Sci If - Blog Posts

Stolen Orbit

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: alien au, yandere jk, dark horror, enemies to lovers,

summary: you were meant for eradication with the rest of your planet—erased without a trace, just another speck in the galaxy's endless purge. but jeongguk saw you. fragile, insignificant... human. and something his kind had long forgotten stirred in him. Instead of erasing your existence, he took you, stole you from extinction and made you his.

now you live in a celestial cage, adored and possessed by something not quite capable of love, but desperate to keep you. he doesn't understand your fear, your resistance, but he craves your surrender all the more because of it. and if it takes breaking you to make you his completely... he will.

warnings: slow burn, mass extermination, alien jungkook forced captivity/proximity, psychological manipulation, stockholm syndrome, dubcon, smut, ritualistic copulation

word count: 5,857

The Beginning

The sky split open the night they came. You didn’t see it at first, no one did.

You brushed your teeth that night. Standing in your tiny bathroom beneath flickering fluorescent lights, humming faintly to music you can’t remember anymore. A song that cut out mid chorus when everything else did.

You paused, frowned, the mirror vibrated faintly, a shiver running across your reflection. Confused, you flicked the light switch. Nothing.

Reach for your phone. Dead.

Outside, the city dimmed as though someone had thrown a heavy blanket over the world. Buildings blinked out, window by window. Cars stalled silently in the streets.

Then came the sirens. Low and unearthly, vibrating deep in your chest rather than ringing in your ears.

You pressed your palms to the vanity, trying to pinpoint the source.

No alarms.

No helicopters.

No dogs barking or people yelling in the distance.

Just… stillness.

Until the sky broke.

You saw it from your window, face pale in the glass as blackness carved itself across the heavens like a wound tearing through flesh.

It didn’t glow or rage, it hummed.

And through that terrible void came beams of sterile white light.

You watched—paralyzed—as they swept through the streets, swallowing people whole. No fire, no blood, they simply ceased.

Your neighbor clutching her husband on the balcony. The delivery boy halfway up the stairs. A child pedaling frantically on his bicycle.

Gone.

Your mouth moved, but no sound came out. By the time your legs remembered how to function, chaos had bloomed outside.

Screams.

Desperate, useless prayers. People running without knowing where safety even existed.

It didn’t matter.

Your chest crushed inward as panic overtook you. You grabbed your phone, screaming into dead silence, dialing numbers that wouldn’t connect.

Your father’s voicemail.

Your sister’s disconnected line.

The beams moved without emotion, erasing everything they touched as easily as wiping chalk from a board. You don’t remember deciding to run. You don’t remember leaving your apartment. You only remember the maintenance tunnels.

You shoved yourself beneath concrete and metal, nails splitting and bleeding as you slammed the hatch shut above you.

And there you stayed.

For minutes.

Hours.

Days.

Time broke.

The silence that followed was not peaceful.

It was dead.

::::::::::::

When you woke, it was worse. Not because you survived. Not even because the world was gone.

But because you weren’t there anymore.

Your eyes opened to sterility. Smooth, seamless walls of faintly glowing white, like pearl carved from bone. No corners or seams. Just endless smoothness in every direction, as though the room itself were grown rather than built.

There were no windows.

No doors.

Only a faint humming, familiar and yet not. Not the gentle whir of an AC or the buzz of old light bulbs. This was deeper, vibrating at a frequency that scraped against the base of your skull. It sounded like something alive.

You sat up too fast, your breath catching painfully in your throat.

The bed beneath you was impossibly soft, molding to your shape like memory foam, but it didn’t feel right. It smelled faintly of something sweet and sterile, like a flower that had never known dirt.

You clutched the sheets tighter to your chest, your head spinning.

“Hello?” you rasped. No answer, just the never ending hum.

You tried again.

“HELLO?”

Your voice echoed strangely, rebounding without substance, as though the room itself were swallowing the sound.

