer has power – it’s gone too long without someone there to fuel it. They act as wards, in a way, and when they don’t work, other things can slip in.”

“What other things.”

Jimin shook his head. “We don’t know what they are. Just that they’re different, and they can slip into the body of the fae and use them like a host.”

“These others – are they coming through the High Tree?”

“We think so. We haven’t seen many of them. Remember how Jin mentioned that the Day Court was threatening war?” You had forgotten all about that, but recalled Seokjin’s stress when he mentioned it. “One of our own murdered…” Jimin took a deep breath and blew it out. “One of our own murdered King Taehyung’s consort. It has ruined any relationship with the Day Court we once had, and tensions have been mounting since. The faerie who did the act – she was an incredibly close friend to Jin, a full-blooded faerie but when accused, she kept lying.”

“The fae can’t lie.”

“They can’t. Except she wasn’t lying at all – she had no memory of it. It wasn’t until she was sentenced to be put to death that the other revealed itself in a last-ditch attempt to save its host. That was when we realized that they exist, and that they come through whatever door is open.”

You shivered. You remembered the feeling of pain – clear, burning pain like someone was cutting into you. You look at Jimin. “That pain in my chest – it was trying to get in me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Yena had the same mark on her chest when we killed her. Keep in mind, this was almost a year ago. And it’s been getting worse.”

“What would it want with me?” Jimin was staring straight forward, silent for a few moments. Worry began to gnaw at you. “Jimin?”

His eyes were sad when he looked at you. You were startled – you’d seen him upset in a wide variety, but never sad like this.

“You showed Quinn you were a Shade.” You shrugged, not understanding. It had been an accident, but Quinn hadn’t been afraid of you. “Quinn isn’t loyal to just me, Enaid. He went straight to Seokjin and told him of your ability.”

A shiver goes up your spine. You straighten in bed, looking at Jimin with a severe expression. “Did the king- “

“No,” he cuts you off, sensing your question. “He hasn’t decided what to do with you yet. He’s trying to keep it quiet. There are those who would wish to ally with you and make you a puppet queen. It was Seokjin’s guard – Killian was a host and whatever was in him wished to use you.”

You shake your head. “Quinn…?”

“Did nothing wrong reporting to his master, but he is not your friend.”

That stings. You pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them. Setting your chin on top of your knees, you close your eyes.

Jimin lets you sit in silence. You think about the way you comforted Quinn after Jimin used his true name. Of the way the small brownie had smiled at you and let you hold his hand. He had been teaching you about naming. You’d started bringing him cream and honey cakes when you could spare them and he seemed fond of it.

Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. You squeeze your eyes, trying to will them away, holding your breath and trying to fight the urge to cry. You thought that maybe Quinn had been starting to be something like a friend.

No. That isn’t true. There was a reason that you had skipped lessons and stayed in bed. It was because it felt performative, like you were trying to win him over but there was still that distance between you. Quinn wasn’t a friend, no matter how much you wanted him to be.

His betrayal is proof of that.

“It’s okay to cry.” Jimin’s voice is a whisper. “You’ve been through a lot. Most of it is my fault.”

“Yes,” you agree. “It is.” You let the tears streak down your cheeks. Jimin has seen you topless, you may as well let him see you cry. “Was that Jungkook in the room last night? The wolf?”

“Yes. He is bound to the heirs of the Night Court.”

“Grandmother’s blood?”

Jimin’s lips twitch as he nods and looks down at his lap. “Yes. Grandmother’s blood. Good to know you can boss the Dreadwolf around, though. He howled the moment you started screaming. I wasn’t in my room or I would have heard the commotion before Killian got to you.”

You nod. Opening your eyes, you stared at the closed door to his room. Something occurs to you and you look at him, sniffing a bit. “There were other bodies in my room. And black splatters?”

“Killion didn’t come alone. And Nox and Nyx tried to defend you.”

A deep ache settles. You cover your face with your hands, pressing the heels of your palms into your closed eyes. You see colors explode across the darkness there but it doesn’t blot out the sudden pain of knowing that the two fae who never spoke a word to you tried to help you.

Wounded and defeated, a sob escapes you. You feel Jimin shift toward you. He seems to think better of it and leans back into his spot. You ignore him, crying into your hands loud and ugly. You feel the snot leaking from your nose, but you can’t bother to be embarrassed.

“Why?” you cry. “Why would they do that? I’m nothing. I am no one. They’re dead because of me.”

“They are guardians of the Night Court bloodline. It was an honor for them to defend you. You’re not no one. You’re not nothing.”

“I’m just a human.”

“That doesn’t equate to nothing. That didn’t mean anything to them.”

You cry harder.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin murmurs. “I think I know how to get the ring off, though. I will take you there as soon as you’re able and when it’s off, I’ll return you home. I swear it on my name and my blood, I will take you home.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Get some rest,” he murmurs. “I’ll watch over you.”

Sinking back down into the mattress, you don’t protest. You just sleep.

-

“Where are we?” you ask as Jimin navigates Umbriel alone a thick line of trees. The world is lighter here, almost like the Night Court is giving away to day. You’ve been riding for almost an entire day, your ass sore and your back aching from sitting stiffly in front of Jimin as he reigned Umbriel. “It’s lighter here.”

The trees still glow, their bioluminescent colors a reminder of where you are. The trip so far had gone smoothly, no attacks, no others, no fighting with Jimin.

