#bts ffs

Chapter:17 part three

Before you could even gasp at the wreckage, Taehyung’s hand shot out, pinning you against the wall with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. His chest was heaving, his gold eyes searching your face with a desperation that bordered on madness. You squeezed your eyes shut, hot tears finally spilling over and tracking down your cheeks, your small frame shaking under the weight of his suffocating intensity. You waited for the next blow, the next bite, or perhaps another roar of command, but the oppressive pressure in the room suddenly vanished.

When you finally opened your eyes, the silence was absolute. Taehyung was gone. The only thing remaining was the heavy expensive jacket, draped carelessly over your trembling shoulder.

You slid down the wall, your dress ruined and your shoulder throbbing where his fangs had claimed their territory. You curled into yourself, burying your face in your knees as the first sob broke through. Then another, and another, until you were shaking with the sheer exhaustion of being the center of a storm you couldn't control.

"I told him that the volatility of his aura was peaking," a bright, melodic voice drifted from the doorway. "Namjoon was absolutely right—Taehyung is damaging things again. That boy really needs to learn some temper control, or he's going to bankrupt the university in window replacements alone."

You jumped, whipping your tears away with the back of your hand and glancing up to see Professor Hobi leaning against the doorframe. His expression was a mixture of pity and amusement, his eyes scanning the shattered glass and the crushed desks with a practiced sigh.

"Professor Hobi!" you gasped, your voice sounding raw and fragile. "I... I was just... the wind, it just..."

Hobi let out a soft, knowing chuckle, stepping over a piece of floating debris that had only just finished settling. He reached out, gently patting your head as if you were a frightened kitten. "Little lamplight, for your information, this is an incredibly rare occurrence. It's practically a miracle—the first time any girl has ever actually had an effect on Taehyung's emotional stability. Usually, he's as steady as a mountain of ice. To make him break things... well, you've managed to stir something in him that hasn't been touched in centuries."

You looked up at him, your eyes red and blinking with confusion,"What... what do you mean?" you whispered, your voice cracking. "He didn't stir anything—he just attacked me. He's terrifying."

"Terrifying, yes," Hobi agreed with a playful wink, though his gaze softened with a hint of genuine sympathy. "But in the world of royal vampires, terror is often just a clumsy mask for a heart that doesn't know how to handle its own hunger."

Before you could process the implication, a heavy, weary sigh echoed from the hallway.Namjoon stepped into the room,his eyes scanning the devastation of the classroom—the shattered glass, the splintered wood, and your trembling form. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a long moment of silent prayer.

"I swear," Namjoon groaned, his voice resonating with a deep, guttural fatigue, "one of these days, I am actually going to follow through on it. I really want to quit this principal job. The paperwork for 'unexplained atmospheric anomalies' is becoming a full-time occupation."

Hobi let out a delighted chirp, leaning back against the doorframe with a mischievous grin. "Well, if you're truly resigning, Namjoon-hyung, let me know! I’ll apply for the position immediately. Imagine the school spirit if I were principal! We’d have mandatory dance breaks between every lecture and glitter in the hallways!"

Namjoon didn't even look up from the wreckage; he just stared at a particularly splintered desk leg with a look of profound exhaustion. "The thought of you in charge is exactly why I’m not resigning," he muttered, though his gaze finally softened as it landed on you. He noticed your shredded collar and the way you were clutching Taehyung’s oversized jacket around yourself. "Y/N, you're shaking. Go home. My driver is waiting outside".

"Thank you, Principle Namjoon," you whispered, your voice still thick with unshed tears. You didn't wait for another word, scrambling to your feet and clutching the heavy fabric of the jacket to your chest. You hurried out of the classroom.

Once you had vanished around the corner, the atmosphere in the room shifted back to one of weary professional concern. Namjoon leaned against a blackened chalkboard, his gaze following the empty doorway. "Jimin loves her," he murmured.

Hobi tilted his head, his playful expression fading into something more contemplative. "Love, or obsession?" he countered softly.

Namjoon sighed,He looked at the shattered windows and the lingering scent of Taehyung’s volatile aura. "Which is exactly why we need to ensure Y/N stays as far away from Taehyung as possible," he murmured, his voice heavy with a foresight that bordered on dread. "Taehyung is a catalyst. If he continues to carve his claim into her, Jimin will lose whatever fragile control he has left over himself. We can't afford a royal war."

Hobi hummed, crossing his arms as he looked toward the door where you had disappeared. "You worry too much,Namjoon. That little lamplight is practically tethered to Jimin.".

"I hope you're right," Namjoon replied, though his expression remained grim. "Now, please, for the love of everything, help me clear this wreckage before the janitors have a heart attack. I have to go handle the fallout of the festival." Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode out of the room.

Hobi remained in the silence for a moment, his gaze drifting to the spot where you had been pinned against the wall. A small, enigmatic smile played on his lips as he whispered to the empty room, "Love, obsession, or a royal collision... either way, it's going to be fascinating to watch."

The gravel of the driveway crunched beneath your feet, a rhythmic, grounding sound that contrasted the chaotic drumming of your heart. You were halfway to the sleek black sedan waiting for you when a high-pitched shriek sliced through the evening air.

"Y/N! Y/N! Wait up!"

You froze, shoulders hunching instinctively. Soomin skidded to a halt beside you, her face flushed with excitement, but her expression shifted the moment her eyes landed on you. She gasped, her gaze darting from your shredded collar to the oversized, expensive fabric of Taehyung's jacket draped over your shaking frame.

"Omo! Y/N, what happened to your dress?" she shrieked, her eyes widening in a mix of horror and sudden, manic realization. She leaned in, sniffing the air, her expression morphing into a smug, knowing grin. "Wait a minute... that’s Professor Taehyung’s jacket! Don't tell me you two actually did it? In a classroom? Right under our noses?"

"Soomin, please, stop it! It’s not what you think!" you pleaded, your voice sounding small and exhausted. You tried to pull the jacket tighter around you, wishing you could simply vanish into the upholstery of the sedan. "It's enough. Nothing happened, and nothing is happening. Please just let me go home."

But Soomin was an unstoppable force of curiosity. She grabbed your wrist, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of mischief and genuine alarm. "Forget about the dress for a second, Y/N! You need to move. Right now. There is a swarm of girls at the festival food center practically climbing over each other to get to Professor Taehyung. He’s... well, he’s not exactly himself. He’s fully drunk, and he's just sitting there while these vultures circle him. You need to come and save your 'boyfriend' from these bitches before they actually swallow him whole!"

Before you could even utter a denial, Soomin’s grip tightened, and she began dragging you backward, away from the safety of the car and back toward the heart of the festival.Your mind was a whirlwind of confusion; why would Taehyung be drinking? He was usually the embodiment of icy sobriety.

As you rounded the corner into the food center, the scene was exactly as Soomin had described. A crowd of female students had formed a tight, suffocating circle around a single table. At the center sat Taehyung. He was slouched in his chair, his tie loosened and his gaze unfocused, staring blankly at the table with an expression of profound boredom. Several girls were leaning in close, their voices a high-pitched, desperate chorus of flirtation, practically fighting for the privilege of touching his arm or offering him another glass of wine.

"See? Right there!" Soomin hissed, giving you a sharp shove forward. "Go on, save your boyfriend from the vultures before one of them actually manages to climb into his lap."

You stood at the edge of the crowd, clutching his jacket and trying to figure out how to step in. You were just a servant with no right to claim him.

​Still, your chest ached seeing him like this—slumped over, unfocused, and completely vulnerable. His usual cold, strong composure was totally gone, leaving him dazed and helpless in the middle of the crowded.

A sudden, desperate instinct surged from within you,*Please, just for a moment, let the world be still,* you pleaded silently. You didn't know how, but you felt a snap in the air. Suddenly, the shrill laughter of the girls froze mid-note. A spilled glass of champagne paused in mid-air, a shimmering amber sculpture of liquid. The world turned a muted. Time had stopped.

In the absolute silence, you stepped forward. You reached the table and leaned over him, your voice a fragile whisper. "Master Taehyung, please... let's go. You can't stay here like this."

Taehyung’s head tilted slowly, his glazed eyes focusing on you with a heavy, sluggish intensity. For a moment, he looked like he might actually recognize you, but then his brow furrowed. As you reached out to touch his shoulder, he jerked away with a clumsy, sudden movement, his voice slurred and rough. "Don't touch me," he muttered, though there was no heat in the command, only a strange, wounded desperation.

You felt a sting of irritation flash through your fear. You sighed, pulling your hand back and stepping away. "Fine. Then stay here. Do whatever you want. Let them crowd you until you can't breathe."

You turned to leave, but before you could take a single step, a hand clamped around your wrist with bruising strength. With a sudden, dizzying surge of movement, Taehyung pulled you down, forcing you to sit abruptly in the chair beside him.

Then, the unthinkable happened. The proud, untouchable the man who viewed you as a mere object of curiosity—slid from his seat. He sank to the floor, his expensive trousers gathering dust as he dropped to his knees before you.

Taehyung leaned his forehead against your knee, his shoulders shaking. He looked up at you, his golden eyes no longer icy, but drowning in a desperate, intoxicated confusion. "I don't understand," he whispered, his voice cracking, stripped of all its usual authority. "I never gave it... I didn't give my heart to anyone. I locked it away centuries ago."

A single tear, tracked down his cheek. He gripped the fabric of your skirt, not with the violence of a predator, but with the desperation of a drowning man. "Then why... why did my heart become yours?"

"Master Taehyung..." you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sudden, heavy silence of the frozen world. You looked down at him, the man who usually commanded the room with a single glance, now reduced to a trembling wreck at your feet.

His hand shot up, fingers curling around your jaw with a grip that was firm yet devoid of his usual aggression. He forced your gaze to meet his, his gold eyes swimming with a cocktail of intoxication and raw, unfiltered longing. "How dare you," he rasped, his breath smelling of expensive wine. "How dare you make my heart move like this? You are just a pathetic, fragile human... so why? Why does your presence make my heart so restless?"

You blinked, confused by the vulnerability in his voice. "Master Taehyung, you're just..."

"I kept my distance for a reason!" he interrupted, his voice cracking as he pulled you closer, his forehead still resting against your knee. "There was one reason I stayed away. Because I find myself becoming weak when I touch you. Something is happening inside me—something I never wished for. This... this pathetic feeling." He looked up at you, his expression tortured. "Tell me why. Tell me why you are becoming my entire world when you are nothing but a flicker of a candle in the dark."

"Master Taehyung," you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs, "you're really drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped his lips. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a fragile murmur. "Should I reveal everything to you? Should I tell you how I've spent the last few hours drowning in this noise just to forget the way you look at me?" His grip on your skirt tightened. "But you would just choose Jimin, wouldn't you? You would leave me behind the moment I became honest."

Your heart softened, and without thinking, you reached out. Your thumb brushed against his cheek, wiping away the lone tear that had tracked through the dust of the floor.

"If this is that pathetic feeling," he breathed, his gaze locking onto your lips, "then let it consume me."

He didn't wait for an answer. Taehyung surged upward, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss .It wasn't the violent, claiming kiss from the classroom; this was desperate, searching, and profoundly sad. It was the kiss of a man who had finally surrendered to the one thing he feared most: needing someone.

"I love you," he whispered against your lips.

The moment his lips sealed against yours, the psychic dam you had unwittingly built crashed down.

Time suddenly snapped back to life with a loud, sudden crash. The midnight fireworks exploded overhead, filling the sky with bright colors and loud booms,the booming echoes masking the gasp that escaped your lips as Taehyung pulled away.The crowd of girls rushed forward again, screaming and laughing. In the chaos of the noise and the shimmering light, Taehyung’s grip on you slackened, his eyes fluttering shut as the alcohol finally claimed his consciousness,leaving you trembling after his sudden confession.

----

The silence of the bedroom was absolute. You were lost in a dreamless slumber, the heavy exhaustion of the day finally claiming you. The moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains.

A shadow detached itself from the doorway. Jungkook entered with a grace, his footsteps making no sound on the plush carpet. He paused at the edge of the bed, his gaze lingering on your peaceful expression, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had defined the last few hours.

A heavy sigh escaped him, a sound weighted with a longing he rarely allowed himself to feel. "Here you are," he murmured, his voice a low vibration in the quiet room. "Sleeping so peacefully while I've spent the entire day missing you, counting every second until I could be near you again." He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his breath cold against your cheek. "Seriously, how can you be so oblivious? I can feel it in the way you look at me, the way you let me in. I know you love me too. You just haven't said it yet."

He leaned closer, pressing a lingering, soft kiss to your forehead. "Don't worry," he whispered into the silence, his voice laced with a fierce determination. "After Jimin’s marriage is settled, I’ll announce ours. I’ll let the entire world know that you belong to me, and I belong to you."

A small, wistful smile touched his lips as he gazed at your sleeping form. In the quiet of the midnight hour, the ruthless prince disappeared, replaced by a boy who simply wanted to be loved. "You know... after the marriage, we can leave the royal burdens behind. We can live as humans. Just you and me," he whispered.

Jungkook imagined a life away from the blood-soaked politics of the court, a house filled with the chaotic laughter of three children who looked like you. The sheer absurdity of the thought—a royal vampire dreaming of a domestic, human life—made him let out a soft, airy chuckle.

You shifted slightly, your hand sliding across the silk sheets until your fingers brushed against his. In your deep slumber, you instinctively curled your fingers around his hand. Jungkook froze, his heart—which rarely beat for anyone—thumping violently against his ribs. He didn't pull away. Instead, he entwined his fingers with yours, marveling at how perfectly your small hand fit within his.

"I'm really going crazy, aren't I?" he murmured, a low, genuine chuckle escaping his chest. He wanted to wake you, to pull you into his arms and demand that you say those three words back to him, but the sight of your resting face—stripped of the fear and confusion that usually clouded your eyes—was too precious to disturb. He leaned down, his lips grazing the knuckles of your entwined fingers. "I love you, Y/N. More than this crown, more than my own pride."

He remained there for a long time, anchored by the simple weight of your hand in his, dreaming of a future where the scent of old blood and royal duty was replaced by the smell of morning coffee and the laughter of children. He finally disentangled himself with a reluctant sigh, stealing one last glance at you before vanishing back into the shadows of the hallway, leaving the room to the silence of the moonlight.

Across the estate, in the oppressive grandeur of the Second Queen's mansion. The Second Queen sat perched at her mahogany desk, the scratching of her fountain pen the only sound in the room. She was meticulously signing a series of legal documents, her expression one of cold, calculated indifference.

A manager entered the room, bowing low as he held a gold-embossed envelope. "Your Highness, Prince Jimin has sent the official invitation for his wedding. He requests your presence as the guest of honor."

The Queen didn't even look up from her paperwork. With a flick of her wrist, she gestured for the invitation to be tossed aside like a piece of common trash. "Throw that distraction in the wastebin," she commanded, her voice like ice. "Did you manage to verify the reports I asked for? Tell me the results of the investigation."

The manager straightened, his voice trembling slightly. "Yes, Your Highness. Your suspicions were correct. The alignment of the bloodlines is shifting."

The Second Queen finally paused, her pen hovering just millimeters above the parchment. A slow, predatory smile curled her lips, one that didn't reach her eyes. "Three days," she murmured, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "In three days, the chaos will peak, and that crown will finally be in my hand. Jimin is far too sentimental to see the blade coming until it’s already at his throat."

The manager bowed, his forehead nearly touching the marble floor, terrified by the sheer coldness radiating from her.

----

The mansion was alive with a chaotic, breathless energy the moment the sun crested the horizon. Tonight was the wedding, and every corridor buzzed with servants rushing past carrying towering silver trays, armfuls of fresh white roses, and delicate silk drapes.

​You had thrown yourself right into the middle of the bustle,Anything was better than sitting alone in your room and letting the echo of Taehyung’s drunken confession dismantle your sanity. You spent the morning hauling crates of crystal glassware and adjusting the heavy velvet runners,you hoped that by becoming a blur of productivity, you could outrun the memory of those golden, shattered eyes and the way he had called you his entire world.

You were carrying a heavy vase of cascading orchids toward the grand foyer when your foot caught on a loose piece of silk carpeting. With a sharp gasp, the world tilted, and the vase began its descent toward the polished marble floor.

Before the crash could happen, a pair of strong, steady arms locked around your waist, hauling you back from the brink of a very messy disaster.

"Careful, little human," Jimin murmured, his voice a velvet caress that vibrated against your spine. He didn't let go immediately, his arms lingering around your waist. "Since when did the royal staff delegate their heavy lifting to a fragile thing like you? You’ll bruise yourself before the ceremony even begins."

You stepped back, your face flushing as you carefully reclaimed your balance. "I just wanted to help," you stammered, clutching the vase to your chest. "The staff is overwhelmed, and I... I can't just sit in my room."

Jimin’s gaze softened, though a playful, knowing smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. He stepped closer, his presence enveloping you in that familiar scent of sandalwood and something dangerously sweet. "Helping the staff, or running away from your own thoughts?" he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "Because you've been practically ghosting me since that night in the classroom, Y/N. I didn't realize my touch left such a lasting impression that you couldn't even look into my eyes for three days."

Your cheeks flared a deep crimson. The memory of the classroom—the blurring of pain and pleasure, the way he had claimed you with a terrifyingly gentle precision—surged back, making your knees feel weak. You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but the words died in your throat.

Suddenly, a pair of strong arms swept around you from behind, and a pair of warm lips pressed firmly against your flushed cheek.

"Morning, Princess," Jungkook’s voice vibrated against your ear, possessive and loud enough to make several nearby servants pause in their tracks.

"Morning, Master Jungkook," you managed to squeak out, trying to wedge yourself out of his iron grip.

Jimin let out a soft, melodic chuckle, stepping back just enough to give you air, though his eyes remained fixed on you. "Well, little brother," Jimin murmured, his voice dripping with a playful sort of irony, "waking up so early? I didn't think you had the discipline for the dawn hours unless there was something—or someone—worth the effort."

Jungkook didn’t break his hold, his chin resting on your shoulder as he shot a challenging look at his brother. "Someone has to make sure the help isn't being distracted by your 'sweetness,' Jimin. You should focus on your wedding preparations. It would be a tragedy if the groom was too preoccupied with his servant to actually make it to the altar."

Jimin’s expression remained unruffled,"Hmm," he hummed, a cryptic sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. With a final, lingering glance at you—Jimin stepped away, gliding down the hallway with a wave of his hand. "Enjoy your morning, Jungkook. Try not to scare the staff away before the guests arrive."

The moment Jimin vanished around the corner, the playful air evaporated, Jungkook arms tightened around you, pulling you back against his chest until you could feel the frantic thrum of his heart. He didn't let go; instead, he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he scanned your flushed face.

"What were you doing with him?" Jungkook demanded, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "Why were you standing so close? I could practically smell his scent clinging to you from across the hall."

"I was just—" you started, your voice trembling. You tried to shift away, but he shifted with you, pinning you against the wall of the corridor. Jungkook’s gaze was obsidian, searching your eyes for a lie.

The heavy silence was shattered by a sudden, frantic gasp. A young maid, rushing toward the foyer with a massive, overfilled basin of celebratory confetti and shimmering gold petals, tripped over the hem of her own apron. She didn't just stumble; she launched forward with a spectacular lack of grace. With a loud *shloop* sound, the basin flipped upside down directly over Jungkook’s head.

A mountain of multicolored paper and glittering gold foil rained down on him, coating his perfectly styled dark hair and clinging to his expensive silk lapels. He looked less like a royal predator and more like a very grumpy, very expensive party decoration.

The maid immediately hit the floor, dropping to her knees and bowing her head in terror. "I'm so sorry, Master Jungkook! Please forgive me! It was an accident!" she wailed, her voice echoing through the hall.

Jungkook stood frozen, his eyes blinking slowly as a single piece of bright pink confetti settled on the tip of his nose. The air in the corridor turned frigid. His jaw tightened, and his chest expanded as he drew in a breath, his expression shifting into something murderous. He opened his mouth to unleash a scathing command that would likely send the poor girl into early retirement.

But before the first syllable of his rage could escape his lips, a strange sound bubbled up from your throat.

Jungkook froze, his gaze snapping from the trembling maid to your shaking shoulders. He slowly reached up, brushing a handful of bright pink confetti from his forehead, his expression a mix of bewilderment and offense. "Did you just... laugh at me?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low.

"No, Master Jungkook," you managed to gasp out, wiping a tear from your eye as you leaned against the wall for support. "It’s just... you actually look... incredibly cute like this."

The word 'cute' seemed to stun him more than the confetti had. Jungkook’s murderous expression faltered, his brow twitching as he looked down at the gold foil clinging to his eyelashes. A slow, smug smile crept across his lips, and he shook his head, sending a shower of pink paper fluttering to the floor like dying cherry blossoms.

"Cute?" he echoed, his voice regaining its characteristic velvet arrogance. He stepped closer, invading your space. "I am not 'cute,' Y/N. I am hot. I am devastatingly handsome. You are simply lucky that I allow you to gaze upon such perfection." He reached up, flicking a piece of gold foil from his cheek with a practiced, smug grace.

He turned his gaze to the trembling maid, who was still pressed against the marble floor. The murderous aura that had begun to coil around him had vanished, replaced by a rare, fleeting softness. "Go," he commanded, though his voice lacked its usual bite. "Just be more careful with your footing next time."

The maid let out a sob of relief, scrambling to her feet. She bowed frantically, her eyes darting between the glitter-covered prince and you. "Thank you, Master Jungkook! Thank you so much, Ma'am!" she chirped, casting a grateful glance toward you before disappearing around the corner as quickly as she had arrived.

Jungkook’s smug expression lingered for a moment, but as he looked at you, the arrogance in his eyes flickered. He stepped closer, his voice dropping into something quieter, almost hesitant. "By the way," he murmured, his gaze searching yours, "what was the reason we were... fighting earlier?" He paused, the silence stretching between you. "Actually, never mind. I don’t want to fight anymore. It just messes with us—with our relationship."

The word *relationship* hung in the air, shimmering and fragile. You blinked, You opened your mouth, the question *'What relationship?'* practically vibrating on your tongue, but before you could breathe the words, a booming voice echoed from the end of the gallery.

"Jungkook! get over here before the florist decides the lilies belong in the fountain!" Namjoon’s voice roared. He was standing by the grand archway, gesturing wildly toward a group of confused botanists who were currently arguing over the placement of a three-story floral installation.

Jungkook leaned in, the scent of expensive cologne swirling around him, and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. "I'll talk to you later—properly," he murmured against your skin, his voice a low vibration that sent a shiver down your spine. Before you could even blink, he vanished toward the chaos of the floral installation, leaving you standing in the middle of the corridor.

You leaned back against the cold marble wall, your hand instinctively rising to touch the spot where his lips had rested. *Relationship.* The word echoed in your mind, looping like a broken record. What on earth was he talking about?

As you began to walk back toward your room , the weight of your own secrets pressed heavily on your chest. You needed to clarify what that kiss meant,but how could you possibly ask him without revealing the blueprint of your strategy? To admit that his affection was a tool for your awakening would be to shatter the fragile, human connection you had finally started to build with him

The silence of the corridor was suddenly punctured by the rhythmic *tap-tap-tap* of polished boots against marble. You looked up to see Taehyung approaching, his gaze fixed intently on his phone, his expression the usual mask of cold indifference. Panic flared in your gut; you weren't ready to face him.

In a moment of sheer, instinctive desperation, you lunged for the nearest cover—a massive, ornate velvet curtain that draped over a decorative alcove. You dove behind the heavy fabric, pulling the gold tassels shut just as Taehyung stepped into the space where you had been standing a second ago. You held your breath, your heart hammering against your ribs, praying that the thick velvet would swallow the sound of your frantic breathing. *Please don't see me, please just keep walking,* you pleaded silently, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Hide and seek? How quaintly childish," a low, resonant voice vibrated through the fabric.

You gasped, your eyes snapping open to find Taehyung’s face inches from yours. He hadn't even looked up from his phone to find you; he had simply sensed your presence. He looked down at you, arched an eyebrow, and leaned back with a slow, rhythmic click of his tongue.

"I wasn't hiding!" you stammered, stepping out from behind the curtain and trying to smooth down your disheveled clothes. "I just... I wasn't ready to face you yet."

Taehyung finally slid the phone into his pocket, his gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that felt like it was peeling back layers of your skin. A ghost of a smirk touched his lips, one that didn't quite reach the coldness of his eyes. "Is that so? Because the reports of your bravery are quite contrasting. I heard you were the one who managed to handle me yesterday while I was... indisposed."

Your heart skipped a beat. The memory of the festival—the way he had clung to you, the desperate confession. You looked at him, searching for a flicker of that vulnerability, and whispered, "Master Taehyung... about your conf—"

"Well, thanks," he said, his voice a flat, tonal void. "But don't dare to interfere with my personal space again. My lapses in judgment are my own to deal with, not yours to archive."

The rejection was so clinical it felt physical, like a sudden drop in temperature that left you shivering. You stood there, blinking, the echo of his desperate *'you are my entire world'* still ringing in your ears. The contrast was dizzying. He had been a man undone by his own longing only hours ago, and now he was treating you like a smudge on a painting he intended to ignore.

"Master Taehyung," you called out, your voice small and trembling as he began to turn away. "What you said to me yesterday... do you remember? You told me you loved—"

Taehyung stopped, but he didn't turn around. "I don't have time for remembering nonsense," he replied, his voice devoid of the warmth that had once broken him. "Consider it a byproduct of the alcohol. A temporary glitch in a century of silence."

Without another word, he vanished.

You stared at the empty space, your hand dropping from the velvet curtain. "So it was all a lie," you whispered to the silence, the words feeling like lead in your stomach. But as you repeated the thought, a stubborn, aching contradiction flared in your chest. If it was a lie, why did the memory of his voice—that raw, shattered confession—still feel like a brand against your skin? Could a drunk person lie with that much desperation? Could a man who has spent centuries in cold silence accidentally stumble into a truth so profound that he had to erase it the moment he woke up?

You shook your head violently, trying to dislodge the image of his golden eyes. *Stop it, Y/N,* you scolded yourself, clutching your arms across your chest. *You need to focus. You don't have time for this.*

----

The vanity mirror was a constellation of blinding bulbs, reflecting a vision in ivory and lace. Mia sat motionless as the makeup artist applied a final, shimmering glaze to her lids.

Jungkook leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over a chest clad in a sharp, charcoal suit. He looked at her—and a flicker of something old and bruised crossed his features before the habitual mask of arrogance slid back into place. "Well," he drawled, his voice sliding through the room, "the red accents of the decor almost match your lips. You look slightly less ugly than usual, Mia."

Mia let out a soft, melodic laugh, the sound lacking its usual brightness. She looked at the makeup artist with a gentle smile. "Could you give us a few minutes? Just a moment of privacy for the bride?"

As soon as the door clicked shut, the silence in the room became suffocating. Mia turned to Jungkook, her gaze searching his. "Be honest," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Don't tell me you've never dreamed of this. Me, in this dress... but walking toward you."

Jungkook’s expression didn't flicker, but his fingers tightened slightly against his sleeves. "Mia, stop joking. It’s unbecoming of a bride."

Mia took a deep breath, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the ivory lace. "If you ever truly loved me—even just once, in a way that mattered—please, Jungkook. Don’t attend this wedding. Stay away from this. For the sake of whatever we used to be."

Jungkook’s expression remained a frozen mask, though his gaze flickered toward the window, where the first guests were beginning to arrive. "Do you really think I’m the kind of man to mess up your wedding?" he asked, his voice sliding into that familiar, velvet arrogance. "Do you actually believe I’m that desperate for your attention that I’d forgot the spectacle of your union with my brother?"

"Jungkook, please," she whispered, a single tear threatening to ruin the shimmering glaze on her lids.

"Well, sorry to inform you," he replied, stepping closer to adjust a stray lock of her hair.

Mia let out a broken sob and suddenly lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his waist in a crushing hug. She buried her face in his charcoal suit, her voice muffled and desperate. "I'm sorry, Jungkook. I'm so sorry, but I didn't have a choice."

----

The grand oak doors swung open, the heavy brass creaking loudly against the sudden silence of the sanctuary. All eyes turned as Mia stepped onto the marble aisle, a vision of ivory lace and blinding silver thread.

Jimin stood at the altar, waiting with immaculate poise in his dark velvet coat. As she glided up the steps toward him, he extended a gloved hand to steady her. Leaning in close, his voice slid like silk into her ear. "You look beautiful, Mia... though sadly, it's all going to waste."

Mia’s gaze flickered, a momentary flash of uncertainty crossing her face, but she stepped closer, her grip on the bouquet tightening. "I can't even explain how long I've been waiting for this, Jimin," she whispered back.

The ceremony proceeded with a dizzying, choreographed precision. When the time came for the exchange of rings, Mia took the sliver band and slid it onto Jimin’s finger. The metal clicked into place, a permanent seal of their union. But as she pulled her hand away, her voice lost its sweetness. "You know," she murmured, barely audible to anyone but the man she had just wed, " She was such an idiot for loving a monster."

Before Jimin could process her words, a sharp, choked gasp tore from his throat.

​His eyes widened in shock as a dark, violent stream of blood spilled from his lips. He clutched wildly at his chest, his knees buckling as he collapsed heavily onto the altar carpet, blood staining the white fabric around him. The guests gasped in unison, the celebratory atmosphere curdling into instant horror.

Hobi and Namjoon lunged forward, their instincts screaming to intervene, while Taehyung’s face shifted from cold indifference to raw panic. He was already mid-stride, his hand reaching out to catch his brother before the royal guards could even react.

"Don't you dare move a single muscle."

The voice was like a whip, cracking through the chaos. Jin stepped out from the shadows of the sanctuary, his expression one of chilling composure. He stood with an air of effortless authority, his gaze sweeping over the panicked brothers. "If you value the life of your youngest brother, Jungkook,And my men are currently surrounding the mansion."

"Guards! Go bring Y/N here immediately!" Mia commanded, her voice slicing through the heavy, panicked atmosphere of the sanctuary. Several guards hesitated briefly before rushing toward the exit to follow her orders.

​Jimin lay gasping on the crimson-stained carpet, his hands clutching weakly at his chest as dark blood trickled steadily from the corner of his lips. He forced his heavy eyelids open, staring up at her in disbelief. "Mia... why?" he choked out, his voice a frail rasp.

​"What the hell are you doing, Mia?!" Taehyung snarled, his eyes flashing a dangerous crimson as every muscle in his body coiled to strike. "This is a wedding! Have you completely lost your mind?!"

Mia’s gaze flickered over to Taehyung, her expression softening for a split second before hardening into pure stone. "Oppa, please... stay out of this," she pleaded quietly, her tone laced with a tragic finality.

​"Where is Jungkook?!" Namjoon demanded, his powerful aura flaring around him as he glared at Jin . "What have you done to him ?!"

​"Jimin! Stay with us!" Hobi yelled, his instincts screaming at him to rush forward, yet forced to stay frozen in place.

​"Mia..." Jimin gasped again, his vision swimming as the lethal toxin began to take hold. "Why...?"

​Mia took a slow step toward his trembling form, looking down at him with a chilling, hysterical laugh that vibrated through the silent room. "You have no idea how long I’ve been dying to see this, Jimin," she hissed, her voice trembling with years of suppressed rage. "To watch you on your knees, begging for the last drop of your life. This poison is slow... it’s going to destroy you from the inside out. Tell me, why did you do it to her?! She loved you! She betrayed me just to protect you, and how did you repay her?! Why did you kill my sister?!"

​Before the words could even settle, the sanctuary doors burst open once more. Two guards dragged Y/N into the grand hall—her head hung limply, completely unconscious as her feet dragged against the polished marble.

​"Leave her alone!" Taehyung roared, taking an explosive step forward, his fangs fully bared. "Don't you dare touch her!"

Mia didn't even turn to look at him. Her bloodshot eyes snapped directly onto Jin. "Kill her, Jin!" she barked, her voice shrill and unhinged. "Kill her right now!"

​Jin’s cold composure didn't break, but his eyes narrowed into razor-sharp slits as he fixed Mia with a stern, authoritative glare. He raised a hand, his tone dropping into a low, dangerous growl. "Control yourself, Mia," Jin warned, his voice cutting through her hysteria like ice. "We can't do that. We stick to what we decided—do not forget the plan."

​"I promised myself I would get Jimin on his knees, taking the last breath of his life," Mia hissed, her eyes wild as she glared down at the dying prince. "And I want Jimin to see his love dying right in front of his eyes!"

​Taehyung’s chest heaved with fury. Sparks of dark energy flared in his palms as he tried to unleash his powers, but the energy sputtered and died before it could even form. "What...?" he gasped, panicking. Namjoon and Hobi tried to summon their own abilities to break forward, but their bodies refused to obey.

​Mia let out a cruel, mocking laugh at their desperation. "Don't waste your time on this. Your powers are completely locked—did you really think I wouldn't prepare for royal blood?"

She lunged forward, raising the dagger to plunge it into the heart of the unconscious girl, but Taehyung threw himself directly in front of the blade. "Stay out of this, Oppa!" Mia screamed, her voice cracking with unhinged obsession. "She snatched Jungkook away from me!"

​Without his vampire strength, Taehyung struggled frantically to block the strike, but the scuffle turned chaotic. The silver blade flashed through the air—and sank deep into the chest of the body on the floor.

​A sickening silence fell over the room.

​Blood pooled onto the white marble, and Taehyung went completely blank, his hands dripping with red as he stared at the lifeless body in horror. "No... no, no, no..."

Suddenly, every weapon held by Jin’s men—every gun, blade, and dagger—began to violently vibrate. One by one, the metal was ripped from the guards' hands, rising into the air and hovering ominously beneath the cathedral ceiling.

​Jin’s cold composure instantly shattered into pure shock. "What...?"

​Slowly, measured footsteps echoed down the cathedral stairs.

​You walked down into the sanctuary, your eyes glowing with a terrifying, raw energy that made the stone walls tremble. Your voice was a cold, deadly thread that cut through the frozen room.

​"What did my mom do wrong?"

​Mia whirled around, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes darted between you and the floor. "How...? I just—"

​When Mia looked back at the corpse on the carpet, the illusion faded. The girl she had just stabbed was not you—it was merely a maid dressed in your clothes.

​"WHY DID YOU KILL MY MOM?!" you screamed, a violent wave of telepathic power detonating from your body.

​The blast hit the room like a physical shockwave. Guards, Mia, and the brothers were all slammed violently against the stone walls, pinned firmly in place by an invisible, crushing weight.

​Jin gasped as the force wrapped tightly around his neck, lifting his feet completely off the marble floor. He clawed helplessly at his throat, his face draining of color as he looked into your tear-streaked, furious eyes.

​"Y/N... listen... it's—" Jin choked out, struggling to draw a single breath.

​You stepped closer, the floating weapons pointing directly at his heart, your voice laced with devastating heartbreak and uncontrollable fury. "Why did you take my mom from me?!"

"Y/N, stop!" Jin choked out, his fingers clawing uselessly at the invisible force gripping his throat, his feet dangling several inches above the marble floor.

​"I ASKED WHY!" you screamed, your voice echoing with a terrifying, supernatural resonance that caused the grand stained-glass windows to rattle violently in their lead frames.

​Mia, pinned flat against the cold stone wall beside him, gritted her teeth against the crushing pressure. "Because she gave birth to a monster!" she spat back, her eyes wide with unhinged hatred. "Because she refused to—"

"Then maybe I should just kill all human beings!" you snarled. The air in the grand sanctuary turned suffocatingly frigid, the hundreds of floating weapons vibrating as their sharp points angled directly at the panicked guards and Jin's heart.

​"No, Y/N, you can't!" Mia gasped, genuine horror breaking through her hysterical facade. "You can't kill innocent people!"

​"MY MOM WAS INNOCENT TOO!"

The raw energy detonating from your chest shattered the nearest chandeliers, showering the altar in glittering glass.

​Seeing the sheer destruction unfolding, Jin gasped out a frantic warning to Mia. "Mia... stop her! She can destroy everything... distract her mind!"

​Mia closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Channeling her mental abilities, she forced a wave of illusion magic through the chaotic air, projecting a vivid vision directly before your eyes.

​The floating blades blurred. Suddenly, standing right in front of you were the warm, smiling figures of your past—your mom, your brother, and your halmoni. They looked at you with gentle, loving eyes, opening their arms to welcome you home.

​The overwhelming rage in your chest flickered. Your glowing eyes softened, tears spilling down your cheeks as a faint, heartbroken smile touched your lips. "Mom..." you whispered, stepping forward toward the illusion, your grip on the telekinetic hold faltering for a fraction of a second.

​"Gotcha."

​A low, smooth voice broke through the silence.

Standing directly behind Mia, Jimin was suddenly upright—the dark blood wiped cleanly from his mouth, his golden eyes burning with lethal, royal vitality. In one swift, blinding motion, he reached out and snatched a glowing, shadowy orb directly out of Mia's grasp, absorbing the sealed energy back into his own veins.

Jimin tilted his head, a dark, dangerously playful smirk spreading across his features as he felt his strength roar back to life.

​"It's really bad manners, baby," Jimin purred, his voice dropping into an icy, lethal register as he looked down at Mia. "Stealing my brother's power and using it on us."

​Mia and Jin both froze, their faces draining of all color in absolute shock.

Mia stumbled back against the altar, her breath coming in ragged, disbelieving hitches. "How... how are you standing?!" she gasped, staring at Jimin in pure horror. "That poison—it was meant to liquefy your internal organs!"

​Jimin raised a hand, casually wiping a stray drop of blood from the corner of his lips. A sharp, mocking smirk curved his mouth. "Oh, baby..." he cooed, tapping his index finger against his temples. "Do I have 'idiot' written across my forehead? I’m a royal prince".He chuckled softly, his eyes glinting. "I'm a really good actor, right?"

​Mia’s voice cracked, tears of frustration spilling over her mascara. "How long...? How long did you know?!"

Jimin’s smirk faded, replaced by a cold, heavy sadness. "I genuinely loved your sister, Mia," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of a painful past. "I never betrayed her. I trusted you... I thought of you as family."

​Mia let out a harsh, bitter laugh that echoed through the shattered sanctuary. "Love?! A monster like you doesn't know how to love! All you know how to do is destroy everything you touch!"

​"Jimin, we don't have time for this!" Namjoon shouted, his voice slicing through the confrontation as he shielded his face from the pressure roaring through the cathedral. "Look at her! We need to stop Y/N, she’s completely out of control!"

Jimin turned toward you, his expression darkening as he took a firm step forward to reach you. But before he could even get close, an invisible, crushing wall of raw telekinetic force repelled him, throwing up a barrier that no one could cross.

​Mia cowered against the altar, staring at you in absolute panic. "What did you do to her?!"

​"Jimin, I think your blood made her like this!" Namjoon shouted over the howling wind, his sharp eyes analyzing the ancient, glowing aura swirling around you. "When you gave her your blood, it unlocked something dormant!"

​"We need to stop her right now!" Hobi pleaded, gritting his teeth against the sheer force tearing through the room. "Otherwise, she's going to destroy everything in this world!"

​Jimin braced himself to force his way through the lethal storm, but a shadow suddenly blurred past him.

Before anyone could react, Taehyung lunged straight into the eye of the storm. Ignoring the pressure crushing his lungs and the sheer energy threatening to tear him apart, he wrapped his arms tightly around you, pulling your trembling, radiating body flush against his chest.

​"Y/N, stop!" Taehyung begged, his voice raw and desperate right beside your ear as he held you close. "Please, Y/N... stop. This isn't you."

The moment Taehyung’s arms wrapped tightly around you, the crushing pressure in the sanctuary violently flickered.

​"Get off me!" you sobbed, your voice distorted by the raw, crackling power echoing off the shattered walls. "None of you understand... you don't know what they took from me!"

​"I don't care about them," Taehyung murmured fiercely, tightening his hold even as the floating glass and sharp blades sliced thin red lines across his skin. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his chest heaving against yours. "Please... don't turn into a monster like us, Y/N."

​Those words pierced through the blinding haze of your rage.

Your breath hitched, the glowing light in your eyes flickering wildly before dying out completely. The immense, suffocating power instantly vanished, and the hundreds of hovering blades crashed heavily to the marble floor with a deafening, echoing clatter.

​Without the surge of ancient power sustaining you, the sheer exhaustion and heartbreak hit you all at once. Your knees buckled, your body going completely limp as the darkness swallowed you.

---

You slowly fluttered your eyes open, your vision blurred and unfocused as the heavy darkness gradually receded. The crushing, suffocating weight of Ava's power was gone, leaving your body feeling completely hollow, drained, and aching.

​As your surroundings slowly came into focus, you felt a cold, steady pressure around your fingers. Sitting right at the edge of the bed was Taehyung, his head resting near your arm, his hands tightly holding yours as if he hadn't let go for a single second.

​The moment he felt your hand twitch, his head snapped up.

​You winced softly, trying to push yourself up from the mattress, but before you could even sit up properly, Taehyung pulled you straight into his arms. He wrapped his arms around you in a tight, frantic hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck as his chest heaved. The strength in his hold was almost bruising, as if he were trying to fuse your body to his to ensure you wouldn't vanish into the ether again.

"Have you lost your mind?" he murmured, his voice ragged and stripped of its usual coldness. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours with a raw, terrifying intensity. "Why would you let Ava’s power consume you like that? Do you have any idea what happens when that kind of grief takes over? If she had fully consumed you, Y/N... I would have lost you forever."

"Master Taehyung..." you whispered softly, your voice barely a breath.

​When you looked closer at his face, your heart dropped. Tears were shimmering in Taehyung’s eyes—actual, glistening tears that threatened to spill over. The sight felt wrong; this was the man who viewed emotions as weaknesses, who had treated you like a mere object for so long. Yet here he was, trembling against you, his composure not just cracked, but shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.

​"Don't ever do that again," he choked out, his voice cracking under the weight of a vulnerability he had spent years burying. "Don't let that power swallow you. I can't... I can't lose you to a ghost, Y/N."

​The intensity of his embrace was overwhelming, his muscular arms locking you against him so tightly that the air was squeezed right out of your lungs. Your head rested against his collarbone, "Hmm... Taehyung... I can't breathe," you managed to wheeze, your small hands instinctively pushing against his chest.

​"Yah, Taehyung! Let the poor girl breathe before you actually crush her ribs!"

​The familiar, teasing voice of Hobi cut through the heavy atmosphere. He stepped into the room,he moved forward with a soft sigh, gently placing a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder to nudge him back. "Alright, alright, give her some space, you giant clingy puppy."

​Hobi leaned over, pressing two fingers to your wrist and glancing at your pale complexion with a professional, diagnostic eye. He hummed softly, his gaze softening as he looked at your exhausted state. "Aww, look at our little Taehyungie," he cooed, glancing back at the taehyung with a smirk. "He’s completely smitten. But seriously, Tae, she’s drained. Her core is flickering; she needs absolute rest and a lot of hydration if she’s going to recover from that kind of psychic burnout."

​Taehyung stiffened, the raw vulnerability that had just filled his eyes snapping shut like a book. He abruptly released his grip on you, stepping back so quickly he almost tripped over the edge of the bed. He cleared his throat, his expression shifting back into that familiar, stony mask, though his fingertips were still trembling. "Smitten? Don't be ridiculous," he spat, though the bite in his voice lacked its usual venom. "I was simply worried about the loss of her blood. She’s a valuable resource, and it would be a waste of a perfectly good servant if she burned herself out before I was finished with her."

​He didn't look at you as he spoke. He couldn't. The lie was clumsy and transparent, a desperate attempt to rebuild the wall he had just let you see crumble. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, the heavy mahogany door clicking shut behind him with a finality that left a lingering chill in the air.