A prickling sensation raced down your spine as you scrambled to your feet. Your legs were weak and shaky, like you hadn’t used them in days. You stumbled toward the nearest wall and pressed your palms flat against it.

It was warm.

Not cold like metal. Not smooth like glass.

Warm, as though the structure around you was some kind of living skin.

You recoiled instinctively.

“What the fuck,” you whispered.

Your chest heaved as you tried to remember.

Where were you?

Where was your family?

Had you died?

The last thing you remembered was hiding. Listening to the world end. And then— nothing. Your stomach twisted violently. Panic set in like lead poisoning, slow but lethal. You began slamming your fists against the wall.

“LET ME OUT!”

“WHERE AM I?!”

Nothing. No doors appeared, no voices responded. But the hum grew louder, though, it didn’t feel or sound angry. Not mechanical.

It sounded oddly interested.

You froze, pressing your back against the bed as a low chime resonated throughout the space. The wall directly across from you rippled, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a stone, and opened.

A doorway formed from nothing, and something stepped through.

At first, you thought he was wrong. Everything about him felt off in ways your mind couldn’t fully process.

Tall—towering—with limbs too graceful and too fluid to be comforting.

Skin pale and luminous, glowing softly from within, threaded with faint iridescence that shifted as he moved. Hair dark and weightless, littered with braids adorned with glimmering otherworldly metals, drifting as though underwater. Framing features too symmetrical, too perfect.

And his eyes.

They were unsettling, solid black at first glance.

But as he drew closer, they shifted—illuminated galaxies of silver, violet, and deep cosmic blues, swirling softly in patterns that hurt to stare at for too long.

You stumbled backward, your legs colliding with the bed as your pulse thundered.

He did not flinch, but instead stepped closer.

Graceful. Effortless.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Every primitive instinct screamed at you to run, but your body betrayed you. He tilted his head as he regarded you.

Not cruelly, not kindly. Curiously.

His voice slid across your mind rather than your ears.

“You are… fragile.”

You flinched, shaking your head as if a bug was caught in your hair. The words felt invasive, sliding into your consciousness without permission.

He stepped closer.

“I am Jeongguk.”

The name thrums with alien cadence, yet tastes almost familiar in your mind. His glowing eyes flicker faintly, as if pleased by your terror.

“You reside aboard Virexum,” he continues calmly. “This vessel collects and preserves what remains after eradication.”

“Eradication?” you whisper, voice hollow.

“Earth was terminated.”

A pause, as if considering how much you can process. “Your species had reached decay. Pollution. War. Rot. The Kaereth do not preserve weakness. We cleanse.”

The words hit harder than any weapon. You shake your head violently, sobbing openly now.

Your father, your sister. They’re…gone?

“No. No, you can’t— you didn’t—”

“It was mercy.”

His voice softens slightly, but not kindly. “Existence without evolution is entropy. The Kaereth do not allow suffering. We end it.”

You can’t breathe.

You drop to your knees, pressing your palms to your face as the horror swells and breaks inside you.

But he does not.

Tears flooded your vision, hot and blinding as your sobs shattered the sterile silence, ugly and helpless.

He watches you the way one might watch a dying star—quietly admiring, deeply fascinated.

When you finally stilled, he crouched before you, his claws retracting as he reached out. You recoiled instinctively, but he only touched your hair, brushing it back from your damp face with a tenderness that felt foreign.

“I did not erase you,” he murmurs.

You flinch, but his hand cradles your face delicately, tipping it up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

“You glowed,” he says, softer now. Almost enthralled.

“Amidst destruction, you clung to life. You burned brighter than the dying world around you. You will not suffer,” he said quietly. “You are mine now. You will be kept.”

Kept.

The word echoed as he stood again, gesturing to the room around you. “This is yours. Safe. Nourishing. You will adjust.”

You choked on disbelief.

“Why me?”

He paused.

And for the first time since he arrived, his expression shifted. His eyes darkened. His lips parted just slightly, almost pious.