You’ve settled into a strained peace with him. He no longer snaps at you and dances around your questions, though you still feel his resistance when he doesn’t want to answer something. You’ve gotten better at reading him, and it’s occurred to you that Jimin doesn’t dislike you as much as you originally thought.

Or he’s just taken pity on you since the attack.

Something tells you it’s the later. He’s gentler with you now, no longer grabbing your wrist when you stretch your hand to touch a pink, glowing flower. He tries to be patient – you can see the gears turning when he grits his teeth when you ask a question, but he answers.

You have to give him a little credit.

“The northeast edge of the Night Court. We share a boarder with the Day Court here.”

You turn in the saddle to look at him. He eyes the trees to the east. “Is it wise to be so close to the Day Court?”

“No. But we must go through their western edge to reach the Winter Court. I don’t wish to cut through the Autumn Court. There are strange stories coming from those lands.”

“Where is the High Court?”

“South. Through the Day or the Spring Court.”

“What was it like there?”

Jimin sighs. It isn’t annoyed or heavy – its thoughtful as Umbriel’s steps follow a careful trail. “I haven’t been there in a long time. But when King Malik ruled justly, it was beautiful. Lots of mountains and open-styled palaces and homes. Vineyards with the best wine in Faerie for miles. The palace is by the ocean, overlooking the most beautiful cove.”

“It sounds lovely.”

“It was. Each court has their own beauty. The Summer Court has magnificent cities built on water and networks of canals. The Spring Court has most of their cities and villages built in the Heaven Trees, the largest trees in all of Faerie. The whole Autumn Court has trees of magnificent, burning orange. The Day Court is one of my favorite places. They live in forever daylight, their fruit and food so lush it could make you cry.”

“What about the Winter Court? That’s where we’re going, isn’t it?”

Jimin hesitates. “The Winter Court is beautiful, but harsh. Their people have suffered horrible massacres. They have only just started to recover, and only recently started letting other courts back into their lands.”

You frown. “What happened?”

“There are beings like our Maker out there in the world somewhere. We believe these other who have been taking over our people are the children of someone like our Maker. Not long ago, there was a being of similar nature to our Maker who massacred the Winter Court. Not many lived.”

That sits heavy in your heart. You think of the massacres on Earth, of the treachery of mankind. Somehow it makes you feel worse that even in a world with magic and beings removed from the human world, cruelty runs deep.

“Why the Winter Court?”

“You will see when we get there. I don’t wish to speak of it now. It’s dangerous.”

You don’t push Jimin. Ever since he began treading lightly around you since your attack, you find yourself being nicer to him. It’s easier, like this. Pretending that you didn’t start off violent or hateful.

You’re anxious, though. You worry that at any moment, he can flip the switch. You remember the anger in the library when you had asked Quinn what enaid was, the way his power had hummed and he looked like a true god of terror.

So you don’t push him. If he’s surprised or grateful, he doesn’t say. Doesn’t tease you that you’re suddenly pliant and listening to what he asks. He’s just as compliant, going along with your little peace until one of you inevitably breaks it.

At a certain point, Jimin stops Umbriel and slides off the saddle. You’re unsure what landmark you’re at – there is a fork in the road. One path heads north and the other south. There are boulders with glowing lichen near the roadside. Jimin climbs up one, looking down the south road with narrowed eyes.

Jumping off the boulder, he comes back to you and gestures for you to get off of Umbriel. Your thighs are quaking as you slide from the saddle, gripping the horn with a white-knuckled grip. Jimin’s hands shoot to your waist when your knees buckle on your landing. Your hands fly to the crooks of his elbows, catching yourself with his strength.

“Thank you,” you murmur, straightening. His brows shoot up. “What?”

“It’s not often you thank me.”

“Perhaps you should do more for me to be grateful for.”

He smiles. “I’ll think on that.” He gestures to the area. “Stretch your legs but don’t go too far. We’re waiting for a friend.”

“You have friends?”

His hand flies to his chest in mock pain as he gasps. Despite the cheesiness, you smile, a laugh escaping you as he continues grinning at you. His smile is wonderful. You wish he would smile more often, but they are so fleeting and rare.

“An ally, then,” he offers. “One who might skin me alive when he arrives, but an ally nonetheless.”

Muscles pull as you stretch. You bend down at the waist, arms hanging low before you wiggle your fingers toward your toes. Slowly, you straighten, exhaling smoothly. Rolling your neck, you reach your arms upward, feeling the pull of your body as you do so.

It’s been a week since the other tried to attack you. Bruises cover your arms from training with Iarlath, which you demanded immediately after you woke up again the second day. Jimin had tried to talk you out of it, but you showed up with a clean tunic on and your arms linked behind your back.

You didn’t complain once. Not when your blisters opened up from pulling the bow tight. Not when Iarlath forced you into combat situations to pull and shoot in rapid fire scenarios, as though you were in the heat of a fight.

Iarlath was nicer to you. Not because you were attacked, but because you met him every morning without complaint immediately after being wounded. Because you stayed longer – you no longer had classes with Quinn – working to improve your archery and attempting some sword work.

Nox and Nyx haunt your thoughts. Even as you walk around, moving your arms and legs to shake the stiffness from your limbs. Two fae who hardly knew you defending you at a cost you couldn’t reverse. It makes you sick every time you think about the black spatters of ichor in your room.