​Hobi sighed, shaking his head as he looked at you. "He's such a disaster," he whispered, his voice warm. He reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "Don't mind him, Y/N. He doesn't know how to handle a heart that actually beats for someone else. Just focus on sleeping. The house is... well, 'chaotic' is an understatement, but for now, you're safe."

"Where are Master Jimin and Master Jungkook?" you asked softly, looking up at Hobi. "Is Master Jungkook okay?"

Hobi’s expression softened, though a flicker of pity crossed his eyes. He paused, glancing toward the hallway where the heavy silence of the estate felt oppressive. "Jungkook is... well, he's in a state," Hobi admitted, his voice dropping. "He’s in shock, Y/N. he really was close to Mia. Seeing that side of her—the betrayal." He gave you a small, encouraging smile, his hand lingering on your shoulder. "As for Jimin, he's recovering. But you, my little lamplight, need to focus on resting. You’ve carried the weight of an entire dead queen today. You've done more than enough."

With a gentle pat on your hand, Hobi stepped back, leaving you in the dim, velvet-shrouded quiet of the room.

Slowly, you pushed yourself off the bed, your legs feeling like lead. You navigated the winding corridors of the royal wing, When you reached the heavy double doors of Jimin’s private chambers, you didn't knock. You pushed them open softly, the sound of a melodic, melancholy chord greeting you before you even saw him.

Jimin was sitting on the wide window sill, the soft moonlight filtering through the glass and casting a silvery glow over his sharp features. His long fingers danced effortlessly across the strings of an acoustic guitar, pulling a sweet, mournful melody from the wood.

​Without saying a word, you walked across the plush rug and sat down on the bench beside him.

​Jimin didn't stop playing, but the ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Little human," he murmured, the guitar humming a low, resonant vibration that seemed to echo in the silence of the room. "You should be resting. You’ve done more today than most do in a lifetime. I honestly don't know how to return the favor of your help, and for that... I am sorry. My blood... it made you lose yourself. It made you crazy for a moment."

You leaned your head against the cool mahogany of the bench, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. "What will happen now?" you asked softly. "To Mia... and the Vampire Hunting Society?"

Jimin’s fingers slowed, coming to a halt on a lingering, melancholy chord. His gaze shifted to the horizon, his golden eyes reflecting the distant city lights. "As for Jin, his reign as the head of the society is over. He broke the most sacred laws of our kind to orchestrate this chaos. He will face the consequences of the council; the society, as we knew it, is effectively ending. And Mia..." He paused, his voice softening into something complex and painful. "I won't touch her. Despite everything, she is still precious to me."

You remained silent, the weight of his admission hanging in the air. There was a strange, tragic kinship in the way they all clung to the people who had hurt them the most.

"You could ask me," Jimin said suddenly, his voice a low hum that vibrated through the bench. He didn't look at you, his fingers hovering just above the guitar strings. "You could ask if I truly killed Mia’s sister. You could demand the truth of how she died, or why I let her believe it was my hand that did it."

You looked straight back into his eyes and shook your head gently. "I don't need to. As much as I understand you, I know you wouldn't do that. Not in the way they think."

A genuine, surprised smile curved Jimin’s lips, a rare expression that didn't carry the usual mask of a performer. For a moment, the heavy tension of the royal bloodline seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of you in the silvery moonlight.

"You're far too kind for your own good, Y/N," he murmured, the guitar finally resting against his thigh. "It's a dangerous trait to have in this house."

You shifted your weight, your voice barely a whisper. "Are you... really okay, Master Jimin?"

"Well," Jimin said, the ghost of a smile lingering as he leaned back, the guitar shifting against his leg. "Are you expecting to find me sobbing in a corner, clutching a handkerchief and mourning my lost love?"

You let out a soft, tired giggle, the sound small and fragile in the vastness of the room. "No... just that the poison was so strong. I thought you might be in pain."

Jimin’s gaze softened, but there was a profound, ancient emptiness in his eyes, "pain is an old friend, Y/N. As for the tears..." He paused, a dry, melodic chuckle escaping his throat. "I think I forgot how to cry many centuries ago. But your concern is... refreshing."

"Master Jimin," you whispered, your voice trembling as you clung to the fabric of his sleeve. The softness of the moment shifted, the gratitude for his survival dissolving into a sudden, sharp ache in your chest. "Please... don't let anyone go. Whoever did this, whoever killed my mother... please don't let them just walk away."

"Why settle for the scraps of a broken world, little human, when we could simply rewrite the rules ourselves?" Jimin murmured, the melody of his voice now carrying a dangerous, magnetic edge.

You blinked, the exhaustion making your thoughts sluggish. "What do you mean?"

Jimin pulled you firmly onto his lap, his long fingers sliding between yours until your hands were tightly interlocked. He leaned down, his breath cool against your ear as he whispered with a quiet, desperate intensity, "I need you by my side, Y/N. I can't do this alone."

​Before you could respond, his lips brushed against the curve of your neck. You felt the sharp, sudden sting of his fangs piercing your skin, followed immediately by a strange, intoxicating warmth that spread through your veins. As Jimin drank, the sheer exhaustion and heavy burden of the day washed over you, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

​A Few Days Later — The Re-Coronation Ceremony

You adjusted the heavy velvet dress one last time, your eyes fixing on your reflection in the gilded glass. "I need to clear this thing," you murmured to yourself, your chest tight with a strange, lingering dread.

​Leaving your chambers, you made your way straight to Jimin's room, pushing the heavy door open without hesitation.

​"Jimin, I need to talk with you. It's important," you said urgently.

​Jimin, standing before a long mirror while adjusting the silver embroidery of his royal coat, glanced at you through the reflection. "Go ahead, little human, but hurry up," he said smoothly, a half-smile on his lips. "The council has already come."

​Before you could open your mouth to explain, the doors burst open, and Namjoon stepped into the room, his face dark with urgency. "Jimin, the Second Queen has arrived. You need to attend to her right now."

​Jimin paused, his fingers lingering on the silver cuff of his sleeve. He let out a heavy, weary sigh that seemed to deflate his poised posture for a split second. He turned to you, his golden eyes shimmering with a mixture of apology and impatience. "I will listen to this later, little human," he murmured, gently brushing your shoulder as he pivoted toward the door. "Duty doesn't wait for conversations, and my mother is not a woman who enjoys being kept waiting."

​The atmosphere in the Great Hall was suffocating, thick with the scent of ancient incense and the cold, oppressive energy of the Vampire Council. You stood off to the side, feeling small in your velvet gown, watching as the council members gathered in a semicircle of obsidian stone. This was the Re-Coronation, the moment designed to solidify Jimin’s return to the throne and restore order to a fractured kingdom. The air hummed with the anticipation of a formal decree, the silence so profound that you could hear the frantic beating of your own heart.

​Jimin stepped forward, the light catching the regal curve of his jaw. The High Councilor raised a golden scepter, preparing to voice the final confirmation of Jimin's sovereignty. "By the laws of the First Blood, we hereby finalize the ascension of Prince Jimin as the King of—"

In a split second, a horrific, metallic screech ripped through the air.

​Dozens of thick, dark iron chains—dripping with corrosive magic—erupted out of nowhere. In a violent, chaotic flash, the sharp, barbed links pierced Jimin’s body from every angle. The heavy metal tore brutally through his chest, back, and shoulders, driving in and out of his torso until wide, gaping holes were ripped right through him.

​A collective scream of pure terror erupted from the court. Jimin gasped violently, a flood of crimson spilling past his lips as his eyes widened in shock.

​With a sickening snap, the dark chains violently retracted, pulling back across the altar and winding straight into the pale wrists and outstretched hands of Jungkook.

​Jungkook stood in the shadows, his hands smoking with dark aura and his eyes burning a terrifying, absolute crimson.

​The entire sanctuary froze in utter horror as Jimin’s shattered, lifeless body crashed heavily onto the cold marble floor.

Jungkook stepped out from the shadows, his presence suffocating and absolute. He didn't look at the carnage he had created; his gaze was fixed on the throne. The Second Queen stepped forward, her voice ringing out with a triumphant, chilling clarity that silenced the gasps of the court. "The First Blood has fallen!" she declared, her eyes gleaming with a long-awaited victory. "Prince Jimin is dead. By the right of the strongest and the will of the bloodline, Jungkook is now the King of the Vampires!"

"Jimin!" You screamed, your voice breaking as you lunged forward, your velvet dress sweeping across the floor. You reached him, your hands trembling as you hovered over the gaping holes in his chest. "Jimin, wake up! Please, wake up!" You looked around frantically, pleading with the council, with the guards, with anyone. "Help him! Someone help him!"

But the court remained paralyzed. The nobility shifted away from you, their faces masks of indifference or fear. They were no longer looking at a dying prince; they were looking at a new, terrifying king.

Across the hall, Taehyung’s jaw clenched, his eyes flaring with pure shock and fury as he made a move to step out and stop this madness. But before he could take a single step, Mia darted out from the shadows, grabbing his arm tightly and pulling him back into the dark corner.

"Please, oppa, don't step out!" Mia whispered urgently, her voice shaking. She clung to him, her eyes wide with terror as she glanced at the crimson-eyed monster on the dais. "Don't go to him. That isn't the Jungkook we know. This is something else."

​"Help him! Please, why isn't anyone helping him?!" you sobbed, looking frantically around the grand room at the councilors, the elders, and the guards. But no one moved. Every single vampire bowed their heads in terrified submission, completely paralyzed by fear.

​Before your hands could touch Jimin, a cold, crushing grip locked tightly around your wrist.

​You were violently yanked backward, crashing hard against a solid, dark-clad chest. You looked up in horror to find Jungkook staring down at you, his eyes glowing with dark, merciless dominance. He didn’t look at the broken remains of his brother on the floor; he looked only at you, his expression a terrifying mixture of triumph and obsession.

​"Look at them, Y/N," Jungkook murmured, his voice a low, predatory rumble that vibrated against your spine. "The Council, the nobles, the guards... they aren't helping him because they are terrified. They are terrified of me." He tightened his grip on your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin with a possessive force that left no room for escape. "And they should be. I’ve spent my entire life playing the part of the younger brother, the second choice, the shadow. But today, the shadow has swallowed the light."

​You struggled against him, your eyes darting back to Jimin’s motionless form. "He's dying! Jungkook, please, let me go to him! You can't just—"

"Let him die," Jungkook murmured, his voice devoid of the warmth you had once glimpsed in the quiet moments of your shared laughter. He leaned down, his lips grazing your ear, though the gesture felt less like a caress and more like a claim. "It was his own fault for thinking he could keep the things that belong to me. He tried to steal the sunlight, the crown, and you."

He shifted his grip, pulling you flush against his chest with a sudden, jarring force that made your breath hitch. His eyes, swirling with a dark, iridescent hunger, scanned your tear-streaked face with a chilling sort of fascination. "Stop wasting your tears on another man, my queen," he whispered, the title sounding like a sentence rather than a compliment. "The play is over. Come, let us go home. We have so much to discuss, and I find I have very little patience left for sharing."

"Let me go!" you shrieked, your voice echoing through the oppressive silence of the hall. You fought against him, your heels skidding on the polished marble, but it was like fighting a mountain. You lunged one last time toward Jimin’s cooling body, your fingertips grazing the velvet of his sleeve, before Jungkook’s arm wrapped around your waist and hoisted you off your feet.

He didn't even flinch at your resistance. Instead, his grip tightened possessively, anchoring you firmly against his solid chest as his crimson eyes swept over the kneeling, silent court one last time.

​"Let's go home," Jungkook murmured low against your hair, his voice smooth, cold, and utterly relentless. "We have a lot to talk about."

​With a single, swift turn, he carried you away from the bloody altar, ignoring your frantic thrashes and desperate tears as the heavy oak doors of the sanctuary slammed shut behind you, sealing Jimin's fate in the dark.

A/N: What an absolute emotional wrecking ball of a chapter From Taehyung’s raw confession to Jungkook’s brutal takeover, everything has completely shattered. What do you think is going to happen next now that Dark King Jungkook has claimed the throne and taken Y/N? Leave a comment down below with your theories and reactions—I’d love to read what you think will happen in the next chapter!

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Chapter : 17 part two

The silk of the gown was a treacherous, shimmering thing, slipping through your fingers every time you attempted to cinch the waist. You struggled with the delicate ribbons, your arms aching as you twisted in front of the mirror, the fabric refusing to cooperate. Your mind, however, was far from the fashion of the evening. It was anchored to the silver jar and the single, shimmering strand of hair tucked safely in your pocket. *How do I get out of here?* you wondered, your gaze drifting toward the window. The university felt like a distant sanctuary, and Suga—was the only one who held the key to the fragments of your soul.

A sudden shift in the air—a cold, oppressive pressure—announced his arrival before he even spoke. Two large, steady hands replaced your fumbling ones, the touch startlingly cool against the small of your back. Taehyung didn’t speak; he simply worked the ribbons, pulling the silk tight enough to make you gasp.

"I thought you weren't attending this party," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that echoed against your shoulder. He didn't pull away immediately, his presence looming over you like a shadow that refused to lift.

"Why wouldn't I?" you asked, trying to find your voice. "I haven't committed any crime. And loving someone... that isn't a crime, is it?"

A sudden shift in the air—a cold, oppressive pressure—announced his arrival before he even spoke. Two large, steady hands replaced your fumbling ones, the touch startlingly cool against the small of your back. Taehyung didn’t speak; he simply worked the ribbons, pulling the silk tight enough to make you gasp.

"I thought you weren't attending this party," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that echoed against your shoulder. He didn't pull away immediately, his presence looming over you like a shadow that refused to lift.

"Why wouldn't I?" you asked, trying to find your voice. "I haven't committed any crime. And loving someone... that isn't a crime, is it?"

Taehyung’s grip tightened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something dark and possessive crossing his expression. He stepped back, his gaze scanning your face with a cold, analytical intensity. "If someone gave you a choice right now—a real chance to leave—would you simply run back to Jimin?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the suddenness of the question. "What?"

"Forget it," he sighed, his voice dripping with a sudden, sharp boredom. "Spending time around humans is starting to affect me. I'm beginning to absorb your stupidity."

"Then don't stay!" you shot back, a spark of defiance lighting up in your chest. "You don't have to be around me if it's such a burden."

Taehyung paused, his gaze narrowing. "Are you ordering your master?"

"I'm not," you whispered, though you didn't shrink away this time. Instead, you looked at him through the mirror, a small, tentative smile forming. "But... by the way, thank you for my birthday present."

He frowned, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "What nonsense are you talking about?"

"The painting," you replied softly.

Taehyung’s expression didn't soften—it hardened into a mask of cold indifference, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something unsettled. He stepped back abruptly, the sudden void of his warmth leaving you shivering in the silk of the gown. "Stop overthinking," he snapped, his voice regaining its icy edge. "Behave yourself at the party. Do not cause a scene, and do not let your gaze linger too long on anyone. I am leaving."

"Master Taehyung?" you called out, surprised. "Are you not going to stay for the celebration? It's your brother party."

"I don't like parties," he answered, his tone flat. "The noise, the hypocrisy... it's tedious."

Before you could utter another word, the air shimmered, and he vanished in a blur of supernatural speed,You sighed, leaning against the vanity.

The balcony was a slice of moonlight and cold marble, isolated from the orchestral swell of the party inside. Jungkook leaned against the railing, the orange ember of his cigarette cutting through the midnight blue of the garden.

"Jeon, you know that habit doesn't suit a royal," Mia’s voice drifted from the doorway, soft and knowing. She stepped into the moonlight, her presence a gentle contrast to the jagged tension in Jungkook's shoulders. "And why are you hiding out here? The guests are wondering where the most famous actor in the kingdom has vanished to. Go back inside."

Jungkook didn't turn around. He took a long, slow drag, the smoke swirling around his head . "Nothing much,".

Mia stepped closer, her expression softening into a bittersweet smile. "In two days, I’ll be your official sister-in-law, Jungkook. You should be celebrating with us, not brooding in the dark."

Jungkook finally glanced at her, his eyes darkening. "But still," he murmured, his tone unexpectedly tender, "I will always just call you Mia."

The admission hung between them, a fragile bridge over a chasm of unspoken longing. Mia’s gaze searched his face, noticing the way his fingers trembled slightly as he crushed the cigarette into the marble tray. "So, what is the matter? You look nervous. More than usual."

Jungkook let out a sharp, self-deprecating laugh, leaning back against the railing. "I want to tell her. I want to tell her my feelings, but..." He trailed off, his gaze drifting toward the ballroom, "How do I tell her that I love her when I'm the one who spent months making her life a living hell? She’s too good for me, Mia. She’s like a breath of fresh air in a house full of stagnant blood."

Mia’s expression softened, and she reached out, interlocking her arm with his ,"Jungkook, come on. Be realistic. I don't think Y/N could ever reject the most famous actor in Korea. You have the world at your feet, and you have a heart that actually beats for her now. Stop overthinking it. Come on, say it to her before it's too late—before the wedding chaos swallows everything." With a gentle but firm tug, she steered him back toward the warmth and noise of the party.

As they crossed the threshold back into the ballroom, the transition from the quiet balcony to the opulent roar of the gala was jarring. Jungkook’s eyes immediately scanned the crowd, searching for the one person who anchored him. He found you, but the sight made his blood boil. You were standing close to Jimin. Jimin was smiling, his hand raised to affectionately ruffle your hair, a gesture of intimacy that felt like a brand of ownership. Jungkook stopped dead in his tracks, the confession he had rehearsed dying in his throat. The jealousy hit him, Without a word, he pivoted away, heading straight for the champagne tower to drown in frustration .

"Master Jimin, I—" You began, your voice barely a whisper, but the words were severed mid-sentence by a firm hand on Jimin’s shoulder.

"Jimin, the delegates from the Northern territories have arrived. You need to greet the guests before the opening toast," Namjoon’s voice boomed, steady and authoritative.

Jimin didn't move immediately. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, "Enjoy yourself, little human," he whispered, his voice a low, humming vibration that sent a shiver down your spine. "And remember... I am a bachelor for one final night. Would you really let such a tempting window of opportunity slip away?"

Before you could process the weight of his words, he was gone, gliding away toward the dignitaries with a graceful wave. You stood frozen, the ghost of his breath still lingering on your skin, but your eyes instinctively drifted across the room. There, near the champagne tower, was Jungkook. A swarm of young socialites and aspiring actresses had circled him , their laughter high . One girl was leaning far too close to his arm.

A sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy tightened in your chest, a physical ache that felt foreign . *Ava,* you thought, clutching the fabric of your dress, *what did you actually want from them?* You wondered if this heartache belonged to you or the ghost inhabiting your heart.

"He’s always like this—a magnet for chaos and pretty faces," Mia sighed, her voice barely audible over the swell of the violins. She stepped beside you, her gaze following the cluster of admirers circling Jungkook. "I’m truly glad you decided to join the party, Y/N.".

You didn't answer immediately, your eyes locked on Jungkook. He was playing the part of the charming actor perfectly, his lips curved into a practiced, effortless smile, but you could see the tension in his jaw. The way he shifted his weight, the slight distance he maintained even while the girls pressed in—it felt like a performance. "But Master Jungkook... he doesn't look happy," you whispered, your heart sinking. "Maybe he doesn't actually like being surrounded by them."

"Hmm, it’s funny, isn't it?" Mia murmured, her voice drifting beneath the orchestral swell. "He used to be terrified of girls. He’d hide behind his brothers or snap at anyone who got too close."

You looked at Mia, noticing a subtle shift in her expression. The warmth in her eyes had cooled into something distant, a flicker of a memory that didn't quite align with the smile she was wearing. She wasn't just observing Jungkook; she was analyzing him, her gaze lingering on the way he subtly shrugged off the touch of the girl clinging to his arm. There was a quiet, heavy melancholy in her posture that you hadn't noticed before.

"Mia," you whispered, the realization hitting you with a sudden, sharp clarity. "Do you... do you like him?"

Mia froze, her laughter cutting off abruptly. She turned to you, her eyebrows arching in genuine surprise. "What on earth are you saying, Y/N?"

"Because you're looking at him the way I look at..." You trailed off, glancing toward where Jimin was effortlessly commanding the room. "Why are you marrying Master Jimin? When you... when you look at master Jungkook like that?"

The silence that followed was oppressive, stretching between you even as the party roared around you. Mia’s gaze dropped to her own manicured nails, her voice losing its lightness. "Y/N, the decision to marry me was Jimin's, not mine. In our world, some things are simply decided for us." She looked back at you, her eyes softening with a warning. "Maybe you should stop making moves on Jimin. You’re playing with a fire that doesn't want to be put out, and in the end, you're only going to hurt yourself more."

You opened your mouth to defend yourself—but the words were cut off by a sudden, loud gasp of amusement.

"Ouch! Is this a catfight I’m interrupting, or did I just walk into a dramatic monologue?" Hobi exclaimed, sliding into your orbit with a wide, beaming smile that didn't quite reach the cautiousness in his eyes. He looked between your flushed face and Mia’s sudden composure, his eyebrows dancing with curiosity.

Mia recovered instantly, her social mask snapping back into place with a practiced grace. "It's nothing like that, Hobi," she laughed, the sound perfectly melodic and devoid of the tension from a moment ago. "Just a little girl-talk. Actually, I’m parched. I’m going to get a drink—do you want something?"

"Sure, a sparkling water would be perfect," Hobi chirped.As she glided away, Hobi turned his full attention to you. He let out a theatrical gasp, his eyes widening as he circled you once, "Aww, look at you! Our little lamplight is looking absolutely stunning tonight. Truly, you're outshining half the guests in this room. Just try not to blind everyone with that glow, okay?"

You offered a small, hesitant smile, but the warmth didn't reach your eyes. The conversation with Mia had left a cold residue in your chest. "Professor Hobi..." you started, glancing briefly toward the champagne tower where Jungkook was still playing his part, "do you... do you find anything weird about Mia?"

Hobi paused, his playful expression faltering for a heartbeat.He tilted his head, his gaze momentarily sharpening into something more observant, more adult. "Weird?" he repeated, his voice losing a bit of its sing-song quality. "What do you mean by weird, Y/N? Mia is as sweet as a summer peach. Why would she be weird?"

You looked away, the image of Mia’s distant, melancholic gaze flickering in your mind. You thought of the way she looked at Jungkook—the longing she tried so hard to bury under a layer of bridal poise. But as you looked around the room, seeing the predatory grace of the royal brothers and the artificial perfection of the guests, a sudden, suffocating realization washed over you. In this house of mirrors and blood, every smile was a curated mask.

"Nothing," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crescendo of the orchestra. "Just a passing thought."

Hobi’s smile returned, though it felt less like a shield and more like a question. He didn't push you. You felt a sudden, sharp longing for a place where you didn't have to calculate every word or wonder if the person beside you was lying to protect you—or to destroy you. *Who can I actually trust?* you wondered, your heart aching with a profound loneliness. You thought of Yoongi, who offered truth but demanded a price;You were a stranger in your own life carrying a heart that didn't even belong to you.

"Hey, little lamplight, where did you wander off to?" Hobi’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts. He nudged your shoulder, his eyes dancing with a mischievous glint. "You should be enjoying this party! Especially since your crush is technically a bachelor for one final night. If you don't make a move, don't come crying to me when some other girl flirts with him in a corner." He pointedly gestured toward Jimin, who was currently the center of a captivated circle of admirers, though his gaze drifted toward you with a lingering, predatory softness.

"I... I'm not feeling well," you whispered, your voice sounding thin to your own ears. Before Hobi could question you, you turned and slipped through the crowd, your silk gown whispering against the floor as you sought the nearest exit.

The night air hit you like a cold splash of water, clearing the fog in your mind. You leaned against a stone pillar in the garden, staring at the dark silhouette of the estate's perimeter. Your heart hammered against your chest—Ava’s heart, always reminding you that you were an interloper in your own body. *How do I get out of here?* you wondered. You needed to find Yoongi. You needed the truth. But the royal guards were stationed every fifty paces.

"You really are a bad fiancée," a sharp, accusing voice sliced through the silence.

You jumped, spinning around to find Jungkook standing just a few feet away. He stepped into the moonlight, his eyes scanning your pale face with a mixture of longing and irritation. "Leaving your partner alone in a room full of vultures? Letting every girl within a five-mile radius practically climb into my lap because you’re too busy hiding in the bushes?"

"Master Jungkook," you gasped, your hand flying to your chest. "I didn't... I wasn't hiding. I just needed air."

He closed the gap between you in a single, predatory stride, pinning you against the cold stone of the pillar. "You were looking at him," he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low vibration. "I saw it. Even from across the room, I could see you tracing the line of Jimin's jaw. Do you enjoy the torturing me, Y/N? Do you like knowing that he’s about to belong to someone else while you play the silent observer?"

"Master Jungkook, it isn't like that," you whispered, your voice trembling, though your mind was racing.*Please, let Yoongi's words be true,* you pleaded internally. *Let this spark be enough to wake her.* If Ava’s power responded to raw emotion, to the friction of desire and desperation, then you had to gamble.

Driven by a sudden, desperate impulse, you reached up and grabbed the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down into a fierce, unplanned kiss. Jungkook froze for a fraction of a second, his breath hitching in shock, before his instincts took over. He let out a low, guttural sound, his arms winding around your waist with a strength that nearly lifted you off the ground.

As the intensity peaked, the world around you seemed to blur. You felt a sudden need for air and tried to pull back, but Jungkook was drowning in the moment. He didn't let go; instead, he shifted his weight, hoisting you up and seating you atop the cold marble railing of the balcony. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your cheek, the nape of your neck—pulling you closer as if he were trying to merge your soul with his. "Hmmm... I can't... breathe," you gasped against his lips, your chest heaving.

He broke the kiss abruptly, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes wide and clouded with a mixture of lust and genuine concern. "I'm sorry," he breathed, his voice raspy. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, Master... I just... I need to go to the washroom," you stammered, your face flushed a deep crimson. You slid off the railing and practically bolted away from him, your heart hammering a rhythm that felt entirely too loud for the quiet garden.

Jungkook stood frozen, the ghost of your lips still searing against his. As soon as you disappeared around the corner.He slammed his fist against the stone pillar, the impact echoing through the garden. "Stupid, stupid Jeon!" he hissed, his voice a ragged whisper. "Control yourself! She isn't like those other girls." He could still feel the frantic beat of your heart against his chest, a rhythm that had nearly driven him to madness. A slow, dazed smile crept across his face as he touched his own lips, the sensation of your desperation still lingering. "She actually kissed me," he murmured, the admission sounding like a prayer.

Meanwhile, you burst into the sanctuary of the restroom, leaning over the sink and frantically wiping your lips with a wet paper towel. "I need to clean this later... I need to focus," you whispered to your reflection, trying to ignore the tingling sensation radiating from your chest. You closed your eyes, visualizing the university, focusing on the specific frequency of Yoongi's presence.

With a sudden, violent wrench of space, the walls of the ballroom vanished. You felt a sickening pop in your ears as you teleported, the scenery shifting instantly to the familiar, dimly lit corridors of the university. The sudden displacement hit you like a physical blow; the air felt thin, and a wave of crushing exhaustion washed over you. Your knees buckled, and as you began to collapse toward the hard tile, a pair of strong arms caught you with clinical precision.

"Careful," Yoongi’s voice rasped in your ear, though his grip was devoid of warmth. "Ava’s power is a tidal wave, and your human body is a leaky boat. You can't handle a jump like that without preparation."

Irritated by the suddenness of the movement and the lingering heat of Jungkook's touch on your skin, you shoved him away with a sharp glare. "I'm okay. And don't touch me without my permission," you snapped, your voice shaking from the exertion.

Yoongi stepped back, his expression one of utter indifference. "Believe me, I have no interest in touching you. Just give me the sample." You reached into your clutch and handed over the small glass vial containing Jimin’s hair. Yoongi took it, glancing at the specimen with a flicker of approval. "Well, at least you're capable of following a simple instruction."

He placed the jar on a heavy oak table, the glass clinking against the wood. His gaze turned serious, the playful cynicism vanishing. "I can't fully unlock the vault for you. Jimin has placed seals on these memories, and my current power isn't enough to shatter them completely. You will see fragments. Be careful—remember what you see, because once the veil closes, the images may fade."

Yoongi began to whisper a low, rhythmic incantation, the words sounding like grinding stones. The dim light of the university corridor suddenly dissolved into a void. Everything went black, and then, a scream ripped through the silence.

The scene materialized with violent clarity. You saw a woman—beautiful but terrified—clutching a tiny infant to her chest. She was on her knees, sobbing, her voice a desperate plea that echoed in the emptiness. "No! She is a normal human! Please, don't kill her! I'm begging you!" The agony in her voice felt like a physical weight on your chest, a phantom pain that resonated with the heart beating inside you.

You instinctively reached out, your fingers straining to touch the hem of her tattered dress, to pull her away from the shadows closing in. But the memory shuddered, blurring like ink in the rain. The scene shifted abruptly to a desolate road, the grey asphalt slick with rain. The woman was running, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps, the baby wrapped tightly in her arms. Behind her, a pack of men followed, their eyes glowing with a predatory hunger that made your own skin crawl.

The violence was swift and visceral. You watched, paralyzed, as they descended upon her. The screams were cut short by a sickening thud, The light left her eyes as she collapsed, her final instinct being to shield the infant with her own body.

Just as one of the men reached down to silence the crying child, a voice—cold, authoritative, and terrifyingly familiar—slashed through the air. "Touch her, and you forfeit your souls."

You spun around in the memory, your heart hammering against your ribs. Standing there, silhouetted against the rainy grey sky, was  Jimin. He wasn’t the gentle, smiling man you knew now; his eyes were voids of obsidian, his face a mask of frozen intensity. With a blur of movement that defied human physics, he descended upon the attackers. Within seconds, the men who had hunted the woman were nothing more than heaps of cooling meat on the asphalt.

The violence left you breathless, your mind reeling. You watched as Jimin stepped over the corpses, his expression softening as he looked down at the infant. He knelt in the rain, his blood-stained fingers gently brushing the baby’s cheek, a small, smile gracing his lips.

Then, the void snapped shut.

You gasped, your eyes flying open to the dim, sterile light of the university corridor. You were shaking, the phantom cold of that rainy road still clinging to your skin.

"What did you see, Y/N?" Yoongi’s voice was a sharp contrast to the memory, cutting through your disorientation.

"He saved that baby," you whispered, your voice sounding hollow in the sterile university corridor. "Jimin... he saved the baby."

Yoongi’s expression shifted from indifference to a sharp, skeptical frown. "What?"

"He killed those men. He saved the child," you repeated, the images of rain and blood still vivid behind your eyelids. "But how is that possible? If those were my memories... "

"Stop talking nonsense," Yoongi snapped, his voice cutting through your confusion. "Jimin is a predator. He is a manipulator who views the world as a chessboard. He doesn’t 'save' people unless there is a profit in it. You're confusing a fragment of a memory with a fairy tale."

He didn't wait for you to process the discrepancy. Before you could argue that the smile in the memory had been genuine, Yoongi gripped your arm with a strength that brooked no argument. "The seal is too thick, but we aren't stopping here. You're coming with me. I'll find a more invasive way to tear those memories out of you if I have to."

"Let go of my hand!" you cried, twisting your wrist. The sudden shift from the emotional peak of the vision to Yoongi’s cold pragmatism.

Yoongi paused, glancing at you with a look of profound boredom. "It seems I have no choice but to stop treating you like a guest," he murmured. He raised a hand and gave a sharp, singular signal. From the shadows of the university corridor, three hulking men appeared—vampire mercenaries with dead eyes and heavy footsteps.

"Let me go!" you screamed, twisting your wrist violently against the grip of the mercenary, but the man was a wall of muscle, unmoved by your struggle.

Yoongi didn't even look back at you, his silhouette receding as he walked away with a slow, rhythmic click of his heels. The mercenaries didn't just hold your arms; they clamped their fingers into your skin with a bruising intensity, dragging you toward the exit of the university halls.

"Let me go!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the sterile walls. You fought with everything you had, kicking at the shins of the hulking men, but they were as immovable as stone.

Yoongi stopped and looked over his shoulder, his eyes devoid of the kinship you had hoped for. "Don't make me use force, Y/N," he warned, his voice a low, dangerous drone. "It wouldn't be good for your grandmother, or your brother. If I have to carve that heart out of your chest to wake Ava, I will do it without a second thought."

The threat hit you like a physical blow. The sudden realization that your only remaining family were nothing more than bargaining chips in this game of royal blood made the world tilt. You stopped fighting, your body going limp in the mercenary's grip, your eyes fixed on Yoongi’s cold, retreating back.

But as Yoongi turned to lead you toward the university’s shadowed exit, the air around you didn't just chill—it solidified. A sudden, oppressive weight slammed down on the corridor, pinning the mercenaries in place. From the shimmering distortion of the air, a voice sliced through the silence, dripping with a terrifyingly calm amusement.

"Forcing a human into such a shameful display, Suga? I didn't know you had it in you to be so... desperate."

You gasped, twisting your head to see Jimin stepping out . He looked effortless, his posture relaxed, yet his eyes were glowing with a predatory intensity that made the mercenaries tremble. Behind him, Hobi leaned against a pillar. "Daylight kidnapping? My, my, how interesting," Hobi chirped, though his gaze remained sharp. Beside him stood Namjoon crossing his arms with a heavy sigh. "This human girl really does bring an endless amount of trouble wherever she goes," Namjoon muttered, though his eyes flickered to you with a hint of pity.

The atmosphere shifted. Yoongi’s expression darkened, his fingers twitching as he attempted to trigger a teleportation spell to whisk you away. But nothing happened. He tried again, the air rippling for a split second before snapping back into place with a violent pop. He stared at his hands in disbelief, his breath hitching.

"Forgetting something, Suga?" Jimin’s voice was a silk ribbon wrapping around a blade. He stepped closer, the click of his shoes echoing like a countdown. "You're standing on my territory. In my place, your powers are mere echoes. They are useless here." Jimin paused, tilting his head as if considering whether to tear the corridor apart. "Well, I’m not in the mood for a fight today. Why not just leave peacefully?"

Yoongi let out a sharp, dry laugh, his lips curling into a mocking smile. "Well, I underestimated you very much, Jimin." His gaze suddenly snapped to you, his eyes wide with a sudden, frantic curiosity. "Y/N, tell me... what did you see in that fragment? It can't be—" Yoongi’s voice cracked, his desperation finally overriding his indifference. He reached for you, his fingers grazing your sleeve, his eyes searching yours for a confirmation of the impossible.

The sentence never finished. A violent, hacking cough tore through Yoongi’s chest, the sound wet and guttural. He doubled over, his hand flying to his mouth, but the crimson liquid escaped his fingers, splashing onto the sterile white floor. The mercenaries recoiled in horror, their grip on you finally loosening as they stared at the blood painting the tiles.

"The more minutes you waste here, the faster you'll die," Jimin remarked, his voice devoid of any actual concern, sounding more like a bored observer at a play. He stepped forward, the predatory glow in his eyes intensifying. "My advice? Leave. Now."

Yoongi wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, his gaze remaining locked on you. "It's not over," he rasped, his voice sounding like crushed glass. "Y/N... I will meet you again. Remember what you saw. Don't let them lie to you." With a final, desperate surge of will, he triggered a residue of power and vanished from there.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of the mercenaries shifting uncomfortably. Jimin sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders as he glanced at the blood-stained floor. "Hyung," he said, tilting his head toward Namjoon. "Clean this mess."

Hobi let out a dramatic groan, throwing his arms up in the air. "Yah! Why is it always me? I'm the one who actually brings the mood to this place, and yet I'm treated like the royal janitor!"

Namjoon didn't even look at him; he was already rubbing his temples, his expression one of profound exhaustion. "I need to go and reset the protection seals around the university. Yoongi's clumsy attempt to warp just cracked the perimeter." He cast a brief, lingering look at you—a mix of pity and annoyance—before turning on his heel. "Handle the cleanup, Hobi. Make sure there's no trace of the blood left before the students arrive for the morning session."

"This is so unfair!" Hobi wailed, though he was already moving toward the mercenaries, gesturing for them to help him scrub the tiles. "I'm a star! I'm a visual! I am not a mop!"

The silence that followed Hobi’s complaining was short-lived. Before you could even catch your breath from the chaos, Jimin’s fingers locked around your wrist. He hauling you down the hall and shoving you into an empty classroom. The door slammed shut with a heavy thud that seemed to echo the frantic drumming of your heart.

He didn't let go. He pinned you against a desk, his gaze flickering with a mixture of possessiveness and a cold, simmering anger. "Don't I warn you?" he hissed, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. "I told you never to meet with Suga. He is a scavenger, Y/N. He doesn't want to help you; he wants to pick the lock of your soul and steal whatever is left of Ava."

You didn't flinch. The image of the rain-slicked road and the blood-stained asphalt was still searing the backs of your eyelids. "Who was she?" you demanded, your voice cracking. "The woman in my memory... the one clutching the baby. Who was she, Jimin?"

Jimin’s grip on your wrist tightened, his expression hardening into a mask of stony silence. He looked away, his gaze fixing on a smudge of chalk on the blackboard.

"Answer me!" you shrieked, the desperation of a lifetime of voided memories erupting all at once. You shoved against his chest, though it was like pushing against a marble statue. "Tell me who she was!"

"Your mother," he whispered.

The word hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, stripping the oxygen from the room. *Your mother".

For a second, the classroom felt like it was tilting on its axis. The image of the tattered dress, the desperate pleas, and the final, protective curve of that woman’s body over the infant crashed back into your mind with the force of a physical blow. Your legs gave out, the strength vanishing and you collapsed onto the cold linoleum floor. A sob, jagged and raw, ripped from your throat.You curled into yourself, your forehead pressing against the hard ground, sobbing for a woman you had only known for a few flickering seconds in a vision of rain and blood.

Jimin’s expression shifted. He knelt beside you, his movements fluid and quiet. He didn't speak  he simply reached out, his thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek.

"This is why I told you some memories should be burned down, Y/N," he murmured, his voice a low, melodic hum. "Some truths are just jagged glass; they only serve to cut the person holding them."

"Why?" you choked out, the word barely a whisper against the cold linoleum. You looked up at him, your eyes bloodshot and searching. "What did she do to them? Why were they hunting her? Why ?"

Jimin’s hand paused its movement on your cheek. He let out a long, slow sigh, the sound echoing with a weary kind of patience. He stood up, his silhouette towering over you in the dim light of the classroom, and extended a hand to help you up. "Let’s go home, Y/N. You aren't ready for the full weight of this."

"No!" you shrieked, slapping his hand away and scrambling to your feet. The grief was still a raw, pulsing thing in your chest, but it was quickly being overtaken by a desperate need for clarity. "I want answers! Now! Why were those men chasing her? Who were they?"

Jimin’s gaze turned glacial, his patience finally snapping. He stepped toward you, his presence filling the room until the walls seemed to shrink. "You want the truth? Fine," he spat, the words landing like stones. "For humans, we are monsters. To the world, we are nightmares that hunt in the dark. Humans spend their entire lives dreaming of ways to kill us, to purge the earth of our kind. Your mother wasn’t running from monsters, Y/N. She was saving you from humans."

The revelation hit you harder ,You had spent years mourning a void, hating the woman who had abandoned you to a life of loneliness and fear. But the image of her body shielding the infant—your own small, fragile self—flashed before your eyes. "All this time..." you whispered, a fresh wave of grief crashing over you. "I hated her. I thought she didn't want me, but she..."

Before you could finish the thought, Jimin’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a sudden, crushing hug. He held you with a fierce intensity, as if trying to shield you from the very memories he had warned you about.

Meanwhile, in the opulent halls of the estate, Jungkook was pacing. He stopped abruptly, leaning his forehead against a cool marble pillar, his brows furrowed in an agitated scowl. "Why is she taking so long in the washroom?" he whispered to himself, his voice laced with a restless. "Urgh, why is my head spinning like this?" He shifted his weight.

Suddenly, a pair of soft arms wrapped around his waist from behind, and a familiar scent clouded his senses. Blinded by a sudden surge of longing, Jungkook didn’t even turn around before he leaned into the touch, a genuine, rare smile breaking across his face. He turned in the embrace, pulling the figure close, his voice dropping to a tender, desperate murmur.

"Y/N... I love you. My heart beats for you, but it won't listen to me," he whispered, his eyes half-closing as he succumbed to the intoxication of her presence. "Unaware, completely unaware... my heart doesn’t know what knowledge is, it doesn’t understand the logic. I haven't convinced it to be still, but I know this much: you don't even realize what kind of intoxication this is. It transports my heart. I love you... one, two, three, four, five... I can't even explain it."

Lost in a haze of sudden longing, Jungkook leaned down and pressed a fervent, desperate kiss against the lips of the woman he believed to be Y/N. He poured every ounce of his suppressed hunger and territorial love into the gesture, his hands gripping her waist as if she might vanish into thin air.

She kissed him back—desperately, hungrily—her hands tangling in his hair as she deepened the kiss. Lost completely in the spell woven over his senses, Jungkook’s mind remained completely blind to the truth. To his dazed eyes, his heavy heart, and his cloud-filled mind, the woman in his arms was Y/N. He tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her flush against him, utterly surrendered to the intoxicating fog that consumed him, completely unaware of the illusion holding him captive.

---

The university classroom was quiet, the dim moonlight filtering through the high windows into the dark room.

Jimin shifted slightly, glancing down at his chest before looking up at you with a slow, faint smirk. "Well, little human," he murmured, his voice vibrating against your skin, "this shirt is incredibly expensive. I believe you’ve managed to wrinkle the silk in three different places."

The sudden realization of where you were—perched precariously across his lap, your fingers still clutching the fabric of his blouse—sent a jolt of electricity through you. You scrambled backward, nearly tripping over your own feet as you put distance between yourselves. Your face burned with a mixture of lingering grief and sudden embarrassment. "I'm sorry! I—I didn't mean to..."

Jimin didn't look annoyed; instead, he let out a soft, genuine laugh that echoed through the empty classroom, the sound cutting through the heavy atmosphere of the previous hour. "It's okay, little human," he said, his gaze softening as he watched you struggle to find your footing.

You looked at him, the image of the man from your memories—the one who had slaughtered monsters to save a baby—overlaying the man standing before you now. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice still raw from sobbing. "For saving me. Both then... and now."

Jimin’s expression shifted. In a blink, he was in your space again,he raised a hand and pressed a single, firm finger against your lips, silencing your apology. His eyes searched yours, a flash of something wounded and proud flickering in the iris. "That is the past, Y/N," he murmured, his voice a low vibration. "But I must admit, I'm quite hurt that you ever doubted my intentions."

You felt the warmth of his touch linger. The silence of the classroom seemed to amplify the sound of your own heartbeat. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I'm sorry for everything... for the chaos, for doubting you, and for ruining your bachelor party."

Jimin let out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulder dropping as he leaned back against the desk. A ghost of a smile touched his lips, though it didn't reach the calculating depth of his gaze. "I am quite disappointed too," he admitted, his tone shifting to something more playful, yet laced with a lingering tension. "Not because of the drama—drama is the only thing that keeps this estate from falling asleep from boredom—Your intuition is improving, but you are still far too trusting of the wrong people."

"You're right, I don't even know who to trust in this world anymore, Master Jimin," you whisperer, your voice sounding small and fragile in the vast emptiness of the classroom. The weight of the truth about your mother—the tragedy of her sacrifice—has left you feeling stripped bare.

Jimin  reaches out, his fingers curling around your waist to pull you flush against his chest. The sudden proximity makes your breath hitch, the scent of expensive cologne  clinging to him. "And what about me?" he asks, his gaze searching yours, demanding to know where he fits into your newfound chaos.

You look up at him, your eyes brimming with a complicated mixture of grief and gratitude. "I was hoping my memories wouldn't make me hate you," you admit softly, your hand resting tentatively on his shoulder. "But I can't even put it into words... if you hadn't saved me back then, if you hadn't stepped into that nightmare to pull me out... I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't even exist."