“Because,” he murmured, as though speaking to himself, “you glowed brightest before death.”

With that, he turned and left, the wall sealing behind him in silence.

Leaving you alone with the hum, and the terrible, hollow truth that you were the last of your kind. And you were his now.

Whatever that meant.

Whatever that would become.

::::::::::::

You don’t remember sleeping, but when your eyes open again, raw and heavy from hours of silent sobbing, the room is dimmer. The walls, once glowing faintly like a moonlit sea, have softened to a deep, low shimmer, as though mimicking the concept of nighttime.

You’re still here.

Still locked in this dreamless nightmare of seamless walls and soundless air.

Still wearing the thin, pale shift you woke up in, neither warm nor cold, but irritating in its neutrality.

Still alone.

Except… you aren’t.

You feel him before you see him. The hum of the room changes. Deepens, sharpens as though the ship itself reacts to his presence.

You sit up slowly, wiping your face, throat dry from hours of ragged breathing.

When the wall ripples open again, it’s almost gentle. Less like a command, and more like the way curtains are drawn back to allow moonlight in.

And there he stands.

Jeongguk.

Alien. Impossibly elegant.

Unfathomably tall, framed in the soft glow as though carved from the bones of dying stars.

You freeze when his eyes meet yours, not because they’re cruel. But because they are intent.

Hungry.

Unblinking.

“You are awake.”

His voice slides across your mind again, as smooth as silk and as cold as space.

You swallow tightly, sitting rigid on the edge of the bed. Your legs are weak, but you fight to keep your spine straight.

“Please,” you whisper hoarsely, the word tasting hollow in your mouth. “Please just tell me what you want from me.”

He pauses.

“I have told you,” he says, moving forward, soundless as shadow. “You are mine. You will be kept. That is what I want.”

His words make your stomach twist violently. You push up from the bed, backing away until your shoulder blades press into the wall behind you.

“You can’t just— keep me!”

Your voice cracks, teetering between hysteria and disbelief.

“I’m not some… some thing you can collect!”

He stops mid step, considering.

His expression doesn’t change and yet, you can feel the weight of his scrutiny press down on you.

“Incorrect,” he says softly, as though correcting a child. “You are precious. Not a ‘thing’. Not to me.”

You open your mouth to argue, to scream, but your breath catches as something changes.

The bioluminescent lines across his body shift subtly. They pulse gently.

You don’t know why, but the sight makes your heart stutter.

Is that emotion?

Before you can question it, he raises one hand.

A low chime echoes through the room, and from the far wall, a smooth panel unfolds. It reveals a strange, device that emits fragrant steam.

Your stomach clenches painfully as your senses recognize what it is before your mind does.

Food.

Or, at least, something meant to replicate it. Soft, pale orbs float in an iridescent broth, giving off a smell not unlike fresh bread and honey.

It should be comforting.

But in this place, nothing feels comforting.

“You have not consumed nourishment in sixteen of your planet’s hours,” Jeongguk says calmly, gesturing toward the offering.

“Your body weakens. This is inefficient.”

You hesitate, eyeing the bowl warily.

“I’m not hungry,” you lie.

His head tilts, faintly reptilian in the gesture, and for the first time, a flicker of something sharper edges into his tone.

“You will eat.”

The words are not barked.

Not threatening.

But absolute.

You stare back at him, shaking slightly.

And when you make no move to comply, he steps forward and takes the bowl himself, walking closer until he is far too near. He crouches, folding gracefully in front of you like a predator settling in for the kill.

But instead of violence, he offers you the bowl directly.

Holding it out, waiting patiently.

“Eat,” he murmurs.

His eyes glow faintly as they fix on your face.

“For me.”

Your lips part helplessly. Something in the way he says it. Quiet, almost intimately, sends your skin crawling and burning at once.

You hate him.

You hate him.

You hate him.