Returning to your room had been impossible. So you slept in Jimin’s. He himself had vacated his room at night, posting guards outside the door. You didn’t want to consider what that meant, that kind of offer. You didn’t want to think too intensely on how much easier it was for you to sleep with the smell of orange blossom.

Instead of thinking, you trained and you went to your medical checkups with Sumi.

At least she was still mean to you. It was the only sense of normalcy you still had.

Hoofbeats make you turn on your heel, looking down the south road. You can’t see the horse that they belonged to, but you drift back to Umbriel, your senses alert and hand hovering above the bow there. You aren’t as good of a shot as you want to be, but you can usually hit moving targets enough to wound them.

The bow is of black wood, carved from a branch of the Midnight Tree. It had been an unsuspected gift from Jimin, explaining that Shades always had weapons made from the tree. You didn’t ask if Seokjin knew he gifted you the bow. You’d just accepted in silent thanks.

There is still the subject of your grandmother telling you Seokjin murdered your grandfather to unravel, but that is for another time.

“It’s just Hoseok,” Jimin assures you. Your brows shoot up as you dart into the road. A rider on a horse appears, the horse trotting lightly up the road. “Your hearing has improved.”

Instead of acknowledging Jimin’s words, you break out into a grin as Hoseok crests the slope. He’s dressed in brown, leather jerkin pulled over a green tunic, gold flames stitched in the sleeves of his tunic. His hair is styled back and though you cannot put your finger on it, he looks different.

Warmth radiates from his smile when he sees you. Sliding from the saddle, he bows his head slightly. Though you barely know him, you’re happy to see him, rushing toward him and wrapping your arms around him, squeezing hard.

“I asked about you every day,” you gasped. He smells like fire and cinnamon. Hoseok returns the hug, gripping you tightly. “I was so worried they’d hurt you.”

“She did annoy me about you every day. Didn’t trust that I took care of you.”

“Why should she?” Hoseok snaps. You step away from him to see that his warmth is reserved for you and not Jimin, who leans against the collection of rocks. “Instead of telling us your plan, you had us captured and had me roughed up.”

“I needed Jungkook to think we were not friends.”

“And when I ‘escaped’ the Night Court?”

You looked at Jimin, brows arched. He smirked as he pushed himself off the rock. “You escape many things, Watcher. No one could think I was involved, especially when my vassal was swearing fealty to me the time of your escape.”

“You set him free?” You can’t keep the surprise out of your voice. “Without Jin knowing?”

“Our allyship is better left a secret for now.” He turns to Hoseok. “Clothes?”

Hoseok digs around his saddle bags and tosses you both tunics. “Once we cross the border, if we come across riders, you’ll address me as Your Highness.” Hoseok notices your sharp look. “I’m a prince of the Summer Court. And outcast one, but one that will be recognized if gentry of the Day Court spot us. Didn’t Jimin tell you?”

“No,” you mutter. Jimin is walking away, pulling the Night Court clothes from his body. You avert your eyes quickly. “He didn’t.”

-

Jimin’s description of the Day Court is a disservice. The light grew brighter as you crossed the border, passing from twilight into warm sunshine. Azure skies stretch overhead, swollen white clouds lined with pink floating through it.

Everything is brighter in the Day Court. The wind is cool as it rushes through the trees, carrying pink petals. You see dryads peek from behind trees at you, though whenever you turn to get a full glimpse of them, they duck. You hear their giggles on the breeze and it makes you smile.

Hoseok and Jimin are polite, if not a little stiff in their conversation. Jimin takes to pointing at plants and naming them for you as you pass by them. You keep off the road, weaving between trees and keeping in the shade, patches of blue sky exploding through the gaps in the boughs above you.

Umbriel and Hoseok’s horse, Asfaloth, navigate without much direction. They keep close together, steps steady and light. Hoseok joins Jimin in his lessons about the Day Court, walking you through the alliances and hierarchy.

The king of the Day Court – Taehyung is the youngest ruler in Faerie. You recognize his name from Jimin telling you that a member of Seokjin’s court, possessed by one of the other killed his lover. You don’t know him, but the way Hoseok talks of Taehyung with fondness leads you to believe that he is kind. Even Jimin says his name with respect.

There is no queen of the Day Court. Taehyung and his people have been mourning the loss of their queen to be. It’s the reason many of the lands are empty and the reason, Hoseok mentions, that the dryads are shy, hiding behind the trees.

In times of great loss, the Day Court groups together near the palace.

“It is a terrible thing, when the immortal die,” Hoseok murmurs. “Many of us think that we have forever and we forget that we are as vulnerable to a blade as mortals. We often do not live in the now and appreciate what we have. Life can be less beautiful for those who have it forever.”

Hoseok’s words touch you. You nod, though you can’t imagine what it means to live forever. You don’t know how old either of them is – you never thought to ask. “I’m 407. Jimin is 403.” You didn’t realize that you asked the question outload, but you gasp at the numbers, making them laugh.

“That’s nothing,” Jimin murmurs in your ear. His voice is dark and soft, almost a purr. Your toes curl in your boots at the sound. “Seokjin is over a thousand years old and our friend that we’re visiting in the Winter Court is even older.”