Jimin’s expression doesn't soften into a smile; instead, it hardens into something more intense, more focused. He reaches up, his thumb grazing your lower lip with a slow, deliberate pressure that makes your heart stutter. "Gratitude is a dangerous thing, Y/N," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "It creates a debt that can never be fully paid." He leans in, the heat of his body radiating through the silk of his shirt. "And since you are so indebted to me, I find myself in need of your help."

Confused, you blink, your voice barely a breath. "What help?"

Jimin leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You felt the cold whisper of his breath against your skin as he spoke, leaning down until his shadow completely enveloped you, murmuring the secret only meant for you to hear.

As he pulled back, he didn't move far. He stopped mere inches from your lips, his gaze heavy and expectant, locking onto yours with an intensity that demanded submission. "Answer me, little human," he breathed, his voice a low, vibrating command that resonated in the small space between you.

You couldn't find the words, the weight of the secret he had just whispered into your ear still swirling in your mind. All you could do was nod, a small, frantic movement of your head.

Jimin’s thumb traced the line of your jaw with an agonizing slowness, his touch leaving a trail of heat that clashed with the chilled air of the classroom. His lips were so close that you could feel the rhythmic ghost of his breath against your own, a silent invitation.

"We... we should probably go back," you whispered, though your voice lacked any real conviction. You were anchored by the intensity of his gaze, your body humming with a sudden, frantic electricity.

Jimin didn’t move. His eyes darkened, the predatory gold bleeding into the iris. "Do you really want to go back, Y/N?" he murmured, his voice a low, velvet vibration that seemed to echo in your very bones.

"I... we..." you stammered, the words dissolving as he bridged the final fraction of an inch.

Jimin didn’t wait for the sentence to finish. He claimed your mouth in a kiss ,a sudden surge of heat that incinerated the remaining distance between you.His tongue swept against yours with a rhythmic, demanding intensity, pulling a soft moan from your throat that he swallowed whole. Before you could gasp for air, he pivoted, his hands gripping your thighs to hoist you upward and seat you firmly on the edge of the cold mahogany desk.

The sudden change in elevation left you breathless, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to keep from sliding. You managed to break the kiss for a fleeting second, your chest heaving. "Master Jimin... it's... we shouldn't be here," you gasped, the same words as before, though they felt hollow now.

Jimin paused, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes swirling with a dark, predatory hunger. "It’s just Jimin right now, Y/N," he corrected, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Do you really want to stop? Do you really want to walk away from this?"

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words died in your throat. The sheer magnetic pull of him, drowned out your logic. You couldn't say yes, and you certainly couldn't say no. That silence was all the invitation he needed.

Jimin’s patience vanished with the last flicker of your hesitation. He didn't just kiss you; he devoured you, his tongue claiming your mouth with a possessive hunger. His hands slid from your thighs to the hem of your dress, bunching the fabric upward until he reached the warm, sensitive skin of your inner thighs. A sharp, jagged gasp escaped you as he trailed a line of searing kisses down your throat, his fangs grazing the delicate skin of your pulse point, teasing the vein that hammered wildly beneath the surface.

He broke the kiss only to murmur against your skin, his voice a low, guttural vibration. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to break this composure," he breathed. His hands moved with a frantic yet precise efficiency, deftly undoing the buttons of your dress and sliding the fabric off your shoulders his fingers found the clasp of your bra, snapping it open in one fluid motion. As the lace fell away, Jimin paused, his gold-tinted eyes drinking in the sight of you, trembling and exposed on the dark mahogany desk. He leaned down, his mouth replacing his hands, sucking the peak of your breast with a rhythmic intensity that sent a bolt of lightning straight to your core.

The world narrowed down to the scent of his cologne and the friction of his skin against yours. Jimin’s hand drifted lower, sliding beneath the lace of your underwear. You arched your back, a soft cry echoing in the empty classroom as his fingers found your center. He didn't rush; he teased you with a rhythmic, agonizingly slow pressure that made your toes curl against the mahogany of the desk. As he began to finger you with a calculated precision, your breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, your head lolling back as the friction built into a searing heat.

"Look at me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice a dark vibration. He withdrew his hand for a moment, and you watched, dazed, as he slowly licked his fingers clean, his gold eyes locked onto yours with a predatory intensity that made your blood boil. You collapsed against his shoulder, your chest heaving, your body trembling from the sheer force of the pleasure.

"No... you can't pass out again," Jimin murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he felt your consciousness flickering at the edge of exhaustion. He shifted his weight, his strong arms locking around you to keep you anchored to the mahogany desk.

"What?" you whispered, your voice a fragmented thread of sound, your chest heaving as you clung to the fabric of his shirt for stability.

Jimin didn't answer with words. Instead, he leaned in and captured your lower lip between his teeth, biting down with a sharp, possessive nip that made you gasp. He lingered there for a heartbeat before soothing the sting with a slow, wet lick of his tongue. "Forgiveness, little human," he murmured, his voice dropping into a guttural, predatory register, "because I have no intention of being gentle with my prey tonight."

Before you could even find the breath to respond to his warning, Jimin’s mouth crashed against yours again  Your lungs burned, your chest heaving as you fought for a single gasp of oxygen, but he didn't give you a second to recover. With a sudden, fluid motion, he shifted his weight, his hands gripping your hips with bruising intensity to pull you flush against the edge of the desk. In one singular, breathtaking surge of heat and pressure, he slid inside you.

"Wait—Jimin! Ahhh!" The scream was ripped from your throat, a mixture of shock and an overwhelming fullness that seemed to stretch your very soul. You arched your back, your fingers digging into the mahogany wood as your eyes blew wide. It was too much, too fast, and yet the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

"Shhh," he groaned against your neck, his voice a dark, gravelly vibration. "Just take it, Y/N. Just feel me."

He didn't give you time to adjust. He began to move with a rhythmic, punishing intensity, his hips slamming against yours with a wet, slapping sound that echoed through the silent classroom. Each thrust was deep and deliberate, driving you further back against the desk. You clung to him, your legs locked around his waist, your voice breaking into a series of fragmented moans. "Ahhh... Jimin... please... it's too much...!"

"Is it?" he murmured, his lips finding the sensitive chord of your neck. He shifted his angle, lifting your legs higher to drive deeper, hitting a spot that made your vision blur and your toes curl. You gasped, your head tossing from side to side. "Slow... slow down... it hurts, but... ahh!"

"The pain is where the pleasure hides, little human," he whispered, his gold eyes flashing with a predatory hunger. He flipped you over in one fluid motion, pressing your chest flat against the cool wood of the desk. The sudden change in position left you exposed, your breath hitching as he entered you from behind, his movements now faster, more frantic.

The room was filled with the sounds of their combined desperation—the ragged heaving of lungs, the soft, wet sounds of skin meeting skin,"You're so tight... so warm," Jimin groaned, his hands gripping your hips so hard he left crescent marks in your skin. "I can't... I can't stop."

"Jimin, please... it’s too deep... ahhh!" you cried out, your voice cracking as he drove into you with a rhythmic, punishing force. The cold mahogany of the desk was a stark contrast to the searing heat of his body. Every time he slammed into you, the desk groaned under their collective weight, the sound punctuating the symphony of your moans. You tried to tell him to slow down, to find some semblance of a pace you could handle, but the words were swallowed by his mouth as he flipped you once more, pinning your wrists to the desk with one hand while the other gripped your thigh, pulling you even tighter against him.

The pleasure was an agonizing blur, a shimmering line between pain and ecstasy that made your head spin.

Jimin leaned down, his fangs slicing through the delicate skin of your shoulder in one swift, sharp motion. You shrieked, a sound that was half-agony and half-bliss, as he began to drink.he  drank deeply, his throat working in a rhythmic swallow, his hips never stopping their relentless, grinding pace.

The intensity became too much for the desk to hold. In a sudden, fluid blur of motion, Jimin carried you to the classroom wall, hoisting your legs around his waist and pinning you against the cold plaster. The friction of the wall against your back and the sheer power of his thrusts left you breathless, your fingers digging into his shoulders, leaving red marks on his pale skin.

The world dissolved into a haze of white noise and searing heat, the coldness of the plaster wall behind you serving as the only anchor to reality. Jimin’s breathing was a ragged, guttural symphony in your ear, his grip on your thighs so fierce it felt as though he were trying to fuse your bodies together. As the climax approached, the predatory gold in his eyes flared into a blinding brilliance, his movements becoming frantic, almost desperate.

With one final, deep surge ,Jimin let out a low, guttural growl, his forehead crashing against yours as he shuddered violently. You cried out, your voice echoing off the empty walls, your body trembling in the aftershock of a pleasure so intense it felt like a physical blow. For several long seconds, neither of you moved.

Slowly, Jimin began to retreat, his movements heavy with a sudden, profound exhaustion.He reached out, his thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek, his touch now as light as a feather.

"You are a dangerous thing, Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely a breath against your temple. He didn't pull away, his chest still heaving in time with yours. "In all my centuries of existing in this cold, sterile cycle of power and blood, you are the only thing I have ever truly loved from this human world."

Before you could even part your lips to ask what he meant by that—Without warning, the tenderness of his whisper was replaced by a sudden, searing reclamation. Jimin didn’t give you time to process his confession; he simply surged back into you, his body reclaiming yours with a desperate.

Hours later, the chaotic energy of the classroom had settled into a heavy, humming silence. You were draped across Jimin’s lap, your head resting against the crook of his thigh, drifting in the liminal space between sleep and consciousness. Your body felt heavy, anchored by the weight of his hand stroking your hair in a rhythmic, hypnotic motion.

Flashback---

Jimin looked down at a tiny, fragile bundle wrapped in blood-stained linen. He reached out, his pale finger grazing a baby’s soft, flushed cheek. A rare, genuine smile touched his lips. "Such a fragile little thing," he had murmured.

"Don't tell me you're considering it," a cold, familiar voice had interrupted. Taehyung stood beside him,"Royal blood doesn't suit the task of killing a newborn baby. It's beneath us."

Jimin had hummed, a sound of mild amusement. "Hmm, true. But let’s save the entertainment for later." He had shifted the infant into his arms, cradling the small life with a strange, tentative curiosity. As the baby shifted, her tiny eyes opened, locking onto Taehyung’s stern face. Suddenly, she let out a small, bubbly gurgle and beamed, a toothless smile stretching across her face.

"Look," Jimin had chuckled, his eyes shimmering. "It seems this little creature can already identify a good person from a bad one."

Taehyung’s expression had remained a frozen mask of disdain. "Stop speaking nonsense, Jimin. And you—you little creature—you dare smile in my face? Do you even know who I am?"

Jimin had sighed, the sound light and airy, as he shifted the infant in his arms one last time. "Tae, stop. You're scaring the child." Without another word of sentiment, Jimin had stepped back and placed the baby gently on the cold, damp ground. "Let's go. I’ve already gotten what I needed."

Taehyung had paused, glancing back at the abandoned, wailing bundle. "And this baby?"

"Not my problem," Jimin had replied coolly, his voice devoid of the tenderness he had shown only seconds before. He had turned his back on the child, walking away into the mist, leaving the infant to the mercy of fate.

Flashback end--

Jimin stared at the ceiling of the classroom,The memory of that abandoned infant flickered through his mind . He leaned down, his lips brushing your forehead as you slept in the wreckage of his lap, and whispered a truth that would never reach your ears. "I suppose I have to thank Taehyung," he murmured, his voice a dry rasp. "If he hadn't interrupted my focus that night... I might have killed you before you even had a chance to breathe."

----

The morning sun bled through the heavy velvet curtains of the royal wing, casting long, crimson stripes across the silk sheets of Jungkook’s bedroom. Jungkook groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as consciousness slowly reclaimed him. He shifted, his arm instinctively reaching out to pull a warm, soft body against his chest, expecting to feel the familiar, frantic heartbeat of the girl who had become his obsession.

But his hand met only cold, rumpled fabric.

He snapped his eyes open, the gold in his iris flashing with immediate confusion. "Y/N?" he murmured, his voice a gravelly rasp. He scanned the expanse of the bed, finding it empty, though the sheets were a chaotic wreck—a testament to the lack of restraint he had shown the previous night. A slow, smug smile spread across his lips as he stared at the disordered linens. He could almost imagine her face now, the way she would be flushed with a mix of shame and longing, utterly overwhelmed by the intensity of their encounter.

"Stupid Jeon," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his tousled hair. "You need to learn some control." He sighed, though the smile lingered. He had been rough with her—relentlessly so—but the memory of her responses told him she hadn't wanted him to stop. She had met his intensity with a desperation of her own, a silent admission of feelings she was too shy to put into words.

Unable to shake the itch of her absence, Jungkook dressed with a frantic energy.He didn't bother with the mirror, his only focus being the distance between his bedroom and hers. He burst into her room, the door swinging open with a loud thud. "Y/N!" he called out, his voice echoing against the walls. Silence answered him. He scanned the room—perfectly tidy, hauntingly empty—and felt a prickle of irritation.

As he stormed back out into the hallway, his heavy footsteps were interrupted by a cheerful, melodic voice. "Wow, a miracle! Our Kookie actually woke up before noon today!" Hobi beamed, leaning against the wall with a playful glint in his eyes.

Jungkook didn't even glance at him, his expression tight. "Hyung, have you seen Y/N? Where is she?"

Hobi grin widened, his eyes twinkling with a mischief that only served to irritate Jungkook further. "Calm down, Kookie. She’s not hiding in the closets. She's at the college for the cultural festival. You know, the one she’s been stressing about for weeks?"

Jungkook froze, his expression twisting into a mixture of disbelief and genuine annoyance. "The festival? She left for some stupid school carnival while I—"

"Yah, Jungkook! Stop shouting this early in the morning," a cool, composed voice sliced through his outburst. Jimin appeared at the end of the hallway, draped in a silk robe, his expression one of sheer exhaustion. He rubbed his temples, his gold eyes narrowed. "I already have a headache; do you really need to announce your existence to the entire wing?"

Hobi let out a stifled laugh, gesturing toward Jungkook’s disheveled state. "Look at yourself, Kookie. You look like you’ve been through a war—or a very enthusiastic wrestling match."

Jimin ignored the joke, his gaze shifting to Hobi. "Hyung, what is the reason you’re even here this early? Surely the sun isn't usually your companion."

"Well," Hobi replied, leaning back with a smirk, "you actually have some work to attend to. There are matters regarding the estate's security that need your signature, and since the elders are breathing down my neck, someone needs to handle the paperwork."

Jimin didn't even blink, his voice flat. "Not today. I have to accompany Mia to pick out her bridal dress. My schedule is full of lace and tulle for the next several hours."

Hobi’s eyes danced with mischief as he looked between the two brothers. "Well, the paperwork doesn't move itself, and Mia needs an escort. Since Jungkook is clearly wide awake and brimming with... energy," he added, glancing at Jungkook’s disheveled collar, "he can take her. Jimin, your signature is a royal necessity; the elders won't wait for a bridal fitting to end."

Jimin paused, his gaze drifting toward Jungkook’s irritated expression."Fine," Jimin murmured, stepping aside to clear the path. "It’s settled. Jungkook, be a good boy and escort Mia. I’ll handle the elders and their endless scrolls of grievances."

Jungkook rolled his eyes, the gesture sharp and dismissive. "I'm not a chauffeur," he muttered, though the fight had already left him, replaced by a gnawing restlessness.

----

The scent of candied apples and fried batter hung heavy in the humid air, a dizzying swirl of sugar and grease that should have been pleasant, but felt suffocating. You were standing behind a brightly decorated stall, your hands mechanically bagging popcorn for a line of cheering students, yet your mind was miles away, trapped in the oppressive, velvet silence of a classroom. Every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel the cool mahogany of the desk against your skin and the searing, rhythmic heat of Jimin’s body. The memory of his gold eyes—dark with a hunger that had nearly consumed you both—flashed across your vision, making your breath hitch. You could still feel the phantom pressure of his fangs on your shoulder.

Your cheeks flared a vivid crimson, the heat radiating from your neck up to your hairline. You shifted your weight, your legs feeling strangely weak, as if the echoes of that night were still vibrating through your muscles.

"Yah! Y/N! Focus!" Soomin’s voice snapped through your reverie like a whip. She gave your arm a sharp nudge, her eyes narrowing as she looked at your glazed expression. "The customer has been waiting for his change for three minutes, and you're just staring at a bag of popcorn like it's a long-lost relative."

You blinked, shaking your head to clear the fog. "Sorry," you murmured, your voice sounding distant and raspy, even to your own ears. "I just... didn't sleep much

Soomin scoffed, glancing at the dark circles under your eyes. "Lack of sleep? In the middle of the cultural festival? You're practically a zombie. Pull yourself together, because we are losing the war! Look at the gaming stall next to us—they've got a line stretching halfway across the courtyard. If we want that first-prize trophy for the best-managed booth, we need a strategy. We need to do something *big* to draw a crowd."

You sighed, leaning against the wooden frame of the stall, your mind drifting back to the phantom sensation of Jimin’s hands on your waist. "Like what?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Soomin paused, her gaze sweeping over the bustling courtyard where the gaming booth was practically overflowing with screaming students. She pouted, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I mean, I wish I could just attract the crowd with my own natural beauty," she mused, tossing her hair back with a dramatic flourish, "but I don't want Professor Hobi to get the wrong idea about me. My great romance hasn't even had its prologue yet; I can't risk a scandal before the first chapter begins."

You let out a soft, tired huff, barely listening. The noise of the festival was starting to feel like a roar in your ears, making the memory of the quiet, predatory intensity in the classroom feel all the more vivid.

"Which is why," Soomin continued, her eyes suddenly lighting up with a predatory glint that mirrored the vampires you lived with, "we need a heavy hitter. Someone who doesn't just attract a crowd, but stops traffic. Y/N, think about it. We use your boyfriend's hotness to draw them in!"

You nearly choked on your own breath, your face flushing a shade of red that rivaled the festival banners. "Soomin, we can't! He’s not... it's not like that," you stammered.

"Oh, please! Come on, Y/N!" Soomin pleaded, grabbing your hands and shaking them. "Professor Taehyung is the only one who can actually save this stall. One look from those eyes and half the female student body would practically throw their money at us just for a glimpse of him. Just a little bit of sharing him with the other girls, please? For the sake of the first-prize trophy!"

You groaned, leaning your head against the wooden support beam. "Soomin, we absolutely cannot. Professor Taehyung doesn’t like this kind of thing. He’s... he’s old-fashioned. He’s totally a grandpa type."

"A grandpa type, am I?"

The voice was a low, velvet vibration that seemed to materialize from the very air behind your ear. You jumped nearly a foot in the air, your heart hammering against your ribs as you spun around to find Taehyung standing inches away. His expression was a mask of cool indifference, but there was a dangerous, amused glint in his golden eyes that suggested he had been listening for a while.

"Why—why do you always appear at the most inconvenient times!" you gasped, clutching your chest.

Taehyung tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over your flushed face with a slow, calculating intensity. "I simply find it fascinating when you decide to badmouth me behind my back, Y/N. 'Grandpa type,' was it?" He stepped closer, the sudden proximity making the air feel thick and electric, his presence effectively silencing the chatter of the students around you.

Soomin, sensing an opening, practically lunged forward and grabbed the sleeve of his impeccably tailored coat. "Professor Kim! Please! We are losing the popcorn war to the gaming stall! Please just help us for an hour—do it for your girlfriend!" she pleaded, her eyes wide and hopeful.

Taehyung’s expression didn't flicker. He looked at Soomin as if she were a particularly boring insect, then shifted his gaze to you. "Handle your own stall," he replied, his voice a cool blade. "I have far more important things to attend to than selling overpriced corn to adolescents. I don't have time for wasting." Without another word, he turned on his heel.

You slumped against the wooden counter, letting out a defeated sigh as you watched his retreating figure. "Told you, Soomin," you muttered, glancing at the dwindling line of customers. "He's not the type to just... help out. I honestly wish Jungkook were here instead; his fan girls would probably buy the entire inventory just to get him to look in their direction for two seconds."

You didn't expect a response, but the air behind you shifted. A sudden, cool breeze brushed against the nape of your neck, and before you could turn, a pale, slender hand reached over your shoulder to grab a handful of popcorn."Is that so?" Taehyung’s voice was a low rumble, vibrating against the shell of your ear.

Before you could even gasp, he pressed a single, buttery kernel against your lips. You instinctively opened your mouth to protest, but the moment the popcorn touched your tongue, Taehyung’s hand shifted. In a blur of motion he leaned in and snatched the kernel right back out of your mouth with his own lips, a slow, predatory graze that left your breath hitching.

"Since you believe I am such a 'grandpa type,'" he murmured, his eyes shimmering with a dark, playful hunger, "I figured I would show you that my reflexes are still quite sharp." He pulled back, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as he chewed the popcorn slowly, his gaze lingering on your stunned expression.

An hour later, the area in front of your stall had transformed into complete chaos—the good kind, at least for Soomin’s dreams of festival glory.

​A dense crowd of giggling female students had completely swarmed the wooden counter, waving their money around and practically begging for popcorn they had no actual intention of eating. At the center of the storm stood Taehyung.

​The cold, indifferent taehyung  who usually treated the world as a minor inconvenience was currently leaning against the wooden support beam, a disarming, slow smile resting on his lips. His golden eyes, usually sharp enough to slice through glass, held a warm, almost magnetic glint as he leaned in slightly to hand a bag to a group of swooning freshers.

"Enjoy your popcorn," he murmured softly, his low, velvet voice causing two of the girls to gasp and clutch each other’s arms in sheer delight. "Make sure you come back if you get hungry again."

​The girls squeaked, stumbling over their own feet as they backed away to let the next eager wave take their place.

​Soomin violently nudged your elbow, her eyes sparkling as she watched the cash box fill to the brim. "See? My master plan is working!" she whispered frantically, leaning into your ear over the roar of the crowd. "We are definitely getting that first-prize trophy, all thanks to your boyfriend's unbelievable hotness. I swear, I never thought Professor Kim could be this soft."

​You crossed your arms tight over your chest, watching the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he flashed a breathtaking smile at another group of admirers.

​He can smile... whatever, you thought bitterly, a strange, sour knot tightening in the pit of your stomach. I didn't even know he knew how to curve his lips like that without threatening someone's life first.

"Yah, Y/N," Soomin teased, catching the flat, unblinking glare on your face. "Just for a few minutes, control your jealous girlfriend side!"

​You shot her a sharp glare, fighting down the sudden rush of heat in your cheeks. "Soomin, stop saying nonsense. I'm not jealous! There is literally nothing to be jealous of here." You tried to sound convincing, but your eyes drifted back to Taehyung, who was currently tilting his head in a way that made a group of sophomores practically melt into the pavement. The way he leaned in, his voice a low, intimate hum that you could hear even over the noise, sent a prickle of irritation dancing up your spine. You knew he was just playing a part to help the stall.

"Sure, sure," Soomin giggled, frantically counting the overflowing cash in the box. "Denial is the first stage of grief. Just admit that seeing Professor Kim as a flirt is doing something to your heart." You opened your mouth to argue, but the sight of Taehyung casting a knowing, sidelong glance at you—a flicker of genuine amusement dancing in his gold eyes—cut your words short.

Meanwhile, across the city, the atmosphere in the luxury bridal boutique . Jungkook stood amidst a sea of ivory silk and white lace, his arms crossed over his chest, looking like he wanted to incinerate the entire store with his gaze. He had been leaning against a mirrored pillar for the last two hours, his patience wearing thin as he watched Mia undergo a series of grueling fittings.

"Mia, seriously," Jungkook groaned, his voice dripping with a mixture of boredom and genuine agitation. "How much longer do you actually need? You've tried on six dresses that all look exactly the same—white, expensive, and suffocating."

Mia, currently perched on a velvet pedestal with a seamstress pinning a cascade of lace around her waist, shot him a sharp look over her shoulder. "Shut up, Jungkook! I need to look perfect for tomorrow. This isn't just a dress; it’s a statement." She sighed, her expression softening slightly as she looked at her reflection. "Besides, you wouldn't understand the pressure of being a bride."

Jungkook rolled his eyes, as he shifted his weight and looked away from the shimmering wall of bridal gowns. "I’m not interested in understanding the 'statement' of a piece of fabric, Mia," he muttered, his voice flat. "It’s all white, it’s all lace, and it all serves the same purpose. You look like a cloud. Now can we please leave before I actually start counting the sequins on that veil?"

Mia’s expression crumpled, a sudden wave of vulnerability crashing over her. She looked at her reflection—the image of a perfect bride—but her eyes shimmered with an unexpected loneliness. "If my real family were here with me," she whispered, her voice trembling, "you wouldn't have to spend your afternoon pampering my tantrums. I wouldn't feel so... alone in all this."

The irritation in Jungkook’s expression softened, replaced by a rare, fleeting tenderness. He stepped forward, the distance between them closing in a blink, and reached up to flick her forehead with a sharp *snap*.

"Ow! What was that for?" Mia yelped, rubbing the spot.

"For being stupid," Jungkook replied, his voice losing its edge. He didn't pull his hand away immediately, his gaze steady. "Who says you're alone? Look around, you idiot. We are your family. Taehyung, Namjoon, Hobi hyung... and most of all, that clumsy fool you're about to marry."

Mia’s eyes welled up, a single tear escaping and trailing down her cheek. She let out a wet, shaky laugh, leaning her head against his shoulder for a brief moment. "Hmm... I know. I know you'll always stand with me, even if you do it while complaining the entire time."

"Stop crying. Without the makeup, you look genuinely ugly," Jungkook remarked, his voice returning to its usual bluntness as he stepped back.

Mia didn't even flinch,Instead, she reached out with lightning speed and pinched his ear, twisting it firmly. "Don't worry, Jungkook," she countered with a triumphant grin, ignoring the seamstress's horrified expression at the sudden lack of decorum. "You’re the one who has to look at this 'ugly' face for the rest of your life You're stuck with me as a sister-in-law."

She let go of his ear, her eyes suddenly glinting with mischief as she leaned toward him. "By the way, how is it going with Y/N? I noticed you've been acting... strangely soft lately."

The reaction was instantaneous. A deep, crimson flush climbed up Jungkook’s neck, staining his cheeks as he looked away, suddenly finding a nearby mannequin of great interest. He tried to scoff, but the sound was betrayed by the slight tremble in his voice.

"Seeing your reaction, she must have accepted your proposal," Mia teased, her voice ringing with genuine amusement. She leaned back against the pedestal, watching the way Jungkook practically vibrated with a mix of pride and flustered energy.

Jungkook let out a sharp, defensive huff, crossing his arms tightly. "I don't know if she has officially accepted yet," he admitted, his voice dropping an octave, a small, triumphant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But she will. Yesterday... she kissed me first."

Mia froze, her eyes widening as she stared at him. "No way. The shy little Y/N actually made the first move?" She let out a loud, melodic laugh, shaking her head. "You’re dreaming, Jungkook. You probably just hallucinated it because you're so desperate for her."

"I am not dreaming!" Jungkook snapped, though the heat in his cheeks betrayed his agitation. "I'm overconfident because I know exactly what happened last night. It was real, and it was—" He stopped abruptly, a sudden flash of the previous night's intensity crossing his mind. He cleared his throat, abruptly shifting his gaze back to the sea of white lace. "Forget it. Let's just focus on this ridiculous shopping trip before I lose my mind."

Mia let out a playful hum, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she stepped off the pedestal. "Fine, keep your little secrets. But don't come crying to me when she realizes you're a menace." She paused, glancing at the remaining racks of gowns. "Actually, you know what? You can go, Jungkook. My shopping will probably take the entire day, and you look like you're about to burst a vein from sheer boredom."

Jungkook didn't need to be told twice. He stepped forward, his expression shifting back to that of a brooding prince, and gave Mia a stern look. "Be grateful that I’m even trying to be a good brother-in-law. Now shut up and try on the rest of the dresses. We have a lot more shopping to do before I can officially escape this lace-covered nightmare." He paused at the door, his mind already drifting toward the college campus, wondering if You was thinking about him as much as he was thinking about You.

Back at the festival, the chaos had subsided into a triumphant hum. The stall was practically overflowing with a mountain of cash and a golden trophy that sparkled under the late afternoon sun. Soomin was practically vibrating, her face flushed with victory as she looked at the trophy and then back at Taehyung, who was now lounging in a folding chair with an expression of supreme boredom.

"Professor Kim, I cannot thank you enough!" Soomin beamed, her voice echoing with genuine adoration. "Your hotness—I mean, your help—is the only reason we took first place! We’ve officially crushed the gaming stall into oblivion."

While Soomin celebrated, you were positioned behind Taehyung, your small hands digging into the tension of his broad shoulders. It was a thankless task, mostly because he had insisted that since he 'donated' his time to the cause, he deserved a physical tribute for his efforts. You felt a surge of irritation as you remembered the way he had leaned into those other girls earlier. Why on earth was he demanding a massage from you when there were a dozen sophomores who would have practically fought for the privilege of touching his coat, let alone his shoulders?

"You're not putting enough effort into this, Y/N," Taehyung murmured, his voice a low, rumbling vibration that you could feel through your own fingertips. "Use more pressure. Right there, on the left."

You rolled your eyes, giving his muscle a sharp, impatient squeeze that probably bordered on an attack. "I'm doing my best, Master," you muttered under your breath, the sarcasm dripping from your voice.

"Yah, Y/N! Stop being so stingy with the massage!" Soomin chirped, her eyes dancing with mischief as she leaned over the trophy. "Do it properly! Be a good girlfriend and actually satisfy him for once. If I were you, I’d be treating him like a king after he practically brought in a landslide of cash for us."

You felt the heat rush from your neck to your forehead, your fingers momentarily freezing against Taehyung's shoulder. "Soomin, stop saying such nonsense things!" you hissed, your voice a frantic whisper. "He isn't my—we aren't—and besides, he’s the one who demanded this!"

Taehyung let out a soft, low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his spine and into your palms. He didn't open his eyes, but a smug, knowing smile played on his lips. "Listen to your friend, Y/N," he murmured, his voice dropping to a velvet whisper that only you could hear.

Before you could retort, the rhythmic sound of approaching footsteps broke the tension. Hobi appeared, weaving through the lingering crowds with a bright, beaming smile and a celebratory banner draped over one shoulder. "First prize!" he announced, his voice booming with genuine excitement as he gestured toward the golden trophy. "Congratulations to both of you! The word has already spread that the popcorn stall was a massacre of proportions."

Soomin immediately stiffened, her triumphant expression shifting into one of sheer nervousness. She stood up straight, clutching the trophy to her chest like a shield, her eyes darting toward Hoseok with a sudden, frantic respect. "Professor Hobi! We... we just... it was a team effort!" she stammered, her voice pitching higher in her anxiety.

"The music festival starts soon," Hoseok continued, his expression shifting into a dramatic, pouting frown. He clutched his chest, his eyes glistening with exaggerated sorrow. "And since my heart is totally alone—just a poor, lonely soul with no one to share the melodies with—I was wondering if someone would be kind enough to accompany me. I can't bear the thought of watching the fireworks in solitude!"

Taehyung didn’t even bother opening his eyes. He simply tilted his head back against the chair, his voice a flat, dismissive blade. "Get lost."

Hobi let out a theatrical sigh, completely unfazed. He had long since grown accustomed to Taehyung’s icy exterior. "As expected. Truly, your heart is a frozen tundra." He pivoted on his heel, his bright gaze landing on you. "How about you, Y/N? Would you honor a lonely professor with your company?"

You felt a flicker of relief, glancing at Taehyung, who was still radiating a possessive, heavy energy from the chair. "No, thank you, Professor Hobi," you replied softly, though you quickly gestured toward the vibrating, nervous girl beside you. "Why doesn't Soomin go with you? She's the one who's actually excited about the music."

Soomin looked like she had been handed a golden ticket. She beamed, her nervousness vanishing as she practically leaped toward Hobi. "I would be honored, Professor! Let's go before we miss the opening act!" With a final, triumphant glance at you, Soomin allowed herself to be swept away by Hoseok’s whirlwind energy, leaving the two of you in a sudden, ringing silence.

You let out a long, shaky sigh, the tension leaving your shoulders as you finally stepped away from Taehyung.You looked down at him—still lounging, still smug, and still looking entirely too satisfied with himself.

"Master Taehyung," you started, your voice a mix of exhaustion and frustration. "Please, I am begging you, never do this again." You stepped back,"Soomin is already convinced we’re some sort of tragic, secret romance. She’s practically writing our wedding invitations in her head, and the more you act like this, the more she believes it."

Taehyung finally opened his eyes, the gold depths swirling with a predatory amusement. He didn't move a muscle, remaining draped across the chair, yet his gaze pinned you to the spot. He let out a slow, rhythmic hum, his head tilting as he studied the flush on your cheeks.

"And why does that bother you so much, little mouse?" he asked, his voice dropping into that low, velvet register that always seemed to vibrate in your very bones. "The idea of the world believing you belong to me... does it truly make you uncomfortable? Or does the thought of it simply make your heart beat faster?"

"What? No! It's never that!" you stammered, your voice pitching higher as you frantically waved your hands in the air. You stepped back, nearly tripping over a discarded popcorn bag. "I just... I don't want your reputation to get messed up because of me! You're a prince, and I'm just... a servant. If people think we're together, it would be a scandal for you!"

Taehyung’s amusement vanished, replaced by a sudden, piercing intensity. In a blur of motion, he was inches from your face.He reached out, his long fingers grazing your jawline with a touch that was deceptively light. But as he tilted your head to the side, his thumb brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck. He froze. His eyes narrowed, the gold pupils slitting like a predator's as he spotted the darkening purple blossoms of bite marks.

"What the hell is this?" his voice dropped, turning into a low, dangerous growl.

Panic flared in your chest. You couldn't tell him it was Jimin, and you certainly couldn't explain the chaotic cycle you were in. "It's nothing!" you gasped, instinctively pulling away. "I... I should go. The festival is ending, and I need to clean up the stall!"

You turned to bolt, but the air around you suddenly solidified. Before you could take a single step, Taehyung’s hand clamped around your wrist with the strength of a vice.In a sudden, violent blur of motion the bustling noise of the campus vanished. The scent of popcorn and cheering students was replaced by the sterile, oppressive smell of chalk and old floor wax.

You blinked, disorientation swirling in your head, only to realize you were slammed backward against a cold chalkboard in an empty classroom. Before you could even gasp, Taehyung’s hands moving with a clinical, predatory precision. With a sharp rip, the fabric of your dress tore at the collar, exposing the delicate curve of your collarbone and the damning, purple bruises that marred your skin.

"Stop it! What are you doing?" you shrieked, frantically clutching the shredded fabric to your chest to cover yourself. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird, and you could feel the heat of his gaze burning through the remaining cloth.

Taehyung didn't answer immediately. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, his grip firm and unyielding, while his other hand hovered just inches from the bite marks. His expression had shifted from smug amusement to a terrifying, icy stillness. The gold in his eyes seemed to bleed into the iris, turning his gaze into something molten and dangerous.

"You lie to me with such a pathetic face," he murmured, his voice no longer velvet, but a jagged blade. "You tell me you're worried about my reputation while you carry the scent of another man's claim on your skin. Who was it? Which one of them dared to touch what I have already marked?"

"Master Taehyung, it's none of your concern!" you gasped, your voice trembling as you struggled against the suffocating weight of his presence. You tried to shrink further into the chalkboard, but there was nowhere left to hide. Your heart hammered against your ribs, the panic making your vision blur. "Please, just let me go!"

Taehyung leaned in closer, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the scent of your skin—the lingering, cloying sweetness of Jimin’s mark. A cold, knowing smirk curved his lips. "It’s Jimin," he stated, his voice devoid of any warmth. It wasn't a question; it was a sentence. You remained silent, your lips pressed tightly together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a confirmation.

The silence only seemed to fuel his irritation. In one swift, predatory motion, Taehyung crashed his lips against yours.  You groaned into the kiss, your small hands pushing frantically against his chest, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Suddenly, he spun you around with effortless strength, slamming your back against the board and biting down hard on the junction of your shoulder and neck. He wasn’t tasting you; he was erasing Jimin, his fangs sinking deep enough to draw a sharp gasp of pain from your lips.

"Stop it! Please, it’s hurting!" you shrieked, the sensation of his teeth shearing through your skin sending a jolt of agony through your spine. In a sudden burst of adrenaline, you managed to shove him back with all your remaining strength, the force of the impact sending him reeling a few inches away. You gasped for air, your hand flying to the bleeding mark on your shoulder, but the relief was short-lived.

The air in the classroom suddenly curdled, thickening with a heavy, oppressive pressure. Then, the sound started—a low, rhythmic humming that vibrated through the floorboards. Slowly, the desks began to lift. Pens, notebooks, and heavy textbooks rose into the air, hovering in a suspended, chaotic orbit around the two of you. The sheer intensity of Taehyung’s aura was manifesting physically, turning the room into a vortex of floating debris.

Taehyung didn't look at the floating furniture; his eyes were locked on you,he took a slow, deliberate step forward, the clicking of his shoes echoing like a death knell in the silent room. You instinctively stepped back, your heel catching on the edge of a fallen textbook, but your back hit the cold chalkboard once more.

"Do you still love him?" Taehyung asked, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that seemed to rattle the very bones in your chest.

You remained silent, your breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

"Answer me!" Taehyung roared, the command ripping through the silence of the room.

Before you could even gasp at the wreckage, Taehyung’s hand shot out, pinning you against the wall with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. His chest was heaving, his gold eyes searching your face with a desperation that bordered on madness. You squeezed your eyes shut, hot tears finally spilling over and tracking down your cheeks, your small frame shaking under the weight of his suffocating intensity. You waited for the next blow, the next bite, or perhaps another roar of command, but the oppressive pressure in the room suddenly vanished.

When you finally opened your eyes, the silence was absolute. Taehyung was gone. The only thing remaining was the heavy expensive jacket, draped carelessly over your trembling shoulder.

You slid down the wall, your dress ruined and your shoulder throbbing where his fangs had claimed their territory. You curled into yourself, burying your face in your knees as the first sob broke through. Then another, and another, until you were shaking with the sheer exhaustion of being the center of a storm you couldn't control.

Taglist :

Chapter :17

The restaurant was a tomb of velvet and mahogany. The only sound was the rhythmic, distant chime of a grandfather clock and the soft clink of crystal. Suga sat alone in a secluded booth, the dim amber lighting carving sharp angles into his pale face. He swirled a glass of deep red wine, his eyes fixed on the void.

Without a word of greeting, you slid into the velvet seat opposite him.

Suga didn't look up.  He simply let the silence stretch until it became suffocating. "Didn't your parents teach you any manners?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Or does your kind simply believe that interrupting someone’s privacy is a virtue?"

"I didn't have parents," you replied, your voice trembling but steady. "My mother abandoned me the moment I was born, leaving me with nothing but a heart that didn't belong to me—your sister's heart. My halmoni raised me; she gave me a life that was hard, yes, but it was happy. I was content in my small world until you reached in and pushed me into this dark one."

Suga finally shifted his gaze. His eyes were cold, "I don't have the patience for a trip down memory lane," he drawled, swirling the wine in his glass. "Get out before I call security to throw you into the street."

You didn't move. Instead, you reached into your bag and slid a folded photograph across the tablecloth. It was the image Hana had sent you—a grainy shot of the party. "This isn't a coincidence, is it?" you whispered. "You hired me as a witness for that party. You lured me there, and I woke up in a bed surrounded by them. You didn't just find me, Yoongi; you curated my arrival."

Suga didn't even glance at the photo. He stared at you with a clinical detachment, as if you were a smudge of dirt on an otherwise clean garment. "A witness, a catalyst, a toy—the labels are irrelevant," he drawled, his voice devoid of warmth. "I don't think I have time to waste on a useless, defective product. Even if I told you why I did it, what would you do? You are a girl with a stolen heart and no place in this world."

He began to slide out of the booth, his movements fluid and predatory. "Our business is concluded. Go back to your masters and play the role of the obedient pet," Yoongi murmured, his voice dripping with a cold, dismissive finality. "You are a ghost inhabiting a shell, Y/N. There is nothing in you that is truly yours, and certainly nothing that could ever interest me."

As he turned to leave, a surge of hot, blinding frustration erupted in your chest—a dormant power finally snapping. In a sudden, instinctive blur of motion, you grabbed a heavy silver salt shaker from the table and hurled it with all your might toward the massive, floor-to-ceiling glass window behind him.

The sound was deafening. The glass exploded outward in a magnificent, violent spray of crystalline shards. But as the fragments leaped into the air, you screamed a silent command with your mind. *Stop.*

Suddenly, the world froze. Thousands of glittering diamonds of glass hung suspended in mid-air, perfectly motionless, capturing the dim amber light of the restaurant. A single drop of red wine from Suga glass had leaped upward, clinging to the air . The silence that followed was absolute, a vacuum of time where only you and Yoongi existed.

Suga remained frozen in his step, his eyes widening in a rare expression of genuine shock. He looked at the hovering shards, then at you, his gaze shifting from disbelief to a cold, piercing curiosity. For the first time, the detachment in his expression vanished, replaced by a flicker of something that looked almost like respect.

"I am not useless," you breathed,  As the tension in your chest snapped, you released the invisible grip on the world. Time surged forward with a violent roar; the thousands of glass shards didn't fall—they disintegrated into a shimmering mist of stardust that coated the floor.

The shock on Suga’s face shifted into something raw and agonizingly tender. Before you could recoil, he stepped forward and pulled you into a crushing embrace, his cold exterior shattering like the window. He buried his face in your neck, his voice a broken whisper that sounded as if it had been mourning for centuries. "I will protect you this time, Ava. I won't let them have you again. I promise, Ava... I won't let them take you from me again."

----

The city air felt heavy, clinging to your skin, as you walked aimlessly, the neon signs of the district blurring into streaks of electric blue and violent pink. Yoongi’s voice played on a loop in your mind, a jagged record of grief and revelation. There is only one way to truly awaken Ava’s power ,he had whispered against your skin, his voice stripped of its coldness.

You slowed your pace, your footsteps echoing hollowly on the pavement. How were you supposed to do that?. "How can I even begin?" you whispered to the empty street, your voice swallowed by the distant hum of city traffic.

Lost in the fog of your own thoughts, you didn't notice the figure stepping out from the shadows of a narrow alleyway. You collided with them with a dull thud, the impact jarring your shoulder and sending you stumbling backward.

"Ah! Sorry, I didn't mean it!" you gasped, clutching your arm and squinting up at the stranger.

"It's okay. Just be more focused next time," a familiar, raspy voice replied.

Your breath hitched. You stepped back instinctively, your eyes widening as you recognized the sharp gaze and the utilitarian gear. "Isla? Why are you here? Don't... don't come any closer to me!"

Isla held up her hands in a gesture of mock peace, her expression neutral. "Relax. I'm just passing by. I'm not on a hunt for your kind right now. Currently, I'm working as an undercover cop."

"An undercover cop?" you repeated, the absurdity of the situation momentarily overriding your fear.

"Don't mistake me," Isla countered, her voice regaining that edge of steel. "I still hate vampires. But today, I'm just a citizen in a uniform, passing through to check on a scene."

You opened your mouth to ask what 'scene' she was referring to, but the words were drowned out by a sudden surge of noise from a nearby crowd. Passersby were slowing down, their faces tight with alarm, gesturing wildly toward a residential complex just a block away.

"Did you hear?" a woman whispered to her companion, her voice trembling. "A murder happened in the opposite community. Right in broad daylight!"

"Yes, I heard," the other replied, a shiver running through them. "They say the police have blocked off the whole perimeter. They won't let anyone approach. Something about two elderly family members being killed... absolutely brutally."