And yet…

Your body obeys. Your fingers tremble as you accept the bowl, lifting one of the pale orbs to your lips.

It tastes… nothing like food.

But it dissolves softly on your tongue, leaving behind warmth that creeps slowly down your throat.

Not unpleasant, not pleasurable. Just… filling.

Sustaining.

You eat in silence, aware of his unwavering gaze as you do. When the bowl empties, he takes it back carefully, setting it aside.

“Better,” he says quietly.

You can’t meet his eyes.

The tears come again without permission, sliding hot and heavy down your face. You curl in on yourself, trying to muffle the broken sounds that escape your throat.

And then… a touch.

Featherlight at first, fingers ghosting against your temple, sliding into your hair.

You tense, but he does not press.

“You fear me.” His words are not questioning. “Good. It is natural. You are fragile.”

Your breath hitches painfully.

His hand slips lower, knuckles grazing your cheek with maddening delicacy.

“But fear will fade,” he continues softly. “In time, you will see. I am not cruel. I am constant. You will not be harmed. You will be… cherished.”

You turn your head away sharply and his fingers slip free, but you feel the weight of his focus intensify.

“You misunderstand your position,” he murmurs. “Earth is gone. You are alone in a universe that has no place for you. No one will come for you. No one can.”

You clench your fists tightly in your lap, the truth cutting deeper than his touch ever could.

“Why me?” you ask, voice breaking. “Why not let me die with the rest?”

He leans in slightly, his presence invading your every sense.

“Because when others knelt and wept… you raged,” he whispers. “You burned. You clung to life with ferocity. That is rare.”

His eyes soften, if such a thing is possible for something so alien.

“I collect what should not exist.” A faint smile, too serene, too knowing. “You are an anomaly. You are mine.”

You bite down hard on your lower lip, forcing back another sob.

“This isn’t cherishing,” you whisper bitterly.

“This is prison.”

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he rises slowly, towering over you once more. His hands fold neatly behind his back. The perfect image of composed, regal authority.

“No,” he agrees softly. “This is preservation.”

He steps back toward the door, but his voice reaches you again as it ripples open to accept him.

“Rest. I will return when you are calmer.”

A pause.

“And eventually… you will thank me.”

Then he is gone.

And you’re eft in the silence once more—but not alone.

Not really.

Because his scent still lingers. His voice still hums faintly in your mind. And worse, you realize part of you is already listening for his return.

::::::::::::

You don’t see him again for three cycles. You don’t know how you know this. There’s no sun here, no night and day, no ticking clock on sterile walls—but your body remembers.

It remembers the ache of hunger.

The slow unraveling of sanity when left in isolation. The bone deep dread that blooms in the absence of any other voice but your own.

For seventy two hours, maybe more, maybe less, you are alone.

The ship hums softly at all hours, the walls glowing faintly like a slumbering beast. Your room, if you can even call it that, remains locked.

No doors.

No windows.

Just blank, seamless walls and a bed that conforms to your every restless shift.

Food appears twice, delivered silently through a hidden panel in the wall, but you ignore it. You sit curled on the bed, stomach clenching painfully, but you refuse to give in.

Not again, not after last time.

He’d fed you like a child.

Watched you with something sickly tender in his eyes while you cried and ate and fell apart in front of him.

No.

You will not make this easy for him. Your anger is all you have left. The only shield between you and the quiet, desperate terror that creeps in when you allow yourself to feel anything else.

So you don’t eat.

You don’t sleep.

You don’t talk to the empty room, no matter how loud the silence becomes.

You wait.

Because you know he’ll come back, of course he will.

Men like him, things like him, always come back.

And when he does, you are ready.

—

He appears on the fourth cycle.

Not like before, there’s no grand entrance. No rippling doors or ominous hums.

You wake to find him already there, standing at the foot of the bed like a phantom who has always belonged in your nightmares. He watches you in silence, arms folded behind his back, eyes glowing softly in the low light.