“Older and wiser,” Hoseok agrees. “Perhaps he can talk you out of this mission of yours.”

You frown. The mission is simple: Jimin believes that an old ally of his deep in the Winter Court will be able to unbind the ring from you. You ask if this faerie is the maker of the ring. Jimin wasn’t sure, but he’s confident in the possibility. The month that he had you waiting and training at the palace had been full of secret correspondence between the two.

Jimin has not told you the allies name, but he made it a point to ensure that Seokjin did not know the exact nature of the trip. Emissary business and research on unbinding the ring, is what Jimin had promised Seokjin. Had the king of the Night Court not been so eager to put distance between your abilities as a Shade and his own rule, he might have looked harder at it.

Still. Jimin has been alive for over four hundred years, something that you cannot fathom.

A question bubbles to your lips faster than you can stop it. “How did my grandma die of old age, then? Didn’t she live here? How does that work?”

“Those with fae blood will not age in this realm.” Hoseok is thoughtful as he answers you. “Fae blood is dominant, especially when exposed to the natural magic of Faerie. Your grandmother was almost four hundred when she unbound King Malik’s power and stole away to earth. Her and Oberon gave up their immortality – an extremely painful and difficult thing to do – to live human lives.”

“You can give up immortality?”

Hoseok nodded hesitantly. “It is not so easily done. It will feel like living without your soul for the rest of your life, like there is a missing puzzle piece when you’re pretending the picture is whole.”

“Why would she do that?”

Hoseok doesn’t answer. His eyes drift to Jimin, who remains motionless behind you. “To hide from Jin and I. We did not agree with her methods.”

“Her methods saved you,” you mention, defensive.

“And look where we are now.” You glance around as you begin to walk up an incline. Daylight is all around you, warm and inviting. But your gaze drops down to your ring. Jimin seems to feel where your gaze has gone, murmuring, “Not so saved now, are we?”

-

No one speaks for hours. The weight of Jimin’s words rest heavy on you. Your entire life, your grandmother has been a hero of her own stories. She had battled the evil King Malik and destroyed his power. She had saved the Faerie realm.

But she hadn’t. Not in the long run.

You think Nox and Nyx splattered on the stone of your room. Of the screams of the fae between Jungkook’s jaws. Those things would not happen if there were no other beings slipping in through the weakness that your grandmother had created in the world.

The question hangs unasked on your tongue: did she know taking the power to earth would do this?

It’s an important question. One you need to know. But you don’t ask because the thought of having the final answer is terrifying. Your mind wars between the anti-hero that Jimin paints her out to be and the wonderful woman who protected you your entire life.

Imagining that your grandmother took the power from King Malik and Jimin both while knowing it would cause strife later is… unsettling.

Umbriel stops walking. Jimin straightens and you do too. Hoseok shuffles Asfaloth closer to Umbriel and casts Jimin a glance. You feel Jimin nod and Hoseok reciprocates the movement just as fae gentry appear at the top of the hill.

Like they bled from the trees, there are over a dozen of them. Hoseok urges his mount forward, straightening and leading Jimin, who slips an arm around your waist. You feel tingles all over, but your eyes remain fixed on the knights of the Day Court.

They’re dressed in white, fae of varying types and appearances. There are bows in their hand, arrows nocked as Hoseok approaches, introducing himself as Prince Hoseok of the Summer Court. He apologizes vehemently for the lack of notice – he is traveling on private business to the Winter Court.

No one says anything after his introduction. You take a moment to study their clothes – finely dress in linen that looks spun from light. Gold suns glittered on the cuffs of their shirts. The royal crest, you assume.

Silence presses on. Another faerie appears at the top of the hill, rushing down to whisper into the ear of a tall woman with tan skin, golden hair and amber eyes like a lion. She remains featureless as she nods, turning back to face Hoseok.

“You have stumbled on the King Taehyung’s hunting party,” the fae woman calls. Her voice is like blooming wildflowers, soft and addicting. “We are hunting the white stag. We have not yet started, but our camp is close. Come.”

“While I appreciate how gracious his Highness is- “

“You will not pass without speaking to the king.” Her voice leaves no argument to be had. Her eyes slide to you. You hold your breath as they linger before passing over without comment. She turns on her heel. “Come.”

Jimin’s hands twist on the reins. You see the veins flex in his hands as they urge the horses forward, following the fae in white as they remain watching the three of you carefully.

“Have you… met Taehyung before?” you whisper, afraid to speak louder. “Will he know you?”

You almost see the pinched expression on the prince’s face. “Yes.”

“Are we in trouble?”

“Yes,” Jimin whispers again. “Taehyung has the gift of truth. Try not to speak to him – you will not be able to lie.”

Steely silence wraps around the three of you as you ride. The members of the Day Court almost float around you, their steps inaudible and their movement far more graceful than that of the Night Court. You feel a buzz creep into your skin as you follow, guided by armed men, women and creatures.

 Tensions creeps into your shoulders, twisting your muscles. An ache settles in more than just your thighs, tired from the saddle. Your stress triples when you crest the top of a hill where the line of trees end and look down.

Somehow, you did not imagine near seventy white tents to be the camp that the lead knight was talking about. Your breath catches as you see dozens and dozens of faeries milling about the campsite below. White flags with a gold sun flutter in the breeze and the smell of spices and cooking fat wafts up to you, making your mouth water.

