Chapter Text
They sit around the table, bowls of the soup that Yoongi had whisked up for them steaming in steady puffs. No one has really managed to break the silence that has settled over them, but there are certain things that speak enough, like the furrow in Namjoon’s brow, a clear sign that the Jupiter representative is worrying.
It’s only when the Saturn representative sinks down and glares at them that they dip their spoons into the broth that he’s cooked for them, scalding their tongues and thanking him. For a moment, their hunger takes over, the only sounds their spoons scraping along the sides of the ceramic bowls that Jimin had seen at Target.
“So, let me get this straight.” Taehyung leans forward, fingers swiping along the dark oak of the table, tracing symbols of the battle plans that only he’d be able to understand. “The lunar representatives have thrown up a white flag? What, they’re backing out of the war?” He’s very much the stereotype for his people: the Mars representative takes war as seriously as the Roman god his planet is named for.
“Not really. The Lunars weren’t really a part of the war to begin with, but they didn’t necessarily do anything to take a particular side.” Hobi reminds.
Things had…gotten messy as time had progressed in the universe. Earth was heading towards destruction, the other planets could only watch in horror as they killed themselves, polluting themselves with fumes and mining too far below the surface. Most of the planets were in agreement, with Jupiter taking the lead: Earth could not be destroyed. Doing so would send the balance of the universe off kilter. The other planets’ confederations had agreed. Certain key players were very much against the protection of Earth. Other stars had their reasonings, they wanted to throw the system off balance so they could assume the head position that the Solars occupied. Others were just bitter, like the dishonorable Pluto confederation that had been dismissed for failing to meet requirements. The disagreement had gotten so bad that the Solars, the rulers of the system had stepped in, and the result was a war. The Lunars had taken the most surprising stance: they had refused to pick a side, despite the fact that they were so irrevocably intertwined with Earth’s fate.
“That’s pathetic.” Taehyung scoffed. “War isn’t something to remain neutral in. There’s a side. People should choose it.”
The Venus representative shook his head. “That’s not true. War isn’t black and white. There’s complexities and nuances more than either of us could begin to think about.” Jimin murmurs.
It’s at this time that Hoseok realizes why the six had been selected. One ambassador, one representative from each planet, sent to Earth to protect it. Earth’s last defenders. (Their youngest, the Mercury ambassador, had jumped up, stating that some Earth media called ‘The Avengers’ had the same connotation.) Jungkook from Mercury, Jimin from Venus, Taehyung from Mars, Namjoon from Jupiter, Yoongi from Saturn, and himself from the Sun. There had been two more of their group, but they had lost their lives in an attack six months prior, when a attack from the celestials from AE Aquarii had ended up devastating the entirety of what used to be Russia.
“But what does that mean?” Jungkook leaned forward. There was a smear of soup on his upper lip, and for a second, Hoseok saw the young boy that had come down with them two years ago.
“I think the best option would be to see if this is an attack.” Namjoon murmured, the quiet and calm aura of his words settling down their rag-tag bunch. “While I don’t think the Lunars would be the types to launch any attacks, we still don’t know how powerful they are, or if this is just a ruse so they can attack us when our backs are turned.” He muses, and he’s right. It’s logical to be on the defense.
“Let’s maintain a shift, maybe more rotations than usual.” Hobi drags his spoon across the surface of the broth. “Yoongi and Taehyung. Both of you take the night shift tonight. Let’s try and get some rest. I’m going to contact headquarters tomorrow and ask them what the hell is going on.”
—
Seokjin draws the silky white robes that caress his body closer to him, his eyes trained out on the distance. Sweat’s on his back, making the fabric stick to his skin, but he really can’t be bothered to change. It’s the reminder of why he’s outside in the first place: his nightmares have been too vivid, glimpses of faces he’s never seen, colors he’s never experienced outside of the pleasant white and grey tones of his home. His chest heaves, and he’s trying to suck in lungfuls of air to calm himself down, but he can’t. Things are getting worse, he knows, and while he was out, trying to dab ointment to the wounded, he could hear the whispers, the murmurs. He was about to be exchanged for something, something for the greater good. And he knew he wasn’t supposed to be selfish, wasn’t supposed to doubt the actions taken if they were for the betterment of his people, but he was scared.
He’s unable to breathe. The thought of being given over to any Celestial scares him: they’re rougher in the palace, hands gripping women too tightly, smiles arrogant and evil. He can only imagine what they’d do to them.
Too late. That’s a course of thought he shouldn’t have taken. His vision starts to peter off at the edges, he’s not able to suck in enough air, and his vision cuts off as his body dangles off the side, tumbling through space and time.
—
“There’s an invader!” Taehyung calls out, voice booming into the halls. “One of the barriers were triggered. In the fourth quadrant. Yoongi and I are going to check it out. Call HQ, report it.” Their weapons are in their hands, the Mars representative shouldering a red tinted spear, the Saturn representative curling his hands around rings buzzing with energy. They step out of the safe haven of their home. Despite the nervousness that brims up in both of them, the weather does little to reflect their state of mind, seemingly calm. They push out, past the leafy green of the trees, into the dense bracken, and there, there!