You glare at him, lips cracked from dehydration.

He says nothing.

“Fuck you.”

Your voice scrapes like gravel against your raw throat, but it feels good to say.

Good to bite, even if your teeth barely graze.

His head tilts slightly, that same alien gesture that makes your stomach turn.

“You are weakening,” he observes softly, almost clinically. “Your refusal to consume nourishment endangers your cellular structure. This is illogical.”

You laugh, sharp and brittle.

“Good. Let me die, then.”

For the first time, his expression shifts, not dramatically, but his brows knit slightly, his mouth drawing in the faintest sliver.

He doesn’t like that.

“Negative,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “I will not allow termination.”

You push yourself up on shaking arms, baring your teeth in something that feels more animal than human.

“I don’t belong to you. You can’t keep me like this. Feeding me, locking me in this—this cage! I’ll starve before I let you win.”

His eyes narrow faintly, glowing brighter. “You misunderstand,” he murmurs, his voice lowering dangerously.

“This is not a contest,” he moves closer, slow, deliberate steps that make your pulse spike and your limbs tremble. “This is inevitability.”

You scramble off the bed, stumbling backward until your spine hits the wall. His presence consumes the room, filling every atom of available space, as though the ship itself responds to his shifting mood.

He stands before you now, towering and still.

“You may resist,” he allows softly. “You may cry, scream, refuse… for a time.”

His hand rises, not threatening, but steady as his fingers gently, maddeningly, brush your jaw. The touch sends a bolt of revulsion and something more complicated spiraling through you.

“But you will acclimate.”

His voice vibrates softly in your bones, dangerous in its certainty.

You slap his hand away, the sound cracking through the air like gunfire.

For a moment, nothing happens.

He simply stares at you, the tips of his fingers still poised where they had been, motionless, as though stunned.

And then…he withdraws, silently. Without anger or words. Simply steps back, gaze unreadable, and turns for the door.

Panic flashes hot and instant through your chest. “No—” you gasp, confused by your own terror at his sudden departure.

He stops just before the wall seals behind him. For the first time, his voice emerges aloud, not through your mind, but spoken.

Low.

Flat.

Cold.

“You have chosen isolation.”

Then he’s gone, and so is everything else.

The hum of the ship fades, the lights dim to near darkness. The temperature drops, not enough to freeze, but enough to chill your skin, to make your breath puff faintly in the air.

The bed retracts into the wall.

The food panel vanishes.

You are left standing in nothing.

Cold.

Alone.

—

For hours—maybe days—you are abandoned to the hollow, oppressive silence.

Your tears dry.

Your voice fades from hoarseness to nothing. Your legs give out, and you curl on the hard floor, clutching yourself tightly as sleep eludes you in the endless dark.

You hate him.

You hate him.

You hate him.

But when the wall finally ripples open again, soft, warm light spilling through and his tall, silent figure appears in the doorway once more, you sob.

Relief.

Humiliation.

Rage.

You don’t understand which emotion is which anymore.

He crosses the threshold slowly, eyes glowing faintly in gentle shades of blue and pink. Soft, careful, like a predator soothing prey after the kill.

Without speaking, he kneels before you, gathering your shaking body into his arms. You don’t fight him this time.

You can’t.

You’re too cold.

Too broken.

His hand strokes your hair as he murmurs something low in his language, soft syllables that sound like lullabies from a galaxy you will never see.

“I will not harm you,” he whispers, pressing his lips against your temple. “Do not make me hurt you through absence again; I ache.”

Your fingers clutch his robe weakly, sobs muffled against his chest.

“I hate you,” you whisper, but it’s empty.

Weak.

He hums softly.

“I know.”

He pulls you closer, cradling you as though you are delicate and rare, because to him, you are.

“And yet you need me.”

You can’t argue.

Not right now.

Not when his warmth is the only thing that feels real in this endless void of stars and silence.

::::::::::::

You don’t sleep, even when your body begs you to.