“A bit large for a hunting party,” Jimin notes.

No one answers him.

It takes almost an hour to wind your way down the hill. It’s slow going with the Day Court faeries around you. When the sentries at the edge of the camp sight you, the sound of horns echoes over the camp. A chill settles in your bones, though you can’t place it. The eyes that turn to you don’t feel welcome. Jimin’s hand tightens around your waist.

Cookfires and work benches fill the spaces between canvas tents. You glance at the fae who lift the flaps of their temporary sleep spaces, peering at you with narrowed eyes and dark expressions. You don’t have to ask Jimin if they know he’s Night Court – he’s dressed in Hoseok’s colors but the tension around him is snapping and dark.

If they don’t know, they will.

The woman leading you signals to dismount. Jimin slides off first before helping you out of the saddle. He pulls you close to him by the waist, eyes flashing a warning. You nod your head and stay close to him as you move to follow Hoseok, who lifts his chin as the three of you are led to the center of the camp.

A tent larger than the other raises up, a white behemoth of canvas. A flag of the Sun Court ripples on the top, snapping in the honey scented breeze. There are guards posted outside, all dressed in white. They regard you with a dark gaze as the woman vanishes inside momentarily. When she returns, she holds the door open and bows her head slightly.

Warmth hits you in the face. It’s not stifling as you would imagine, but the same kind of warmth you feel went you used to eat your grandmother’s cookies, still hot from the oven. Or the kind of warmth after taking a cold shower after a day out at the beach, when the sun has warmed your skin and your senses are sleepier.

A tall, white ceiling filled with fae light twinkles above you. There are rich rugs spread over the grass and a massive bed with sheets and pillows that look soft as clouds. A fire crackles in the corner, a large cat-like creature with gold eyes blinking at you before it settles back to sleep in front of the hearth.

You nearly gasp when you see who you imagine to be the king. His skin is tan and smooth, dark curling hair falling in even darker eyes. He’s dressed in a white, buttoned shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing layered necklaces. His lips are rosebud-pink and look soft, a contrast to eyes so intense you drop your gaze immediately, shivering in his presence.

King Taehyung is one of the most astonishing men you’ve ever seen. Jimin and Hoseok both bow their head slightly, but they do not bow at the waist like subjects. Taehyung’s gaze swivels between the two of them before landing on you, lingering.

You feel something brush across your mind, soft and smelling like honey and sugar. You gasp, eyes darting up to Taehyung. His lips twitch as his dark gaze shifts back to Jimin.

“It’s not every day the Maker answers our wishes,” Taehyung says. You’re startled by how low his voice is, a rich baritone that drips like caramel. “Here I am following the old tradition of hunting the white stag to determine our odds at war with the Night Court and what do we have? Prince Jimin walking right into our hands.”

“Come off it, Tae,” Jimin grunts. “You know now is not the time- “

“You don’t get to argue time with me when your brother’s guard cut Isolde’s time short.” Taehyung’s voice cracks like a whip and the light in the tent flickers. His gaze drifts to Hoseok. “You may relax in relative comfort until we talk. Take Prince Jimin to his own tent. Ward it with iron. Leave the girl to talk.”

Jimin moves faster than you can gasp. You’re pressed against his chest his arm around you with bone-crushing intensity. There’s a sword in his hand, levelled at Taehyung. Jimin’s heart pounds against your chest as shadows writhe on the grip of his sword.

“The girl will not be parting from me. Sorry to be rude.”

Taehyung’s grin is feral. “Ah Jimin,” he purrs. “Perhaps you will know how it feels, then.”

Swords are levelled at you and Jimin. Hoseok has a dagger in his hand, not posed to attack but ready to defend. You stare down the edge of a blade as the woman who led you to Taehyung stares at you with her lion-eyes. Jimin doesn’t lower his weapon, gripping you tighter.

“Jimin,” you murmur, hand sliding up to where he holds you. “It’s just to talk.”

“No.”

“Jimin it’s fine. I can talk to him.”

“I said no.”

No one moves. You see no way out of this, half a dozen guards in the tent and even more in the campground. The edge of a sword is pushed into Jimin’s neck slightly, drawing blood. You shake in his arms, adrenaline coursing through you.

Bloodshed is inevitable if Jimin doesn’t back down, and you know that once it starts, you won’t survive. Taking a deep breath, you steel your nerves. “Jimin, I’m an adult. I have no fear of him.”

“Don’t care. I’m not leaving you alone with him. Let us go or die. There are no other options.”

“Jimin,” Hoseok snaps. “You’re not being rational.”

Hoseok’s right. Jimin’s normal swagger and charm is gone, replaced by a blind anger you don’t expect. The simple path is to win Taehyung over. You don’t know where to start, but you hope that you can come up with something quick.

You have no intentions of dying in a tent.

Quick and with force, you elbow Jimin in the stomach and dart away from him. He’s more surprised than injured. Taehyung seizes the opportunity and snatches you, ripping you to him by the waist. Jimin snarls but he freezes when Taehyung presses a dagger against the flesh of your throat.

“Move and she dies.” Taehyung’s voice is a command. “I just want to talk to her. For now.”

Hatred. Hatred burns in Jimin’s green eyes like you’ve never seen it. Shadows gather around him and Taehyung’s guards press closer to him but he doesn’t stand down.