"Curiosity is a dangerous thing, but boredom is worse," Isla murmured, her eyes scanning the growing crowd. She tilted her head toward the commotion, a challenge dancing in her gaze. "Want to come see? It’s not every day you get a front-row seat to a slaughterhouse in the middle of the city."

You hesitated, your heart hammering against your ribs. Every instinct told you to run back toward the mansion, to hide under the covers and forget the world existed. But there was a magnetic pull to the chaos. You didn't answer, but you stepped forward, following the rhythmic click of her boots on the pavement.

As you approached the residential complex, the atmosphere shifted. Yellow caution tape sliced through the street, and officers were aggressively pushing back the onlookers. When a burly policeman stepped in your path, his arm like a barricade, Isla didn't even slow down. She flashed a leather wallet containing a gold badge with a sharp flick of her wrist.

"She's with me," Isla barked, her voice cutting through the noise. "Move it."

The officer blinked, his expression shifting from suspicion to reluctant compliance as he stepped aside. Isla stepped over the tape with a smirk, glancing back at you over her shoulder. "If you've got the stomach for it, come on. But don't cry when you see the paint on the walls."

You followed her into the apartment building, the silence of the hallway feeling unnatural and heavy.You were about to ask her why she was so eager to witness a tragedy when you stopped dead.

"Isla, wait—"

A piercing, guttural scream ripped through the air, echoing off the narrow walls. You bolted toward the sound, your breath coming in ragged gasps, and burst into the living room.

The sight that met you was a nightmare painted in crimson. Isla was sprawled across the floor, her body limp, though she was still breathing in shallow, ragged bursts. Around her, the room looked like a slaughterhouse; the walls were sprayed with blood, and the bodies of two elderly residents lay twisted on the carpet, their lives drained away. And there, standing amidst the carnage with a terrifyingly serene expression, was the Second Queen.

She looked as if she had just stepped out of a high-fashion magazine, her dress pristine despite the gore surrounding her. She turned to you, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her lips. "Ah, it has been far too long since we last spoke, my dear daughter-in-law," she murmured.

"What did you do?" you shrieked, glancing from the unconscious Isla to the lifeless bodies. "Why... why would you do this to these people? To her?"

The Second Queen sighed, a look of mock disappointment crossing her face. She touched a finger to her lips, glancing at the blood staining her fingertips. "Oh, I was simply a little bit hungry. A royal appetite is a demanding thing, Y/N." She tilted her head, her eyes flashing with a cold, aristocratic disdain. "But where are your manners? You are speaking to your mother-in-law. A little respect would be appropriate, don't you think?"

You opened your mouth to scream, to demand how she could be so heartless, but the heavy thud of tactical boots echoed in the hallway. The other police officers, alerted by the commotion, were bursting through the front door.

"Oh, it seems my time is up," she whispered, her expression shifting back to one of serene boredom. She stepped closer,"We will meet again soon, daughter-in-law. Do try to be more welcoming next time."

In a blur of shadow and wind, she vanished.

The officers surged into the room, their flashlights cutting through the gloom. They didn't see the Queen; all they saw was a scene of absolute devastation. They found Isla sprawes on the floor, her breathing shallow, and you standing over her, trembling and drenched in the secondary spray of the carnage.

"Hands in the air! Now!" the lead officer roared, his weapon drawn.

You didn't even have time to explain. The trauma of the last hour—Suga’s grief, the shattered glass, and the Second Queen’s cruelty—left you paralyzed. As the cold steel of handcuffs clicked shut around your wrists, the irony wasn't lost on you: you were being arrested for a crime committed by the woman who viewed you as a plaything.

The interrogation room was a flickering fluorescent light and the smell of stale coffee. A detective leaned across the metal table, his eyes narrowing as he tapped a pen against a folder. "Nobody is supposed to be at a crime scene, let alone a girl who looks like she’s seen a ghost," he muttered. "Isla was attacked. She’s unconscious in the infirmary. Just tell us what you saw, and maybe we can actually help you."

"Isla went in first," you whispered, your voice sounding hollow in the small room. "I don't know how she passed out... but I know who did this. Please, I can only tell  Jin. Please, just let me speak with him."

The detective exchanged a skeptical look with the Police Commissioner standing by the door. "You're telling me Isla just... passed out? And your only witness is a high-ranking Director?" The Commissioner sighed, his voice booming with irritation. "Director Jin is on a trip. He doesn't even  answering our calls, and we aren't letting you go until he does. Until then, you're locked in this room."

"What? You can't just lock me up! I haven't done anything!" you cried, your voice echoing against the sterile, white-tiled walls.

The Commissioner looked at you with a mixture of pity and annoyance, his expression hardening. "Until Director Jin confirms your story or arrives to vouch for you, you are a person of interest in a double homicide. Now, sit still."

The silence that followed was oppressive, punctuated only by the rhythmic ticking of a wall clock. Then, the Commissioner’s phone shrieked on the table. He frowned, glancing at the caller ID before answering with a hurried, "Yes, Director Jin?"

A voice crackled through the speaker, urgent and strained, loud enough for you to hear. "Commissioner, listen to me very carefully. Release the girl. Now. There is no time to explain the logistics, but if you do not let her go this second, a monster is going to barge through your front doors."

The Commissioner scoffed, his face flushing with indignation. "What on earth are you talking about, Director? This is a police station, not a horror movie. There is no such thing as a—"

The words were severed by a thunderous roar that shook the very foundation of the building. A deafening crash ripped through the air as the reinforced concrete wall of the interrogation room exploded inward. Dust and debris rained down in a gray curtain, and as the smog cleared, a silhouette emerged from the wreckage. Taehyung stood amidst the rubble, his eyes glowing with a predatory, iridescent intensity, his expression one of cold, murderous fury.

The police officer instinctively lunged forward, clinging to the Commissioner in a state of pure, primal terror. "Ekk! A monster! A monster has actually appeared!" he shrieked, his voice hitting a frantic pitch.

The Commissioner stared, paralyzed, at the gaping hole where his wall had been. "Did he... did he really just demolish a load-bearing wall with his bare hands?" he whispered, his authority evaporating into thin air.

Taehyung didn’t wait for an answer from the stunned Commissioner. He stepped over the jagged concrete. He ignored the trembling officers entirely, his iridescent gaze locked onto you. Without a word, he reached out, his large hand enveloping your wrist. With a casual, effortless flick of his fingers, the reinforced steel of the handcuffs snapped , the metal fragments clattering onto the floor.

He turned his head slightly, his expression shifting into something truly lethal as he looked at the cowering officers. "How dare you put handcuffs on her," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that rattled the remaining glass in the windows. "You think your pathetic laws apply to what belongs to me?"

The air in the room grew heavy, the temperature dropping as Taehyung's aura expanded, suffocating the remaining officers. He didn't move to strike, but the sheer intent of violence radiating from him was enough to make the Commissioner collapse into his chair. You could see the predatory tilt of his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched—he was a second away from painting the room as red as the apartment you had just left.

Panic flared in your chest. You couldn't let him kill them, . Reaching out, you grabbed the lapel of his coat and pulled him toward you, surprising him with a sudden, desperate kiss.

The suddenness of the contact acted like a circuit breaker. The murderous tension in Taehyung’s shoulders vanished instantly, replaced by a stunned silence. As you pulled back, breathless, you kept your hands on his chest, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "Please, Master, calm down," you whispered, your voice trembling but firm. "They were just asking questions. They didn't do anything wrong; they were just doing their jobs. Please don't hurt them."

Taehyung stared at you, his iridescent eyes slowly fading back to their natural depth. The predatory aura that had been suffocating the room retracted, though his expression remained one of profound annoyance.

From the wreckage of the wall, the Commissioner’s phone—which had been dropped in the chaos—crackled with Jin’s voice. "Taehyung! Stop scratching the furniture and stop murdering the civil servants," Jin sighed, his tone a mix of exhaustion and authority. "I will handle the paperwork and the 'hole in the wall' situation. Just take Y/N and get out of there before the SWAT team arrives and makes this a national news event."

Taehyung didn't move for a long moment. He cast one last, lingering glance at the police officers.The lead officer, still clutching the Commissioner's waist in a grip of absolute terror, let out a small, involuntary whimper.

"Please, Master Taehyung... let's just go home," you whispered, gently tugging on his sleeve.

"Fine," Taehyung breathed, the word barely a whisper against your forehead. Before you could blink, the world tilted violently. He swept you off your feet in one fluid motion, hoisting you against his chest as if you weighed nothing. He didn't use the door; he simply stepped back through the jagged maw of the ruined wall, leaping into the night air with a strength that defied gravity. The wind whipped through your hair,as the police station shrank into a miniature model of chaos beneath you.

Tucked securely in the crook of his arm, you found yourself staring up at the sharp, aristocratic line of his jaw. His expression had returned to its usual mask of cold indifference, but his grip on you was almost possessively tight. A dizzying thought crossed your mind: why was it always him? No matter how deep the hole you fell into or whose trap you stumbled into, Taehyung was always the one to reach into the darkness and pull you out. He was the most terrifying of the three, the one whose touch had once brought you the most fear, yet he had become your most consistent sanctuary.

The rush of air stopped abruptly as he landed with a soft, muffled thud on the shingles of your roof. He set you down slowly.

"How," he began, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register, "did you manage to end up at a double homicide scene with Isla? As far as I was aware, you were spending your evening shopping for dresses with your friends at the mall."

You shifted your weight, unable to meet his piercing gaze. "I... I went to meet Suga," you murmured, the admission feeling small and fragile in the night air.

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "Explain. Now."

"I just wanted to know more about Ava’s power," you explained, your voice gaining a bit of strength. "I wanted to know how to awaken it, to understand why this is happening to me. But he wouldn't even talk to me. He was cold, and then... things just escalated."

Taehyung let out a sharp, scoffing sound, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for a trace of logic. "You are truly devoid of a brain, aren't you?" he murmured, though the bite in his words was softened by a strange, lingering intensity. "If Jimin finds out you lied to him and wandered off to seek out a man as volatile as Yoongi, he won't just be angry. He will lock you in your room until you forget what the sun looks like."

He paused, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "It is only by a stroke of sheer luck that Hobi hyung happened to find your friend at the mall," Taehyung added, his voice dropping an octave. "She was practically vibrating with anxiety, wondering where her 'secretly dating' friend had disappeared to. He managed to play along, weaving a lie about you having a sudden migraine to cover your tracks. If it weren't for his quick thinking, Jimin would have been hunting you down before the police even finished their reports."

A wave of guilt washed over you, and you looked down at your feet. "I'm sorry," you whispered, the words feeling inadequate. "I just... I felt like I was running out of time to understand who I am."

Taehyung rolled his eyes, "Apologies don't erase stupidity. Don't ever meet Yoongi alone again. He doesn't have the patience for your innocence, and frankly, neither do I."

You nodded quickly, the fear of Jimin's reaction returning to the forefront of your mind. "Are you... are you going to tell Master Jimin about this? That I lied? That I was arrested?"

Taehyung stopped walking, turning to face you. The moonlight caught the sharp angle of his cheekbones and the predatory glint in his eyes. A slow, enigmatic smile spread across his lip. "Little mouse," he purred, his voice dropping into a velvety, dangerous register, "nothing in this world comes for free. Especially not a rescue from the police."

You blinked, a sudden chill running down your spine despite the proximity of his body. "But... I don't have anything to give you. No money, no jewelry..."

Taehyung stepped closer, invading your personal space until you could feel the unnatural coldness radiating from his skin. He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to the pulse jumping frantically in your throat. "Jewelry is for humans. I have no use for trinkets," he murmured, his breath a ghost of a freeze against your ear. "Your soul, however... that would be perfect."

"My soul?" you breathed, the word catching in your throat. The sheer scale of the request felt absurd, yet coming from him, it sounded like a legal transaction. "What on earth would you even do with a soul?"

Taehyung didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, his thumb grazing your lower lip with a slow, deliberate pressure that made your heart stutter. The coldness of his skin contrasted sharply with the heat rushing to your cheeks. "I’ve been doing some thinking," he murmured, his voice dropping to a velvet hum. "According to your dear friend Soomin, it seems we are deeply in love. A forbidden, passionate romance that requires secret meetings and elaborate disguises."

The blood drained from your face as the memory of your desperate lie to the bodyguards crashed back into you. You stepped back, your hands fluttering nervously. "I—I didn't— master Taehyung, that was a lie! I only said that so I could get away from the guards. It wasn't true, I'm so sorry!"

Taehyung’s expression didn't shift, but he stepped forward, closing the gap you had just created. He leaned in, his gaze dropping to your lips and then locking back onto your eyes with a predatory intensity. "A lie, was it?" he asked softly. He paused, the silence stretching between you, thick and charged. "Then how do you explain that kiss?"

"I was only trying to distract you!" you stammered, your hands flying up to cover your burning cheeks. "You were... you were going to kill them! I just wanted to save those people!"

Taehyung didn’t pull away; instead, he leaned in closer, A slow, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest. "Kill them? Little mouse, your imagination is far too generous," he murmured, his eyes flickering with a dangerous light. "I wasn't going to kill them. I was simply in the mood to torture them. There is a distinct difference in the amount of time it takes for each."

You shuddered, the horror of his casualness.You looked away from his piercing gaze, staring out over the sprawling city lights of the skyline, though your mind was still trapped in that blood-soaked room. "I saw her, Master Taehyung," you whispered, your voice cracking. "The Second Queen. She was there. She killed those two elderly people just because she was... hungry. She didn't even care."

Taehyung’s expression didn't flicker. He didn't offer a word of comfort or a sign of shock. He simply watched the wind whip through your hair with a chilling indifference. "It is not a big deal," he replied coldly. "We were born to be monsters. To expect a predator to apologize for its appetite is a waste of breath."

"But they were innocent!" you cried out, finally turning back to him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. "What did they ever do to her? What was their fault? How can you say it's not a big deal when their lives were just... gone because she was hungry?"

Taehyung didn’t flinch at your outburst. Instead, he reached out and caught a stray tear with the pad of his thumb, his movement clinical, almost devoid of warmth. "Mercy is a human luxury, little mouse," he murmured, his voice as cold as the midnight air. "It is a fairy tale told to children to make them feel safe in a world that wants to devour them. In our world, mercy does not exist. There is only the hunger and those who are consumed by it." He stepped back, the brief flicker of intimacy vanishing as quickly as it had arrived. "Get used to the scent of blood and the silence of the grave. Once you accept that the world is a slaughterhouse, it will be much easier for you to survive in it."

Without another word, he pivoted on his heel. "Let’s go," he commanded, his voice returning to that flat, aristocratic tone. He didn't wait for you to process the cruelty of his words; he simply expected you to follow in his shadow, a small, trembling creature trailing behind a predator who had forgotten how to feel pity.

---

The grass was cool and damp, clinging to the hem of my nightgown as you lay flat on your back, staring up at a sky so thick with clouds that the stars had been swallowed whole. The silence of the estate was heavy, broken only by the distant, rhythmic chirp of crickets, but the silence in your mind was louder. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the Second Queen’s calm face.

"The stars are hiding tonight. Are you looking for them, or are you hiding from something?"

A cold breath that tickled the shell of your ear. You gasped, the suddenness of the sound vibrating through your skin, and as you whipped around, you found yourself staring into the crescent-moon eyes of Jimin.

"Master Jimin!" you exclaimed, clutching the grass beneath you.

"What are you doing out here alone in the dead of night, little mouse?" he asked, his voice a melodic whisper that carried a hint of amusement. He didn't wait for an invitation, sinking onto the damp lawn beside you.

"Nothing," you murmured, glancing back at the void of the sky. "I just... I couldn't sleep."

"Let me guess," Jimin continued, his voice dipping into a knowing, honeyed tone, "it’s because of that crime scene. The blood, the screams, the sheer... waste of it all."

You jumped, your eyes widening as you looked at him in genuine shock.

Jimin let out a soft, melodic laugh, the sound echoing through the stillness of the garden. "Little human, don't look so surprised. Did you actually think Jin’s call to the Commissioner was a mere coincidence? " He leaned closer,"In this house, nothing happens without a ripple reaching me. Your little excursion into the dark was known the moment you stepped out of the mansion's gates."

The weight of his omniscience pressed down on you. "I am sorry for lying to you, Master Jimin," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to... I just wanted to understand."

Jimin didn't snap. Instead, he reached out and ruffled your hair with a playful, almost affectionate gesture, though the intensity in his eyes remained. "Literally, if anyone else dared to lie to my face, there would be a funeral by dawn," he murmured,"But you... you are a special kind of disaster, aren't you?" Suddenly, his hand shifted, his fingers pinching the bridge of your nose in a sudden, sharp flick of annoyance. "Consider this your final warning, little human. If you seek out Yoongi alone again, I won't be as gentle . Do I make myself clear?""

"Yes, Master Jimin," you whispered, nodding quickly.

"Good," he replied, his voice returning to that smooth, honeyed cadence. He stood up in one fluid motion and reached down, gripping your wrist to pull you to your feet. "You look like you're about to collapse from the weight of your own thoughts. Let's get some air."

Before you could ask where you were going, the world blurred into a smear of violet and black. One moment you were standing on the damp grass of the estate, and the next, the wind screamed past your ears with a deafening roar. Your stomach plummeted. You gasped, your eyes snapping open to find yourself standing on the observation deck of the N Seoul Tower. The height was dizzying; the city of Seoul sprawled beneath you , but the sheer drop made your knees buckle. Instinctively, you lunged forward, clinging to Jimin’s arm.

"Hey," Jimin murmured, a genuine, soft smile touching his lips as he felt you trembling against him. He didn't pull away; instead, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you. "It’s okay, little human. You’re safe with me. Look at the lights, not the edge."

You slowly let go of his sleeve, peering out at the horizon. The city was breathtakingly beautiful from this height, the neon lights weaving through the dark like luminous veins. "It's beautiful," you admitted softly.

You found yourself staring at him, your gaze lingering on the way the city lights danced in the depths of his pupils. There was something about the softness of his expression in this high, lonely place that made the terror of the afternoon fade.

"Staring again," Jimin murmured, his voice a playful tease that vibrated in the cool air.

"No," you whispered, quickly looking away, though the warmth in your chest remained. "I just... I wanted to thank you for taking me here, Master Jimin. After everything that happened today, I didn't think I'd see anything beautiful."

Jimin’s expression shifted, his gaze softening into something unreadable. He stepped closer, his presence enveloping you, shielding you from the biting wind of the observation deck. "Y/N, I'm—"

He didn't get to finish the sentence. A thunderous *boom* shook the atmosphere, and suddenly, the midnight sky exploded into a kaleidoscope of brilliant crimson and gold. Massive fireworks burst above the city, raining shimmering glitter down toward the horizon. The sudden light illuminated the sharp angles of Jimin’s face.

Jimin didn't look at the sky; he looked at his watch with a precise, clinical flick of his wrist. A small, triumphant smile played on his lips. Without warning, he reached out, his fingers pinching your cheeks and stretching them outward in a childish, affectionate gesture that completely broke his royal composure.

"Happy birthday, little human," he chuckled, his eyes crinkling into those signature crescents.

You froze, your heart leaping. "My... my birthday? How did you...?" You hadn't mentioned the date to anyone in the house; you had spent the last few years treating your birthday as just another day of survival, a quiet reminder of the parents you never knew.

Jimin let out a soft, melodic laugh, his fingers still playfully pinching your cheeks. "Did you actually think your secrets were safe from me? Don't ever underestimate my power, little mouse. I know the rhythm of your heart, the scent of your fear, and certainly the date of your birth." He leaned back, gesturing with a sweeping arm toward the exploding skyline. "I thought a few thousand shells of gunpowder and gold would be a fitting tribute to the day you entered this world."

A wave of warmth, unfamiliar and overwhelming, crashed over you. You looked up at the crimson sparks raining down, your eyes shimmering. "These fireworks..."

"So what," Jimin murmured, his voice dropping to a velvet hum as he stepped closer, "does the birthday girl want as a gift? Name it. Anything in this city,."

You turned to him, a fragile smile touching your lips . "It's already enough for me," you whispered, your voice trembling. "For a long time... my birthday felt like a curse. A reminder of everything I lost and the void where my parents should have been. I can't explain in words how much this means to me, Master Jimin... thank you."

"A birthday girl is supposed to be selfish, Y/N. Greedy, even," Jimin murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips with a playful, predatory spark. He stepped into your space, his chest nearly brushing yours. "Since you won't name a material gift, how about I wrap myself up as your present?"

Your breath hitched, your mind racing to imagine the implications of such a gift, your face flushing a deep crimson that rivaled the explosions in the sky. Before you could stammer a response, Jimin broke away, a loud, melodic laugh echoing across the observation deck. He looked at your wide-eyed, panicked expression with genuine amusement. "Relax, little human! I was joking," he teased, his eyes crinkling into those playful crescents. "Though the look on your face was worth more than any firework. You have the entire day tomorrow for your wishes; you don't have to spend them all in one midnight encounter."

The tension snapped, leaving you feeling lightheaded and slightly dizzy from the sudden shift in atmosphere. You glanced at the shimmering city below, the adrenaline of the evening finally beginning to ebb, leaving a heavy exhaustion in its wake. "We... we should probably go back," you whispered, clutching your arms. "It's very late, and I think I'm starting to freeze."

"As your wish, birthday girl," Jimin murmured, his voice a smooth velvet that seemed to vibrate against the cool night air. With a sudden, fluid motion, he swept you back into his arms, the world blurring once more into a dizzying rush of wind and neon streaks. The observation deck and the dying embers of the fireworks vanished, replaced by the oppressive, familiar stillness of the royal estate.

Jimin set you down in the moonlit sanctuary of the garden. You stepped back from him,"Thank you for taking me there, Master Jimin," you whispered, your voice barely catching the wind.

Jimin sighed, a small, amused smile playing on his lips as he watched you. "You really say 'thank you' too much, Y/N. It’s almost a flaw," he murmured, his voice like velvet against the midnight silence of the garden. He stepped closer, the moonlight carving the sharp, elegant lines of his silhouette, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that always made you feel like he was reading the very ink of your soul.

The warmth of the evening suddenly felt like a facade, a thin veil hiding the cold reality that awaited you. You looked down at your feet, your fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of your nightgown. "Master Jimin..." you started, your voice trembling. "I know it’s going to sound pathetic. I know I have no right to ask for anything, but..." You swallowed hard, the image of him standing at an altar next to Mia flashing vividly in your mind. "I won't attend your wedding. I can't see it. I'm... I'm not ready to see it."

"I'm sorry, Master Jimin," you whispered,You stepped back, creating a physical distance . "But I don’t think it will matter if a blood servant attends or not. A wedding is for equals, for families, for those who belong in the light. I am merely a shadow in your house." You paused, a single tear finally escaping and tracing a hot path down your cheek. "Thank you for the fireworks. Thank you for everything."

Without waiting for him to respond—without risking the sight of that devastatingly soft expression shifting back into royal indifference—you turned and walked away.

The door to your room hadn't even clicked shut before the air shifted, the silence of the hallway replaced by a sudden, violent surge of movement. Before you could even reach for the lamp, a hand slammed against the wood behind your head, the impact rattling the frame. You gasped, your back arching as you were pinned firmly against the door.

"Where have you been?" Jungkook’s voice was a low, dangerous mumble, his words slurring slightly as he pinned you against the door. He smelled of expensive whisky.

As you struggled to breathe under his weight, you noticed it: a jagged smear of crimson coating his knuckles and dripping slowly down his wrist. "Master Jungkook! Your hand... you're injured," you gasped.

"What were you doing with him?" he repeated, ignoring your concern.

You gave him a firm, desperate push, trying to create enough space to see the wound. "Master Jungkook, you need a bandage right now! Please, just sit down," you pleaded, your voice shaking. He let out a huff of frustration, a sound that was half-snarl and half-sigh, but he allowed you to guide him toward the bed. He sank onto the mattress with a heavy thud, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated.

As you knelt before him, carefully cleaning the crimson smears from his knuckles, the room fell into a suffocating silence. You didn't ask who he had fought—you didn't want to know—but as you wrapped the white gauze around his hand, you felt his gaze burning into the top of your head. Suddenly, his voice broke the quiet, a raw, broken whisper that sounded nothing like the arrogant prince you knew. "What does he have that I don't have, Y/N?"

You paused, the bandage frozen in your hands. "What?" you whispered, looking up.

The answer didn't come in words. In one swift, blurring motion, Jungkook lunged forward, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. The force of the movement sent you both tumbling backward onto the bed, the air leaving your lungs in a sharp gasp. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his grip tightening as if you were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth. "I'm tired of losing to him," he groaned, his voice muffled against your skin.

He shifted, his gaze locking onto yours with a desperate, intensity. As he leaned in, his lips mere millimeters from yours. Just as his warmth brushed against your mouth, you jerked your head to the side, your cheek pressing into the silk sheets.

A low, frustrated sound escaped his throat, but he didn't stop. Instead, he trailed a path of searing kisses down the line of your jaw and settled firmly against the pulse point of your neck. You shivered, your hands instinctively pushing against his chest, but your strength was nothing compared to his. His hand slid upward, fingers hooking under the hem of your top, his touch possessive and demanding.

"Please... please don't," you whispered, your voice breaking. The request was a fragile thing, easily crushed under the weight of his need.

Jungkook paused, his breath cold against your skin. For a heartbeat, the predatory hunger vanished, replaced by a flicker of the lonely boy who had once been broken by his mother's cruelty. He pulled back just enough to look at you, a small, bittersweet smile touching his lips—a smile that didn't reach the haunted depths of his eyes. He leaned forward and pressed a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead, a gesture so unexpectedly gentle it made your heart ache.

Then, the tenderness snapped.

His fangs slid out with a clinical click, and without another word, he sank them deep into the junction of your shoulder. You let out a sharp, choked gasp, your fingers curling into the bedsheets,but as the initial sting subsided, a strange sensation began to bloom. In the past, Jungkook’s hunger had been a storm—violent, erratic, and bruising. But tonight, the draw was different. It was rhythmic, almost hesitant, as if he were savoring not just the blood, but the very essence of your presence.

Jungkook locked his fingers with yours, crushing your palm against the mattress, anchoring you to him in a way that felt less like a capture and more like a desperate plea for connection. The pain didn't come; instead, a heavy, languid warmth flooded your limbs, weaving  of shared breath and pulsing veins until the world dissolved into the sound of your own heart hammering against his chest.

The bathroom mirror was fogged with steam, but the reflection that stared back at You was clear enough to show the blossoming purple bruise on your shoulder where Jungkook had fed. You stepped out into the bedroom, your damp skin tingling in the cool morning air, and found the room bathed in a pale, dusty gold. Jungkook was still asleep, sprawled across the silk sheets.

As you watched him, your hand instinctively drifted to your chest, pressing against the steady thrum of your heart.

Flashback ---

Suga buried his face in your neck, his voice a broken whisper that sounded as if it had been mourning for centuries. "I will protect you this time, Ava. I won't let them have you again. I promise, Ava... I won't let them take you from me again."

The words were a suffocating weight, With a sudden, visceral surge of rejection, you shoved him back, your palms slamming against his chest with a strength that surprised even you. The clatter of silverware echoed through the quiet restaurant as you stepped away, your chest heaving.

"I am not Ava!" you shouted, your voice trembling but fierce, cutting through the stifling silence of the room. "My name is Y/N! I don't know who she was, and I don't care who you think I am, but never again try to touch me without my permission!"

You turned on your heel, the cold air of the doorway already calling to you, but Suga’s voice stopped you . "Make Jungkook fall for you Completely," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the table where the remnants of their meal lay forgotten. "That is the only way to wake Ava from the depths of your subconscious."

You paused, your hand gripping the door handle, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "What nonsense are you saying?" you asked, glancing back at him. You began to step away, ready to leave the suffocating tension of the restaurant behind.

"Don't you want to meet your parents?" Suga asked, his voice barely a whisper yet cutting through the noise of the crowd. "Don't you want to know why your mother left you the moment you were born?"

Flashback end---

The memory of Suga’s voice lingered like a phantom, echoing in the silence of the bedroom. *Make Jungkook fall for you completely.* How could you possibly orchestrate the heart of a man who viewed love as a weakness.

Suffocated by the weight of the secret and the lingering  of Jungkook’s sleep, you slipped out of the room, the silk of your gown whispering against the polished floor. You walked with soft, hurried steps, your mind spinning with thoughts of mothers, lost identities, and the terrifying power sleeping within your own blood.

You were halfway to the garden, your footsteps light and hurried, when a voice sliced through the silence like a blade. "Stop."

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat as you turned to find Taehyung standing by a marble pillar, his presence an oppressive weight in the hallway. The morning light caught the sharp line of his jaw, his expression unreadable and cold. "Morning, Master Taehyung," you whispered, your voice barely a tremor.

His gaze didn't just look at you; it scanned you, a slow, clinical descent from your wide eyes down to the hem of your gown and back up again. A slow, predatory smile curled his lips—a rare expression that felt more like a warning than a greeting. "Perfect," he murmured, the word sounding like a sentence. "Now, come to my room."

Confusion flickered through you, momentarily overriding your fear. "For what?"

Taehyung didn’t blink. He stepped closer, his shadow engulfing you, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous hum. "Do you have a death wish, little mouse? Or are you simply fond of questioning your betters?" You shook your head vigorously, a small, frantic *no* escaping your lips as you fell into step behind him, terrified of the silence that followed.

The atmosphere shifted the moment you entered his private sanctuary. His room was a cavern of dark velvet and oil paint, smelling of linseed oil. In the center stood a massive, blank canvas, flanked by an array of brushes and palettes. Taehyung gestured toward a velvet chaise lounge with a curt flick of his wrist. "Sit. Do not move until I tell you to."

As you settled onto the lounge, feeling painfully exposed under his scrutinizing gaze, you looked at the canvas and then back at him. "Um... Master Taehyung? Are you sure you want me as your model? I... I don't think I'm the right choice for a painting."

Taehyung didn't look up from his palette, his fingers expertly mixing a shade of deep, bruised crimson. "This isn't for you, little mouse," he murmured, his voice as cold and precise. "Someone else has commissioned a study of a specific... essence. You happen to possess the exact fragility I require for the composition."

He paused, his gaze flicking toward you with a sharpness that felt like a physical touch. "Do not flatter yourself into thinking you are worthy of a portrait. You are merely a convenient tool—a specific shade of desperation and fragility that I cannot find in a mannequin." He stepped back, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the way the morning light hit the hollow of your throat. "And unlike the servants of this house, your scent doesn't offend me. You are tolerable. Now, hold the pose."

You stiffened, your back arching slightly as you pressed yourself into the velvet of the chaise lounge. The room was silent save for the rhythmic *scritch-scratch* of charcoal against canvas and the distant, muffled sounds of the estate waking up. You remained frozen, your muscles beginning to ache, but you dared not twitch. As you stared at Taehyung, you found yourself mesmerized by the way he moved—the fluid, predatory grace of his wrist, the intensity of his focused gaze. For a fleeting moment, you forgot the coldness of his words. You watched the sharp line of his profile and the way his long fingers gripped the brush, and a traitorous thought bloomed in your mind: *If he just stopped talking, he would be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.*

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Taehyung finally spoke without looking away from the canvas. "Your breathing is uneven," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to ripple through the air. "Control it. You are distracting the light."

You held your breath, your muscles beginning to tremble under the unnatural stillness. You felt a sudden, rebellious surge of irritation. How on earth did he expect you to remain a statue when he was treating you like a piece of furniture?

*He has the face of a god and the bedside manner of a gargoyle,* you thought, and despite yourself, you rolled your eyes. It was a small, subtle movement, a flicker of defiance in the periphery of your vision, but in the oppressive silence of the studio.

Taehyung’s brush stopped mid-stroke. He didn't turn his head, but the air in the room suddenly sharpened, the temperature dropping a few degrees. "Did you just roll your eyes at me?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion, yet vibrating with a dangerous curiosity.

You froze, your heart hammering against your ribs. "N-no, Master Taehyung," you stammered.

Taehyung stepped back from the canvas with a sudden, jarring motion, the brush clattering onto the palette. He didn’t look at you with pride, nor did he even look at the work with satisfaction. Instead, he let out a sharp, dismissive huff, his eyes sweeping over your trembling form with a coldness that felt like a physical blow. "Get up," he commanded, his voice devoid of warmth. "You are a pathetic excuse for a model, Y/N. You couldn't even maintain a simple stillness for an hour without shaking like a leaf in a storm. You are useless."

The words stung, but as you slowly rose from the chaise lounge, your gaze drifted toward the canvas. You stopped mid-breath. The painting wasn't just a study of "fragility"; it was a revelation. He had captured something you didn't know existed.

You caught the heavy frame, clutching it to your chest. The raw emotion captured in the oil paint felt warm against your palms, a stark contrast to the freezing atmosphere of the room. "Are you sure, Master Taehyung?" you whispered, glancing up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. "To give this away... it feels like a waste of your talent."

"It is useless to me," he replied sharply, already turning his back to you to wipe his hands on a rag. The dismissal was absolute, a verbal wall slamming shut between you. "The essence was wrong. Now, get out of my room before your presence further contaminates the air."

Panicked by the sudden shift in his mood, you scrambled to retreat. You gripped the painting tightly, your movements frantic and clumsy in your haste to obey. As you pivoted to rush toward the door, your foot caught the edge of a heavy wooden easel. In a chaotic blur of motion, you stumbled, your foot colliding squarely with a large, open tin of deep, midnight-blue acrylic paint.

The impact was a wet, sickening thud. A geyser of thick, viscous pigment erupted into the air, arching perfectly across the room like a dark ribbon. It landed with a heavy *splat* directly across the center of Taehyung’s pristine white shirt, staining the fabric from his chest down to his waist in a shocking, jagged streak of navy.

The world seemed to stop. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic *drip, drip, drip* of paint falling from the edge of his cuff onto the polished floor. You froze, your heart leaping into your throat, your breath hitching in a silent scream. You looked at the ruined garment—the symbol of his meticulous, cold perfection now marred by your clumsiness—and then at his face.

*This is it,* you thought, a cold shiver racing down your spine. *I’m dead. He’s actually going to kill me this time.*

Taehyung didn't move. He stood like a statue, staring down at the blue stain with an expression of utter bewilderment. For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was your own frantic heartbeat. You waited for the explosion, for the roar of his anger, or perhaps for the cold grip of his hand around your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable strike of his fury.

The explosion of rage didn't come. Instead, a sudden, rushing wind of movement slammed the air out of your lungs. Before you could even gasp, Taehyung had bridged the distance between you, his hand gripping your shoulder and swinging you around with a strength that left you dizzy. You expected a blow; instead, you found yourself pinned against the cool, hard surface of the easel, your breath hitching as his face descended into your personal space.

He was so close ,His eyes, usually like shards of ice, were now swirling with a dark, chaotic curiosity. You expected a snarl, a reprimand, perhaps even the cold pressure of his fingers around your neck to remind you of your place. Instead, Taehyung didn’t pull away. He lingered, his gaze dropping to your trembling lips before drifting upward to the flush on your cheeks. A low, humming vibration started in his chest.

Slowly, almost tentatively, he leaned in, not to strike, but to brush his cheek against yours. The friction was electric, a slow, searing slide of skin against skin that made your toes curl. He didn't stop there; his lips trailed a path of fire down your jawline, grazing the sensitive skin of your neck with a softness that felt more dangerous than his rage. You let out a soft, broken whimper, your hands instinctively clutching the fabric of his ruined shirt.

Then, the sharp, jarring sound of a phone shattered the silence.

Taehyung stiffened, the spell breaking instantly. He pulled back, his expression snapping back to a mask of icy indifference, though his breathing remained heavy. He reached into his pocket with a sharp, efficient movement, glancing at the screen. With a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his frustration, he stepped back, creating a void of cold air between you. "Get out," he commanded, his voice returning to that glacial tone. "Now. Before I decide that your blood is the only thing that can cleanse this shirt."

You didn't need to be told twice. As you scrambled toward the door, your eyes caught something amidst the chaos of the studio—scattered, crumpled pieces of parchment littering the floor. Driven by a sudden impulse, you knelt and snatched up a piece of charcoal paper. As you smoothed it out, your breath hitched. It wasn't a "study of fragility" or a generic essence. It was you.

---

The memory of his lips against your skin lingered like a brand as you walked toward your next class, By the time you slid into your seat, the image of those sketches was burned into your mind. *Why?* you whispered to yourself, leaning your chin on your palm as the professor droned on lecture. *Why would he spend hours capturing me in secret if I’m just a 'little mouse' to him?* You stared at the blank page of your notebook, feeling the confusing tug-of-war in your mind. Taehyung was a paradox—a man who treated you like a piece of furniture in one breath and traced the curve of your jaw with a reverence that felt almost sacred in the next.

You let out a soft, frustrated sigh, your voice barely a ghost of a sound. "Ugh... you are so hard to understand," you murmured, the words meant only for your own ears.

"Who exactly is so hard to understand, Y/N? And why are you thinking about someone else while you're sitting right next to me?"

The voice was a low, velvet vibration that resonated against your shoulder. You jumped, nearly knocking your pen off the desk, as you realized Jungkook had materialized beside you, his head resting comfortably on your shoulder. He didn't just sit next to you; he draped himself over you.

You blinked, glancing at the circle of wide-eyed girls a few rows over—his dedicated fangirls—who looked as though they were witnessing a tragedy. "Master Jungkook," you whispered, leaning away slightly, "why aren't you sitting with them? They've been staring at you for ten minutes."

Jungkook didn't even glance in their direction. He shifted closer, his nose grazing the shell of your ear, a small, triumphant smirk playing on his lips. "Nah. I’d much rather be sitting with my princess." He punctuated the sentence by reaching up and poking your cheek with a playful, rhythmic precision, his touch lingering just a second too long to be casual. "Besides, we have a schedule to keep. Aren't we going to your school reunion party tonight?"

A heavy sigh escaped you, the sound lost in the hum of the lecture hall. "No," you whispered, leaning back into your chair. "I'm not going."

Jungkook paused, his brow furrowing as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. "Why not? It's a royal invitation to your old classmates," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

"Because I don't want to," you whispered, your gaze dropping to the notebook. "And besides, I didn't exactly have a social circle back then. I was the girl with the frayed sleeves and the secondhand textbooks. I have no friends there because I was poor, master Jungkook. There's nothing to reunite with."

A flicker of something—not pity, but a fierce, protective possessiveness—crossed Jungkook’s face. He reached out, his finger poking your cheek again, but this time the gesture was slower, almost tender. "Maybe you didn't have anyone then," he said, a small, arrogant smile curving his lips, "but look at you now. You have a handsome, powerful fiancé to show off. Imagine the look on their faces when you walk in on my arm."

You looked at him, truly looked at him, feeling the suffocating pull of his obsession. He wasn't just offering a date; he was offering a shield, a way to rewrite your history through his own prestige. Before you could argue, he slid his hand over yours, his fingers interlocking with yours in a grip that was as firm as a promise and as restrictive as a shackle.

"Let's go," he commanded, his voice a low, humming vibration that left no room for debate. He began to pull you upward, his strength effortless as he dismantled your resistance.

"But we're in the middle of a lecture!" you whispered-shouted, glancing frantically at the professor who was currently mid-sentence about the socio-political shifts of the nineteenth century. "We can't just—"

Jungkook didn't even look back at the professor. With one decisive movement, he hauled you out of the seat and swept you toward the exit, his hand locked firmly around yours. He didn't care about the stunned silence that followed your abrupt departure or the collective gasp of the girls who had spent the morning polishing their mirrors just for a glimpse of him. To Jungkook, the entire room had ceased to exist the moment he decided your presence was required elsewhere. He navigated the hallways with a predatory grace, ignoring the confused looks from passing students, until the cool air of the parking lot hit your face and the door of a sleek, black luxury sedan slammed shut behind you.

----

The velvet curtains of the private cinema swallowed the same kind of oppressive silence.You blinked, your eyes adjusting to the dimness as you looked around at the sprawling, oversized leather recliners and the massive, silver screen that remained dark.

"Master Jungkook... what are we even doing here?" you whispered, your voice echoing softly in the cavernous room. You shifted awkwardly in the plush leather seat, feeling small and out of place in the opulent surroundings.

Without looking at you, Jungkook reached over and pressed a giant, overflowing bucket of gourmet popcorn into your lap. "Obviously for watching a movie, little mouse," he replied, his tone humming with that familiar, arrogant confidence. He leaned back, sprawling his long legs out and claiming the space around him with an effortless, predatory grace.

You stared at the bucket, then back at the blank screen. "But... you just dragged me out of class," you stammered, the confusion mounting. "The professor is going to report me, and my grades—"

Before the protest could leave your lips, Jungkook pressed a single, firm finger against your lips, effectively sealing your mouth shut. The contact was cold, his skin humming with a suppressed energy that made your heart skip. He leaned in, his dark eyes shimmering with a mixture of mischief and an intensity that felt like it could consume you whole.

"Shh," he murmured, the sound vibrating against the silence of the theater. "Enough with the grades and the professors. For today, the world outside this room doesn't exist." He shifted his weight, his voice dropping to a velvet husk that sent a shiver down your spine. "It’s your birthday, Y/N. And since you’ve spent your whole life with nothing, I decided you deserved something extravagant. Consider me your gift for the entire day."

"How do you even know when my birthday is?" you whispered, the question slipping out before you could censor it.

Jungkook didn't answer; instead, he leaned over and pressed a button on the armrest, the heavy velvet curtains sliding shut with a muted thud. "The movie is starting, Y/N. Be quiet," he murmured, his voice sounding like gravel and silk. He settled back into the leather, his arm draping possessively across the back of your seat, effectively boxing you into his space. As the lights dimmed to a suffocating black and the orchestral swell of the opening credits filled the room, you leaned back and watched him from the corner of your eye. He was always the center of his own universe.

The film was a sweeping melodrama about lost love and the crushing weight of familial duty.For the first hour, jungkook played the part of the bored aristocrat, occasionally making a disparaging comment about the protagonist's lack of resolve. But as the plot spiraled toward its inevitable, heartbreaking climax, the atmosphere in the theater shifted. The dialogue became a raw confession of longing, the music swelling into a heartbreaking crescendo of loss. You felt a strange warmth radiating from beside you, and when you turned your head, the sight stopped your heart.

Jungkook wasn't smirking. His jaw was tight, his chest heaving in a way that suggested he was fighting for air, and a single, shimmering tear had escaped his lash line, carving a slow path down his pale cheek. Then another followed, silent and shimmering in the dim light of the screen.

You stared at him, bewildered. In all the months of his volatility, his cruelty, you had never imagined you would see him break. The sight of him—the most arrogant man you knew—reduced to tears by a flickering image on a screen made your chest ache with a sudden, inexplicable tenderness. Without thinking, your hand moved. Your fingertips, trembling slightly, reached out and brushed the salt-streaked skin of his cheek, wiping the tear away in one gentle, sweeping motion.

The moment your skin touched his, Jungkook stiffened. He didn't pull away, but his eyes snapped to yours, the pupils blown wide, searching your face for a sign of mockery.

"Oh," you whispered, your voice small and breathless as you realized what you'd done. You quickly retracted your hand, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I-I'm sorry... my hand just moved on its own."

Jungkook didn't answer immediately. He let out a shaky breath, his gaze lingering on your lips before he slowly leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

"I want to be a normal human," Jungkook whispered, his voice cracking, a fragile sound that barely reached the space between your foreheads. "Just for one day. No crowns, no blood, no legacies... just a boy who can cry at a movie without it being a tragedy of state."

You opened your mouth to respond,but The screen flickered to black and the house lights surged upward, blindingly bright and sterile. The spell of the darkness vanished.

You blinked and hurriedly stood up, smoothing out your clothes. "We should go," you said softly, feeling the sudden need for distance after such an intimate breach of his walls. "The professor really will be furious if I don't find a way to apologize for leaving mid-lecture."