Sleep would mean trusting the silence, surrendering.

So you lay awake on the strange, pliant surface that the ship has provided. Not quite a bed, but softer than the floor that left your bones aching and cold during your punishment.

You are still recovering from that.

The ache of isolation.

The terror of being truly, utterly alone.

But more than that… you are recovering from the humiliation.

Because when he returned, when he found you curled and trembling, teeth chattering and face raw from tears, you clung to him.

You didn’t mean to.

Your body simply reacted, desperate and starved for anything warm and familiar.

Your fingers twisted into the dark folds of his robes, your face pressed into the cool planes of his chest, and you wept like a creature broken open.

And Jeongguk did nothing but hold you.

No words.

No threats.

No cruel satisfaction.

Just stillness.

Just presence.

His hands stroked your back, slow and repetitive, the way you imagine one might soothe a terrified animal.

His head bent low, his breath ghosting against your temple as he whispered words in a language your mind couldn’t translate, soft and melodic, making you feel drunk with the weight of them.

Even now, hours later, his scent still lingers on your skin.

Warm and metallic.

Alien and oddly sweet.

Like lightning woven into silk.

You hate that you find comfort in it now. You hate yourself more than you hate him, but the truth is suffocating in its simplicity.

You needed him.

And he knew it.

—

The door ripples again, seamlessly and without warning. You stiffen instinctively, heart leaping to your throat.

But when Jeongguk steps through, he does not bring the same oppressive energy he had before.

There is no towering, silent menace, or sharp glint of irritation or frustration in his starlit eyes.

Instead…he looks calm, serene, even.

His robes have changed. Still dark, but lighter now. Softer. He wears no armor, or sharp adornments. His hair hangs loose, gleaming faintly in the ship’s low bioluminescence.

He looks… domestic.

If such a word could ever apply to him.

The ship itself seems to respond, the walls brightening subtly, soft, ambient pulses that make the air feel warmer somehow.

More intimate.

Less clinical.

It unnerves you more than his previous coldness.

“Good,” he says quietly, his voice sliding into your consciousness with practiced ease. “You remain.”

You glare at him, but your body betrays you again, relaxing minutely at the familiar cadence of his presence.

“I didn’t exactly have a choice, did I?” you mutter bitterly.

Jeongguk tilts his head slightly, considering.

“No,” he agrees softly. “But you remained nonetheless.”

The phrasing makes something twist painfully low in your stomach. Before you can respond, he approaches, slow, careful steps as though approaching something fragile.

Which, in his eyes, you suppose you are.

He lowers himself gracefully beside you on the bed like surface, close enough that you feel the subtle hum of his energy brushing against your skin.

“I have observed,” he begins, tone thoughtful. “Prolonged isolation causes distress beyond simple physical discomfort in your species.”

You scoff, wrapping your arms around your knees protectively.

“Yeah. That’s called being human.”

He hums softly, as though filing the information away like a precious resource.

“I have no desire to harm you, little star,” he murmurs, and his hand lifts, pausing in the air between you, as if seeking silent permission.

You don’t give it.

But you don’t pull away when his fingers brush lightly across your hair, tucking it back from your face.

His touch is careful.

Maddening.

“I desire only your peace.”

You choke on a bitter laugh.

“Peace? You abducted me, destroyed my planet, locked me in this ship and act like that’s kindness.”

His expression softens, strangely fond despite your venom.

“You misunderstand,” he says gently.

“I did not destroy your planet. I spared you from its fate.”

His fingers trail down, brushing against the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw, and you shiver despite yourself.

“You were meant to end,” he continues softly, voice almost hypnotic. “But you burned. You raged. You survived.”

His thumb strokes softly against your lower lip, a touch so tender you forget, briefly, how much you despise him.

“You are rare,” he murmurs. “And rare things are not discarded. They are treasured.”

The words settle in your chest like poison wrapped in silk. You should recoil, should slap his hand away, curse him until your throat gives out.