“Jimin,” you call to him. “We just need to talk to them. I’ll tell them this is a misunderstanding, okay?” Jimin was panting and you could feel panic mount inside of him. A word came to you then, something that he always used in his arsenal against you. “Enaid.”

The fight bleeds from him. Jimin drops his gaze to you, the tip of his sword dipping. His mouth opens slightly in surprise, brows furrowing as he cocks his head to the side. The Day Court takes his moment of surprise as an advantage. They shoot forward, seizing Jimin as he thrashes. You scream at them not to hurt him but Taehyung’s grip on you is firm.

“Easy!” Taehyung commands his knights. “That is a prince of the Night Court. He’s to be treated with respect. Hold him until I call for him.”

“Hurt her and I’ll kill you,” Jimin promises as he’s ripped away from you. “I swear it.”

Slowly, the tent empties out. Taehyung removes his blade from your throat and steps away. You turn to him, anger thrumming in your veins. He watches you with curious eyes as he waves, dismissing the last of his knights.

“Please,” you urge immediately. “This is- “

Taehyung holds up a hand. “I ask for nothing but honesty. You and I are strangers, but we don’t have the time to spare getting to know one another. You have everything to lose if you lie, and I will know if you lie.” Taehyung sits on a velvet chair by the fire and sips from a glass of wine. “My name is Taehyung. I am the King of the Day Court, the Truth Seer. Speak lies, and I’ll kill your mate.”

“Jimin isn’t my mate.”

“And yet you know of whom I speak.” His eyes flicker to the chair across from him. “Sit.”

With a huff of frustration, you sit.

Rings glitter on Taehyung’s fingers as he taps them against the table. His eyes burn as he looks you up and down. “What is your purpose crossing my lands?”

“To get to the Winter Court.”

“To what end?” You hesitate and he leans forward, gaze heavy. “This is the only time I will remind you to speak freely. If your cause is just enough, I will let you pass. These are strange times, you must understand. My people want blood – particularly that of Jimin’s – and I need a reason to let you pass.”

“You would let us pass?”

Taehyung’s face darkens. “A king and his people do not always want the same thing. If you gave me an excuse not to go to war with King Seokjin, I would be grateful. But as it stands, a knight of his has murdered my betrothed, throne my court into chaos, and made people doubt my ability to protect them. Speak.”

Fire pops on the logs. You stare at Taehyung, trying to find deceit or treachery. His face is smooth, unreadable. You weigh your options. It’s a huge risk, telling Taehyung who is a total stranger why you’re going to the Winter Court. You don’t even know the name of the man you’re seeking, but you know the generic purpose.

Licking your lips, you tentatively start with your grandmother’s passing. The story is stilted with pauses – Taehyung interrupts often, asking questions for clarity. He isn’t rude, nodding along as you stumble your way through your story. You find yourself lost in his gaze as the words trip out of you, like something in his eyes is pulling the tale from the back of your throat.

You don’t skip over details. Surprisingly, you feel lighter as you tell Taehyung about the other. The pain you feel is real when you tell him how you can’t sleep in the same room Nox and Nyx were murdered in. How you feel alone and confused, how you hate that Quinn sold you out to Seokjin and how confused you are.

Tears burn your eyes when you look at Taehyung. You think that there might be sympathy there, but you’re not entirely sure. He listens as you drop your gaze down to your hands, fingers worrying at the hem of your tunic. “I just want to go home,” you murmur. “I didn’t ask for this – any of this. I don’t belong here and I don’t know how to survive here. I just want to go home, Your Highness.”

Licking your lips, you lean back in your chair and blow out a sigh. Jimin wasn’t lying – you could not lie to Taehyung. But it feels good to have told someone everything, to have recounted your struggles. You don’t know if he is an ally or a friend, but you feel lighter without the insecurities being just your own.

Taehyung seems deep in thought, finger idly stirring the wine in his glass. You wait for his response, anxiety mounting as you fiddle with the thread in your tunic.

“Seokjin has hinted at this other, though he did not explicitly explain the poison haunting his kingdom,” Taehyung sighs. “Perhaps he did not know what it was then. But his inability to explain what happened to my beloved has been cause for war.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you murmur. “I cannot imagine.”

“It is kind of you to say. There are fell creatures that move about Faerie. You’ve given me much to consider.”

“Will you let us pass?”

“I don’t know. Hearing that the High Tree is acting as a gateway for other beings to slip into our world is troublesome, but it does not solve the problem between my court and Jimin’s. They have done nothing to make up for the crime.”

“They killed the one responsible,” you argue.

“Is that enough?” Taehyung asks. He doesn’t seem to know the answer himself. “Is that justice? Is justice an eye-for-an-eye?”

“Justice is ending the terror that these others bring. And you can only do that by letting us pass. No matter his lineage, Jimin is the only one I see trying to fix the problem. You and Seokjin are squawking at one another about war, the Summer Court is pillaging the High Court and the other courts? Hide in their lands. He is trying to do what no one else is.”

“You speak fondly of him.”

“Hardly. I think he is cruel, and cunning and speaks in half-truths. But he’s the only one doing anything.”

“Perhaps because he has the freedom to do so.” Taehyung taps the table in thought before waving at you. “Rest. I will think on all that you have told me and come to a decision in the morning.”

“It’s always day here.”