Jungkook didn't seem to hear you.Then, with a sudden, sharp exhale, the mask of the arrogant royal snapped back into place. He stood up, his movements fluid and commanding once more, though his eyes remained softened. "Forget the professor," he declared, his voice regaining its velvet authority. "The day is far from over. I have many places to visit—places that don't involve dusty books or royal protocols."

Before you could even begin to protest, you were swept back into his world, a blur of luxury cars . The afternoon dissolved into a whirlwind of unexpected excursions, culminating in a small, sun-drenched studio tucked away in a quiet alley. The air smelled of damp earth and mineral dust.

You looked down at the lump of grey, wet clay resting on the spinning wheel between you. "Master Jungkook... do you actually like this?" you asked, glancing at him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Since when are you into pottery?"

Jungkook scoff, he was currently struggling to keep his fingers from slipping, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. "I don't. It’s not my thing," he admitted, his voice humming with a reluctant honesty. "But I searched on Google for 'how to make a birthday special' and this was one of the top recommendations. Some sort of... 'bonding experience,' apparently." He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "I didn't want to just buy you another piece of jewelry you're too scared to wear. I wanted to actually do something."

The admission was so unexpectedly sincere that it left you momentarily breathless. You watched as he attempted to shape the clay into a bowl, but his obsession with perfection worked against him; the walls of the vessel collapsed under his strength, flattening into a sad, muddy pancake.

"You're doing it wrong," you giggled, the sound light and airy in the quiet studio. Before you could think about the propriety of the gesture, you shifted closer, sliding your hands over his. Your smaller, gentler fingers guided his larger ones, applying just enough pressure to lift the clay upward.

The clay spun beneath your joined hands, a rhythmic hum that filled the silence between you. As you guided his fingers, molding the walls of the vessel upward, you felt the heat radiating from his skin.He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his focus shifting from the collapsing pottery to the way your eyelashes cast long, delicate shadows on your cheeks.

"It's actually working," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that resonated through your arms. He didn't pull away; rather, he pressed his chest against your back, effectively enveloping you in a protective, warm embrace. For a moment, the clay was forgotten. The spinning wheel continued to whirl, but the world had slowed down to the singular point where your hands overlapped.

You let out a soft, shaky breath, your heart drumming a frantic rhythm. "See? You just have to be gentle," you whispered, feeling a surge of affection for this version of him—the one who tried, however clumsily, to be human. "Not everything can be conquered with force, Master Jungkook."

A small, genuine chuckle escaped him, a sound so rare . He tightened his grip on your hands, his fingers interlacing with yours as the clay finally took the shape of a modest, slightly lopsided bowl. "Maybe," he whispered, his lips grazing the nape of your neck in a fleeting, ghost-like kiss. "But if I'm not forceful, how would I keep you from slipping away?"

"What did you say?" you blinked, your head tilting as you tried to process his sudden shift from tenderness to that familiar, teasing arrogance.

Jungkook let out a sharp, mocking huff. He abruptly yanked his hands away from yours, causing the lopsided bowl to wobble precariously on the wheel. "Careful, little mouse. If you keep distracting me and destroy the clay, I won't make another one for you," he warned, his voice regaining that playful edge. "This is a limited edition Jungkook-original. If it collapses now, you'll have to settle for a handful of mud."

You laughed, the sound echoing in the small, earthy studio, and instinctively reached out to steady the clay. But as you did, you realized just how deeply you were tucked into the crook of his arm, your back flush against his chest.

He shifted slightly, his scent was enveloping you, and the intensity in his gaze became too much to bear. Your face felt like it was on fire, "I... I need to use the washroom!" you stammered, practically leaping away from him. Without waiting for a response, you hurried toward the back of the studio, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Once inside, you leaned over the sink, scrubbing the grey, gritty clay from your hands with an intensity that bordered on desperation. You stared at your reflection in the mirror—cheeks flushed, eyes wide and confused. *Why is he acting like this?* you wondered, the water rushing over your fingers.

"Don't tell me you've actually fallen for that brat," a dry, rasping voice echoed through the small room.

You jumped, nearly slipping on the wet tiles as you spun around. Leaning casually against the tiled wall, arms crossed over his chest and an expression of profound boredom on his face, was Min Yoongi. He looked as though he had been standing there for an hour, watching you have your internal crisis

"Suga!" you gasped, clutching your chest. "Wait—what are you doing here? This is the woman's washroom!"

Yoongi didn't even blink, his expression remaining one of profound, clinical detachment. He shifted his weight, glancing at the door you had just rushed through. "It seems you're enjoying your little date with the brat," he remarked, his voice dripping with a cynicism that made the warm glow of the afternoon vanish instantly.

"What do you want, Suga?" you asked, drying your hands with a frantic energy.

"What I told you last night," he replied, stepping closer, his eyes searching yours for a sign of rebellion. "Have you thought about it? About leaving the royal house and coming to me?"

You looked away, thinking of the strange, fragile vulnerability you had just witnessed in the cinema, and the way Jungkook's hand had felt guiding yours through the clay. "I won't," you whispered. "Even if Master Jungkook has been cruel to me... I have no right to play with his emotions. I know how it feels to love someone who doesn't love you back. I won't do that to him."

Yoongi’s face hardened, a flash of genuine anger crossing his features. "Seriously? You're taking his side? My sister suffered a lifetime because of that family's obsession, and after everything they’ve put you through, you're still playing the martyr for them." He let out a sharp, cold laugh. "You're pathetic."

"Oh, really?" you snapped, the sudden surge of indignation surprising even you. "You're the one who  pushing me into this nightmare. I have nothing more to say to you!"

As you turned to leave, Yoongi’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist. Before you could scream, the air around you warped, the scent of damp earth replaced by the sterile smell of old parchment and ozone. In a blur of motion, you were teleported away from the studio and standing in the middle of the university grounds, though the scenery was skewed.

"What are you doing?" you gasped, trying to pull your arm away.

"I need to show you something," Yoongi murmured, his voice urgent. "Something I can't access without Ava's power." He didn't wait for your consent. He gripped your hand tighter and whispered a series of ancient, guttural incantations. Suddenly, a hidden door shimmered into existence against a brick wall, swinging open with a heavy groan.

You stepped inside, your breath hitching. The room was a cavernous vault filled with thousands of floating glass bottles, each one glowing with a swirling, iridescent mist. Every bottle had a name etched into the glass in delicate calligraphy.

"What is this place?" you whispered, mesmerized by the humming light of the vault. The iridescent mists within the jars swirled like trapped nebulae, casting ghostly hues of violet and gold across the stone floor.

"The Park family archive," Yoongi replied, his voice echoing with a bitterness that chilled the air. "A graveyard of stolen moments. The royal vampires don't just claim territories and titles; they claim the very thoughts of those they deem beneath them. This is where they store the memories they’ve surgically extracted from humans to ensure absolute obedience."

As you wandered deeper into the glimmering forest of glass, your eyes scanned the calligraphy on the labels. You froze when you spotted a bottle pulsing with a cold, silver light. The name *Taehyung* was etched into the glass. You gasped, wondering what could possibly have to hide, but before you could reach for it, Yoongi’s hand shot out, pointing toward a shelf tucked away in the shadows.

There, sitting in a solitary, velvet-lined nook, was a bottle that glowed with a haunting, familiar warmth. Your breath hitched. Written in a delicate, swirling script was your own name.

"What... how is this possible?" you whispered, the world tilting beneath your feet. You reached out, your fingertips grazing the cool glass of the bottle that bore your name.

"So, tell me," Yoongi murmured, his voice a low rasp that seemed to vibrate against the silence of the vault. "What memories did Jimin decide were too inconvenient for you to keep? What fragments of your own soul did he deem unnecessary and tuck away in a jar like a preserved specimen?"

The words hit you like a physical blow. You stared at the swirling warmth inside the bottle. A surge of indignation flared in your chest—a sudden, violent need to reclaim whatever had been stolen from you. Without thinking, you gripped the neck of the glass bottle and lifted it high.

"Wait!" Yoongi’s voice cracked through the air, sharp as a whip. He lunged forward, his hand clamping around your wrist just as you began to tilt the bottle. "Don't be stupid! If you break that glass and those memories flood back into your body all at once, the shock will kill you. Your current form can't handle the sudden integration of suppressed power and trauma. It would be a psychic overload—instant death."

You froze, the bottle trembling in your grasp.You slowly lowered the jar back onto its velvet cushion, your chest heaving. "Then how?" you whispered, your voice trembling. "How can I see them without dying? How can I know who I actually am?"

Yoongi stepped back, his gaze sliding toward the exit of the vault. His expression shifted from alarm to a calculating sort of curiosity. "I can project the memories for you, but not with a simple spell. To bridge the gap between your current mind and those sealed fragments, I need a catalyst. Something that belongs to the person who locked them away." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "I need something of Jimin’s. A strand of hair or better yet, a drop of his blood."

"I'll do it," you whispered, the weight of the stolen bottle still haunting your fingertips. The thought of Jimin’s calculated kindness now felt like a velvet shroud, hiding a truth that had been surgically removed from your mind. You looked at Yoongi, seeing the flicker of satisfaction in his cold eyes.

"Now you're thinking logically," Yoongi murmured, his voice a dry rasp. He didn't give you a moment to second-guess the danger. Before you could even blink, the sterile smell of ozone returned, and the world blurred into a dizzying smear of grey and brown. In a heartbeat, you were standing once again on the damp tiles of the pottery studio's washroom, the sound of the spinning wheel humming in the distance.

Yoongi leaned against the doorframe, his expression returning to that mask of profound boredom. "You have until tomorrow," he warned, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "Find a way to get a drop of his blood, or your identity remains a curated collection in a glass jar." Then, he vanished into the shadows of the alleyway, leaving you shivering in the sudden silence.

You took a deep breath, splashing cold water on your face to erase the look of terror and longing from your features. When you finally stepped out of the washroom, you found Jungkook leaning back against the workbench, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked perfectly composed, though there was a predatory glint in his eyes as he tracked your movement.

"You took an awfully long time in there, little mouse," he remarked, his voice humming with that familiar, arrogant confidence. He gestured vaguely toward the spinning wheel with a tilt of his chin. "Since you were so preoccupied, I decided to be productive. Look."

You turned toward the wheel, expecting to see a heap of collapsed mud. Instead, you saw a bowl—actually a bowl—though it was wildly asymmetrical, leaning to one side with an erratic, jagged rim. It looked less like a piece of art and more like a struggle captured in clay, but it was standing.

"Behold," Jungkook declared, stepping toward you with a smug grin that reached his eyes. "The 'Jungkook Rear Edition.' It’s conceptually avant-garde. It represents the chaos of your presence in my life." He reached out, his fingers grazing your waist as he pulled you closer, his tone dropping to a velvet husk. "Now, enough about the pottery. I’ve been patient for exactly ten minutes, and my appetite is starting to outweigh my generosity."

You looked at the lopsided, chaotic piece of clay and felt a genuine ripple of warmth in your chest. It wasn't a masterpiece, but it was the first thing he had ever tried to create *for* you, rather than something he demanded *from* you. "Thank you, Master Jungkook," you whispered, a soft, tentative smile touching your lips. "I'll always appreciate this gift. Even if it looks like it might fall over if someone sneezes."

Jungkook let out a short, triumphant huff, his chest swelling with a mixture of arrogance and satisfaction. "Of course you will. It's a masterpiece of instability," he replied, his gaze darkening as he leaned in, the scent of expensive cologne and something metallic clinging to him. "Now, let's go. I'm starving, and the sight of you looking so fragile is making my fangs ache."

He began to lead you toward the exit, his hand firm on the small of your back, when the sharp, insistent chime of his phone sliced through the quiet of the studio. Jungkook didn't even glance at the screen, his expression one of utter disdain for whatever—or whoever—was interrupting him. He kept walking, his pace unwavering. The phone rang again, the vibration echoing against his thigh.

"Master Jungkook," you murmured, glancing up at him with a worried crease in your brow. "You should probably take it. It might be something important."

Jungkook paused, his jaw tightening. He pulled the device from his pocket and slid the answer bar with a sharp flick of his thumb. "What?" he snapped into the receiver, his voice cold and impatient. As the person on the other end spoke, the arrogance vanished from his face, replaced by a sudden, sharp tension. Without a word of explanation to you, he pivoted on his heel, his movements frantic as he swept you back toward the car.

---

The drive to the hospital was a blur of screeching tires and Jungkook’s erratic breathing. He didn't speak a word to you, his knuckles white against the steering wheel, his focus narrowed to a point of lethal intensity. When the sliding doors of the emergency wing finally  open, he didn't walk.

He found Mia in a sterile white bay, looking pale and fragile against the harsh fluorescent lights. The moment Jungkook spotted her, the tension in his shoulders exploded into a verbal onslaught.

"You absolute idiot!" he roared, though his voice cracked with a desperation he tried to mask as anger. "Look at you! You look like a ghost! Why on earth are you not eating? Do you have any idea how reckless this is?"

Mia let out a weak, airy laugh, leaning back against the thin hospital pillow. "Jungkook, stop shouting, you're giving me a headache. I'm just on a strict diet. The wedding dress is a custom piece and the corset is unforgiving. I want to fit into it perfectly for Jimin."

Jungkook’s expression shifted from rage to profound disbelief. He looked at her as if she had suggested jumping off a building. "A dress? You collapsed because of a piece of fabric?" He reached for his phone, his thumb hovering over the dial pad. "That's it. I'm calling Jimin. He needs to come here and drag you to a buffet personally."

"No!" Mia gasped, reaching out a thin hand to stop him. "Don't make him worry. He’s already stressed with the coronation preparations and the bachelor party planning. He'll spiral if he thinks I'm sick. Just... just let me recover for a few hours and I'll go home."

Jungkook sighed, a sound of sheer frustration, and glanced back at you. The intensity in his eyes softened for a fraction of a second. "Stay here. Don't leave her side for a second," he commanded, his voice low and authoritative. "I need to speak with the doctor about the nutrient IV."

As he swept out of the curtained area, leaving a trail of lingering tension behind him, the silence of the ward settled over you. Mia looked at you, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of guilt and fondness.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the medical monitors. "You shouldn't have had to come here. Jungkook is always like this—way too high-strung when it comes to my health."

You looked at her, then glanced at the phone resting on the bedside table. The screen was still lit, showing the call log. Something had been nagging at you since the moment you entered the hospital—a detail that didn't quite align with the "perfect" image of the royal house's dynamics.

"Mia," you began softly, your voice hesitant. "Don't think this is weird, but... I noticed something."

Mia tilted her head, curious.

"Usually, in a phone's emergency contact settings, the first number is the person closest to you—the partner, the parent, the one you trust most in a crisis," you explained, gesturing vaguely toward the device. "But when you collapsed and the nurses called your emergency contact... it wasn't Jimin. It was Jungkook."

Mia’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her pale features before she let out a soft, melodic giggle that sounded out of place in the sterile room. She reached out, patting your hand with a touch that was warm and grounding. "Oh, Y/N, you’re overthinking again," she murmured, her voice returning to that sweet, airy tone. "Jungkook is just... Jungkook. He’s the one who panics over the smallest things, while Jimin is the steady rock. It’s just how we function. Besides," she added, her expression softening into something pleading, "I heard that you might not be coming to my wedding. I know it’s hard for you—seeing him at the altar—but please, try to come. Jimin would be so happy to see you there. It would mean the world to him."

You opened your mouth to respond,  but the curtain was whipped back with a violent snap.

Jungkook stormed back into the bay, his face a mask of pinched irritation. "The doctor says you're staying the night," he announced, his voice booming. "Your blood sugar is abysmal and your blood pressure is practically non-existent. You’re staying put until that IV does its job."

Mia groaned, throwing her head back against the pillow with a dramatic sigh. "Gosh, I hate hospitals. The smell of bleach is giving me a migraine."

"You brought this on yourself by treating a corset as more important than a meal," Jungkook retorted, though he reached out to adjust her blanket with a tenderness that contradicted his sharp tone. He then pivoted toward you, his gaze snapping back to its usual possessive intensity. "Since we're stuck in this sterile wasteland for the evening, you're useless here. I'm calling the driver to take you back to the mansion. I can't have you wandering around a hospital catching some human plague."

"Jungkook, stop being so dramatic! I'm okay now," Mia protested, her voice gaining a bit of strength.

"You are *not* okay; you are a fainting disaster," he snapped back, already dialing the phone. He didn't ask if you wanted to stay; he simply assumed the command.

The heavy velvet curtains of the mansion’s west wing muffled the sound of your heartbeat, which felt like a drum echoing in the sudden silence of the corridor. You had waited until the house settled into a heavy, midnight stillness. Your fingertips were cold, trembling slightly as you slipped through the door of Jimin’s private chambers.

You moved like a ghost, your breath held tight in your chest, navigating the dim space toward the mahogany wardrobe. Your mind was a storm of Yoongi’s warnings and the image of that silver-glowing jar. You don't need a vial of blood—not yet—but a single strand of hair, clinging to the fabric of a worn shirt or a silk tie, might be enough to bridge the gap to your lost memories. You reached out, your fingers brushing against the cool, crisp linen of his white button-down, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"Little human," a voice murmured, a velvet ghost of a sound that vibrated against the shell of your ear. "Are you trying to steal my clothes?"

The sudden warmth of a chest pressing against your back sends a jolt of electricity through your spine. You gasped, spinning around to find yourself pinned between the wardrobe and Jimin’s towering frame. He wasn't angry; his expression was one of amused curiosity, his eyes shimmering with a soft, predatory light in the gloom. One hand was braced against the wood beside your head, while the other toyed with a stray lock of your hair, twirling it slowly around his finger.

"I—I was just..." you stammered, your voice failing you. You stepped back, but there was nowhere to go.

Jimin chuckled, the sound low and melodic. "You're shaking," he noted, his voice dropping to a soothing, dangerous register. He leaned in closer, his nose grazing your temple. "To enter my chambers at this hour, in total secrecy... you must be having a very delicious little secret of your own. Tell me, Y/N, what could possibly be so important that you'd risk my wrath by sneaking in here?"

A sudden, violent crack of thunder ripped through the silence of the west wing, shaking the very foundations of the mansion. Startled, you gasped and instinctively lunged forward, your arms wrapping around Jimin’s waist and your face burying itself into the cool silk of his chest. You clung to him with a desperate strength, trembling violently. "I'm scared of the thunder," you whispered, your voice muffled and small against his skin.

Jimin’s body stiffened for a heartbeat before a soft, rhythmic vibration started in his chest—a low chuckle. He didn't pull away; instead, he shifted his weight, his arms circling you with a slow, protective grace. One hand rested on the small of your back, while the other brushed your hair away from your neck. "Hey, it's okay," he murmured,"It's only thunder, little human. There is nothing in this world—or any other—that can hurt you while you're in my arms."

You abruptly stepped back, your hands flying up to create distance. Your face flushed a deep crimson as you looked up at him, your eyes darting toward the wardrobe you had just been raiding.

"I'm sorry, Master Jimin!" you stammered, your voice pitching higher in your panic. You scrambled backward, your hands fluttering frantically toward the open wardrobe as if trying to physically push the evidence of your trespassing back into the shadows. "I—I knocked on the door, but there was no response! I just saw your shirt lying on the bed and thought... I thought I would put it away in the wardrobe for you. I wasn't stealing anything!"

The lie felt clunky and transparent, hanging in the air between you like a heavy fog. Jimin didn't move, his gaze tracing the frantic line of your expression with a slow, calculating intensity. For a long moment, the only sound was the distant rumble of the receding storm and the thrum of your own heart. Then, his lips curved into a smile.

"You're a terrible liar, little human," he murmured,he stepped back, granting you a sliver of breathing room, his expression shifting to one of amused indulgence. "But you are lucky that you are cute. Your desperation is almost endearing." He gestured toward the door with a flick of his wrist, his voice returning to a cool, professional distance. "You may go now. I have work that requires my undivided attention."

You froze. The goal was still there—the silver jar, the stolen memories, and Yoongi’s demand for a catalyst. A single strand of hair was within reach, but Jimin was too observant, his senses too sharp. If you tried to snatch something now, he’d see the shift in your intent before you even moved a muscle. You needed a way to get close to him—not as a terrified servant, but in a way that felt natural, a way that would allow you to linger.

"Master Jimin," you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked up at him. You paused, searching for something he wouldn't immediately reject—a request that sounded enough to mask your true intentions. "For my birthday gift... I want you to cook for me".

Jimin blinked, his expression shifting from calculating curiosity to genuine bewilderment. "You want me... to cook?" he repeated, his voice laced with a dry amusement.

You nodded fervently, your heart hammering against your ribs. It was a gamble, but the more innocent the request, the less he would suspect the heist happening in your mind.

A small, enigmatic smile curved Jimin’s lips. "Very well. A request for a birthday wish is a dangerous thing to deny." He stepped back and gestured toward the corridor with a graceful sweep of his hand. "Follow me, little human. Let us see if my culinary skills can match my patience."

***

Meanwhile, back in the sterile quiet of the hospital wing, Mia shifted against her pillows, her gaze drifting toward the window where the last remnants of the storm were fading. She looked at Jungkook, who was pacing the room with a restless, predatory energy.

"Jungkook," she murmured, her voice soft and nostalgic. "Do you remember how you used to be? Back in the old days... how terrified you were of the thunder?"

Jungkook stopped mid-stride, his jaw tightening as he averted his eyes. "That is in the past, Mia. I am not that fragile boy anymore."

"Hmm, Jungkook," she teased, a playful glint in her eyes. "Some things never truly leave us."

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with a sudden shift in energy. Jungkook stepped closer to the bed, his gaze darkening with an intensity that had nothing to do with irritation. "Mia, I like Y/N. Tonight... I was actually going to confess my feelings to her."

Mia’s smile faltered, a flash of sympathy crossing her pale face. "I'm sorry, Jungkook."

"It's okay," he replied, his voice dropping to a low, rough hum. "It's not your fault. If anything, Jimin should be keeping a closer eye on you. How can he be so careless with you that you'd end up here?"

"He's busy," Mia defended softly. "He has so many responsibilities, Jungkook. But tell me... what is it about Y/N? Why her?"

Jungkook turned toward the window, his silhouette sharp against the sterile hospital lights. "My heart beats for her. Only for her," he confessed, "When I'm with her, the hunger feels different. For the first time in my life, I find myself wanting to be a normal human, just so I could love her without the blood."

Mia didn't answer, only offering a small, bittersweet smile that seemed to acknowledge a tragedy only she could foresee.

***

The mansion’s kitchen was a cathedral of stainless steel and white marble, smelling of garlic, butter, and the simmering richness of a red wine reduction. Jimin moved with a fluid, rhythmic grace, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the lean muscle of his forearms. He was focused, his expression serene as he stirred a pan of risotto, the golden light of the overhead lamps casting soft shadows across his focused features.

You hovered beside him, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Every time he leaned in to taste the sauce or reached for a spice jar, you lunged forward with a desperate, trembling hand, trying to snag a single stray strand of hair from his shoulder or the collar of his shirt. Each time you moved, he shifted just an inch, a subtle glide of his body that left your fingers grasping at empty air.

"Are you alright, Y/N? You seem rather... jittery," he noted, his voice a melodic tease as he glanced at you over his shoulder.

"I'm just helping!" you squeaked, your face flushing. In a moment of sheer panic, you reached for the sink to wash your hands, but as you turned the faucet, your grip slipped. A sudden, clumsy surge of water arched through the air, splashing directly across Jimin’s perfectly styled hair and the shoulder of his crisp shirt.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" you gasped, though your heart was racing with a different kind of adrenaline. This was it. The perfect chaos. You grabbed a nearby linen towel and lunged toward him, not with a gentle pat, but with a frantic, rough energy. You began ruffling his damp hair with the towel, scrubbing vigorously. In your mind, you were calculating: *when someone washes their hair or dries it roughly, strands always fall out. Just one. I just need one.*

As you scrubbed, you felt the silkiness of his locks beneath your palms, your eyes darting toward the towel, expecting to see a few dark strands clinging to the white fabric. But as you finally pulled the towel away and stepped back, your breath hitched. You looked at the linen, then back at Jimin, who was watching you with a look of sheer, amused bewilderment. The towel was pristine. Not a single hair had fallen.

Jimin let out a low, humming laugh, reaching up to smooth a stray lock of hair back into place. "Such a clumsy little thing," he murmured, his voice vibrating with a warmth that felt almost dangerous. "Do you always treat your betters with such violence, or am I a special case?"

"I was just... trying to be helpful, Master Jimin!" you stammered, your face burning with a mixture of shame and failure. You stared at the pristine white towel in your hands. It felt as though the universe itself was conspiring to keep your identity locked away, guarded by Jimin's impossibly perfect composure.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on your flushed cheeks, his eyes shimmering with an amusement that felt like a physical touch. He stepped back, gently reclaiming the space you had invaded, and pointed a slender finger toward the arched doorway. "As much as I enjoy the spectacle of your chaos, Y/N, the risotto requires a precision that your 'help' lacks. Let me focus on my cooking. Now, out of the kitchen."

As you retreated from the kitchen, you found yourself obsessing over the scent that lingered on your fingertips.You wondered, with a sudden, piercing curiosity, what kind of shampoo could possibly maintain such a pristine, shimmering quality that even a soaked towel couldn't coax a single strand from.

By the time you were ushered into the dining hall, the atmosphere was thick with a sort of hushed, electric disbelief. You sat stiffly at the edge of the mahogany table, your hands folded in your lap, feeling the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes on you. The servants were moving in a coordinated blur, but their whispers were not as silent as they thought.

"Did you see?" one maid murmured, her voice a sharp, frantic hiss as she dusted a nearby vase. "The Master is actually in the kitchen. He’s... *cooking*."

"It’s unheard of," another whispered back, her eyes wide with shock. "The last time he touched a pan was years ago, and that was for Miss Mia. Only a handful of times in a decade. Who is she to him now?"

The dining hall felt like a cavern of expectant silence until Jimin emerged from the kitchen, carrying a platter of risotto. He set the dish before you . "A modest offering for a modest wish," he murmured, his voice a smooth velvet that seemed to vibrate in the quiet room. "I hope you enjoy it, Y/N."

You took a small, hesitant bite, and the flavors exploded across your tongue—creamy, savory, and complex. A genuine smile broke through your anxiety. "It's really yummy! Thank you, Master Jimin," you whispered, your voice soft. Then, remembering the chaos in the kitchen, you looked down at your lap. "And... I'm sorry for disturbing you. I know you're busy with the coronation and the wedding."

Jimin leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze drifting over you with an expression that was half-amusement and half-intrigue. "It’s alright. I find it difficult to say no to a birthday girl, even if her request was... unconventional." He tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "To be honest, I was expecting you to ask for a party, a gown, or perhaps some piece of jewelry that would make Jungkook green with envy. Instead, you asked for a home-cooked meal. Your wishes are as strange as you are, little human. Enjoy your food; I have a mountain of work to finalize before tomorrow's festivities."

You paused, your fork halfway to your mouth, the thought of the silver jar and the stolen memories pulsing in the back of your mind. You needed more time with him, more opportunities to get close without raising suspicion. "Can I help you?" you asked, your voice hopeful. "With the party preparations, I mean. I can run errands or organize the florals."

Jimin’s expression shifted, a slow, knowing smile curling his lips. He stepped closer, "Help me?" he repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerous, melodic hum. "If I remember correctly, someone told me recently that she wouldn't even be attending my wedding. Now suddenly, you are eager to be my little assistant?"

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, but you held his gaze, trying to sound sincere. "I just want to help you for the party. I want everything to be perfect for you and Mia."

Jimin let out a soft, dry chuckle, the sound vibrating in the quiet of the dining hall. He reached out, his thumb grazing your chin with a lightness . "Is that truly the case, Y/N? Or are you simply trying to take advantage of my sudden generosity?" He leaned in, his eyes dancing with a mischievous, predatory light. "After all, tomorrow is the eve of the celebration. Technically, I will be a bachelor for one final day before the vows are exchanged. A very tempting window of time for a little human with a hidden agenda, wouldn't you say?"

Your heart leaped into your throat, and you shook your head vigorously, nearly knocking over your water glass. "What? No! I wouldn't... I mean, I'm not trying to do that!" you stammered, your face heating up.

Jimin’s expression softened into something genuinely fond, and before you could retreat, he reached out and pinched your cheek. "Such an innocent little thing," he murmured, his voice dripping with a mixture of affection and amusement. "Your face is so transparent it’s almost a tragedy. Very well, if you are so desperate to be useful, you may stay."

For the next few hours, the dynamic shifted. You became his shadow, drifting through the corridors of the west wing as he finalized the guest lists and coordinated the floral arrangements for the coronation gala. You handled the tedious tasks—sorting silk ribbons and organizing seating charts.

Eventually, the exhaustion of the day claimed him. Jimin had collapsed onto the velvet sofa in his study, his head tilted back and his long lashes casting shadows against his pale skin. He was deep in a vampire’s slumber, his breathing slow and rhythmic. This was the moment. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you crept forward, With a trembling hand, you reached out and delicately plucked a single, shimmering strand of hair .

As you stepped back, clutching the trophy of your heist, a wave of bittersweetness washed over you. *Whatever memories you took from me, Jimin,* you thought, looking at his sleeping face, *I hope they don't make me hate you.* You didn't want to find a monster in the mirror of your past; you wanted to believe in the man who had just cooked for you. Without looking back, you hurried out of the room, your footsteps light and frantic. Only then, as the heavy oak doors clicked shut, did Jimin’s eyes snap open, his gaze fixed on the empty space where you had just stood, a knowing, predatory smile touching his lips.

A/N: I want to hear your thoughts! ✍️

​Out of all the boys in this chapter, who do you feel is genuinely bonding with and enjoying Y/N the most right now?

​Tell me who has your heart in the comments! See you guys in 3 days! ❤️

Taglist:

Chapter :16

Few hours ago---

Taehyung didn’t flinch, though the ground

beneath him shuddered. He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you flush against his chest to shield you from the falling ash. "The chaos has reached its peak," Taehyung murmured, his voice a cold contrast to the heat surrounding them. "We need to go before the Council’s cleaners arrive to scrub the scene." Without another word, he swept you off your feet and vanished in a blur of speed, the screams of the park fading into a distorted hum.

A heartbeat later, the world snapped into focus again, and the air changed from sulfur and smoke to the scent of expensive sandalwood and sterile luxury. You were back in your bedroom at the mansion, the plush carpets cushioning the sudden stop. The silence of the room felt heavy, almost oppressive, after the violence of the carnival.

"Master Taehyung," you gasped, your chest still heaving as you tried to catch your breath. "Master Jimin is still at the amusement park! We have to go back for him. He was... he was fighting something, and then the explosions—"

Taehyung let go of you, his expression turning flat and impassive. He began to peel off his leather gloves, his movements slow and deliberate. "Jimin is a royal," he stated, his voice devoid of concern. "He is more than capable of handling a few stray assassins and a bit of structural damage. He doesn't need help, Y/N." He paused, his gaze shifting to you, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Why are you so concerned? Are you trying to cheat on me?"

You blinked, completely thrown off by the sudden accusation. "What?"

Taehyung took a step toward you, his presence suddenly filling the room, suffocating and heavy. "What exactly were you doing with Jimin at that park. "

You felt a flash of irritation, the adrenaline from the attack still humming in your veins. You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up. "Master Taehyung, it is truly not your business who I spend my time with !"

Taehyung’s eyes darkened, a predatory glint replacing the coldness. In a blur of motion, he closed the gap, his hand sliding firmly into the crook of your neck to pull you forward. He didn't give you time to breathe, let alone argue; his lips crashed against yours . You let out a muffled protest, your hands pressing against his chest. "Hmp... sto—" you tried to murmur, but the sound was swallowed as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips with a possessive insistence that made your head spin.

Desperate for air and space, you began to stumble backward, your heels catching on the thick rug. You retreated until the edge of the mahogany bedframe hit the back of your calves, but Taehyung didn't break the connection. He followed you, his body a heavy, warm weight that pinned you against the furniture. The world began to blur, your lungs burning for oxygen until, finally, your strength gave out. With a soft gasp, you lost your balance and slipped, falling backward onto the plush carpet with a dull thud.

Taehyung finally pulled away, though he remained hovered over you, his gaze scanning your flushed face. He let out a low, mocking huff of a laugh. "Don't tell me you're out of breath already," he murmured, his voice dripping with a mix of amusement and arrogance. "Do you really have no brain, or are you just such a weak creature that a simple kiss leaves you gasping for air?"

You glared up at him, your chest still heaving as you tried to regain your dignity. "I'm not weak!" you snapped, though your voice was still breathy. "You just caught me off guard!" You began to scramble backward, attempting to put some distance between your trembling limbs and his overwhelming presence. However, as you shifted, you froze. Your eyes widened, your voice dropping into a confused whisper. "Wait... hey! Why are you removing your clothes?"

Taehyung paused, one arm already half-way out of his sleeve, his gaze cool. He didn't even blink as he looked down at you. "What exactly is the goal here, Y/N? Do you wish to have sex with your clothes on?" he asked, his voice a low, velvet drone. "I wouldn't mind, but it seems inefficient. The friction is far better without the interference of silk and cotton."

"What nonsense!" you shrieked, your face heating up to a shade of crimson. You scrambled to your feet, desperate to escape the sudden, suffocating intensity of his gaze. But before you could take a single step, Taehyung’s hand shot out. With a sudden, powerful jerk, he hauled you backward, pulling you firmly into his lap. You gasped as your back hit his broad chest, his arms locking around you.

The air left your lungs as he dipped his head, his lips finding the sensitive curve of your neck. A shiver of electricity raced down your spine, and you let out a soft, involuntary sound. "Stop... ah..." you murmured, your head tilting back against his shoulder. As you struggled to maintain your focus, you felt something cold and heavy slip against your wrist. You glanced down to see a shimmering, ornate bracelet—encrusted with diamonds and dark opals—sliding onto your arm.

"If you attempt to remove this," Taehyung whispered, his voice vibrating against your skin, "I will cut the hand that dares to touch it."

You stared at the jewelry, the gemstones catching the dim light of the bedroom. "I can't take this," you whispered, your fingers brushing the cold opals. "It looks far too expensive for someone like me to—"

The sentence was severed as Taehyung’s mouth crashed back onto yours. His tongue swept against yours with a wet, insistent slide, pulling a desperate moan from your throat. You tried to pull back, your hands fluttering against his chest, but he only tightened his hold, his saliva slicking the bridge between your lips as he drank in your gasps.

As the kiss deepened, Taehyung’s hand migrated from your waist, sliding upward beneath the hem of your shirt. His palm was cold, his fingers calloused and firm as they found the curve of your breast. He squeezed, his thumb grazing the peak of your chest with a rhythmic, possessive pressure that sent a jolt of lightning straight to your core.

"Stop... Master Taehyung, we can't..." you managed to choke out, your voice barely a whimper. You planted your palms against his shoulders and shoved with all your might, trying to break the seal of his lips. For a second, you thought you had succeeded, but he simply shifted his weight, pinning you more firmly against him, his kiss turning bruising and frantic. He seemed to be trying to consume you, his breath coming in heavy, ragged bursts against your skin.

Gradually, the frantic energy began to ebb. The intensity of the moment drained out of him, replaced by a heavy, sated exhaustion. His lips lingered one last time on your jawline before his head slumped, landing heavily on the curve of your shoulder. His breathing slowed, his heartbeat drumming a steady, slow rhythm against your spine. He had fallen asleep.

You lay there for a moment, your chest heaving and your lips tingling, feeling the oppressive weight of him. Once the silence of the room returned, you tried to shift, carefully lifting your arms to push yourself out of his lap. You moved an inch, then two, but as you attempted to slide away, Taehyung’s arm tightened around your waist . Even in his sleep, his instincts were lethal; he pulled you back flush against him with a sudden, reflexive jerk, his face burying deeper into the crook of your neck.

"Don't... move," he murmured, his voice a thick, sleep-laden rumble. He didn't open his eyes, but his grip was absolute, anchoring you to him as if you were a prize he feared might vanish the moment he let go. You sighed, your gaze falling once more to the glittering opals of the bracelet circling your wrist—a shimmering shackle that marked you as his.

---

The morning light filtered through the heavy velvet curtains. You blinked your eyes open slowly, your senses returning in waves—the humming silence of the room, and the crushing weight of a limb draped across your waist. Taehyung was still there, his usually cold exterior melted by the depths of sleep. He was clinging to you ,his face buried in the crook of your neck as if he were anchoring himself to your existence.

With a tentative breath, you reached down, your fingers trembling slightly as you began the delicate process of peeling his arm away from you. You moved with agonizing slowness. Just as you managed to slide an inch of space between your bodies, a sharp, rhythmic knocking echoed through the room.

"Miss Y/N?" a maid’s voice called from behind the heavy oak door, sounding tentative. "Master Jimin has requested your presence. He wishes for you to begin your training immediately."

You looked down at Taehyung, who groaned in his sleep, his fingers twitching as if trying to recapture the warmth of your skin. With one final, desperate wiggle, you managed to disentangle yourself from his possessive grip, glancing one last time at the sleeping giant before slipping out of the room.

The training grounds were an expanse of crushed white slate and manicured grass. You stood in the center of the arena, your boots crunching softly as you waited, you  scanned  searching for a flash of silver hair or the familiar, but the space remained empty.

"Morning, little human."

The voice was a cool  against the shell of your ear, causing you to jump nearly a foot in the air. You spun around, your heart hammering against your ribs, to find Jimin standing inches away.

"Master Jimin!" you exclaimed, your voice breathless. "I’m so sorry for leaving you alone at the amusement park yesterday. Master Taehyung just—"

The apology was sliced clean out of the air. Without a word, Jimin’s hand blurred, and a heavy practice sword whistled through the air, spinning with lethal precision before slamming into the dirt at your feet.

"Less talking, more reacting," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous purr.

You stared at the weapon, then back at his rigid posture. "Master Jimin, you don't need to do this," you stammered, stepping back. "Master Taehyung can do my training. He’s already... he’s more than capable."

A flicker of something dark and volatile crossed Jimin’s face at the mention of Taehyung. He didn't speak; he simply stepped forward, the air around him thickening with a predatory pressure. He snatched the sword back from the dirt in one fluid motion and lunged. You shrieked, diving to the side, the blade whistling mere millimeters from your throat.

"Pick it up," he commanded, his voic Before you could even reach for the hilt, he was on you, his movements a blur. Every time you tried to retreat, he was there, the flat of the blade slapping against your wrist or your shoulder with a rhythmic, punishing precision. He wasn't aiming to kill, but he wasn't aiming to be kind. He fought with a cold, calculated efficiency, driving you backward across the white slate until your lungs burned and your muscles screamed.

"You're too slow," Jimin murmured, his voice a silken thread of mockery. He swept your legs out from under you, and you hit the ground with a heavy thud. Before you could scramble away, he pinned you down, the cold steel of the practice sword pressing firmly against  of your throat.

The air between you crackled. Jimin leaned in, his face inches from yours, his eyes darkening to a predatory crimson. He didn't pull the sword away; instead, he used the flat of the blade to tilt your chin upward. He lingered there, his gaze dropping to your lips for a heartbeat.

"Do you feel it, Y/N?" he whispered, his voice vibrating against your skin. "The moment your heart beats faster because you're terrified... or because you want me to touch you?"

He shifted his weight, pressing his body more firmly against yours,For a moment, the training ground vanished, leaving only the sound of your synchronized breathing. But the gentleness was a facade. Without warning, he twisted the blade, slicing a shallow, stinging line across your forearm.

The sting on your forearm was sharp and sudden, a thin line of crimson blooming against your pale skin. You gasped,Jimin didn't pull away; instead, he watched the blood bead with an intensity, his eyes shimmering with a predatory light.

"You're far too soft," he murmured, his voice a velvet caress that contrasted the violence of the act. "In this world, Y/N, softness is just an invitation for someone to tear you apart."

The frustration boiled over. You were tired of being the prey, tired of being the fragile thing shifted between three powerful men like a piece of jewelry. As Jimin shifted to pin your wrists, a surge of heat ignited in your chest—Without thinking, you slammed your palm against the earth.

The world lurched. The sound of the wind died instantly, and the dust kicked up by Jimin’s boots froze in mid-air . The predatory crimson of his eyes remained locked on yours, but the flicker of his eyelashes ceased. He was a statue.

For several seconds, you simply breathed, savoring the unnatural silence. You looked at your bleeding arm, the red droplets hanging like rubies in the air, motionless. The power of Ava’s heart thrummed in your chest.Slowly, you stepped out from under his weight, your chest heaving.

As you exhaled, you released the tension. Time slammed back into motion with a violent rush of sound. Jimin didn't stumble; instead, he slid back with a graceful, feline agility, landing on his feet. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his lips.

"Hmm... the little human has finally learned how to use her toy," he mused, his voice dripping with a dark sort of pride. "But don't let a momentary lapse in my movement make you arrogant. We need more improvement if you're to survive the things that actually want to kill you." His gaze drifted down to the shallow cut on your forearm. He sighed, a sound of genuine regret that quickly curdled into something colder. "I’ve never been gentle with my prey, Y/N. Mercy isn't a concept that exists in my life. Never expect it from me, not even when I smile."

You tried to push yourself up, but as you shifted your weight, a sharp, searing bolt of pain shot through your ankle. You let out a muffled cry, your legs giving way. You hadn't even realized you'd twisted it during the scuffle. Before you could hit the slate again, Jimin was there. In one fluid, effortless motion, he swept you into his arms ,he simply carried you away from the training grounds.

The transition was a blur of corridors and shifting shadows until you found yourself in the dim, fragrant sanctuary of Jimin’s bedroom. He placed you on the edge of the sprawling bed with a surprising delicacy that contradicted his earlier brutality. "Sorry I got too rough with you," he murmured.

"I'm okay," you snapped, trying to scoot away from him, your voice trembling despite your effort to sound strong. "I don't need your help."

Jimin’s response was a swift, playful flick to your forehead that made you blink in surprise. "Stay," he commanded, the word leaving no room for negotiation. He reached for a small crystal atomizer on his nightstand and sprayed a shimmering, iridescent mist over your swollen ankle. Almost instantly, the throbbing heat vanished, replaced by a cool, numbing sensation that made the pain evaporate into nothingness.

As the tension in your leg subsided, Jimin’s gaze drifted, his eyes locking onto the shallow cut on your forearm. The crimson streak was a vivid contrast to your pale skin, and you could see the pupils of his eyes dilate. "Little human," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, "focus on your power. Do not let the pain distract you; let it fuel you."

Before you could ask what he meant, Jimin leaned down. He pressed his tongue against the open wound, licking the blood from your skin in one slow, deliberate stroke. The sensation was electric—the wet, warm glide of his tongue against your raw skin sending a jolt of heat straight to your stomach. A small, involuntary whimper escaped your lips, and in a panic, you slammed your hand over your own mouth, trying to stifle the sound of your own surrender.

Jimin stepped back, a look of smug satisfaction crossing his handsome features. He wiped a stray drop of red from the corner of his lip with his thumb. "Hmm, it's okay now," he said, his tone returning to that silken, melodic quality. "And I am sorry again for my earlier behavior. But you must understand, Y/N, if I hadn't pushed you, if I hadn't been so... ruthless, perhaps your power would have remained dormant. Your abilities are tied to your emotions—to your fear, your anger, your desperation."

You looked at your forearm, where the cut had already begun to seal under the influence of his healing mist, though the ghost of his touch still lingered. "You did it on purpose," you accused him, though the bite in your voice was softened by a lingering tremor. "The way you lunged, the way you spoke... you were trying to trigger me."

Jimin gave a slow, rhythmic nod, a playful glint returning to his eyes. "Hmm. Did I scare you too much, little human?"