But instead…you close your eyes.

Just for a moment.

Just long enough to feel the soft press of his palm against your cheek, anchoring you in this strange, terrible reality.

He takes your silence as permission.

Of course he does.

“Good,” he breathes, satisfaction humming softly in his voice. “You are learning.”

You force your eyes open, glaring weakly at him.

“Learning what?”

His lips curl faintly, not quite a smile, but something disturbingly close.

“To accept.”

You hate him.

You hate him.

But when he shifts closer, pressing his body flush to yours, wrapping an arm carefully around your shoulders, you don’t pull away.

You are cold.

You are tired.

You are alone.

And he is warm.

He is steady.

He is here.

You rest your head against his shoulder before you can think better of it, disgust warring with relief in your chest.

Jungkook says nothing, but the ship hums softly around you, glowing faintly in shades of rose and gold. Contentment radiating from every surface.

You don’t realize how tightly you’ve curled against him until his mouth brushes the crown of your head.

“You will see soon,” he murmurs, words sinking deep into your bones. “I am not your enemy. I am your only constant.”

You fall asleep before you can argue. And for the first time since Earth fell, you sleep through the cycle without waking to scream.

::::::::::::

You wake to warmth.

Not the clinical, neutral temperature of the ship. That engineered comfort that feels more like a lack of discomfort than real heat but true warmth.

Soft.

Heavy.

Alive.

For a moment, your mind refuses to grasp why.

You are tucked beneath something impossibly smooth and weighty , fabric like liquid silk draped over your body, cocooning you in decadent softness.

And behind you, against the curve of your spine, something solid.

Firm.

Breathing.

A heartbeat thrums, steady and deep, so close it vibrates through your back and into your bones.

Not the ship.

Him.

Jeongguk.

You go rigid before you can think. Your hands clench the sheets, alien and faintly iridescent m, as you strain to control your breathing.

You are being held, no, you are being kept.

His arm is heavy across your waist, claws retracted but still unsettling, his fingers resting just beneath your ribcage with terrifying intimacy. His face is pressed lightly to the crown of your head, long hair brushing against your temple like ghost silk.

For several agonizing seconds, you debate your options.

Pull away.

Wake him.

Escape—if that’s even possible anymore.

But as your heart hammers and your stomach twists, you realize something worse.

You don’t want to move.

Because for the first time in what feels like forever, you are not cold, you are not alone, or terrified of what silence might bring.

You are simply… held.

And that, somehow, feels more dangerous than anything he’s done so far.

He stirs before you can make a decision.

The shift is subtle, the faint tightening of his grip, the softening of his breath, the way the ship’s hum lifts faintly, mirroring the change in atmosphere.

Then his voice slides into your mind, quieter than usual.

Thicker.

“You are awake.”

You flinch slightly, but he does not move away. Instead, he exhales slowly, the sound almost… content.

“You slept well,” he murmurs aloud this time, his voice low and textured, as though speaking in words costs him more effort than using your mind.

“You did not cry.”

Shame burns through you instantly. You twist beneath his arm, trying to put space between your bodies, but his hold tightens slightly.

“No,” he says softly, head dipping lower so that his breath brushes the shell of your ear. “Stay.”

Your heart races painfully.

“Why?” you whisper, hating the smallness in your voice.

His answer is simple.

“Because you do not truly wish to leave.”

You freeze.

He doesn’t say it cruelly.

He doesn’t taunt or mock.

He speaks it as though it is a fact he has long since accepted and is merely waiting for you to do the same.

Before you can respond, he shifts, drawing back just enough to allow you to turn and face him. The sight steals the words from your throat.

Up close, he is devastating.

More than alien.

More than beautiful.

His features are carved from something you do not have words for, too elegant to be called soft, too precise to be human. His silver violet eyes glow faintly in the dimness, framed by dark lashes that cast delicate shadows across high cheekbones.