Taehyung shrugs. “I know the time, even when the sun is always about. Rest, Shade. And convince that mate of yours that if he’s trouble, I’ll kill you both.”

-

Iron rods are stabbed into the ground surrounding a large tent. There are guards surrounding it, all of them looking straight forward. Your left to enter the flap, pulling it up and slipping into darkness. You blink, trying to let your eyes adjust there is no fae light inside, pulsing shadows blinding you immediately. It’s cold inside, seeping into your skin.

It’s difficult to see inside. A few steps further and you can make out a large tent – smaller than Taehyung’s but still large. Jimin paces back and forth in front of a bed, looking up when you call his name. He stops, looking up at you with wide eyes. The shadows in the room recede slowly, fae light appearing at the top of the tent.

You realize that it was dark because of Jimin’s power. He looks tired – strained as he stares at you, hands fisted at his side.

“Are you okay?”

Jimin storms toward you. You squeak, thinking he’s going to lash out at you. Instead, he grabs your face between his hands, holding your gaze steady with his wild, green eyes. “Never do that again,” he tells you, voice dangerously low. “Never. Do not ever offer yourself to be alone with someone like that. You’re lucky it was Taehyung, who was a friend before Isolde’s death. Never again.”

“You were being an idiot! Did you think we were going to cut our way out of there?”

Jimin’s lip curls. “I’m a prince of the Night Court. You haven’t seen a flicker of my power. You have no idea what I am capable of doing. Never think that the odds are against me.”

Heat sears through you. Jimin is so close that if he were to lean forward, he could press your lips together easily. You hate that the thought clouds your mind, head light. “Violence wasn’t the answer there.”

“Violence will always be my answer when you’re threatened.”

What? Since when?

You don’t realize that you asked the question outload, too. Hypnotized by him. He shuffles closer and your chest is pressed against his, two hearts ratting chaotically. His breath is warm and sweet, your eyes fluttering. “You have no idea,” Jimin whispers. “How important you are. Do not do that to me.”

“You don’t even like me.”

“Yeah?” he goads. “I don’t like you?”

“No. I don’t like you either.”

He smirks. “Should I show you how much I don’t like you?”

You don’t answer verbally. Your head is swimming and your eyes flutter shut. You have no idea what’s happening but you arch into him, pressing closer.

Jimin brushes his lips against yours and you spiral. Images flutter past you, reminding you of the siren song that you hear that night a month ago.

A kiss as soft as a butterfly wing.

Rough hands like silk against your skin.

The smell of orange blossom.

A deep wanting worse than anything you’ve ever felt, so deep it chokes you.

The color green.

Jimin pulls away. It was barely a kiss, more like a brush of skin. You open your eyes to look at him, see him gazing down at you, eyes the darkest shade of green you’ve ever seen them. His cradling your face, skin burning hot where the rough pads of his fingers hold you gently.

“Tell me to stop.” It sounds like he’s begging you. “Tell me you don’t like me again.”

“Faeries can’t lie,” you answer, unsure where the courage to say it comes from.

Jimin whines deep in his throat, brushing his nose against yours. You share breath, closing your eyes as your lips part, panting. The ache is so deep within you that you wrap your fingers in his tunic. “Tell me to stop,” Jimin says again.

“No.”

He growls. “Always doing the opposite of what I tell you. You can never keep that mouth shut.”

“So make me.”

A deep growls hums in Jimin’s throat again as he pulls you forward, pressing your lips against his. This kiss is firmer, no longer an innocent brush. His lips are softer than you imagine, drawing a sigh as you lean into him.

Something right feels like it clicks into place. You wrap your arms around Jimin’s neck, pulling him into you, stumbling slightly. He moves his mouth against yours gently and you feel like you’re floating. The world outside doesn’t matter anymore, the swipe of his tongue on your bottom lip pushing away every other thought.

Jimin jimin jimin.

You open your mouth to him, moaning as his tongue brushes yours. His mouth is warm and sweet, sharp canines nicking your bottom lip. You keen, fingers tangling in the bottom of his hair.

Jimin’s kisses turn hungry. He sucks at your bottom lip, pulling you toward the bed. He spins you around and pushes you into the mattress. You make a surprised sound as you bounce lightly, looking up at him. He barely gives you time to appreciate the way he leans over you before he’s pining you down, kissing you again.

Your legs wrap around his waist as Jimin settles between your legs. He kisses you vigorously, not letting a breath escape as you wrap your hands around his neck. You can’t form a coherent thought. He kisses your jaw, tongue licking a hot trail up to your ear. You let out a moan and he chuckles, the sound make you squirm under him.

“Jimin,” you murmur.

His breath is hot on your ear. “Not so argumentative now,” he purrs, pulling your earlobe with his teeth. You moan again, the sound desperate. You have never wanted anything more than Jimin in that moment. “Is this what it takes you shut that mouth of yours?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Oh?” Jimin bites your neck, sucking purple marks into tender skin. You turn your head, giving him more access. He paints your neck, rose blossoms and blooming flowers. “You need further shutting up?”

“Perhaps.”

Jimin grabs your wrists from around his neck. His grip is tight, slamming your hands above your head and pinning them there with a single hand. You writhe beneath him. He hovers above you, looking down at you with unfettered lust. Pleasure licks through you at his gaze.