"I've never seen you like that," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you clutched the bedsheets. "You’re always the one smiling. You're always the kind one, the gentle brother among the three of you... I was truly terrified because I didn't recognize you." You let out a shaky breath, a small, relieved smile touching your lips. "Thank god you were only acting."

The smile on Jimin’s face didn't reach his eyes this time.He leaned in, his shadow swallowing you whole as he braced his hands on either side of your hips, trapping you against the mattress. "What if I'm more cruel than this, Y/N?" he murmured, his breath cold against your cheek. "What if the 'kind' Jimin is the mask, and the monster you saw on the slate is who I actually am? Would you fear me then?"

Jimin didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, a low, melodic laugh bubbled up from his chest, the sound vibrating through the mattress and into your spine. The predatory tension snapped, replaced by that familiar, infuriatingly playful glint. "Look at you," he chuckled, reaching out to pinch your cheek with a teasing tug. "That expression—that mixture of absolute terror and genuine confusion—it’s truly adorable, little human. It honestly makes me want to tease you even more, just to see how many different ways you can look bewildered."

You swatted his hand away, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your lingering nerves. "You're impossible," you muttered, sliding off the bed and smoothing out your rumpled clothes."I should go; I'm already getting late for college."

As you turned to leave, the light caught the dark opals and diamonds encircling your wrist. Jimin’s gaze dropped to the jewelry, his smile thinning into something unreadable. "Taehyung’s choice, I see," he remarked, his voice devoid of its previous playfulness.

You gave a small, hesitant nod, unable to meet his eyes, and hurried out of the room.

As you rounded the corner into the breakfast nook, you stopped short. The table wasn't the usual sparse affair of brooding silences and clinking silverware. Instead, the room was buzzing. Namjoon was buried in a tablet, Mia was chatting animatedly about a new script, and Hoseok was practically vibrating with energy.

"My little lamplight!" Hobi shrieked, lunging forward to wrap you in a bone-crushing hug. He pulled back just enough to rub his head against yours in a playful. "You are a cruel, cruel girl, Y/N! Leaving me in an unconscious heap yesterday? Truly, I never expected such heartlessness from a sweet thing like you. My poor head still echoes!"

The air suddenly whistled. Before Hobi could finish his lament, a dozen heavy hardcover textbooks materialized from thin air, raining down directly onto his head with a series of rhythmic *thumps*. The impact was so precise that Hobi didn't even have time to blink before he was buried under a mountain of advanced theology and ancient history.

"Hyung, please take those and review them for me," Taehyung’s voice drawled from the doorway, cold and devoid of apology. "I have a lecture on those specific texts later, and I need someone to cross-reference the footnotes."

Hobi groaned, his voice muffled from beneath a thick volume. He struggled to push the mountain of books off his chest,as he glared up at the taehyung. "Cross-reference? You just used me as a bookshelf, Taehyung!"

Mia let out a soft, melodic giggle, reaching over to pat Hobi’s shoulder sympathetically. "Oppa, don't be so cruel with Hobi," she chided, though her eyes were dancing with amusement. She leaned back in her chair, her expression shifting to one of genuine curiosity as she looked at the group. "Though, I have to admit, the timing of the drop was almost cinematic."

Taehyung rolled his eyes. He slid into a velvet-backed chair, leaning back and crossing one long leg over the other. He didn't look at the chaos; he looked at the ceiling, his voice a low, resonant hum. "Day by day, we are truly becoming human. Seriously... breakfast in the morning? The sheer banality of it is exhausting."

Namjoon didn't look up from his tablet, his expression one of mild amusement. "It’s not exactly a crime to wake up early, Taehyung. Some of us actually appreciate the stillness of the dawn."

Taehyung shifted his gaze, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room, landing on the empty seat. "Why are we all gathered here like a family portrait? What’s the occasion for this sudden domesticity?"

Jimin slid into the seat beside him. He leaned forward, his expression uncharacteristically serious, though a flicker of mischief danced in his eyes. "I called everyone here because I have an important announcement," he said, his voice drawing the attention of everyone at the table. He paused, glancing around the room. "By the way, where is Jungkook? Usually, he’s the first one here to complain about the coffee."

Taehyung shrugged, leaning back into the velvet upholstery of his chair. "Who knows? Probably some cover shoot for a high-fashion magazine. The man lives for the camera almost as much as he lives to annoy us."

"Maybe he's finally discovered the joy of sleeping in," Mia suggested with a soft laugh, leaning her chin on her palm. "Or perhaps he's just decided that enjoying a human-style morning—complete with a slow pace and a lack of shouting—is more appealing than this chaos."

Hobi, having finally extricated himself from the pile of textbooks, puffed out a strand of hair and beamed. "A world where Jungkook doesn't wake up grumpy? Now that is a miracle worth celebrating! But enough about the missing brat," he pivoted, his eyes sparkling with anticipation as he looked at Jimin. "You teased us, Jimin. What is this 'important announcement' that requires a full house and the sacrifice of my dignity?"

Jimin’s expression softened, a genuine warmth bleeding into his features as he turned toward Mia. He reached out, sliding his hand over hers on the table, his fingers intertwining with hers. "Actually, Mia has been very patient with me," Jimin began, his voice dropping to a melodic. "But I think we’ve waited long enough. In one week, Mia and I are getting married."

The silence that followed was absolute. Mia’s eyes widened, her breath hitching as she looked at him, a mixture of shock flooding her face. "Jimin?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Now? You mean it?"

Namjoon finally looked up from his tablet, his brows lifting in a surprise . He leaned back, the gears turning in his head as he considered the political fallout of such a union. "A wedding," Namjoon mused, his voice resonant. "And if I recall the lunar calendar correctly, one week from today marks the zenith of the solstice. Which means your wedding occurs exactly two days before your own Re-Coronation ceremony."

Jimin’s gaze shifted, sliding away from Mia to lock onto yours with an intensity. A slow, enigmatic smile curved his lips. "Exactly, hyung," Jimin murmured, his voice vibrating with a sudden, predatory edge. "The timing is poetic, isn't it? A union of love followed by a reclamation of power." He paused, the silence in the room stretching taut, "Which is why the timing is perfect. At the coronation, I don't just intend to reclaim my title. I want to introduce my Queen to the world."

Present time ----

The final bell of the day rang like a jarring alarm, but for you, the sound was muffled. You stared blankly at the chalkboard, the professor's voice having faded into a rhythmic hum hours ago.

"Y/N? Earth to Y/N!" Soomin whispered, nudging your shoulder. She looked at you with a mixture of concern and amusement. "Are you even here? You haven't paid attention to a single class all day. You've been completely zoned out."

"Nothing much," you murmured, your voice sounding hollow to your own ears. Your mind was a chaotic loop of Jimin’s announcement—the wedding.

Soomin leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspirious gossipy tone. "By the way, did you and Professor Taehyung have some kind of fight? Because for the entire lecture, his eyes never left you. Not once. Every time you shifted in your seat or dropped your pen, he was watching. It was almost... concerning. The way he looks at you is like he's trying to memorize your soul while simultaneously wanting to scold you for breathing."

You didn't answer, your gaze still fixed on the empty space. The word *wedding* felt like a physical weight in your chest. "It's nothing, Soomin," you murmured, shoving your notebook into your bag with trembling hands. "I just... I'm late. I have to go." Without waiting for a response, you bolted from the classroom, the heavy oak doors swinging shut behind you.

The walk home was a blur of muted colors and distant city noise. You didn't remember turning the corner toward the central plaza.You stopped dead in your tracks in front of a massive digital billboard adorning the side of a luxury mall. It was an advertisement for a high-end fragrance, and there was Jimin—larger than life, his gaze smoldering through the glass, a perfect image of grace and lethal beauty.

Lost in a haze of longing and confusion, you stepped closer, leaning forward until your forehead rested against the cool, hard surface of the glass. You stared up at the frozen image of him, the word *wedding* echoing in your mind. The air around you felt heavy, thick with the realization that the man who had just played with your heart and soul was preparing to give his to someone else.

From the shadows of a nearby alley, Taehyung watched you. He leaned against the brickwork, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression a mixture of profound irritation and a tenderness he refused to name. He watched the way your shoulders slumped, the way you leaned into the glass as if seeking warmth from a cold digital image of Jimin.

"Stupid girl," he murmured to himself, his voice a low vibration of disbelief. "Who in their right mind walks three miles in heels when the city is crawling with cabs? Truly, her brain is as decorative as her heart."

Taehyung didn't move from the shadows immediately. He watched you, a fragile silhouette drifting through the bustling crowd of the plaza. You weren't just walking; you were floating in a trance of heartache, your eyes glazed over with a longing that made his own chest tighten with an unfamiliar irritation. You were so lost in the thought of Jimin’s impending wedding that the physical world had ceased to exist for you.

As you stepped off the curb, a distracted cyclist zoomed toward you, his bell ringing a frantic warning that you didn't hear. With a flick of his wrist and a sharp, invisible pulse of kinetic energy, Taehyung shifted the air around the cyclist, subtly pushing the bike a few inches to the left. The man swerved violently, confused by the sudden gust of wind, missing you by a hair’s breadth.

You didn't notice. You simply continued forward, drifting toward a stack of unstable metal scaffolding left behind by a construction crew. A loose pole began to tilt, poised to crash directly onto your shoulder. Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. Without breaking his stride, he raised a hand, his fingers curling slightly. The heavy metal pole froze in mid-air, defying gravity for a heartbeat before sliding silently back into place, as if the world itself were rearranging itself to keep you safe.

Eventually, your legs grew heavy, and you collapsed onto a weathered wooden bench in the center of the city park. You leaned back, staring up at the canopy of trees.

Taehyung watched you from a distance, leaning against a blackened lamppost. He let out a long, exhausted sigh, the sound thick with a mixture of annoyance and a strange, aching protectiveness. "Utterly hopeless," he muttered, his voice a low rumble. He looked at the drab, green canopy of the park's cherry blossoms—too early in the season for the trees to bloom.

With a subtle flick of his wrist and a surge of raw, commanding will, Taehyung reached into the very essence of the trees. A ripple of iridescent light cascered through the branches, and in a sudden, breathtaking explosion of color, the green leaves dissolved into a cloud of soft, shimmering pink. Thousands of blossoms erupted all at once, their petals swirling in a localized gale that blanketed the air in a fragrant, rose-colored storm. The petals rained down upon you like warm snow, coating your hair and shoulders in a delicate, shimmering dust.

You gasped, blinking rapidly as a petal landed on your nose. You looked up at the transformed canopy, your eyes wide with wonder at the impossible, sudden bloom of pink that defied every law of nature and season. For a moment, the suffocating weight of Jimin’s announcement lifted, replaced by a shimmering, surreal kind of magic. You let out a small, breathless laugh, the sound echoing softly through the quiet park.

"Master Taehyung," you whispered, turning your head to find the shadow where he stood."You know... for someone who claims to be so cruel, you certainly have a habit of showing your softer side." You brushed a shimmering petal from your cheek.

Taehyung stepped out from the darkness, his expression as stony as a cliffside, though his eyes flickered with a brief, unreadable intensity. He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away from your hopeful gaze. "Don't flatter yourself," he drawled, his voice a low, resonant hum. "I’m simply enjoying your pathetic expression. The way you look at a few flowers as if they were a miracle... it’s truly the best entertainment I’ve had all day."

Despite his harsh words, the tension in his shoulders had vanished. You let out a soft, genuine laugh, the sound echoing through the quiet park. "Thank you, master Taehyung," you said softly, the gratitude warming your chest. For a fleeting moment, the chaos of the mansion and the heartbreak of the wedding announcement felt miles away, replaced by the shimmering pink silence of the park.

Taehyung rolled his eyes, the gesture slow and deliberate, as he stepped closer until he was looming over you. He looked down at your tear-stained face with a clinical kind of curiosity, as if you were a specimen under a microscope. "Humans are truly pathetic when it comes to these emotional fluctuations," he drawled, his voice a low, vibrating hum of amusement. "One moment you are basking in the glow of a few misplaced flowers, and the next, you are drifting through the city like a ghost. I really wonder what kind of face you’ll make when Jimin finally weds Mia. Will you shatter? Or will you simply fade away?"

You looked up at him, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag. "If my feelings were true—if I truly loved him from the bottom of my heart," you whispered, your voice trembling but certain, "then I would be happy for him. I would want him to be happy, regardless of who was by his side." You paused, a small, sad smile touching your lips as you met his piercing gaze. "So, I'm sorry to inform you, Master Taehyung, but you won't get to see that face. I won't give you the satisfaction of watching me break."

Taehyung stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he processed the sudden shift in your tone.He looked at you—searching for the crack in your resolve. The silence stretched between you, heavy and expectant, until he tilted his head, his voice dropping to a low, curious rumble. "Love," he murmured,"Tell me, human. What does it actually feel like? To be in love?"

You let out a soft, shaky breath, your gaze drifting back to the shimmering pink blossoms raining down around you. "Love can't be explained by words," you replied softly, your voice barely audible over the rustle of the wind. "It isn't a definition or a set of rules. It's just... a feeling. It's the way your eyes always seem to be searching for that one person, even in a crowded room. It's the way the world feels quieter when they're near, and how every other sound becomes background noise just so you can hear them breathe."

Taehyung let out a short, sharp sound that was halfway between a scoff and a laugh, the noise vibrating in the space between you. He looked at you with a clinical sort of pity, his gaze tracing the line of your jaw. "Your sentimentality is truly a disease," he drawled, his voice returning to that low, resonant hum. "To believe that a flutter of the pulse and a bit of longing is some grand, cosmic truth... it is simply pathetic. Humans are nothing more than slaves to their own volatile chemistry, drifting through existence on a tide of hopeless emotions that lead them no where."

You looked up at him, your eyes searching the hard, sculpted lines of his face for a glimmer of the warmth he had just shown through the flowers. A small, daring smile touched your lips. "Maybe," you whispered, "but it's better to be a hopeless human than to be something perfect and empty. Maybe someday, Master Taehyung, you'll find out that you can't stop your heart from falling for someone. Even for you, there might be someone who makes the world feel... different."

Taehyung’s expression froze. For a second, the mask of the cold Commander slipped, He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming, He leaned down, his lips hovering just inches from your ear, his voice a ghost of a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

"You speak of hearts as if they are a given," he murmured, his tone devoid of emotion. "But look at me, little mouse. Look at what I am. I am a predator of the night, a creature designed for conquest and survival. I have no pulse to quicken, no warmth to offer. I don't have a heart—not in the way you understand it."

The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the distant sound of city traffic. You didn't flinch. you reached out, your fingertips grazing the expensive fabric of his sleeve. "Everyone has a heart, Master Taehyung," you replied softly. "Some are just buried deeper than others."

Taehyung’s gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips. The silence of the park seemed to amplify the sudden, heavy thrum of your own heart—a sound he could undoubtedly hear, echoing like a frantic drum against your ribs. Before you could another word of your philosophy on the heart, his hand shot forward. His fingers clamped around your chin with a firm, possessive grip, tilting your face upward to lock you in his orbit.

"You speak far too much," he murmured, his voice a low, "Your mouth is far too busy spelling out words that have no place in a world of predators."

Without another second of hesitation, he leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss.The shock of it sent a jolt through your system, and instinctively, your hands flew up to his chest, pushing against the expensive fabric of his coat. You struggled against him, your small frames no match for the immovable wall of his body, but the resistance only seemed to deepen the intensity of the kiss, as if he were trying to drink the very breath from your lungs.

When he finally broke the kiss. His forehead rested against yours. His eyes were wide, flickering with a confusion.

"This is the first time..." he started, his voice sounding fractured and raw. He paused, his gaze searching yours as if looking for a map to a territory he had never visited. "The first time I’ve felt anything like this. What is this... what is going on between us?"

The question hung in the air, fragile and terrifying. For a man who commanded armies and stared down death without blinking, Taehyung looked utterly defeated by a single kiss.

He stepped back, he cleared his throat, his expression reverting to that of the cold, detached Commander. "Enough," he snapped, though the edge of his voice lacked its usual bite. "Let's go. I've spent far too much of my afternoon dealing with students; my patience for your presence has reached its limit."

He didn't wait for you to respond, turning on his heel and walking toward the edge of the park with a brisk, commanding stride. You stood there for a moment, stunned, your lips still tingling from the ghost of his touch. The shimmering pink petals continued to drift around you, a surreal contrast to the sudden coldness of his departure. With a bewildered huff, you scrambled to your feet and hurried after him, your heart still hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

The clock on the bedside table ticked toward three in the morning.You woke not to a sound, but to a weight—a heavy, oppressive warmth that pinned your limbs to the mattress. For a moment, you thought you were dreaming of being buried under a mountain of quilts, but as your senses cleared, you felt the rhythmic, slow rise and fall of a chest against your own. Opening your eyes, you found yourself staring into the dark, obsidian depths of Jungkook’s gaze. He was draped over you his arms locking your body into the mattress, his face inches from yours.

"Master Jungkook!" you gasped, your voice thick with sleep. You tried to squirm, but he shifted his weight, pressing you deeper into the sheets.

He didn't pull away; instead, he leaned closer, the tip of his nose grazing yours. A slow, dangerous smile curled his lips. "You're so warm," he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating hum that resonated through your chest. "Almost feverish. Tell me, did you miss me that much, my sweet fiancée, that your own body is overheating in my presence?"

You shivered beneath him, the weight of his muscular frame making it impossible to move an inch. "Master Jungkook, please," you stammered, your heart hammering against your ribs. "You're... you're too heavy. Please get up."

Jungkook didn't budge. Instead, he let out a long, dramatic sigh that vibrated against your collarbone, his forehead resting against yours as he closed his eyes. For a moment, the predatory intensity that usually defined him softened into something resembling genuine exhaustion. "Do you have any idea how taxing it is to be the face of a dozen different brands?" he murmured,"The scripts, the lighting, the endless demands of directors who think they know how a scene should be played... it's exhausting."

He shifted, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, his breath cold against your skin. "And without my powers to speed up the clock or manipulate the mood of the set, I actually have to act the parts. Do you know how many shoots I had to endure after that last show? My schedule is a nightmare, and the public's expectations are a parasite."

You felt the vibration of his voice through your skin, a low rumble that felt more like a purr than a complaint. Despite the toxicity that usually colored your interactions, there was a strange, heavy intimacy in the way he clung to you, as if you were the only anchor keeping him grounded in a world of flashing lights and fake smiles.

"Then you should really go to sleep, Master Jungkook," you whispered, your voice still shaky. "Your own bed is much more comfortable than... well, me."

A soft, dry chuckle escaped him. He didn't move an inch toward the door. Instead, he shifted his position, sliding down until his head rested squarely on your chest. He let out a long, contented sigh, closing his eyes.

"Your chest is small," he murmured, his voice muffled by your pajamas, "but it makes for a perfectly adequate pillow."

A hot flush of embarrassment climbed up your neck, staining your cheeks a deep crimson. You tried to shift, your elbows digging into the mattress as you struggled to create some semblance of space. "Master Jungkook, please," you protested, your voice high and frantic. "I can't possibly sleep like this! You're practically crushing the air out of me."

Jungkook didn't even open his eyes. He simply groaned, the sound vibrating against your ribs, and tightened his hold on you. "Too tired," he mumbled, his voice thick with a lazy, stubborn exhaustion that left no room for negotiation. "The walk back to my own wing is practically a marathon, and my legs are far too heavy for such a journey."

You felt a surge of indignation, "Then why on earth did you come into my room in the first place?" you huffed, trying once more to wiggle free from his crushing embrace. "If you're so exhausted, you should have just gone straight to your own bed!"

He shifted, finally lifting his head just enough to peek at you with one half-lidded eye. A smirk played on his lips, one that spoke of a predatory satisfaction. "Comfort me," he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, velvet rumble. "Give me a reason to actually make the trip, and perhaps I’ll consider leaving this bed."

You stared at him, blinking in disbelief. "What?"

He didn't answer, simply staring back with an expectant, challenging gaze. You groaned, realizing that fighting him was as futile as trying to stop the tide with a plastic bucket. With a heavy sigh of resignation, you reached up and tentatively ran your fingers through the soft, dark locks of his hair. He leaned into your touch instinctively, a low sound of contentment vibrating in his throat.

"Little mouse," he murmured, his expression softening into something uncharacteristically thoughtful. "You've really changed, haven't you? I fully expected to find you curled up in a ball, sobbing into your pillow under a mountain of blankets after hearing about Jimin and Mia’s wedding. Yet here you are, sleeping peacefully, almost as if your heart isn't breaking."

"I was sad," you whispered, your voice barely a ripple in the quiet of the room, "my heart was heavy. But it's... it's okay now."

As the words left your lips, your mind betrayed you. The image of the park flashed vividly before your eyes—the impossible explosion of shimmering pink blossoms and the sudden, breathtaking weight of Taehyung’s lips against yours. You could still feel the ghost of that kiss, You drifted, your gaze glazing over as you recalled the way Taehyung had looked at you—not as a servant or a puppet, but as something curious, something almost precious.

The silence stretched, and you didn't notice that you had stopped stroking Jungkook's hair. You were miles away, lost in the memory.

Suddenly, a sharp, stinging pressure erupted on your index finger. You gasped, jerking your hand back, in one swift, fluid motion, he pulled your hand toward his face and sank his fangs into the pad of your index finger.

You let out a sharp, stifled gasp. He didn't drink deeply, but he lingered, his tongue swirling against the puncture mark in a slow, deliberate claim. When he finally pulled away, a single bead of crimson blood bloomed on your skin. He looked up at you, his dark eyes swirling.

"You're zoning out," he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous, velvet rumble. He licked the stray drop of blood from his lip, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that felt like a physical weight. "Who is occupying your mind, little mouse? Which of them is stealing your thoughts while you're lying in my arms?"

"Nobody, Master Jungkook," you lied, your voice barely a whisper. You tried to pull your hand back, but he held your wrist with a grip that was firm yet surprisingly careful. "I was just... thinking about the wedding. About how strange it all is."

Jungkook studied you, his eyes narrowing as he searched for the  flicker of a lie. He didn't seem entirely convinced, but the predatory hunger in his gaze shifted into something more playful and erratic. With a sudden, fluid movement, he sat up and swept you upward, pulling you directly into his lap. The shift in position left you breathless, your chest pressed against his as you clung to his shoulders for balance.

"I confessed my feelings to Mia," he said abruptly, the admission dropping.

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat. "Really? What... what did she say to you, Master Jungkook?"

Jungkook didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back, his gaze tracing the curve of your face with a strange, calculating intensity. A slow, mischievous smirk curled his lips,"Who cares what she said?" he drawled, his voice a low, velvet rumble. "Perhaps  you merely playing a long game. Tell me, little mouse, does it please you? The idea that I might secure Mia, leaving the path clear for you to claim Jimin all to yourself?."

"What? No! It's not like that, Master Jungkook!" you protested.

Jungkook let out a short, sharp laugh, the sound vibrating against your chest. He suddenly shifted, his muscles coiling like a spring before he surged upward. In one fluid motion, he swept you off the bed and hoisted you over his shoulder, ignoring your startled shriek. "You're far too tense," he declared, his voice returning to that demanding, playful tone. "Your blood tastes of anxiety and confusion. It’s bitter. I need something to cleanse the palate."

"Where are we going? Master Jungkook, put me down!" you pleaded.

"We are going to eat," he answered simply, his stride confident as he navigated the darkened corridors of the estate.

The bell above the door chimed with a frantic kind of energy as Jungkook swept into the parlor . It was three in the morning, and the shop was nearly empty save for a bewildered teenage employee who stared up at the celebrity actor with wide, blinking eyes. Without glancing at the menu board, Jungkook leaned over the counter . "Everything," he commanded, his voice a low, velvet rumble that brooked no questions. "Every single flavor on the board. Large scoops. Now."

You stood beside him, clutching your pajamas under a borrowed oversized coat, staring in sheer horror as the employee began a frantic assembly line of colorful mounds. Vanilla, dark chocolate, salted caramel, matcha, zesty lemon, and a dozen other eccentric combinations began to crowd the marble countertop.

"Master Jungkook!" you hissed, leaning in toward him. "Are you actually planning to eat all of this? That's enough sugar to crash a small village!"

Jungkook didn't even look at the mountain of frozen cream. He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms with an expression of profound boredom, though his eyes flickered with a predatory sort of amusement as he watched your jaw drop. "Nah," he drawled, his gaze shifting to you, softening just a fraction. "I only have a taste for my favorite. The rest is simply... décor." He gestured vaguely toward the spread with a flick of his wrist. "You can choose whichever ones are your favorite. Eat them. It’ll sweeten that bitter blood of yours."

You hesitated, your spoon hovering over a swirl of salted caramel, as you realized the mountain of colorful scoops was steadily diminishing—but only from your side of the counter. Jungkook hadn't touched a single spoonful. He was leaning against the marble, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with an expression that bordered on clinical curiosity, as if you were some rare species of bird he had captured for observation.

"Um, Master Jungkook?" you murmured, glancing at the remaining piles of matcha and vanilla. "Are you... not going to eat any? You ordered all of this."

Jungkook’s gaze shifted to the ice cream, then back to your face, his expression flat. "I don't like ice cream," he replied simply.

You nearly choked on a bite of strawberry. "Huh? Then why on earth did you order this much? Why did you even bring me here at three in the morning if you weren't going to eat?"

Without a word, Jungkook reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Before you could react, he lifted the device and captured a sharp, candid photo of you—cheeks stuffed with cream, eyes wide with confusion, and a smudge of chocolate on your chin. A small, triumphant smirk played on his lips as he locked the screen. "Who knows why," he drawled, his voice humming with amusement. "But I’ve secured a perfect photograph of you eating like a little pig. This will be a treasure for the archives."

"Please delete it!" you protested, reaching for the phone, but he stepped back with a fluid, mocking grace, holding the device high above his head.

"Ordering your master?" he countered, his eyes flashing with that familiar, predatory glint. "You certainly have some nerve, little mouse. Since when do you think you have the authority to tell me what to do with my gallery?"

You pouted, feeling the lingering sweetness of the cream on your tongue, and looked up at him with a stubborn tilt of your chin. "It's a tragedy," you murmured, gesturing to the vibrant swirls of strawberry and vanilla. "To live a life without ice cream is to live a life devoid of joy. You're missing out on one of the few human pleasures that actually makes sense, Master Jungkook."

Jungkook  gaze dropping to the spoon in your hand. "Joy is a fickle thing, little mouse. I find my satisfaction in things far more... substantial than frozen sugar," he murmured, though he didn't move away. He watched the way you savored a bite of the salted caramel, the genuine warmth returning to your expression.

With a sudden, impulsive movement, Jungkook reached out and wrapped his fingers around your wrist guiding your hand—and the half-melted scoop of strawberry ice cream—toward his lips. Before you could utter a word of protest, he leaned in and took a slow, deliberate bite directly from the spoon.

But he didn't stop there. As he pulled away, his tongue flicked out, grazing the side of your finger to lick away a stray drop of cream that had escaped the spoon.You gasped, jerking your hand back  your heart leaping into your throat.

"Please use the spoon, Master Jungkook!" you exclaimed, your voice high and breathless. You scrambled back a step, clutching your hand to your chest, the spot where he had touched still tingling.

Jungkook smacked his lips, tasting the lingering sweetness and the metallic tang of your scent. "Tastes like chemicals and longing," he murmured, his eyes darkening. "You're right, little mouse. It isn't that bad. But the ice cream is irrelevant. It's the delivery method that interests me."

"I'm done! I can't eat another bite," you exclaimed, leaning back from the counter with a satisfied, sugar-induced haze clouding your mind. You glanced toward the darkened windows of the shop, the eerie stillness of the pre-dawn hour suddenly feeling more oppressive than liberating. "We should go back. It's not safe to be roaming outside this late—not for us, and certainly not for a celebrity whose face is on every billboard in the city."

You hurried toward the door, the oversized coat slipping off one shoulder, your pace frantic as you urged Jungkook to follow. The cool morning air hit your face, snapping you out of your cream-induced stupor. As you reached the edge of the parking lot, Jungkook slowed his stride, his expression uncharacteristically solemn.

"Thank you," he murmured, the words barely audible over the distant hum of the city.

You paused, blinking up at him in genuine confusion. "Huh? For what?".

Jungkook stopped walking, turning to face you. The neon sign of the parlor flickered behind him, casting a rhythmic, artificial glow across the sharp angles of his face. He looked away, his gaze landing on the empty street. "I loved Mia more than I loved myself," he began, his voice devoid of its usual mocking edge. "To the point where I became a stranger to my own reflection. When I found out she belonged to Jimin... I spent years pretending. I did so many stupid things, hiding the pain behind a mask of arrogance, playing the part of the perfect prince while I was rotting inside."

He looked back at you, and for the first time, the predatory glint in his eyes was replaced by a profound, exhausted clarity. "But you were right. Confessing those feelings... it felt like removing a weight from my chest that I didn't even know I was carrying. I can breathe again."

A soft, genuine smile touched your lips. Despite the chaos and the toxicity of his nature, you felt a flicker of pride. "It really is good," you whispered. "I'm glad my advice wasn't a total waste of your time.

Jungkook stepped forward, closing the distance in one swift. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. He tucked his chin over your shoulder, his grip tightening as if he were trying to merge your two heartbeats into one. In the silence of the early hour, Jungkook closed his eyes, a dangerous thought taking root in his mind: *As long as she stays here, in this circle of my arms, I can pretend.* For a moment, the crushing weight of his royal lineage and the expectations of the second queen vanished. He felt a terrifying, exhilarating desire to be weak, to shed the predatory skin of a vampire and simply be a man who loved a girl. *I won't give you to anyone,* he vowed silently, his hold becoming a fortress against the world.

"Um... Master?" you murmured, your voice muffled against the  fabric of his coat.

Jungkook  didn't pull away. Instead, he shifted his grip, his hands sliding up to cup your face, forcing you to look up at him. His thumbs traced your cheekbones with a tenderness that felt almost foreign, his gaze dropping to your lips with an intensity. He leaned in, his breath a cold ghost against your skin, his voice dropping to a low, vulnerable rasp. "You know, little mouse... my heart isn't listening to me anymore."

The confession hung in the air, heavy and shimmering, threatening to break the fragile boundary between master and servant. But as he tilted his head to bridge the final gap, a sliver of gold pierced through the horizon.

You blinked, noticing the sudden bleed of amber and violet painting the sky. With a soft gasp, you gently pushed against his chest and stepped back, your eyes widening as you turned toward the east. "Look," you whispered, gesturing toward the skyline.

Jungkook let out a theatrical sigh, rolling his eyes with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "It’s a sunrise, little mouse. I’ve seen thousands of them. It’s just the world rotating on a tilt; there is absolutely nothing special about a predictable astronomical event."

You didn't argue. Instead, you stepped behind him, reaching up on your tiptoes to gently press your palms over his eyes, blocking out the creeping light. "Stop thinking about astronomy for one second," you whispered, leaning closer. "Just stop thinking. Feel it, Master Jungkook. Feel the warmth of the sun on your skin."

He stiffened at first, his muscles coiling as if expecting an attack, but as the first direct rays of gold brushed across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, he slowly relaxed. A strange expression crossed his face—one of profound confusion mingled with a reluctant, fragile peace. "It's... strange," he murmured, his voice losing its sharp edge. "The way it sinks in. It feels... nice."

Jungkook didn’t move for a long time,Slowly he reached up, his fingers sliding away from your palms to find your hand. He didn't grip it with his usual possessive force; instead, he cradled your hand in his, tracing the lines of your palm with a delicacy that felt almost fragile.

"Your hand is so small," he murmured, his voice barely a breath, his gaze fixed on the contrast between his pale, long fingers and your own. "Like a newborn baby's. It's absurd how something so tiny can hold so much... noise." He squeezed gently, a silent acknowledgement of the chaos you had stirred within him.

You blinked, suddenly remembering the reality of your schedule, and gently tugged your hand back. "Master Jungkook, I'm getting late for college! We have to go, right now!"

He let out a huff of annoyance, the brooding actor returning in an instant but he didn't argue. He simply fell into step beside you, his expression returning to one of bored indifference, though he lingered just a fraction closer to you than necessary as you made your way back to the estate.

---

The lecture hall was a hive of frantic energy, the electric hum of a hundred simultaneous conversations. Usually, the chatter revolved around upcoming midterms or the latest scandal  but today, the topic had shifted to something far more inexplicable. Many cherry blossom tree in the center of the city park had erupted into a violent, shimmering explosion of pink blooms overnight, defying every law of botany and the biting chill of the current season.

Soomin practically leaped onto your desk, her phone screen pressed nearly against your nose. The image was breathtaking—a surreal, neon-pink canopy . "Look at it, Y/N! Just look!" she squealed, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and conspiratorial glee. "The biology department is having a collective meltdown. They’re calling it a freak mutation or a localized climate anomaly, but look at the saturation! What do you think? What kind of science could possibly be behind this?"

You blinked, leaning back to avoid the screen, your mind involuntarily flashing back to the park, the scent of crushed petals, and the sudden, searing weight of Taehyung’s lips. You felt a flush creep up your neck, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. "I... I'm weak at science, Soomin," you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady. "I couldn't tell you the difference between a mutation and a miracle."

Soomin groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. "Ugh, you're no help! But listen, the group chat is absolutely exploding. Everyone is making these wild theories—some people are saying it’s a government experiment, but the popular theory is that some kind of supernatural power did this to impress someone. You know, like a grand, cosmic gesture of love."

"W-what nonsense are you saying, Soomin?" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. You shifted in your seat.

"Come on!" Soomin countered, her voice dropping to an excited stage-whisper. "Cherry blossoms blooming in this season? In this temperature? It’s biologically impossible. I’m two hundred percent sure some powerful entity did this for someone. It’s a love letter written in petals, Y/N! Can you imagine being so loved that someone literally rewrites the laws of nature just to make you smile?"

"You really watch too many dramas, Soomin," you sighed, leaning back in your chair as the professor’s voice faded into a dull drone in the background. "Real life doesn't work through cosmic gestures and botanical miracles. It's usually just... messy."

Soomin scoffed, rolling her eyes so hard she nearly tipped over. "Yah, Y/N, stop giving off those grandma vibes! You're in the prime of your youth, yet you act like you've already lived three lifetimes of tragedy. You should be leaning into the romance! Just imagine it—the mysterious, brooding Professor Taehyung, the way he looks at you... you should actually be enjoying that kind of tension instead of hiding in your notebooks."

You felt a wave of heat crash over your face. "It's not a 'relationship,' Soomin! He's my professor, and he's... he's terrifying," you whispered, though the memory of his cold touch and sudden heat lingered like a ghost on your skin. Desperate to escape the interrogation, you stood up abruptly. "Let's just eat something. I can't think on an empty stomach."

As you and Soomin navigated the crowded hallway toward the cafeteria, your phone vibrated violently in your pocket. You pulled it out, glancing at the screen, only to feel a sudden, icy pressure against your shoulder. A familiar scent of expensive cologne filled your senses just as a chin settled firmly on your shoulder, the weight of a lean, muscular body leaning into you from behind.

"School reunion," Jungkook’s voice drawled in your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "I’ve decided. I will go with you."

You jumped, stepping back in sheer surprise, but Jungkook was faster. With a fluid, predatory grace, he plucked the phone from your hand before you could even gasp.

"Give it back!" you protested, reaching upward. You leaped for the device, but Jungkook simply shifted his weight, pivoting his body and tossing the phone from one hand to the other with an effortless, mocking rhythm. He held it high above his head, a smug, feline smile playing on his lips as he watched you struggle.

Frustration boiled over,  you swung your leg back, attempting a sharp kick to his shin. But Jungkook’s reflexes were preternatural. Before your foot could even graze the fabric of his trousers, he swept his own leg back in a precise, blurring motion, hooking your ankle and pulling your center of gravity right out from under you.

You let out a small, startled yelp as you tumbled backward. Before you could even think about hitting the linoleum floor, a strong arm snaked around your waist, hauling you flush against his chest. The impact knocked the breath out of you, leaving you breathless and blinking up at his dark, amused eyes.

"If you're that desperate to be in my arms, little mouse, you only have to ask," Jungkook murmured, his voice a low, vibrating hum that resonated through your ribs. He didn't let go, instead tightening his grip on your waist to pull you an inch closer, ensuring that any onlooker could see exactly how small you were compared to him. His eyes flickered with a mischievous light, savoring the way your face had turned a vivid shade of crimson.

Beside you, Soomin cleared her throat, her voice sounding strained as she glanced around the crowded hallway. "Um, guys? Hello? Earth to the lovebirds? Everyone is literally watching," she whispered, though her eyes were wide with a mix of secondhand embarrassment and intense curiosity. Indeed, the corridor had fallen into a sudden, heavy silence.

"Get off me!" you gasped, finally finding your footing and shoving Jungkook’s chest with both hands. You shot a frantic look at the staring students and then at Soomin, who looked like she was witnessing a live-action romance novel. "We are not lovebirds! He's just... an eccentric nuisance!"

Jungkook didn't seem bothered by the rejection. He stepped back, sliding your phone back into your hand with a lingering brush of his fingertips that felt entirely too intentional. His expression shifted, the playful smirk hardening into the cool, professional mask of the superstar actor the world knew. He checked his watch, his voice returning to that commanding, effortless drawl.

"My schedule is fully booked for the next few days," he stated, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made the noisy hallway feel suddenly vacuum-sealed. "But don't worry. I’ve decided to clear everything tomorrow. So, dress nicely—something that doesn't look like you found it in a laundry hamper. I have a shoot lasting the whole night, so inform the others at the estate that I won't be coming home until the following morning."

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape, as he leaned in one last time to whisper, "Don't think of me too much while I'm away, little mouse," before turning on his heel. He vanished into the crowd of students.

"Wait, Y/N, don’t you think the way he looked at you just now was—" Soomin started, her voice brimming with that relentless, matchmaking energy that always seemed to trigger your anxiety.

"Nothing," you interrupted, cutting her off with a sharp, frantic wave of your hand. "There is absolutely nothing between me and Jungkook. He’s just… obsessed with teasing me because I’m an easy target. And most obviously, I am not his type. He likes sophisticated, powerful women—he loves someone else entirely."

Soomin opened her mouth to retort, a "but" already forming on her lips, her eyes narrowing as she analyzed the lingering flush on your cheeks. Sensing a dangerous line of questioning, you quickly pivoted, pulling your phone out and staring at the screen with exaggerated focus. "Soomin! I just remembered! Will you go shopping with me this weekend? I need a dress for the reunion, and as you know, my fashion sense is nonexistent. I'm practically blind when it comes to style."

Soomin’s face lit up instantly, her matchmaking instincts momentarily eclipsed by the allure of retail therapy. "Of course! Shopping is a sacred duty, and you are in desperate need of a makeover if you're going to stand next to a superstar. We are going to find something that makes every head turn'!" she exclaimed, linking her arm through yours and practically dragging you toward the cafeteria.

---

The dusty silence of the mansion library had become your sanctuary and your training ground. You sat cross-legged on the Persian rug, your eyes closed in fierce concentration. You weren't focusing on the books surrounding you , but rather on the rhythmic thrumming in your chest. You visualized the spark within your heart—the remnant of Ava’s power—and imagined it as a tiny, white-hot coal. With a sharp, focused exhale, you pushed that heat outward, directing it toward the unlit wax taper on the mahogany table. A sudden *phut* echoed through the room, and a small, steady flame leaped into existence.

A gasp of triumph escaped your lips, and you beamed, your face lighting up with a pure, childlike joy. You had actually done it.

"My little human is really learning well," a voice purred directly into your ear, the cool breath sending a shiver down your spine. "It seems I really am an exceptional teacher."

You jumped, twisting around to find Jimin hovering inches away. He was smiling, that sweet, gentle expression that always made it so hard to remember he was the one who had wounded you . He reached out, his long fingers grazing your temple before he began to rub your hair in a slow, affectionate gesture. The touch was tender, almost loving, and for a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to lean into it, craving the stability of his presence.

As you looked up at him, your heart gave a painful, heavy thud. In just a few days, everything was going to change. The wedding was looming like a shadow over the estate, and with it, the official coronation. Jimin would present his Queen to the world, and you—the blood servant, the anomaly with a dead queen's heart—would be relegated to the periphery of his life.

"Why the long face, little mouse?" Jimin asked, his eyes narrowing slightly, though his hand remained resting on your head. "You should be celebrating. Your progress is far beyond what I anticipated. At this rate, you might actually survive the transition."

"I still have so much to learn," you whispered, a small, humble smile tugging at your lips as you looked from the flickering candle back to Jimin.

Jimin’s gaze drifted to the flame, his expression shifting into something pensive. He withdrew his hand from your hair, his fingers trailing down to tilt your chin upward. "True," he murmured, his voice losing its playful edge. "But there is one thing that escapes me. This power... it has been dormant for so long,Why now? Why is Ava’s strength suddenly surfacing with such volatility?" He studied your eyes, searching for a flicker of the ancient queen, his curiosity tinged with a hint of suspicion. "It is strange, almost as if the heart is reacting to something in the air. Or someone."

You let out a soft, tired laugh, shaking your head. "Maybe it's just the result of all the bruising," you countered, glancing toward the heavy oak doors of the library. "Don't forget that I've been undergoing regular training. And Master Taehyung... well, he truly doesn't give me a single minute to rest. If I can survive his 'lessons' without collapsing, perhaps my body just decided it had to evolve or be crushed."

Jimin’s gaze lingered on your chin, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a slow, deliberate pressure. A soft, feline smile curved his lips, his expression shifting from one of academic curiosity to something more indulgent. "Such diligence," he murmured,"Most would have broken under the weight of this training, yet you persist. It would be a crime to leave such hard work unrewarded."

He stepped back, though the air still felt charged with his presence. "A reward, then. How about dinner? My treat, anywhere in the city you desire."

"Can I ask for something else instead?" you whispered, your voice small but hopeful. "Tomorrow... I have my school reunion. I really want to go shopping with Soomin in the evening to find a dress."

Jimin paused, his hand still hovering near your face. A flicker of disappointment crossed his features, though his smile remained perfectly fixed. He let out a soft, melodic hum. "A dress," he repeated,"You would truly prefer a trip to the boutiques over a private dinner with me? I was hoping my company would be a far more enticing reward than a few pieces of fabric, little mouse."

"You should spend more time with Mia," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the vast silence of the library. "There are only a few days left before you are husband and wife. Once you are married, things will change between you. You should... cherish this time as her boyfriend."

The atmospheric shift was instantaneous. The warmth in Jimin’s gaze vanished, replaced by a sudden, predatory intensity. His fingers tightened on your chin, tilting your head back with a force that bordered on bruising. As you looked up, you saw his iris bleed into a deep, shimmering crimson—the mark of his vampire nature asserting itself.

"Do you truly want me to marry another woman?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous, velvety register.

Suddenly, the world blurred. A heavy, invisible weight crashed down upon your consciousness, a wave of hypnotic power that clouded your thoughts and turned your will into wax. You weren't entirely yourself; you were drifting in the current of his command. Under the thrall of his gaze, the honest part of you vanished, replaced by a desperate, artificial longing. "No," you breathed, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. "I don't want you to marry someone else."

A satisfied smirk curled his lips. Jimin shifted his grip, sliding his hand down to interlock his fingers tightly with yours, pinning your hand against his chest. "And this shopping trip with Soomin," he whispered, leaning in until his nose brushed yours, "is it really just about a dress? Or are you hiding something from me? Someone you're planning to meet in secret?"

You tried to speak, but your mind was a thick fog of crimson and velvet. The hypnotic thrall had stripped away your defenses, leaving you suspended in a state of mindless devotion. You could only blink up at him, your lips parting but no sound emerging, your will completely submerged under the weight of his dominance.