They rush over, see the crumpled figure swathed in silk, and all Yoongi can think to do is to yell for Taehyung to tell Hobi immediately.
—
His wrists ache. What’s going on? This isn’t his bed. Seokjin blinks his eyes open, and faces are swimming in front of him again. Some of them he recognizes, but none of them hold the same concern as they did when they had looked down at him in his dreams. No, these faces are cold, cold, cold. They’re staring at him, so he stares back, wrists trying to wriggle out of his constraints.
Constraints? He looks down, sees his delicate wrists bound with harsh rope to a chair. “What—“ His voice cracks, and he looks up at the group again. His eyes scan over the smaller one, the one that had dragged him through the field, the one with pink hair and a roundness to his cheeks that he could only describe mentally as bubbly. There’s one with writing scrawled all over his skin, dark ink etched into his body who’s looking to the tallest, a stern faced man with a clenched jaw.
“What is going on?” He manages to piece, pulling at his wrists. The ropes hurt, they’re scraping along his skin, and he hates it, wants to be out. “Where am I? Release—!”
He’s cut off by his head snapping directly to the side, and it takes a moment before pain blooms up his jaw, to the center of his cheek. He blinks, tears involuntary filling his eyes and he raises wide, wounded eyes to the new man who’s stepped into frame. His hair hangs down in dark curls, and there’s a look in his eyes that makes every bit of Seokjin scream danger!
“Shut up, Lunar.” He says his origin as though it’s an insult, and Seokjin bristles instinctively. He opens his mouth to speak, but another surges forward, fingers prying at his mouth. He can hear something crack, and he lets out a sound of agony as white hot pain courses through him. Is that his jaw being grinned open? What’s being pushed into his mouth? It’s fabric, and the pink haired man’s face is very, very scary.
“Keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you. I’m more willing to be lenient, but you’ve already gotten a small taste of what Taehyung can do to you.” He says.
The other, presumably named Taehyung, grins a rectangular grin, flexing his hand as though preparing for another slap. That was only a bit of power? Seokjin’s sure his jaw has been dislocated, based on the way the fabric hangs in his mouth and he’s sure spit is slipping out of his mouth. He’s in too much pain just by his mouth being on fire to really pay attention to their words.
“He’s not bad looking for a Lunar.” The inked man comments, leaning against the wall opposite to him. His arms are crossed, there’s a smile on his face that doesn’t match with his composure.
“What, you thought that they’d all be ugly to look at?” The one that had dragged him comments. The other boys snicker.
The inked boy shrugs, shifting his weight. “Yeah, actually. You have to admit he’s pretty, Saturn hyungie.”
Ah. From Saturn. Are they all from there? As far as he knew, they weren’t on bad terms with the Saturn delegation, if they could take the fabric out of his mouth and reset his jaw, Seokjin would be able to explain—
“He’s sent as a peace offering.” A newcomer remarks, flaming red hair and a golden ring around his eyes that immediately marks him as a Solar. Where the hell is Seokjin that a Saturn man and a Solar are in the same area? This has to be some other quadrant — had he been captured by the enemy? No, they said a peace offering. Was this the exchange that he had heard rumors about? The newcomer appears out of a hallway that Seokjin failed to notice before. In fact, aside from the realization that he’s tied up to the chair, his surroundings are not bad. He looks to be in a living room of sorts, with areas to sit spread around him. “Not a peace offering. A gift, of sorts. For us to use.”
The implications set in with that last statement, and Seokjin watches in horror as the expression on the six faces turns to downright hunger.
“Namjoon, I need to talk to you. Jungkook, tie our…gift up.” The Solar commands, and the one with the clenched jaw nods, striding over to him, as the inked man approaches Seokjin himself. He whimpers as he’s yanked out of the chair, the restrains rubbing angry red patches on his delicate skin, tossed over a shoulder, and he wishes his jaw would work so he could spit out the fabric and tell him that this has all been a terrible mistake.
The one named Jungkook makes him stand in a dark room, yanks his arms so they’re chained to a series of chains above him, manacles wrapping around his already tender wrists. There’s drool dripping down his chin and he can’t fucking help but feel disgusted—please, he just needs the fabric out of his mouth to explain.
Jungkook pauses, allowing him to flounder in the death grip of the chains. Seokjin is trying, but the sounds that he’s making are completely muffled by the cloth in his mouth. He stops, but his teary eyes are still wide as the side of his face is cupped, a thumb stroking against the swell of his cheek where Taehyung had hit. The skin swells and stings under the pad of his thumbs, and Seokjin flinches, but the grip on his face keeps him from moving entirely away. He’s shriveling under the scrutiny of the other, dark eyes unreadable.