“You are stubborn,” he growls, kissing your chin. “And insolent.” A kiss on your neck. “And you don’t listen to advice.” He nips your collarbone, making you roll your hips into his. “Enaid.”

The nickname sings through you. Jimin rips through your tunic, tearing it from the neck down the middle. You gasp, cold air pebbling your nipples and your skin. You feel a moment of self-consciousness, closing your eyes and tilting your head away.

Jimin’s lips ghost the scarred flesh between your breasts. You sigh, his lips feather light. “The night you got this was the first time I have been afraid in years,” Jimin murmurs. “I never want to feel that again.”

His mouth is firmer as he kisses you, mouth working to your right breast. His tongue darts out, flicking over the peak of your nipple. You make a high-pitched when and he grins, tongue tracing the bud.

“Fuck,” you pant. He huffs a laugh, taking the nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. You gasp as he pulls away, teeth scraping the sensitive skin. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Sensitive,” he observes and you nod. He kisses to the other nipple and repeats the motion. You are spinning. “Are all humans this sensitive?”

“Your mouth is sucking my nipple, Jimin,” you growl. “Of course I’m sensitive.”

“Hmmm. Still talking back.” He lifts up. One hand is still on your wrist, the other pulling at your pants. “Let’s see how fucking mouthy you are with my tongue in your pussy.”

Hot. Jimin mouth is hot and vicious on your stomach, biting across to your hip bone. You’re shivering beneath him, bucking and twitching as he rids you of your pants followed by your underwear. Your legs close on instinct but he lets go of your wrist in favor of prying your knees open, dropping to the floor.

You’re dripping for him. You can feel how hot and wet your pussy is, need spiking through you as Jimin glances up at you, eyes fucked out. You don’t break his gaze as he dips forward, tongue snaking out to take a long, slow lick up your slit.

“Oh fuck,” you pant. You’re coming apart at the seams and he’s barely done a thing.

“From the moment I saw you in that attic,” Jimin growls. “You called to me. Every moment I have been near you, I have been haunted by you. Seeing you sleep in my bed, smelling me on you, it has been slow torture.”

Jimin’s tongue dances up and down your folds. Your legs twitch shut but his hands are firm, spreading you. Pleasure shoots through you as Jimin licks at your center, tongue teasing your hole until you’re panting and whining underneath him, falling apart.

You can’t remember a time feeling like this. Every single nerve is a livewire, sparking to life as he licks a broad stripe up your pussy. He fastens his lips around your clit and sucks, making you gasp and lean forward off the bed.

Jimin is devilish between your legs. A vision of sin as he looks up at you, emerald eyes burning as he begins to eat you out in earnest, sucking and licking and humming as he fastens his mouth to you.

Everything feels heated. Your skin slicks with sweat as you gasp for air, Jimin growling into your pussy, tongue working you with fervor. Your heart sings. You feel your orgasm build as he lifts your hips off the bed, getting closer to you as his tongue fucks into your hole.

“So this is what it takes for you to shut up,” Jimin pants, giving a kitten lick to your clit. “Guess I’ll have to do this more often.”

“Jimin, please.”

“Yeah? Wanna cum?”

“Yes,” you moan.

“Beg.” You say nothing. A hand slips from your thigh, one of Jimin’s fingers pressing gently at your hole, applying enough pressure to make you whine. You thrash as he hums, finger circling your core. “Beg, Enaid.”

“Please,” you gasp. The name burns through your very soul, lighting you up. The image of the Midnight Tree flashes for a second. The thought of stars. A moon hanging over a silver hill. “Please please please.”

“That’s more like it,” he says, diving back in.

Jimin sucks harshly on your clit, tongue laving at it. You squeeze your eyes shut, screaming his name. Your hands shoot down to his hair, sliding through the soft strands as you hold him to you. His ministrations are desperate and slopping, the sounds of his hunger lewd and spurring you on he slides a finger into you, brushing against that perfect spot.

You cum immediately, screaming into the tent as your orgasm launches you into the stars.

For a moment, you just shake. Jimin presses his tongue flat against your clit, letting your trembling apply light friction. You try to catch your breath, gasping and shaking as you come down. Your chest heaves and you feel like you might go into cardiac arrest.

Kissing his way up your stomach, Jimin hovers above you, your cum slick on his swollen lips. “Silent now, aren’t we?”

Jimin crashes his lips to yours. You scratch at him, all tongue and teeth, tasting your sweetness on his tongue. You pull at the hem of his shirt and –

Screams break you apart. Jimin jerks up on his knees, head turning toward the flap of your tent. There is yelling and the sound of metal against metal. He pulls you up, though you’re dizzy and still light-headed.

“Get dressed,” Jimin orders. He’s standing in front of you, facing the door. “I need you to pull the iron poles from the ground or I cannot leave.”

You scramble to get dressed. Your legs are like jelly, making you stumble. He catches you, giving you a steady hand as he passes you a shirt. There’s a scream at the front of your tent, a body falling through it. A member of the Day Court lies thrashing at the mouth of the tent, stilling your movements. His tunic is ripped open, a black mark on his chest.

Jimin looks at you with dark eyes. “Quickly.”

-

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JUNGKOOK ♡ 220313 cr. @/namchyoon

heart eyes mf

V → VMIN → VMINKOOK

he’s so hot go cry about it

namjoon and jungkook just thrusting out of nowehere on live tv LMAO