"You aren't answering me, little mouse," Jimin murmured, his voice a low, vibrating frequency that seemed to echo inside your skull.

jimin began to tilt his head, his lips hovering a fraction of an inch from yours, the promise of a kiss that felt more like a claim. A sharp, authoritative voice sliced through the silence of the library.

"Honestly, Jimin, wasting your royal influence on a human girl is a pathetic use of your power," Namjoon’s voice boomed, echoing through the vaulted ceiling of the library. He stood by the mahogany doors, arms crossed over his chest, his expression one of profound disappointment.

Jimin didn’t let go of your hand immediately. He lingered for a second, savoring the sight of you—wide-eyed, vacant, and completely submerged in his hypnotic thrall. With a slow, exaggerated roll of his eyes, Jimin finally released you, though he kept your fingers locked tightly with his. "I always thought Hobi-hyung had the worst timing for an entrance," Jimin drawled, his voice returning to its melodic, playful cadence, "but it seems you’ve joined the club, Namjoon."

"Stop acting like a spoiled child," Namjoon countered, stepping further into the dim light of the library. "We have a coronation to prepare for, alliances to solidify, and a city that expects its royal house to be focused. Not playing house with a blood servant."

Jimin let out a sharp, melodic laugh, though his eyes remained fixed on you, still seeing you as a prize to be guarded. "Don't worry your head, hyung. I have everything planned. The coronation will go exactly as scripted."

Namjoon’s gaze shifted to you, his expression softening only slightly. "Then control yourself, Jimin. This obsession is becoming a distraction."

Jimin leaned back, though he didn’t release your hand. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face, his eyes still shimmering with that predatory crimson light. "Losing myself is the only part of the day I actually enjoy, hyung," he murmured, his voice laced with a dark, honeyed satisfaction.

"Your 'script' is starting to look more like a tragedy, Jimin," Namjoon remarked, his voice echoing with the weary authority of a man who had spent centuries cleaning up the royal family's messes.

Jimin let out a long, dramatic sigh, finally releasing your hand with a flick of his wrist. "Fine," he murmured, his voice returning to that airy, melodic tone, though the predatory glimmer hadn't quite vanished from his eyes. "Arrange a few of the discreet guards to shadow her. She’s behaving strangely—too eager for this little outing with her friend. She's hiding something, and I prefer to know exactly what that something is before it becomes a problem."

Namjoon arched a brow, his expression flat. "If you suspect her that much, why bother with the theatrics of a shadow detail? Just lock her in the north tower until the coronation is over. It would save us the headache of wondering which alleyway she's wandered into."

Jimin let out a long, theatrical sigh, leaning back against the mahogany table and crossing his ankles. "Hyung, look at her," he murmured, glancing at you—still standing there, blinking slowly, your consciousness drifting in the hazy wake of his hypnotic command. "In this loud, chaotic human world, she is like a porcelain doll. Fragile, precious... a little thing that belongs in a glass case." He paused, his voice dropping to a velvet whisper. "I want her to feel the illusion of a normal life, even if it's a lie I've crafted for her. I promised her a semblance of freedom, and I intend to keep that promise—provided she never actually finds the exit."

Namjoon sighed, shaking his head. "Your 'mercy' is just another form of obsession, Jimin." With a final, warning glance, Namjoon turned and swept out of the library, his heavy footsteps fading into the distance.

---

The scent of expensive perfume and the sterile hum of air conditioning did little to soothe the drumming in your temples. You pressed your fingertips firmly against your forehead, closing your eyes as the bright fluorescent lights of the luxury mall blurred into shimmering streaks.

"Are you okay, Y/N?" Soomin asked, her voice laced with concern as she paused mid-stride, her arms already laden with several shopping bags.

"Yeah," you murmured, blinking away the dizziness. "Just a little headache."

Soomin didn't respond immediately. Instead, she cast a cautious glance over her shoulder, her eyes widening as she spotted the two stern-faced men in charcoal suits lingering exactly ten paces behind you. They stood like statues, their expressions devoid of emotion, their eyes scanning the crowd with a clinical precision that made the other shoppers unconsciously veer away.

"Literally, Y/N, I never thought your family was this protective," Soomin whispered, leaning in. "Sending actual bodyguards to a shopping trip? Who are you, the secret heiress of a conglomerate?"

You stepped closer to her, lowering your voice to a desperate whisper. "Soomin, will you help me with something? Please?"

Soomin’s eyebrows shot up, her curiosity instantly piqued. "Anything. What is it?"

"You were right," you lied,You needed a cover story that Soomin would believe, something that explained your desperation without exposing the supernatural horror of your life. "Professor Taehyung and I... we love each other very much. But my family doesn't approve of him. They've already fixed an arrangement for me and Jungkook. I can only see Taehyung at college, but today is his birthday. I want to celebrate with him, but these bodyguards are following me everywhere."

Soomin gasped, her hand flying to her chest. The drama of it all was exactly the kind of fuel she lived for. "A forbidden love! A secret birthday rendezvous! Y/N, this is practically a movie. How can I help?"

Minutes later, you were huddled inside the velvet-curtained sanctuary of a changing room. With frantic movements, you and Soomin stepped out of your clothes and swapped. You slipped into her casual, oversized sweater and denim skirt, while she donned your elegant, form-fitting dress.

As she stepped back, admiring herself in the mirror, Soomin let out a giggle. "Do you really think those bodyguards won't recognize me just because I'm wearing your dress? I'm a different height, Y/N, and my hair is practically the opposite of yours."

You paused, thinking of the way the vampire could track a scent across a city of millions,"They... they smell me," you murmured, almost to yourself.

"What?" Soomin blinked, confused.

"Nothing," you quickly corrected, giving her a small, encouraging push toward the curtain. "Just pretend to be me for one hour. Please. Just walk slowly and keep your head down. They aren't looking at your face."

Soomin beamed, her confidence returning. "Don't worry, Y/N! I will be the most convincing 'you' in history. Now go! Go find your forbidden professor before the clock strikes midnight!"

With a final, frantic wave, you slipped out the back service exit of the store, the cool city air hitting your face.

Taglist :

Chapter :14

Morning light bled through the curtains in thin, accusing stripes. You stepped out of the bathroom, towel dragging through damp hair Jungkook sprawled across your bed , one arm flung over his face, the other curled possessively around your pillow. His lips were still stained red from last night—from your blood.

You poked Jungkook's cheek with your index finger—once, twice—before resorting to flicking his forehead. His nose scrunched, but he didn’t stir, merely rolling onto his side with a muffled grunt. The pillow he’d stolen from you was now half-swallowed by his embrace, his fangs indenting the fabric. "Master Jungkook," you hissed, resisting the urge to yank the pillow away. "Morning training."

He snored louder in response, burying his face deeper into your pillow with a muffled growl when you dared to shake his shoulder.

You sighed, staring down at Jungkook’s sprawled form. *Literally drank half my blood last night, snored like a chainsaw, kept me awake until dawn, and now won’t even wake up?* You flicked his forehead again, harder this time. His nose scrunched, but he only rolled onto his stomach, burying his face deeper into your pillow with a muffled groan.

You gave up. Let him sleep. You tugged on your training clothes, ignoring the dull ache in your neck where Jungkook had fed too greedily the night before. The bite marks hadn’t fully healed—a testament to how much he’d taken. Bastard. You glared at his still form, one last time, before slipping out the door.

The training grounds were eerily silent at this hour, the morning mist curling around the stone pillars. You stretched your arms overhead, rolling your shoulders to loosen the tension. Alone. Good. You needed the space—needed to prove you could do this without them hovering, mocking, pulling your strings like some fragile puppet—

"Late."

The voice came from directly behind you—low, mocking, close enough that you felt his breath stir your hair. You whirled, nearly stumbling over your own feet. Taehyung stood inches away, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk already in place. "M-Master Taehyung," you stammered, pressing a hand to your racing heart. "Are you here for training?"

His smirk widened. "My little bride," he drawled, stepping closer, "are you forgetting? I'm your sworn protector now." His fingers brushed your collarbone—too light to be a threat, too deliberate to be accidental. "Which means it's my responsibility to make you strong."

You swallowed hard. "Master Taehyung, you really don’t have to take that seriously," you whispered, sidestepping his touch. "I only said it so they’d—"

Taehyung’s grin sharpened. "Get ready," he interrupted, rolling his shoulders with a predator’s grace. "Because I’m not gentle like Jungkook."

Your laugh was brittle. "Master Jungkook was never gentle."

The words hadn’t fully left your lips before the training ball whistled past your ear—close enough to stir your hair—and embedded itself into the stone pillar behind you with a sickening crunch. Dust rained down as the sphere lodged halfway through solid marble, cracks spiderwebbing outward. Taehyung didn’t blink. "Let’s start," he said, and the world narrowed to the glint of his canines.

---

Your knees hit the gravel with a sharp crack that echoed through the empty training grounds. Sweat dripped from your chin, pooling between your trembling fingers as you gasped for air. "Please," you choked out, voice shredded from panting, "stop. I can’t—"

Taehyung’s shadow loomed over you, blocking the sun. He tilted his head, the morning light carving his smirk into something cruel. "Only a warm-up," he repeated, nudging your knee with the toe of his boot. "Stand up."

Your muscles screamed when you tried. The gravel bit into your palms as you collapsed again, coughing. "I’m human," you spat, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Don’t forget that."

He crouched beside you suddenly, close enough that his scent flooded your senses. "Very weak human," he mused, plucking a leaf from your hair with deliberate slowness.

"I’m not weak," you snarled, batting his hand away.

Taehyung scoffed, dragging his thumb across the still-red burn marks encircling your wrist—the ones left by the enchanted chains when you'd foolishly tried to free him. "Yeah? Like a pig squealing in mud," he mused, watching your pulse jump beneath his touch.

You jerked your hand back, wincing as the movement pulled at tender skin. "I'm not—"

"Still paining?" he interrupted, catching your wrist again with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushed over the raised, angry skin where the chains had scorched you—a touch so light it shouldn't have burned, yet your breath hitched anyway.

You yanked your hand back. "No. Professor Hobi said it'll take time to fade, that's all." The words came out sharper than intended—defensive, like you were trying to convince yourself more than him.

Taehyung's fingers lingered in the air where your wrist had been, his expression unreadable. You swallowed hard, watching the morning light catch on the silver rings adorning his fingers. "Master Taehyung," you ventured cautiously, "can I ask you something?"

He made a noncommittal sound—half hum, half scoff—as he straightened to his full height, casting a shadow over you. The training grounds were too quiet. You pressed your palm flat against your chest, feeling the steady thrum beneath your ribs—Ava's heart, not yours, never yours. "What kind of person was Ava?"

Taehyung's fingers flexed at his sides. "Why ask?"

"Because this heart belonged to her," you whispered, pressing harder, as if you could reach through flesh and bone to touch the ghost living inside you. "I want to know whose heartbeat I’m borrowing."

Taehyung exhaled sharply through his nose before dropping onto the gravel beside you with effortless grace, close enough that his knee brushed yours. The morning sun caught the silver rings on his fingers as he plucked a blade of grass, twisting it between his thumb. "Ava?" His smirk didn’t reach his eyes this time. "Cruelest queen in three centuries. Entire courts would tremble just hearing her heels click against marble."

You swallowed, watching his fingers methodically shred the grass to green pulp. "So she was...ruthless."

"Ruthless?" Taehyung's fingers shredded the grass blade into pulp, his smirk twisting into something darker. "Ava wasn't just ruthless, little bride. She was the kind of queen who'd peel the skin from traitors while sipping tea. Entire courts fainted when she smiled—because it usually meant someone was about to lose their head." His knee pressed harder against yours,"But for Jungkook?" His laugh was a low, "She'd kneel in broken glass if he asked. Burn cities to ash if someone glanced at him too long. That girl was obsessed—the kind of love that leaves corpses in its wake."

Your fingers curled into the gravel. "She sounds...terrifying."

Taehyung flicked the shredded grass aside, watching it land on your knee. "She had to be." His voice dropped to a whisper, cold and deliberate. "Now answer my question."

You stiffened. "What question?"

His hand clamped around your chin, forcing your gaze up."When I first kissed you," he said slowly, "you reacted like I'd put a knife in your mouth instead of my tongue." His thumb pressed against your lower lip, dragging it down. "Now we fuck. And suddenly you're quiet. Normal." His smirk twisted. "I expected tears. Screaming. Not this...compliance."

​"When you first kissed me," you whispered, gravel digging into your palms as you held Taehyung's gaze, "it felt like betraying someone I loved most." The admission hung between you.

Taehyung's fingers tightened imperceptibly on your chin. "And now?" His thumb still pressed against your lower lip, a silent demand for honesty.

You exhaled sharply through your nose. "I'm not so weak that a broken heart destroys me." The morning mist curled around his shoulders. "I accept that Master Jimin was never my destiny. The wound isn't so deep that it won't heal."

Taehyung's thumb still pressed against your lower lip, his rings cold against your skin. "So you hate him now?"

"No." You leaned away from his touch. "We can fall in love—but that doesn’t mean the person we love must love us back." The gravel shifted beneath your palms as you pushed yourself up, your knees stinging. "That's not how love works."

Taehyung stood abruptly, the gravel crunching under his boots as he loomed over you. His shadow swallowed you whole, the morning light carving sharp angles across his face—all hard lines and unreadable darkness. "Little bride," he murmured, voice , "don't mistake this for permission." His fingers caught your chin again, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "When I fall," he continued, thumb brushing your lower lip in a mockery of tenderness, "I don't accept 'no' as an answer."

Taehyung released your chin with a final brush of his thumb against your lip—before turning on his heel. His boots crushed gravel into dust as he walked away without another word. You exhaled a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, fingers trembling where they pressed into the ground. *When I fall, I don’t accept ‘no’ as an answer.*

You dragged yourself to your feet, dusting gravel from your knees as you staggered toward the palace corridors. The hallway stretched endlessly, its gilded mirrors reflecting your disheveled state—hair tangled from training. You pressed a hand to your chest, Ava’s heartbeat steady beneath your palm. *Obsessed enough to burn cities for Jungkook.* The thought slithered through you, unwelcome.

"Morning, Y/N!"

Mia’s voice snapped you back to the present. You blinked—when had she appeared? Her fingers waved in front of your face, her brows knitted. "Good morning, Y/N."

You swallowed the dryness in your throat. "Morning."

Her lips twisted into something apologetic, fingers tugging at the sleeves of her dress. "Listen, about the other day—" A deep breath. "I wasn’t in my right mind. I’m… really sorry for the slap." Her gaze flickered to your cheek, as if she could still see the imprint of her palm there.

You shrugged, rolling your stiff shoulders. "It’s okay." A lie, but one you’d both pretend to believe. "What are you doing here this early?"

Mia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she gestured vaguely down the hall. "Nothing special. Just breakfast with family." Her nose wrinkled. "Though I need to drag that idiot Jungkook out of bed first." She moved to brush past you.

"He’s in my room," you blurted without thinking, watching Mia's back stiffen mid-step. "Sleeping. He was awake all night." The words tasted like betrayal the moment they left your lips—why had you admitted that? Why did it matter?

Mia turned slowly, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. "Your room?" Her voice was too light, too controlled. The morning sun caught the silver embroidery on her sleeves as she tilted her head. "Well then, I suppose I’ll have to wake him there."

Your pulse stuttered. "I can do that myself." The protest sounded weak even to your own ears.

Mia’s smile sharpened. "Really? I’d love to see how you wake Jungkook." The words dripped with something venomous beneath their sweetness. Before you could protest, she was striding past you.

When Mia pushed open your door without knocking, the sight that greeted you was absurdly domestic—Jungkook sprawled diagonally across your bed, one arm dangling off the edge, your pillow clutched to his chest like a child’s stuffed toy. His lips were slightly parted, a stray lock of hair flopped over his forehead.

You cleared your throat. "Master Jungkook." Nothing. You flicked his ear. He grunted, rolling onto his stomach, burying his face deeper into your pillow. You sighed—this was ridiculous. Mia hovered in the doorway, arms crossed, one perfectly manicured brow arched.

"See?" Her voice dripped honeyed amusement. "Jungkook's not exactly a morning person." Mia leaned over the bed, fingers brushing his shoulder—then, with practiced precision, she pinched his nose shut between thumb and forefinger.

Three seconds. Four. Jungkook's brows furrowed, his lips parting in a silent gasp for air that never came. Five—his eyes flew open. His hand shot up, fingers wrapping around Mia's wrist with terrifying speed. "Mia," he growled, voice thick with sleep, "a million times I've told you not to wake me like this."

Mia didn't flinch. She merely smiled,. "But it works," she sing-songed, twisting her wrist free with practiced ease. Jungkook's grip loosened, his arm flopping back onto the mattress with a muffled thump. His gaze flickered past her shoulder—to where you stood frozen in the doorway—and something unreadable flashed across his face before he buried it in the pillow again.

"Idiot, wake up now," Mia announced, yanking the blanket off him in one fluid motion. "Breakfast time. Namjoon and Hobi are already waiting downstairs." She paused, tilting her head with exaggerated sweetness. "And most importantly—*I* made breakfast."

Jungkook groaned into the pillow, muffled but unmistakably derisive. "Must be tasteless."

Mia's slap to the back of his head echoed off the walls. *Crack.* "Come eat, idiot." She straightened her dress with prim efficiency before turning toward the door—only to pause beside you, her fingers brushing your elbow in a whisper of fabric and something colder.

Her lips barely moved when she spoke, voice low enough that Jungkook—now grudgingly sitting up and rubbing his head—couldn’t hear. "Y/N, what you don't know, no need to pretend you know." A pause, her eyes darting to Jungkook's bare shoulders before flicking back to you. "And my advice? Don’t get attached to them." Her smile was knife-sharp. "You’ll leave soon anyway."

The door clicked shut behind Mia with unsettling finality, leaving you standing there with her words curling like poison in your ears. *Don’t get attached. You’ll leave soon anyway.* You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms.

"Tch. That woman hits harder than Taehyung," he muttered, flopping back onto your pillow with a dramatic sigh. "Hey, little mouse," he called just as you reached the bathroom door, voice still thick with sleep. "Bring me a coffee."

You froze mid-step, fingers tightening around the bathroom doorknob. "Master Jungkook," you said without turning, voice deliberately flat, "why not ask Mia? I don't know how much sugar you take. Or what roast you prefer." The words tasted like defiance. "I'm late for college." You shut the door before he could retaliate, turning the lock with a satisfying click.

The shower drowned out Jungkook's inevitable growl of protest. Steam curled around your shoulders as you scrubbed last night's sweat and phantom touches from your skin. When you emerged, towel clutched to your chest, the bedroom was empty—just rumpled sheets and the faint scent of Jungkook's cologne clinging to your pillowcase. You dressed quickly, fingers fumbling with buttons.

You paused at the top of the grand staircase, fingers tightening around the banister as laughter drifted up from the dining hall below. Through the carved wooden balusters, you could see them—Jimin leaning over to steal a bite from Mia's plate while she swatted his hand away, Jungkook scowling into his coffee as Namjoon nudged him with an elbow, Hoseok grinning at something whispered just for him.

Your chest constricted. This wasn't your world. These weren't your people. You backed away silently, heels barely touching the marble steps.

Downstairs, Jungkook pushed his plate away with a dramatic sigh. "Tasteless," he declared, nose scrunched in disgust. "Who serves salmon for breakfast?"

Jimin didn't glance up from buttering his toast. "No one's forcing you to eat, brat."

Mia's fingers tapped her coffee cup. "Where's Taehyung oppa?" Her gaze flicked to the empty chair beside Jungkook. "And Y/N?"

Hoseok stretched lazily, chopsticks dangling between his fingers. "Taehyung left hours ago—said he had 'work.'" He made air quotes with his free hand, grinning at Jungkook's scowl.

Jimin signaled a passing maid with two fingers. "Where's Y/N?"

The maid bowed deeply, hands folded. "Miss Y/N left for college, Master Jimin. Said she had an early exam."

Jungkook scoffed into his coffee cup. "Tch. Running away again." He slammed the cup down hard enough to make Mia jump, liquid sloshing over the rim. "I'm leaving. This is boring." His chair screeched against marble as he stood abruptly, tossing his napkin onto his untouched salmon.

Jimin's fingers twitched around his fork. "Jungkook you can't go outside right now." His voice was deceptively light, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. "Not after the poisoning incident."

Jungkook smirked, already shrugging into his leather jacket with deliberate slowness. "Seriously, jimin?" He tilted his head, the morning light catching the silver rings on his fingers as he gestured mockingly. "You believe I'll stay locked in this gilded cage all day? That's torture." His smirk widened into something sharper. "Besides—" He winked, the motion exaggerated. "I need to spend quality time with my fiancée."

The silence that followed was palpable. Mia's fork clattered against her plate. Namjoon sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose as Jungkook sauntered toward the exit. "Don't worry, Jimin-ah," Namjoon murmured, already rising. "I'll keep an eye on him."

---

The exam results were pinned to the bulletin board in crisp, merciless black and white. You blinked twice—three times—but the name at the top didn’t change. *Jeon Jungkook: 98%.* Your own score—a respectable 82%—sat squarely in the middle of the list.

"Impossible," you muttered under your breath, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag as you stared at the exam results. The ink seemed to blur—Jeon Jungkook's name floating mockingly above yours.

A cold breath brushed your ear. "Well, I'm quite the genius." Jungkook's voice dripped with smugness as his chin settled on your shoulder, his chest pressing against your back. His fingers plucked the exam sheet from the board with deliberate slowness. "Admit it. You're impressed."

You spun around, your bag swinging violently. "Impossible." The word hissed between your teeth. "You never paid attention in lectures—not even once. You didn’t even study."

Jungkook's smirk deepened, one brow arching as he folded the exam sheet into a neat square. "Baby," he tsked, pressing the paper into your palm with mocking gentleness, "you’re forgetting something." His fingers lingered too long, tracing the lines of your hand. "I’m a vampire." His lips brushed your earlobe, voice dropping to a whisper. "I've lived through centuries. Memorized entire libraries. Watched civilizations rise and fall." He leaned back just enough for you to see the glint in his eyes—dark amusement . "A university exam?" His laugh was a low, "Child’s play."

"It's unfair," you muttered under your breath, glaring at Jungkook's name still hovering above yours on the exam board. His fingers tightened around your wrist before you could pull away.

"Why didn't you come for breakfast?" Jungkook's fingers tightened around your wrist.

You tried to jerk away, but his grip was iron. "I wasn't hungry."

Jungkook's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Not hungry?" His voice dropped to a whisper only you could hear, his free hand tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with mocking gentleness. "Or couldn't bear watching Jimin feed Mia strawberries?"

Your pulse stuttered beneath his fingers. "That's not—"

"Liar." He cut you off with a laugh, dragging you forward so abruptly your shoulder slammed against his chest. His fingers slid down to intertwine with yours—cold, unyielding—as he marched you toward the cafeteria. "Well, I'm quite hungry. Let's eat something."

You dug your heels into the linoleum, fingers twitching in his grip. "I'm not—"

The cafeteria doors swung open before you could finish. Heads turned—whispers erupting as Jungkook steered you toward an empty table. His boot hooked around a chair leg, yanking it out with a screech that silenced the nearest tables. "Sit."

You hesitated, fingers flexing where they were still trapped in his grip. "I said—"

Jungkook shoved you down with enough force to make the chair skid backward. His palm slammed onto the tabletop, caging you in as he leaned down until his lips brushed your ear. "Sit up and eat properly," he growled, the words vibrating against your skin. "Or I'll eat *you* instead. I'm fucking starving."

You sighed, stabbing your fork into the cafeteria pasta with deliberate slowness. The strands slipped between your lips just as a loose curl fell forward, dangling precariously close to the sauce. Before you could tuck it back, Jungkook's fingers were there—cold and precise—gathering your hair with unexpected gentleness.

"Hold still." Jungkook's fingers tangled in your hair, his touch unexpectedly careful as he gathered the loose strands.

The silence stretched. You stared at your half-eaten pasta, acutely aware of the stares burning into your back—whispers ricocheting between tables. "Master Jungkook," you muttered without looking up, fingers tightening around your fork, "in university, we pretend we don’t know each other. I don’t want any more problems."

Jungkook’s fingers paused mid-motion, tangled in your hair. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the distant clatter of trays and the hum of student chatter. Then—slowly—his grip tightened. "Pretend?" His whisper curled against your ear,"You think you can pretend I don’t exist?"

Before he could retaliate—you shoved your chair back with a screech loud enough to make the nearest students flinch. "I have class." You didn’t glance back, didn’t wait for his response. Just grabbed your bag and bolted for the exit.

The hallway stretched endlessly, sunlight filtering through the high windows as you adjusted your bag strap with trembling fingers. You were almost at the classroom door when—

"Soomin?" You blinked as she materialized in front of you, hands planted on her hips.

"There you are!" Her voice echoed off the marble floors as she grabbed your wrist. "Where have you been, Y/N? Three days without a single text! Do you know how worried I was?"

You swallowed hard, the lie forming effortlessly. "I... caught a fever." Your fingers brushed the bite marks hidden beneath your turtleneck. "Needed rest."

Soomin's eyes narrowed. "Is that so?" She leaned closer, sniffing dramatically. "Funny how Professor Kim also canceled lectures this week." Her grin turned wicked as she flicked your flushed cheek. "Resting together, were you? No wonder your skin's glowing."

Heat crawled up your neck. "There's nothing between Professor Kim and—"

"Literally why are you denying it?" Soomin interrupted, rolling her eyes. "The man's sculpted by the gods. Those cheekbones could—

You exhaled sharply through your nose. "He's handsome, yes." The classroom door creaked behind you. "But trust me—as a man? he Absolute worst."

"Pardon me for being the worst," came Taehyung's voice—cold, precise—from directly behind you. His footsteps echoed against the polished marble as he strode past, his tailored suit swallowing the morning light. "Take your seats. Now."

Soomin squeaked, her grip on your wrist tightening painfully before she released you with a nervous laugh. "Y-Yes, Professor Kim!" She dragged you toward your usual row, but before she could slide into the seat beside you, Jungkook materialized from the aisle shadows—one hand braced on the desk, the other already pulling out the chair next to yours.

His smirk was all teeth. "Soomin-ssi," he purred, tilting his head with exaggerated politeness, "if you don't mind, can I sit here?" His fingers drummed the desk—once, twice—before he added, "Please?"

Soomin's flush spread from her collarbones to the tips of her ears. "O-Of course!" She scrambled backward, nearly tripping over her own bag strap. "I'll just—" She gestured vaguely toward the front row, already retreating.

Jungkook dropped into the seat with feline grace, stretching his legs into the aisle. His knee bumped yours deliberately. "What?" he murmured when you glared. "She said it was okay."

Jungkook's finger jabbed into your cheek with infuriating persistence—once, twice—until you swatted his hand away. "Master Jungkook," you hissed under your breath, acutely aware of Taehyung's glacial gaze sweeping over the lecture hall, "why are you here? Master Taehyung already monitors my classes for safety."

His grin widened as he slouched lower in his seat, knees splaying into your space. "Ah, little mouse," he drawled, plucking a pen from your notebook and twirling it between his fingers, "you misunderstand." The pen stilled abruptly, its tip pressing into your forearm. "I'm spending quality time with my fiancée." His thumb brushed the ink smudge it left behind—a mockery of tenderness. "And my health is your responsibility now, remember? Doctor's orders."

The pen clattered onto the desk as he stretched, the hem of his shirt riding up to reveal the faint discoloration where Yoongi's poison had lingered. His fingers drummed an idle rhythm against his stomach. "Besides," he added, tilting his head toward the sunlight streaming through the windows, "no power means I'm practically human now. Might as well enjoy the perks." His grin was all teeth when he caught your skeptical look. "What? You don't like me like this?"

You turned a page in your notebook with deliberate slowness. "You could be enjoying this newfound humanity with Mia," you said, keeping your eyes fixed on the lecture notes you weren’t actually reading. "She actually likes your company."

Jungkook's fingers stilled on the pen he'd been twirling between them. "From morning," he said slowly, eyes narrowing as he leaned closer, "I notice you taking Mia into our conversations." His knee bumped yours under the desk—deliberate, insistent. "Could it be..." His lips curved into something dangerously amused, "Are you jealous, little mouse?"

" Master Jungkook," you muttered under your breath, pressing your pen so hard against your notebook that the tip nearly tore through the paper, "can you give me one reason why I would be jealous of Mia?" You finally turned to face him, meeting those dark eyes. "And more importantly," your voice dropped to a furious whisper, "why would I ever be jealous of her because of *you*?"

A chalkboard duster whizzed through the air—Jungkook's hand shot up without looking, catching it mid-flight with unnatural reflexes. At the front of the lecture hall, Taehyung's glacial stare pinned you both in place. "Attention," he commanded, the single word slicing through the room. " On lecture." You straightened instantly, gripping your pen until your knuckles whitened.

The moment Taehyung turned back to the board, Jungkook's knee bumped yours beneath the desk again—harder this time. His gaze burned into your profile, relentless. When you refused to acknowledge him, he exhaled sharply through his nose and leaned closer. "Stop staring," you muttered under your breath, deliberately keeping your eyes fixed ahead.

"My eyes," Jungkook countered, voice dripping with amusement. His fingers drummed an idle rhythm against the desk—once, twice—before adding, "I can stare wherever I want."

"Then stare at the board," you hissed, flinching when his cold fingertip traced the curve of your ear.

"But you're far more interesting than Taehyung's dreary lecture." His breath ghosted over your neck as he tilted his head, studying your reaction with predatory focus. "Tell me something, little mouse—why did you save me that day?"

Your pen stilled mid-note. The question hung between you.

"Could it be..." Jungkook's voice dropped to a whisper only you could hear, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, "because of Jimin? If I'd died, Jimin would've been devastated." His fingers tightened around your wrist beneath the desk,"And you can't bear to see him hurt—is that the reason, little mouse?"

You didn't flinch. "Master Jungkook," you said slowly, turning your head just enough for your noses to almost touch, "you also did the same, didn't you? Risked your life but saved Mia." His grip slackened slightly—just enough for you to twist your wrist free. "But I didn't do that for Master Jimin." Your fingers curled into fists against the desk. "I did it for Master Taehyung. I don't want him punished because of my stupidity."

Jungkook's lips parted—whether to sneer or snarl, you couldn't tell—but you barreled on before he could speak. "You're the Second Queen's son," you whispered, the words barely audible beneath the scrape of Taehyung's chalk against the board. "I thought... maybe you could stop your mother." Your fingers crept toward your sternum, where Ava's heart pulsed beneath your skin. "And maybe this heart—" you swallowed hard, "—couldn't bear to watch you die. I think Ava loved you so much. Even she died—

Jungkook's fingers twitched against the desk, the knuckles whitening before he abruptly turned his head away. "Ava was a stupid woman," he muttered, voice low enough that the words barely reached you. His fingers curled into fists, pressing into the wood grain. "Blind with love. Never listened to her own brain." His lips twisted into something bitter. "Fell for someone like me."

You blinked, the words hanging between you . "What do you mean?" you whispered back, fingers tightening around your pen.

For a heartbeat, Jungkook didn't move. Then—with deliberate slowness—he folded his arms across the desk and dropped his forehead onto them. His voice was muffled against his sleeves when he spoke next. "Focus on class."

The dismissal was so abrupt it left you blinking at the back of his head. His dark hair spilled across the desk, hiding his expression completely. You hesitated—fingers twitching toward him instinctively—before forcing yourself to face forward again. Could he... miss Ava? The thought settled uncomfortably in your chest. You exhaled sharply through your nose. *Shouldn't have mentioned her.*

---

The whistle shrieked, cutting through the sticky summer air as you doubled over, hands braced on your knees. Sweat dripped from your temple onto the scorching pavement—five laps around the field in this heat was borderline torture.

A sharp cheer erupted from the basketball courts.

You lifted your head just as Jungkook spun away from his defender, the basketball a blur between his fingers before he launched it—effortless—straight through the hoop without touching the rim. The girls clustered along the bleachers screamed, their cheers dissolving into giggles when he winked at them, sweat-darkened bangs clinging to his forehead. He looked almost human like this—just another university student showing off during gym class, not an ancient vampire prince.

Scooting backward into the shade of the equipment shed, you pressed your icy water bottle to your flushed neck and groaned. "Why are we even doing PE in summer?" The words slurred slightly from exhaustion as you rolled your head back against the wooden planks. "This is torture."

Taehyung's voice cut through the sticky air like a blade. "At least you have some brain left."

You startled so hard your water bottle slipped, liquid splashing across your knees. "Master Taehyung?" You twisted to find him lounging in the shadows of the equipment shed, one leg propped up, arms crossed. His tie was loosened—the first time you'd ever seen him less than immaculate. "What are you doing here?"

"Sleeping." He didn't open his eyes. "Can't. Not with humans screeching over inflated leather." His nose wrinkled as another whistle pierced the air. "Stupid games in stupid heat."

You bit back a laugh, pressing your water bottle to the underside of your wrist where veins pulsed too fast. "Could it be..." You tilted your head, watching Jungkook fake a stumble just to make the girls squeal. "...you're here for Master Jungkook's safety? Since he's powerless now—"

Taehyung's eyelids lifted halfway—just enough for you to see the dangerous glint beneath. "Stop using your tiny brain before I remove it permanently," he muttered, but there was no real heat behind the threat. His fingers flexed against his folded arms, the morning light catching silver rings you'd never noticed before.

You ducked your head in apology, watching Jungkook from beneath your lashes as he dribbled past another defender with inhuman grace. "I'm sorry, but..." Your water bottle crinkled in your grip. "Master Jungkook seems to really enjoy playing human games. I just wonder..." Your thumb traced the condensation on the plastic. "What was so special about him that made Ava fall so hard?"

Taehyung's hand shot out faster than you could blink—cold fingers digging into the flesh of your cheek as he yanked your face toward his. "It's—"

You caught his wrist instinctively, pulse jumping when his skin registered like marble in midwinter. "Hmm." Your thumb slid over his knuckles without thinking. "Master Taehyung, you really are a vampire." The words escaped in a breathless laugh. "Your hands are freezing."

Taehyung's fingers twitched against yours—not pulling away. His eyes dropped to where your palm pressed against his pulse point. The silence stretched. Then—slowly—his other hand lifted to brush your cheekbone, the touch featherlight. "And yours," he murmured, voice rough with something unnameable, "are always warm."

You tried to pull back instinctively, but his fingers tightened—interlocking with yours before you could retreat. "Master Taehyung," you stammered, heat crawling up your neck, "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to hold your—"

The apology died in your throat as his free hand slid behind your head, fingers tangling in your hair. Then—without warning—his lips crashed against yours. Cold. Insistent. You gasped against his mouth, heels skidding backward in the dirt until your spine hit the equipment shed's wooden wall. His knee slotted between yours, pinning you there as his tongue traced the seam of your lips.

"Hmm—*stop*—" you managed, turning your face away just enough to break the kiss. His teeth grazed your jaw instead, trailing down to your pulse point.

Taehyung's hand slid from your waist to the hem of your PE shirt, fingers skating under the fabric. "My master," he murmured against your collarbone, breath chilling your damp skin, "is burning up." His palm pressed flat against your stomach—icy against the heat of your flushed body. "My responsibility... to cool you down."

You twisted away, fingers catching on the equipment shed's splintered wood. "I said *stop*—we're *outside*—"

He caught your wrist before you could bolt, dragging you backward until your spine hit his chest. "So inside," Taehyung murmured against the shell of your ear, fingers already working at the buttons of your sweat-damp PE shirt, "you don't have a problem?" The words were barely out of his mouth when the world tilted—your stomach lurching as shadows swallowed you whole.

You blinked. The equipment shed's wooden planks were gone, replaced by sterile classroom fluorescents. Your palms slapped against a desk still warm from afternoon sunlight. "Master Taehyung—" The words choked in your throat as his teeth grazed your collarbone, fingers already working the last button of your PE shirt. The fabric slid from your shoulders, pooling around your elbows before you could react.

His palms skated up your ribcage—icy against sweat-damp skin—thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts with calculated slowness. "Tell me," he murmured against your pulse point, nose nudging aside the strap of your sports bra, "why your heartbeat triples when I do this." His tongue followed the path his fingers had taken, tracing the swell of your breast before his teeth closed—lightly—over the peak.

You gasped, arching backward into the desk's edge. "S-Stop—" The protest dissolved into a whimper when his hand slid between your thighs, fingers pressing through the damp fabric. "Someone could—*ah*—walk in—

Taehyung's palm slammed onto the desk beside your head, his breath chilling your damp skin as he loomed over you. "Foreplay," he murmured against your collarbone, teeth grazing the pulse fluttering there, "or should I just enter you directly?" His knee nudged your thighs apart with deliberate pressure, the desk digging into your back.

"Shameless," you gasped, twisting away from the cold brush of his lips. "Get off—" The words died when crimson streaked down his cheekbones like tears. "Master Taehyung—your eyes—"

He recoiled , swiping at the blood with the back of his hand. "Nothing." But you'd already caught his wrist, fingers prying open his clenched fist to reveal smeared red across his knuckles.

You moved before thinking—hands fumbling at the buttons of his dress shirt. Taehyung caught your fingers halfway, but you wrenched free with a sharp twist. The fabric parted to reveal jagged gashes spanning his ribs—wounds crusted black at the edges, weeping fresh blood where movement had split them open. Your breath hitched. "Why aren't these healed?"

Taehyung exhaled sharply through his nose, buttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness. "It's nothing." His cufflinks clicked together with finality. "I'm not some weakling who can't handle a few scratches."

"But it's happened because of—" Your fingers twitched toward his ribs, stopping just short of touching him again. Taehyung's glare silenced you before the words fully formed. He straightened his sleeves with a sharp jerk.

"Go to your class," he said, voice colder than his fingertips had been moments ago. His shadow stretched long across the classroom floor as he turned away, the door clicking shut behind him with finality before you could protest.

---

The library in the east wing of the mansion smelled like old paper and candle wax. You hunched over the mahogany desk, fingers smudged with ink as you copied the looping symbols from the ancient grimoire. Three failed attempts already littered the floor.

The fifth candle guttered when you whispered the incantation again. Nothing. Just the hollow ache behind your ribs where Ava's power slept.

"You're writing it backwards."

Jimin's breath ghosted over your shoulder as he plucked the quill from your stiff fingers. You hadn't even heard him approach.

"Master Jimin—"

The book snapped shut under his palm before you could finish. "I told you from the start," he murmured, thumb brushing ink from your cheekbone, "call me Jimin." Moonlight caught the silver rings on his fingers as he flipped the grimoire open to an earlier page. "Why are you torturing yourself with intermediate spells when you haven't mastered the basics?"

You curled your fingers into the desk's edge. The wood bit into your palms. "Master Taehyung's wounds aren't healing," you whispered. The candlelight flickered across Jimin's face as he turned a page with deliberate slowness.

Jimin's thumb stilled against the grimoire's parchment. "Hybrids take time to heal," he murmured without looking up. "Little human, you don't need to worry about Taehyung's wounds." His fingertip traced a line of ancient script, deliberately avoiding your gaze. "They'll close when they're ready."

You pressed your palms flat against the desk, ink smearing beneath them. "Master Taehyung has saved me many times," you said slowly, watching Jimin's fingers pause mid-page turn. "I can't just—"

Jimin snapped the grimoire shut with enough force to send dust motes swirling in the candlelight. "Aren't you too concerned for Taehyung?" His fingers slid under your chin, tilting your face up with the spine of the book. The leather binding pressed cold against your skin. "Little human, you don't need to—"

"I just want to return his favor." You turned your head away sharply, breaking contact.

Jimin's exhale stirred the candle flames. "You're really stubborn." His thumb brushed over the grimoire's embossed cover, tracing the serpentine patterns. "Let me help you then."

"No." You shoved back from the desk, the chair legs screeching against the hardwood. "I can do it myself."

Jimin's fingers stilled on the book's spine. Without looking up, he murmured, "Really?" His nail tapped against an indecipherable passage. "Can you even read this, little human?"

You pushed back from the desk, the chair legs scraping against hardwood. "I can manage," you said, fingers tightening around the grimoire's spine. "If I need help, I'll ask Professor Hobi. You don't need to help me all the time—it's late now, Master Jimin. Good night."

The words tumbled out too fast as you hurried toward the door, but the handle refused to turn under your trembling grip. Behind you, Jimin's shadow stretched long across the parchment-strewn floor. "Little human," he said, voice deceptively soft, "you're avoiding me on purpose, aren't you? Because I can't return your feelings."

"No." Your forehead pressed against the cold wood, fingers still gripping the stubborn handle. "Because I'm embarrassed of myself." The confession spilled out before you could stop it—raw, aching. "I dreamed something impossible from the start. I know I'm only here as a blood servant. That was the deal—my grandmother and brother get safety, and I..." Your nails bit into the doorframe. "But I fell for my master, so now I'm just—ashamed on myself."

Jimin's exhale stirred the candle flames behind you. "Blood servant," he repeated, the words rolling off his tongue. "Then you should take your duty seriously."

"What—"

The book slammed onto the desk. Suddenly his chest pressed against your back, one arm caging you against the door. His free hand wrenched your head sideways by the hair, exposing your throat. "If you're truly just a blood servant," Jimin murmured, lips brushing the frantic pulse beneath your skin, "then stop trembling when I do this." His tongue traced the vein—slow, deliberate—before his fangs grazed the surface.

You gasped, fingers scrambling against the woodgrain. "Master Jimin—" The protest dissolved into a whimper when his fangs pierced skin, your body arching against the door as warmth bloomed beneath his lips. His forearm braced across your collarbones, pinning you in place while his other hand tangled in your hair—gentle and vicious all at once. The scent of copper filled the air, thick and cloying.

Jimin's tongue lapped at the wound, his groan vibrating against your throat. "Sweet," he murmured against your skin.His hand slid from your hair to your waist, pressing you flush against the door as he drank deeper, the rhythm of his swallows obscenely loud in the silent library.Your knees buckled, vision swimming—his forearm braced beneath your ribs kept you upright as the world tilted.

Blood dripped down your collarbone when he finally pulled back, lips stained crimson. His thumb swiped the excess from your chin before bringing it to his own mouth, sucking it clean with a slow drag of his tongue that sent heat crawling up your neck.

"Master Jimin—" Your voice cracked. The library spun around you, shadows stretching unnaturally long as your knees threatened to buckle.

Jimin caught your waist before you could collapse, fingers digging into your hipbone as he guided you back toward the desk. The grimoire's pages fluttered beneath your elbow when he sat you down, his other hand still tangled in your hair—gentle and unyielding all at once. "Breathe," he murmured against your temple, but his lips were already trailing down to the fresh bite mark, tongue lapping at the sluggishly bleeding punctures. You gasped when his fangs grazed the wound again—not piercing, just teasing—your fingers scrambling against the desk's edge as warmth pooled low in your stomach.

The sudden vibration of his phone against your thigh made you flinch. Mia's name flashed across the screen, the caller ID illuminating the dim library for one stark second. "Master Jimin—" you managed, pushing weakly at his shoulders, but he merely caught your wrist and brought your fingertips to his lips. His fangs scraped the pad of your index finger before piercing deep, drawing another startled gasp from you.

Jimin's tongue curled around your bleeding finger, his groan vibrating against your skin as he sucked gently. The obscene wet sounds filled the silent library, mingling with your ragged breathing. You tried to pull back instinctively, but his grip tightened.

"I told you to stop trembling when I drink," Jimin murmured against your fingertip, his lips stained crimson as he sucked gently. His grip tightened when you tried to pull away, fingers digging into your wrist hard enough to bruise. "I hate weak things."

"But it's—" You gasped when his fangs scraped the pad of your finger again, the sharp sting radiating up your arm.