But it is the way he looks at you that truly leaves you breathless.

Not with desire.

Not with hunger.

With… possession. As though you are the first and only star in his universe.

You turn your face away, pulse hammering.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

He does not obey.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m—”

You falter, teeth sinking into your lower lip.

“Yours,” you finish bitterly.

His hand moves, fingers brushing your jaw, guiding you gently to meet his gaze again.

“You are mine,” he murmurs softly, as though stating something as mundane as the time of day. “You remain only because I desire it. You live because I allow it. You breathe because I have given you this sanctuary.”

The words are cruel in logic, yet his voice is gentle.

You tremble beneath the weight of them, but he only continues, thumb stroking softly against your cheekbone.

“But you do not need to fear that.” He leans closer, voice dropping lower, coaxing you like one would soothe a frightened animal.

“You do not need to fight so hard. You are cared for. Sheltered. Treasured.”

You want to scream. Want to tell him how wrong he is, how suffocating this is.

But your body remembers the days alone in the dark.

The cold.

The ache.

The crushing silence that left you frantic and desperate for any presence at all. And your body, traitorous and desperate, does not want to return to that.

So instead, you say nothing.

You simply let him hold you.

Let his touch stroke soothing patterns against your spine.

Let your eyes slip closed, not because you want him, but because for now… he feels safe.

—

The days that follow blur together.

Jeongguk becomes a near constant presence, no longer leaving for long stretches. He is always near. Quietly watching, quietly touching, quietly existing in every corner of your small world.

Meals are no longer delivered in silence.

Now, he brings them himself, sitting beside you as you eat, observing your reactions with soft fascination, as though memorizing every flicker of expression.

He asks questions, though never demands answers.

“Why do you frown when eating this?”

“Does this flavor please you more?”

“Do you enjoy these colors?”

It’s strange. Stranger still when you find yourself answering.

Not out of obligation or out of fear. But because the emptiness left by silence is worse.

You talk quietly, giving short answers at first, but over time, they grow longer. You explain foods you miss. You describe music, books, seasons. You speak of snow and rain and laughter, and though he listens with alien detachment, he seems oddly enchanted by your words.

“You will show me,” he says one cycle, after you describe autumn leaves falling in lazy spirals.

You blink at him in confusion.

“Earth is gone.”

His head tilts.

“Virexum can make what you desire.”

You do not know whether to be horrified or grateful. But when the next cycle arrives, your room transforms.The walls ripple and shift until soft amber light filters through projected trees.

Illusions of wind rustle leaves that glow faintly gold and crimson.

You laugh, startled and disbelieving.

And Jeongguk…

He smiles.

Not wide.

Not human.

But soft, and faintly victorious.

As though every small inch you offer him, every smile, every word, every sigh, is another chain wound tightly around your wrists.

—

It happens one night as you sit side by side on the bed, eating quietly. Your hands brush when reaching for the same dish and you both freeze.

The contact is brief.

Innocent.

But it lingers. His fingers slide softly over yours, slow and intentional as though mapping the shape of them.

You don’t pull away, pulse racing, your cheeks flush, but still, you let it happen.

Something shifts in his gaze.

It’s not hunger, not cruelty…longing.

The moment stretches and the ship grows impossibly quiet, as though the walls themselves are holding their breath. You’re the one who breaks it, pulling your hand away with a nervous laugh that sounds too loud in the stillness.

Jeongguk says nothing.

But his eyes follow you all the same, glowing softly in the dim amber light.

Watching.

Always watching.

—

That night, as you lay down and let him pull you close, his arms wrapping securely around your body as though sealing you in, you don’t resist.

You let him tuck your head beneath his chin, your hands curl lightly against his chest.

And when he whispers against your hair, voice low and factual, “you are becoming mine.”

You don’t argue.

Because deep down, beneath the remnants of your rage and sorrow, beneath the tangled mess of shame and longing—

You know he is right.

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