Jimin tilted your chin up with his free hand, his thumb pressing into the hollow of your throat. "A blood servant should be quiet when her master feeds." The words ghosted over your lips before he dragged you forward, his mouth sealing over the bite mark on your neck with a low groan. Your back arched off the desk instinctively, fingers scrabbling against the wood grain as his tongue lapped at the sluggishly bleeding wounds. Every swallow sent heat coiling low in your stomach—shameful, electric—your pulse rabbiting beneath his lips.

Meanwhile, across town, Mia's phone clattered onto the marble countertop with a sharp click. The call had ended mid-ring, the screen flashing "Missed Call" beneath the dim glow of restaurant pendant lights.

"Maybe he's still on set," Mia muttered, swirling her straw through an untouched mojito, Jungkook's fingers twitched toward his own phone—screen already lit with Jimin's contact pulled up—but Mia snatched it from his grasp with a scoff. "Leave it. My date's already spoiled." She tossed phones into her purse.

Jungkook's fingers twitched against the leather menu, the corner peeling under his restless grip. "Jimin told me to come here," he muttered, flipping his phone screen-down against the tablecloth for the third time in five minutes. "Now the bastard's not picking up." His knee bounced beneath the table, rattling the silverware—Mia's untouched mojito rippled in its glass.

Mia rolled her eyes, plucking the menu from his hands . "You're impossible." The laminated pages snapped open . "I'm hungry—let's eat something. What do you like to order?" Her gaze slid over the options, lips pursing. "Actually, never mind. I know what you like."

Jungkook's chair screeched backward as he jerked upright. "Mia." His voice cracked on the single syllable—too sharp, too loud. The couple at the next table glanced over before quickly looking away. "Stop," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Stop giving me hope."

Mia didn't even glance up from the menu, her fingertip trailing down the cocktail list. "What hope?" she murmured, the words deliberately light. A strand of hair slipped over her shoulder as she tilted her head. "I just meant you always order the same thing. Wagyu tartare, extra truffle oil. No onions." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Like clockwork."

Jungkook's chair screeched against the marble floor as he shoved back from the table. "Stop this," he hissed, fingers curling into his palms. "You know me too well—my habits, what I like—just stop." The couple at the next table froze mid-bite, forks hovering. "I'm leaving," he announced too loudly, snatching his jacket from the chairback. "I have a shoot tomorrow morning."

Mia finally looked up. "Jungkook." Her voice dropped to a whisper,"You heard what I said to Y/N this morning, didn't you?"

The air between them crackled with something unspoken. Jungkook turned on his heel and stormed out without another word, the restaurant door slamming behind him with enough force to rattle the chandelier.

----

-

The first thing you registered was the sharp sting in your neck—then the dull ache radiating through your spine. Sunlight filtered through half-drawn curtains, painting stripes across your legs where they dangled off the sofa's edge. You blinked crusted eyes open to find Jimin crouched beside you, a steaming bowl balanced on his knees.

"Morning," he murmured, nudging the soup toward you."Eat. It'll help replenish your blood." His thumb brushed your cheekbone—too gentle for someone who'd fed from you so ruthlessly hours ago.

You jerked back instinctively, the movement sending pain lancing through your bruised neck. The porcelain bowl clattered against the coffee table as Jimin caught your wrist. "I'm sorry for last night," he said, fingers tightening when you tried to pull away. "I lost control." His thumb traced the fresh bite marks peeking above your collar—the motion almost tender.

"There's no need to apologize," you whispered, staring at your reflection in the untouched soup. The dark circles under your eyes made you look hollow. "It's my duty, after all—to serve my master." Your fingers twitched toward the spoon but didn't lift it.

Jimin's lips parted—whether to argue or apologize again, you'd never know—because the library doors burst open with enough force to rattle the shelves. Taehyung stood silhouetted against the morning light, his jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder. "I really hate night patrol," he announced to no one in particular, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes.

Then he froze. His gaze flickered between Jimin's hand still gripping your wrist, the steaming bowl of soup, and the fresh bite marks peeking above your collar.

Jimin sighed without releasing you. "Taehyung. Where are your manners? Knock first."

Taehyung's slow blink conveyed utter disdain. He gestured vaguely at the towering bookshelves. "Well, it's the library. Not your bedroom." His nose wrinkled as he took in the scene properly—the rumpled blankets on the sofa where you'd apparently slept, Jimin's disheveled hair, the lingering scent of blood in the air. "Looks like I interrupted something."

You wrenched your wrist free and scrambled upright too fast—the room tilting as blood rushed from your head. "I'm getting late for college," you blurted, voice cracking. You bowed hastily, knees wobbling. "Morning, Master Taehyung." Then you bolted past him before either could react, the library doors swinging shut behind you with a hollow thud.

Taehyung's fingers drummed against the nearest bookshelf, the rhythmic thud echoing through the silent library like a countdown. "Why," he said finally, voice stripped of inflection, "when you have Mia?"

Jimin's thumb traced the rim of the abandoned soup bowl—once, twice—before answering. "Taehyung-ah," he murmured, tilting his head with deliberate calm, "don't tell me you're getting soft for a human. It's really rare to see my little brother changing." His fingers lingered near his own collar, where a single drop of dried blood darkened the white fabric.

Taehyung's knuckles whitened against the bookshelf. "You didn't answer my question." The words came out clipped, glacial.

Jimin exhaled through his nose, pushing the soup aside. "I lost control last night." His fingers flexed, as if remembering the weight of your wrist in his grip. "Taehyung-ah, don't tell me you're getting attached to her. That would be... inconvenient."

Taehyung's laugh was a sharp, brittle thing. "Only in your imagination." He pushed off the bookshelf, jacket swinging as he turned toward the door. His fingers lingered on the handle—just a fraction too long—before he left without another word, the library doors clicking shut behind him with deliberate softness.

---

The bathroom mirror fogged with steam as you twisted to examine the fresh bite marks on your neck, fingers trembling against the sink’s edge. The clip of your bra snapped open before you could register the cold fingers brushing your spine—your gasp echoed off the tiles as Taehyung’s reflection materialized behind you, his crimson-streaked gaze locked on the bruises Jimin had left.

"Master Taehyung—" You clutched the towel to your chest, heart hammering. "Get out—" The words died when his fingers traced the fresh bite marks on your collarbone—cold, deliberate—each touch sending tremors through your overheated skin.

Taehyung's reflection smirked in the steam-streaked mirror. "Tell me," he murmured, his fingers trailing down your bare spine with glacial slowness, "did you enjoy last night?" His thumb pressed into the fresh bite mark below your ear—the one Jimin had left—and your knees nearly buckled.

"Master Taehyung—" You twisted away, clutching the towel tighter. "Please get out—"

His palm slammed against the mirror beside your head, cracking the glass. "Answer the question." The words slithered against your damp neck. "You still love him even knowing he'll never choose you over Mia?" His fingers hooked into the towel's edge, yanking it down just enough to expose Jimin's bite marks purpling your collarbone.

"it's none of your business whom I like—him or not!" You wrenched the towel back up, fingers digging into the damp fabric. "My feelings never matter in this mansion—I'm not even from this world, not part of this family—I'm just a blood ser—"

Taehyung's mouth crashed into yours before you could finish—cold, insistent, swallowing your protest with bruising force. His fingers tangled in your damp hair, yanking your head back as his tongue slide against yours. You gasped against his lips, fingers scrabbling against his chest, but he only pressed closer—his other hand sliding down to cup your breast through the towel.

The fabric slipped lower as his thumb brushed your nipple—the sudden friction drawing a sharp whimper from your throat. Taehyung's teeth scraped your bottom lip in response, his grip tightening when you tried to twist away. Steam curled between your bodies where his chest pressed against your bare back, the cold metal of his rings biting into your hip as his hand slid lower—then stopped.

Your entire body trembled against his, breaths coming in shallow gasps that fogged the cracked mirror. Taehyung went rigid behind you, fingers twitching against the lace edge of your underwear before wrenching away like you'd burned him. "Stop," he hissed—to himself or to you, you couldn't tell—as he shoved you back against the sink. "Stop coming into my mind like this." His knuckles whitened around the towel rack. "I hate humans. I can't—

"What—

Taehyung's tongue dragged across your bottom lip with deliberate slowness, catching the last remnant of your shared breath before pulling away. The steam from the shower curled between you both as he stepped back, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket with practiced indifference. "Go get ready for college," he muttered, his gaze lingering on your towel-clad body for a fraction too long before he turned on his heel.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind him, rattling the cracked mirror. You exhaled sharply, fingers trembling against the damp towel as the cold seeped into your skin where his touch had been moments before. Outside, footsteps echoed down the hallway—before fading into silence.

---

The library's fluorescent lights hummed overhead, bleaching the pages of your textbook into an indecipherable blur. You blinked hard, trying to force your eyes to focus on the same paragraph you'd been staring at for twenty minutes—but the words kept dissolving into Jimin's fingers tracing your collarbone, Taehyung's cold lips swallowing your gasp against the bathroom mirror. Your pen slipped from suddenly-sweaty fingers, rolling across the table with a clatter that made several students glance up.

"Earth to Y/N." Soomin's elbow jabbed into your ribs as she slid into the adjacent chair. Her grin faltered when you flinched. "Whoa. You look like you just ran a marathon in a sauna." Her fingers brushed your forehead "Are you sick? Your face is burning up."

" No just whether so hot," you mumbled, swatting at Soomin's persistent fingers pressing against your clammy forehead. She rolled her eyes and shoved a folded flyer into your textbook, the garish neon letters announcing TOMORROW NIGHT: EPIC COLLEGE KICKOFF PARTY.

"Look alive, zombie girl," Soomin chirped, snapping her gum. "You're coming. No isn't an answer." She leaned in, her perfume overwhelming as she stage-whispered, "Three words: open bar, hot seniors, and—"

Jungkook's chin abruptly settled onto your shoulder, his breath reeking of whiskey. "Can I come, Soomin?"

Soomin's squeal made three nearby students drop their pencils. "Oh my god, are you serious? It'd be insane if you showed up—the girls would literally combust." Her phone was already in hand, thumbs flying. "If you don't mind, can I have your number? Just in case—"

The reek of whiskey intensified as Jungkook's nose brushed your earlobe. You recoiled, chair legs screeching against the library floor, but his arm snaked around your waist—anchoring you in place with bruising force. "Wear something hot," he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear before his teeth nipped the tender flesh.

Soomin's phone clattered onto the table. "Um." Her wide eyes darted between Jungkook's possessive grip on your waist and the fresh bite mark blooming on your earlobe. "Okay, what the hell is going on between you two?" Her voice rose enough that a librarian shushed them from across the stacks.

"Nothing," you hissed, wrenching free only for Jungkook's fingers to dig into your hips, hauling you flush against him. His whiskey-laced breath scalded your cheek as he nuzzled into your hair with a drunk, contented hum.

"She's my fiancée," Jungkook slurred, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your temple that made your stomach flip violently.

Soomin's eyebrows vanished into her bangs. "Bullshit. She is Professor Kim—

You shoved back from the table hard enough to send chairs screeching across the library floor. Jungkook's whiskey-heavy weight slumped against your shoulder, his fingers slipping clumsily from your waist as you twisted free. "He's completely wasted," you announced to Soomin's stunned face, already steering Jungkook toward the exit by his elbow. His steps wobbled like a newborn fawn's. "I'm taking him to the clinic before he vomits on someone's thesis paper."

Soomin's mouth opened—probably to demand explanations about the fiancée claim—but you were already dragging Jungkook past the circulation desk, his drunken giggles drawing glares from studying students. He nuzzled your hair with a contented sigh, lips brushing your earlobe. "Pretty," he slurred, fingers tangling in your sweater. "Smell like..." His sentence dissolved into a hiccup as you shouldered through the emergency exit.

The crisp morning air did nothing to sober him. Jungkook tripped over his own feet twice before you half-carried, half-dragged him across campus toward the faculty housing complex. His weight shifted dangerously when he abruptly went limp against your side. "No more stairs," he whined, forehead pressing into your neck. "Carry me, princess."

"You're insufferable," you hissed, adjusting your grip as his knees buckled again. Jungkook giggled against your neck, as you dragged him up the cabin's porch steps. Before you could knock, the door swung open to reveal Namjoon's exhausted face.

"Again?" Namjoon sighed, stepping aside to let you haul Jungkook's limp form inside. "This boy brings nothing but trouble. Thank you for—" He paused, watching Jungkook slump face-first onto the couch with a groan. "—whatever this is." His gaze flicked to your bruised earlobe, then away just as quickly. "Sit. Tea?"

You backed toward the door, fingers already curling around the knob. "I should—"

Jungkook's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with surprising strength for someone who'd just been dead weight moments ago. "Stay," he mumbled into the couch cushions, fingers tightening when you tried to pull free. "Just...stay a little longer."

Namjoon exhaled through his nose, already shrugging on his coat. "Y/N, I have a faculty meeting that can't be postponed." He hesitated, glancing between Jungkook's sprawled form and your trapped wrist. "Could you stay with him until Hoseok arrives? He should be here within the hour

You swallowed hard, fingers twitching under Jungkook's persistent hold."Okay," you heard yourself say, though every instinct screamed to run.

Namjoon's shoulders relaxed as he grabbed his satchel. "Thank you." He paused at the door, keys jingling in his hand. "There's blood bags in the fridge if he..." A meaningful glance at Jungkook's slumped form. The door clicked shut behind him with finality.

Jungkook's fingers spasmed around your wrist—hot, too tight—before abruptly loosening. You wrenched free, rubbing the reddened skin as you retreated two steps. The couch groaned under his weight as he rolled onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes. His lips moved silently before forming words so soft they barely disturbed the stillness: "I wanted to be loved." Then his breathing evened out—the deep, slow rhythm of sleep pulling him under.

The grimoire's pages crackled under your fingertips as you traced the faded ink—words in a language you shouldn't understand but somehow did, curling through your mind. Outside the cabin window, dusk painted the trees in long violet shadows. You'd lost track of time hunched over Ava's spellbook, the symbols rearranging themselves whenever you blinked.

The front door creaked open. "Y/N?" Hobi voice sliced through the dim cabin air. "Sorry I'm late—is he still sleeping?"

You nodded without looking up, fingers still tracing the grimoire's shifting runes. The ink pulsed faintly beneath your touch, responding to something unseen. Hoseok's shadow fell across the page as he leaned over your shoulder.

"Y/N," he murmured, breath stirring your hair. "If you really want to understand that book..." His fingers hovered near the spine but didn't touch. "Why not meet Yoongi instead? He's Ava's brother, after all."

The suggestion landed like a stone in still water. You froze mid-page-turn, the parchment crinkling under your grip. Somewhere behind you, Jungkook sighed in his drunken sleep, his fingers twitching against the couch cushions.

-----

The café's overhead lights buzzed flickering intermittently over the empty tables—too bright for midnight, too clinical for a place meant to feel welcoming. You curled your fingers around the lukewarm teacup.

Your knee bounced under the table—a nervous twitch that sent ripples across the tea's surface. The chair opposite yours scraped against the tiled floor without warning. Yoongi folded himself into it with the deliberate slowness .His fingers—pale, unadorned—drummed once against the Formica tabletop.

"You came alone." His voice carried none of the surprise the statement warranted. "Brave. Or stupid."

The teacup rattled against its saucer as you pushed it aside. "Did you steal Jungkook's power?".

Yoongi's fingers stilled against the tabletop. "If you called me here for this nonsense," he said, voice low as, "then you're dumber than I thought." The café's flickering lights cast shadows beneath his eyes.

Your fingernails bit into your palms. "Then why send people that night to kill me? What did I ever do to you?".

Yoongi exhaled through his nose, the sound bordering on disgust. "Listen, human. First—I don't need Jungkook's pathetic power. Second—killing you? What benefit would that give me?" His fingers twitched toward the grimoire before curling into a fist. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be ashes."

The café's flickering lights caught the hollows under his eyes as he leaned forward. "You performed the ritual. Jungkook lost his powers. Connect the dots yourself." His stare dropped pointedly to Ava's book between your hands. "Now give it to me."

You hesitated—then slid the grimoire across the table. Yoongi's pale fingers traced the spine with reverence before abruptly freezing. His nostrils flared. "Someone else touched this." The words came out sharper than intended.

"What?" Your fingers twitched toward the book instinctively.

Yoongi flipped the grimoire open to a page you'd never seen. "If your interrogation is over," he muttered, already standing, "I don't have time to waste on you."

You caught his sleeve. "Wait—why do you hate Jungkook so much?" The fabric strained between your fingers. "If Ava loved him, why—"

Yoongi whirled, sending the chair clattering behind him. The café's flickering lights carved shadows into his sudden snarl. "For him, my sister never knew happiness." His voice dropped to a whisper that scraped like claws against stone. "She suffered every day of her immortal life—and when the villagers bound her to that pyre, do you know how long she burned?"

Your breath hitched as he leaned across the table, the café’s flickering lights catching the raw fury in his eyes. "Three days," Yoongi repeated, "Three days screaming his name while her flesh peeled from bone. Three days refusing to die because she believed—" His fingers curled into the grimoire’s cover until the leather groaned. "She believed he’d come. That he’d fight for her." His laugh was a jagged thing. "Pathetic, isn’t it? Even burning, she loved him more than herself."

" Ava was immortal," you whispered, fingers tightening around the teacup's cracked handle. The lukewarm liquid trembled. "Then how could humans have killed her? Jimin said she died in the last war—"

Yoongi's laugh cut through the café's buzzing lights like a blade. "Do you really believe them?" His fingers tapped the grimoire's cover once—hard. "Little human, you don't even know what they—"

The café window shattered inward. Jungkook's fist connected with Yoongi's jaw before the glass hit the floor, sending the grimoire skidding across the table. He moved with terrifying precision for someone who'd been dead drunk an hour ago, his other hand yanking you upright by the wrist. "What the hell," he hissed, pupils dilated with fury, "are you doing with him?"

Yoongi wiped blood from his split lip, grinning. "Oh, Jungkook." His smile widened as he rose slowly. "You actually had the guts to come here powerless? How could I lose this chance to torture you?" Shadows pooled at his feet, writhing like living thing.

Jungkook shoved you behind him just as Yoongi lunged. Their collision sent tables flying—wood splintering against the tile as Yoongi's shadow tendrils lashed out. One wrapped around Jungkook's throat, slamming him against the wall hard enough to crack plaster. You screamed his name, scrambling forward, but Yoongi flicked his wrist—another shadow snaring your ankle, yanking you off balance.

"Pathetic." Yoongi's shadows tightened around Jungkook's windpipe as he advanced on you. The grimoire levitated into his waiting hand, pages fluttering wildly. "Look at him—the mighty prince, choking on his own—"

You grabbed a shattered teacup and slashed at the shadow binding your leg. It recoiled with a hiss. Yoongi whirled, but you were already moving—diving for the grimoire midair. Your fingers grazed the spine just as his shadow blade materialized, aimed straight for Jungkook's heart.

Time slowed. You didn't think—just threw yourself between them. The shadow blade halted an inch from your throat, vibrating with contained energy. Yoongi's eyes widened. "You—"

"Stop!" Your voice cracked as you pressed both palms against his chest. Something primal surged through your veins—Ava's power, reacting to imminent threat. Violet light erupted from your fingertips, searing through Yoongi's shirt. He staggered back as the light solidified into thorned vines that lashed around his wrists, yanking him to his knees.

Jungkook gasped when the shadow tendril evaporated from his neck. He slumped against the wall, rubbing his throat with dazed eyes fixed on your glowing hands. "Y/N—" His voice cracked.

Yoongi's fingers twitched as violet energy crackled around his palms—the same thorned vines that had pinned him now dissolving into smoke. "Ava's power," he hissed, staring at your glowing hands with something between disgust and fascination. "How can this—" His head snapped up, eyes burning. "Why the hell would you save him?"

The café lights flickered violently as dizziness slammed into you. Your knees buckled—only for Jungkook's arms to lock around your waist, yanking you back against his chest. His breath came ragged against your temple. "Y/N—"

Yoongi laughed—a sharp, broken sound—as he raised one hand and murmured words too fast to catch. The air shimmered. Jungkook's grip spasmed. "Ah—!" He recoiled, hands flying to his face as his knees hit the floor.

"Master Jungkook!" You whirled toward Yoongi,"What did you do?"

Yoongi wiped his bleeding lip with deliberate slowness. "Nothing special." His grin widened as Jungkook groaned between you, fingers clawing at his own eyelids. "Just took his eyesight. Temporary." He kicked the grimoire toward you with his boot. "Think of it as a return gift for punching me."

The violet glow around your hands pulsed erratically. You dropped beside Jungkook, fingers hovering over his trembling ones. His pupils were blown wide—unseeing. "Can you—"

"Shut up." His voice came out raw. He swatted your hands away only to clutch at your sleeve a second later, as if terrified you'd vanish. "Don't...don't touch me right now."

Yoongi's shadow stretched unnaturally long across the shattered teacups as he turned to leave. "Next time," he tossed over his shoulder, "I'll take more than his sight."

-----

The curtains in Jungkook's bedroom were drawn so tightly that not even moonlight dared intrude. Hobi fingers hovered over Jungkook's face, glowing faintly gold as they traced the hollows beneath his sightless eyes. Jungkook sat stiff-backed on the edge of his bed.

Jimin leaned against the carved bedpost, arms crossed. "How long until he gets his sight back?" The question was calm, but his fingers dug into his own sleeves hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

Hoseok exhaled, the golden glow around his fingertips flickering as he withdrew from Jungkook's face. "If Yoongi says it's temporary..." His shoulders lifted slightly. "Three days. Maybe a week."Jungkook's jaw tightened, his unseeing eyes fixed on some middle distance as his fingers dug into the silk duvet.

Namjoon's sigh cut through the tension. "Y/N," he began, rubbing his temples, "what possessed you to meet Yoongi alone?" The words landed heavy in the dimly lit room, his disapproval palpable.

Jungkook's fingers curled tighter into the silk sheets, his blind gaze flickering toward the sound of your voice. You opened your mouth to respond, but Taehyung's voice sliced through before you could form words.

"She went for me," he said, stepping forward, his boots scuffing against the hardwood. His gaze remained locked on Namjoon, unblinking. "To heal my wound. Only one person understands Ava's book—it was Yoongi she needed." His fingers twitched at his sides, the ghost of a restraint. "Not an excuse. A fact."

Namjoon exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Taehyung, stop defending her. This wasn't some—

Jimin cut in smoothly, his voice a soft "Hyung, leave it." His fingers brushed Jungkook's shoulder—a fleeting touch, withdrawn when Jungkook flinched. "Y/N doesn't fully know Yoongi. It's not her fault either." His gaze flicked to you, lingering on your trembling hands before adding, quieter, "We've all made reckless choices for someone we—"

"Everyone out." Jungkook's command cracked through the room. His sightless eyes remained fixed on the far wall, fingers twisting the duvet into knots. "Now."

The dismissal hung heavy. You backed toward the door first, shoulders bumping into Taehyung's chest as he turned sharply. His fingers brushed your elbow, steering you into the hallway with silent urgency. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing away Jungkook's ragged breathing.

"Um—Master Taehyung," you whispered, catching his sleeve before he could stride away. The corridor's torchlight gilded the sharp angle of his jaw as he paused. "Thank you. For—"

Taehyung whirled so suddenly your shoulder blades hit the stone wall. His palm slammed beside your head, caging you in. "Don't." His breath ghosted over your lips. "Did you sprout a death wish overnight? Or just lose your last brain cell?" The torchlight carved shadows under his eyes—exhaustion and something darker. "I never asked for your help. Did I beg for your concern?"

Tears blurred your vision before you could stop them, hot and shameful as they streaked down your cheeks. "I—I'm sorry, Master Jungkook," you choked out, fingers twisting in the fabric of your skirt. The apology tasted bitter—too small for the enormity of what had happened, for the way Jungkook now sat sightless in his darkened room because of your recklessness.

Taehyung's scoff cut through the hallway's heavy silence. He leaned in, his forearm braced against the wall beside your head. "My wound will heal on its own," he said flatly, his breath stirring your hair. His thumb swiped roughly across your wet cheek, the gesture almost cruel in its abruptness. "And Jungkook lost his eyesight for his own stupidity." His fingers tightened on your chin, tilting your face up with deliberate force. "Never meet Yoongi alone again. The man has a sister complex that could fill an ocean—Ava wasn't just his blood. She was—" His jaw flexed. "More."

"What more?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Jimin's voice cut through the tension. "Because Ava and Yoongi weren't related by blood." The torchlight caught the weary slant of his smile. "For Yoongi, she was always... more than a sister."

Taehyung's fingers dug into your chin before abruptly releasing. "Now you understand," he said flatly, stepping back. "Never meet him alone again."

You nodded, swallowing hard.

Jimin reached out to ruffle your hair—a gesture that should have been comforting. "Taehyung-ah, don't scare her."

Jimin's fingers lingered in the air where your head had been, his smile faltering as you stepped back from his touch. "Taehyung," he sighed, "this little human went to meet Yoongi because of your wound. So you'll have to take responsibility—the Italy meetings require attendance, and Jungkook can't go now."

You twisted your skirt between your fingers, the fabric damp from nervous sweat. "But Master Jimin, it's my fault only—"

Taehyung rolled his eyes a sharp exhale through his nose as he turned on his heel. "Fine," he bit out, already striding down the torchlit corridor, his boots echoing against the stone. "I'm leaving now. And little mouse—" He paused just long enough to glare over his shoulder. "Don't you dare do any stupidity again."

The heavy oak door clicked shut behind Taehyung's retreating form, his footsteps fading down .You stared at the space where he'd stood, your fingers still twisted in your skirt fabric.

Jimin exhaled through his nose—a sound caught between amusement and exhaustion—before reaching out to flick your forehead. "Go take rest, little human." His fingers lingered, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a gentleness that made your throat tighten.

You hunched your shoulders, staring at the uneven stone beneath your feet. "I always bring trouble," you muttered, fingers picking at the frayed edge of your sleeves.

Jimin's quiet chuckle made you flinch. "Hmm," he mused, tapping one finger against his lips as he studied your guilty expression. "You really are a troublemaker, aren't you?"

Your head snapped up—only to find his eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter.

"Hey," he said, reaching out to flick your nose lightly. The unexpected gentleness made your breath catch. "I'm joking. It's not your fault, okay?" Jimin's fingers lingered near your cheekbone, cold against your skin. "Jungkook's eyesight will return in a few days—he'll be fine." His thumb brushed the corner of your eye where tears still clung stubbornly. "But if you disobey me next time..." The threat dissolved into a sigh as he stepped back, motioning toward the hallway. "Go take rest. I have work."

You hesitated, fingers twisting in your skirt,"Master Jimin—"

"Ah." He held up a hand, silencing you with a look. "No more apologies. Go."

You nodded, turning toward your room with your shoulders hunched, the weight of Jungkook's blindness pressing against your ribs like a stone.

----

The next day's sunset bled across the horizon, staining the royal gardens in hues of dying amber. You perched on the stone bench, fingers curling around the cool edges as you watched the light fade. Jungkook's chambers remained stubbornly dark—no movement behind the drawn curtains since yesterday.

"Halmoni," you whispered to the empty air, throat tightening, "why does everything I do for someone twist into poison?" The breeze carried your words away, unanswered.

Yoongi's sneer flashed behind your eyelids—*If I wanted you dead, you'd already be ashes.* But if not him, then who sent those assassins that night? Your fingers crept up to press against your sternum, where Ava's heart pulsed beneath fragile human ribs. How many enemies had she made in centuries of living? And why—why—would a vampire queen's heart end up stitched inside an orphan's chest?

The garden's twilight blurred as your nails dug into your collarbone. "Mother," you whispered to the gathering dark, "what am I?" The wind carried no answer.

The invitation fluttered in your trembling hands. You pressed the card to your chest and exhaled sharply. "I can't stay weak," you muttered to the empty bedroom, fingers curling into fists. "Mother... wherever you are, I'll find you."

Jimin's study door was slightly ajar when you arrived. He sat bathed in lamplight, script pages spread across his desk, lips moving silently as he rehearsed lines. You hesitated—knuckles hovering above the wood—before tapping lightly. "Hm, Master Jimin?"

He didn't glance up. "It's just Jimin, little human." His finger traced a highlighted passage in his script

You hovered in the doorway, picking at the frayed hem of your sleeve. "Can I...go to the college party tonight? Please?".

Jimin's pen stilled mid-annotation. "Why suddenly?" His gaze remained fixed on the script, but his voice carried a peculiar sharpness. "I thought you hate parties." The lamplight caught the tension in his jaw as he turned a page with deliberate slowness.

Your fingers twisted in the folds of your skirt. "I-I need something..." You swallowed, searching for a word that wouldn't sound like a lie. "Normal."

Jimin's pen hovered over the script for a suspended moment before he sighed. "My bodyguard will accompany you." His gaze remained fixed on the page as he circled something with practiced precision. "Don't wander off."

"Thank you." You backed toward the door, shoulders hitting the frame before you turned—only for Jimin's quiet voice to halt you.

"Come back before midnight." His fingers flipped a page with deliberate slowness. "Not a minute later."

You nodded even though he wasn't looking. "Okay." The door clicked shut behind you, sealing away the rustle of script pages.

The party's bass pulsed through your ribcage like a second heartbeat. You clutched your phone, the screen dark despite checking it every thirty seconds. Jin should've called by now. Neon lights strobed across Soomin's flushed face as she shoved a red plastic cup toward you. "Y/N! Why're you standing here like a ghost?" Her breath smelled faintly of cvodka. "Come drink!"

You pressed the cup away with your elbow. "I don't drink, Soomin."

Her fingers closed around your wrist, sticky with spilled cocktail. "Come onnn," she whined, dragging out the vowel, "One sip won't kill you." The cup pressed against your lips before you could protest, the sickly-sweet burn of cheap liquor coating your tongue.

You coughed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as Soomin giggled. The neon lights painted her drunken grin in garish pinks and blues. "There! Now you're officially—" Her words cut off as your phone vibrated violently against your thigh.

Jin's name flashed across the screen like a lifeline. You stumbled back from the crowd, pressing the phone to your ear just as the bass dropped. "Jin oppa?" The music swallowed your voice.

Static crackled, then his strained whisper: "West garden gate. Now." The line went dead.

The lamplight in Jimin's study pooled golden over the script pages. He rubbed his temples, the words blurring slightly as exhaustion tugged at his focus—until warm arms encircled his shoulders from behind.

"Missed you," Mia murmured against his nape, her breath tickling the fine hairs there.

Jimin exhaled through his nose—half amusement, half resignation—as her chin settled on his shoulder. "Hmm," was all he offered, flipping another page without looking up.

Mia snatched the script from his hands, twirling away with it held hostage behind her back. "Focus on me, Mr. King," she teased, eyes glinting with playful challenge.

Jimin swiveled his chair toward her, elbows resting on his knees. "Okay, okay," he conceded, tilting his head. "What does my queen need?" The words dripped with exaggerated formality, but his fingers twitched toward the stolen script.

Mia sighed dramatically, tossing it onto the chaise. "Too bad," she lamented, stepping into his space, "I'm not in the mood anymore." Her fingers toyed with his collar. "First tell me—how's Jungkook? Did he not come out of his room yet?"

Jimin exhaled through his nose—half amusement, half exasperation—as he leaned back slightly. "Nope," he murmured, fingers drumming against his knee. "Still sulking." His gaze flicked toward the darkened hallway where Jungkook's room lay silent.

Mia huffed, smoothing her skirt as she turned toward the door. "Let me try—"

Jimin's hand shot out, catching her wrist,"You came here," he said slowly, thumb brushing the delicate bones beneath her skin, "for Jungkook?".

Mia's lips curved. "Oh?" She stepped closer, her free hand settling on his shoulder. "Is my king jealous?" The tease dripped from her words, but Jimin's expression didn't waver—only his fingers twitched against the armrests when she leaned in, her breath warm against his lips. At the last second, he tilted his head away, her kiss brushing his cheekbone instead.

A sharp ring shattered the moment. Jimin's phone vibrated across the desk, Jin's name flashing like a warning. He exhaled through his nose, muttering, "Why now—"

Mia pulled back, frowning. "Pick up. It must be important."

Jimin snatched the phone, thumb jabbing the screen. "What do you need, Jin?" His voice was flat, but his grip whitened around the device.

Jin's reply crackled through, too loud in the sudden stillness: "Jimin, you need to find Y/N."

The script pages scattered as Jimin surged to his feet. "What?"

Static, then Jin's harried whisper: "She messaged earlier—wanted to meet me. I told her to wait, but Isla overheard. She's gone after Y/N—"

Jimin's phone hit the floor with a crack. He was already halfway to the door when Mia caught his sleeve. "Jimin—"

He wrenched free without looking back. The hallway blurred—torchlight streaking—as he sprinted toward the gate.

-----

The garden gate loomed ahead, the wrought iron cold under your fingertips as you leaned against it, breathing hard. The party's bass still thrummed in your skull, mixing with the pounding of your pulse.

"Jin-oppa?" you whispered into the dark, fingers tightening around your phone. No answer—just the distant thump of bass from the party and your own ragged breaths.

Footsteps crunched on gravel. You whirled toward the sound— A woman stepped into the lamplight, her black trench coat swallowing her slight frame. "Are you Y/N?" she asked, tilting her head.

Your fingers twitched toward your phone again. "Yes, but—who are you?"

"Isla." Her smile didn't reach her slate-gray eyes. "Blood Hunting Society." The lamplight caught the silver pendant around her neck.

Your pulse throbbed in your throat. "Where is Jin-oppa?"

Isla's coat rippled as she stepped closer. "You're the one with Ava's heart," she murmured, tilting her head as if inspecting livestock. "If I kill you now, the vampire royals lose their precious weapon." Her hand slid into her coat pocket.

You stumbled back, gravel skittering beneath your shoes. "Wait—"

Metal glinted under lamplight. The gun's muzzle stared at you like a single unblinking eye.

"Die, monster."

The crack of gunfire split the night.

Time stretched—the bullet's trajectory burned into your vision—until a pale hand materialized between you and death. Jimin's palm pressed flat against the gun's barrel an inch from your sternum. The shot reverberated through his flesh with a wet crunch, blood spraying across your collarbone.

"Jimin!" Your scream tore raw from your throat as he twisted Isla's wrist with a crack of snapping bone. The gun clattered onto gravel as he slammed her face-first into the ground, his knee between her shoulder blades pinning her with inhuman force.

"Listen well, you insignificant insect," Jimin hissed, his voice molten with fury. Blood dripped from his ruined hand onto Isla's cheek, sizzling where it touched her skin. "This little human belongs to me." His fingers tangled in her hair, yanking her head back at an unnatural angle. "If you ever—"

"Master Jimin!" Your trembling fingers clutched his forearm. "Stop—you're killing her—"

His pupils bled black, fangs elongating as he snarled down at Isla's twitching form. "Exactly the point," Jimin hissed, fingers tightening in her hair—until gravel crunched behind you.

"Jimin." Jin's voice sliced through the night air like tempered steel. "Leave her."

Jimin didn't turn. Blood dripped from his shattered hand onto Isla's cheek, sizzling where it touched her skin. "You're interrupting."

A metallic click echoed. Jin's gun pressed cold against your temple. "Or I won't think twice," he said calmly, flicking off the safety with his thumb. "Kill Y/N." The moonlight caught the tremor in his trigger finger. "My men are already in this place, Jimin. Leave Isla."

Jimin's grip slackened. Isla gasped as he released her hair, her body collapsing onto the gravel. His bloody hand found yours instead, fingers intertwining with a possessiveness that made your pulse stutter.

"You disappoint me, Jin." Jimin's voice carried the quiet lethality . The gunshot wound in his palm knit itself together with unnatural speed, flesh weaving back together as he tightened his grip on your hand."Next time," he said, turning his back on Jin without another glance at Isla's crumpled form, "I won't spare her."

You stumbled as Jimin dragged you forward, his grip bruising around your wrist. Jin's voice chased after you,Y/N, I'm sorry—about Isla—just contact me again—" The words dissolved into static as Jimin wrenched you around the garden path, your vision swimming with each step.

Your head spun—too fast,the lamplights streaking into golden ribbons above. *One drink,* you thought dumbly, pressing a hand to your forehead. *Only one—why—* Your knees buckled. Jimin caught you effortlessly, hauling you upright with a snarl. "Wait—Master Jimin," you slurred, fingers clutching at his sleeve for balance. The fabric felt strangely distant beneath your fingertips.

Jimin whirled, gripping your chin hard enough to bruise. "What," he hissed, eyes black with fury, "the fuck did you need from Jin that couldn't wait?" The torchlight carved shadows under his cheekbones, making him look half-feral. "Tell me that college party wasn't just an excuse to—" His words cut off as you slumped forward, forehead thudding against his chest.

Your body burned. The world tilted at a nauseating angle as you mumbled into his shirt, "Hmm... cold..."

"You're really making this difficult," Jimin murmured against your temple, his breath cool where your skin burned.

The hotel room door clicked shut behind you with finality, the lock engaging with a soft snick. Jimin's fingers curled around your waist, pressing you flush against him as he backed you toward the plush bed. The world swam in dizzying circles—your limbs heavy, thoughts sluggish.

"Cold," you whimpered, arching into the glacial press of his palms sliding up your sides. The heat beneath your skin pulsed in time with your rabbit-fast heartbeat, feverish and aching.

Jimin exhaled sharply through his nose—half amusement, half exasperation—before tilting your chin up with two fingers. "Such a troublemaker," he murmured, thumb brushing your lower lip. The pad of his thumb caught on the soft flesh, pulling it down slightly before releasing with a quiet pop.

You whimpered, pressing closer to the glacial chill of his body. Fever burned beneath your skin in erratic waves, making his touch the only relief. "Cold," you slurred again, fingers scrabbling at the buttons of his shirt.

Jimin caught your wrists effortlessly, pinning them to your sides as he leaned down. His breath fanned across your lips—cold,before he bypassed your mouth entirely to press his lips to the frantic pulse in your throat. "Hmm," he hummed against your skin, the vibration making you shudder. "What did they give you, little human?"

His tongue flicked out—a quick, testing swipe—before he sank his fangs in without warning.

The mattress dipped beneath Jimin’s weight as he dragged you onto his lap, your feverish body arching instinctively into the glacial press of his skin. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to expose the frantic flutter of your pulse. "Look at you," he murmured against your throat, lips brushing the tender skin there. "Burning up for me." His teeth scraped lightly—not enough to break skin, just enough to make you gasp.

Your fingers fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, clumsy with whatever poison coursed through your veins. Jimin caught your wrists, pinning them behind your back with one hand as the other traced the damp hollow of your collarbone. "So eager," he chided, thumb brushing your parted lips. "But patience makes the meal sweeter."

The room tilted when he pushed you backward onto the mattress. Jimin's weight settled over you—cold silk against your fevered skin—his knee pressing between your thighs with deliberate pressure. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he dragged his fangs down your throat, stopping just above your pulse. "Taste like poisoned honey," he murmured, tongue tracing the path his teeth had marked. Your gasp dissolved into a whimper when his hand slid beneath your skirt, fingertips skating up your inner thigh.

His chuckle vibrated against your collarbone. "So responsive," Jimin murmured, dragging his tongue along the shell of your ear as your hips jerked against his thigh. The fabric of your skirt bunched around your waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your bare skin—each touch leaving trails of frostbite fire.

You whimpered, nails scraping down his back as he pulled away just enough to study your flushed face lips parted around ragged breaths. Jimin's thumb pressed against your bottom lip, tugging it down to expose the uneven bite of your teeth. "Pathetic," he whispered—but his own breath hitched when your tongue darted out to lick his thumb. The mattress groaned beneath shifting weight as he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other sliding beneath your skirt to trace the lace edge of your underwear. "Still so warm here," he mused, fingertips skating along damp fabric until you arched against him with a broken noise.

The sound seemed to unravel something in him. Jimin's mouth crashed against yours, teeth catching your lower lip as his free hand yanked your blouse open buttons scattering across the sheets. Cool air kissed feverish skin where his palm slid up your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast in slow circles that made your hips jerk. "Jimin—" His name dissolved into a gasp when he ducked his head to drag his tongue across your nipple, the sudden heat of his mouth shocking against your overheated skin.

You writhed beneath him fingers twisting in the sheets as he sucked bruises along your collarbone each sharp pull of his mouth timed with the press of his thigh between your legs. "Look at you," he murmured against your skin, lips traveling lower teeth scraping over your ribs "dripping through this cheap lace." His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, pausing just long enough to watch your stomach quiver before ripping the fabric away with a snarl.

The first brush of his tongue nearly made you scream. Jimin's grip on your wrists tightened as you thrashed, his other hand pinning your hips down while he licked slow deliberate stripes through slick heat. "Tastes like sin," he growled against your inner thigh biting down hard enough to leave crescent marks his tongue soothing the sting immediately. Your back arched off the mattress when he sucked your clit into his mouth the sharp pleasure-pain drawing a sob from your throat.

He pulled back just as your thighs began to shake, leaving you trembling on the edge. "Not yet," Jimin murmured, crawling up your body to kiss you deeply letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His erection pressed against your thigh through the fabric of his slacks, the heat of it startling against your fevered skin. You whimpered against his lips, hips canting up seeking friction he denied you with a sharp nip to your jawline.

The mattress dipped as Jimin rolled onto his back taking you with him until you straddled his lap. His hands slid up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the crease of your hips as he guided you to rock against him, the rough fabric of his trousers delicious torture against your bare skin. "You're trembling," he murmured against your lips, the words vibrating through you as his fingers traced the lace clinging to your damp thighs. "Like a leaf in a storm."

You whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair as he leaned back against the headboard, watching you with hooded eyes. His grip tightened when you tried to grind down again, holding you still. "Patience," he chided, dragging the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. "You're barely conscious."

"Stop—" you gasped between breaths, thighs trembling around his hips, "—teasing me."

Jimin exhaled sharply—half amusement, half exasperation—before flipping you onto your back in one smooth motion. The sudden movement sent your vision swimming, the fever making the ceiling tilt dangerously. Cool silk whispered against your skin as he stripped off his ruined shirt, the fabric landing somewhere in the dark with a soft rustle. Moonlight carved the planes of his chest in silver, catching on the old scars that marred his otherwise flawless skin.

His fingers worked at his belt with practiced ease, the clink of metal loud in the quiet room. Moonlight traced the sharp angle of his hips as he shoved his trousers down just enough—just enough for you to see the flushed length of him, already slick at the tip. You reached out instinctively, fingers trembling toward that heat, but Jimin caught your wrist and pinned it above your head with a low chuckle. "So eager," he murmured against your pulse point, his free hand skating down your ribs to press between your thighs again. "But you're barely awake." His fingers curled inside you—just enough to make your back arch—before withdrawing with a wet sound that sent heat crawling up your neck.

"Please," you gasped, hips lifting off the mattress, chasing the absent pressure.

Jimin exhaled sharply through his nose—half amusement, half something darker—before shifting between your legs. The blunt head of him pressed against you, not entering, just teasing that slick heat with agonizing slowness. "Y/N," he murmured, lips brushing yours, "can I enter now?" The words were a whisper against your mouth, his breath cool where your skin burned.

Your fingers skimmed his hipbone, trailing lower—but the world tilted violently. The fever dragged you under before your fingertips could reach him, darkness swallowing Jimin's frustrated groan as your hand went slack against his thigh.

Jimin exhaled sharply through his nose—half frustration, half reluctant amusement—as your limp hand slid from his thigh onto the rumpled sheets. "Looks like I teased you too much," he murmured to the empty air, fingers brushing a sweat-damp strand of hair from your forehead. His thumb traced the flutter of your eyelid before he pressed a lingering kiss to your feverish brow. "Sleep."

A/N: Thanks for reading! This chapter was a wild one with a lot of tension building up between the boys and Y/N.

​I'd love to know your thoughts: Which of the guys is your favorite to read about right now? Let me know in the comments—I love reading your feedback!

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