“You have pretty Lunar eyes.” Murmurs Jungkook. “The silver ring around your irises. The faint glow.” He hums, and Seokjin is uncomfortable. He just wants out, just wants to explain. “Shame that they’ll be covered. See you in a bit.” The other murmurs and a fabric is lowered over his eyes, tied behind his head, and now all he can see his darkness. He’s blinded. He can hear the footsteps that lead out of his new cell, the door that closes shut, and he is left there to hang.
—
“We’re supposed to siphon his core from him.” Hoseok says bluntly, and they’re all a little fucked up that they get a little excited at being able to get their hands on the Lunar. Jungkook had been right, even if they hadn’t really wanted to admit it: The Lunar was very much a looker, and something about the pretty man’s pouty lips, cinched waist and lean frame was something that they all wanted to experience. They know what “siphoning the core” means. Every being in the system is given the core of their people, a source of energy and magic, unlocked only with pure submissiveness. Lunars are flighty creatures, ones that can only be subdued with sexual dominance—had their captive been from Venus, any type of intimacy would have granted them the magic they sought. The Lunars are a species that’s intrinsically meant to serve, and the only way is to keep them pliant and submissive. The Solar law tends to become grayer in these areas come wartime—things that are considered morally corrupt tend to be overlooked when there are lives being sacrificed on the battlefield—the magic that could come from the Lunar would be able to replenish the losses incurred by their soldiers.
Hoseok and Yoongi share a look. It’s his duty as the eldest to set the tone, so in he goes.
—
Seokjin’s quiet as he dangles from the chains. His arms haven’t started to ache quite yet, which is very much a blessing, but the pain in his jaw becomes absolutely blinding anytime he tries to mouth over the fabric. There’s a sharp pain in the points right before his ears too, and he has a suspicion that has to do with his jaw’s dislocation. His toes are allowed to brush against the ground, and he’s at too much of an awkward angle to swing forward or do anything of that sort.
The door opens, and someone walks in, muted steps. He turns in the direction and curses the blindfold that’s over his eyes. He can’t help but feel that it’s meant to humiliate him, the sensory deprivation rendering him practically useless in correctly identifying or imploring his assailants.
There’s some sensation at his robes, and he feels the knot tied tight around his waist give to whoever’s tugging on the end. He can hear the sharp noises of scissors as his clothes are cut from his body, and despite the fact that they were muddy and soiled from his terrible landing, they provided warmth, covered him. No! Not his undergarments! He doesn’t want to be stripped. He aims a kick in front of him, heard an oof from the other, and feels triumph spark up with him. It’s shortlived, because the next moment, metal is pressed against the swell of his neck, and he knows it’s the blade of the scissors.
“Do you think you’re fucking funny?” There’s a slight accent to the words, and Seokjin knows that this is the man from Saturn. This is the one that dragged him. He has never been to that side of the solar system, never strayed from home, but the books in the palace always referred to the Saturn delegation as more quieter, people who were relaxed but expressive when they wanted to be. He had traced over the rings of the planet, marveling at the symbol that was eventually adopted into the people’s weapon. He can’t seem to recall anything else that he learned about, hanging uselessly in front of the man.
“You need to fucking know your place.” The man murmurs, and the blade is dragged across his skin. Seokjin whines, a sharp sound of pain slipping from his muffled mouth. It’s not deep enough to hurt, and it might have just been a scratch, but to him, it feels like a deep cut.
Lunar blood is gorgeous, Yoongi thinks, watching the rivulets of silver spill out of the man in front of him. He’s dazed, reaches up to cut three more lines down the other’s now-naked chest, reaching out to swipe his fingers against the liquid and raising it to his lips to taste. He’s a madman, hearing the muffled screams tied up by the makeshift gag in his captive’s mouth to spur him on as he leans forward, slowly digging the tip of his blade into the flesh. Yoongi’s arm darts out, wraps around Seokjin’s waist (god, what a fucking tiny waist!) to hold him still, and he begins to etch out his initial into the skin, watching as the skin parts and bleeds for him to carve a ‘y’ into the body of the other. It’s so pretty, watching the pale, creamy skin be tainted with silver that slips down with each cut he rewards, even more pleasing to see the wet patches form on the fabric used to blindfold the Lunar. He’s amazed, his hand coming up to cut three more lines across the meaty thighs, before going to his previously abandoned task of cutting the other’s garments off.
Seokjin’s being slashed with scissors, and for the most part, they’re simple shallow cuts that sting and make him whimper, but none as bad as the point where the Saturn man focused on a point in his shoulder. He’s feeling aching pain there, and he could hear the edge of the scissors digging into his skin—it wasn’t just a simple cut there, and it hurts. He’s openly crying, despite the fact that he had wanted to remain strong, and the fabric is sticking to the sides of his dehydrated mouth. He can feel his face bloom with heat and embarrassment as the last of his garments are cut away, and he can feel the cool air against his skin. He chokes, sobs sliding out of him, and he’s sure the other is looking at him indecently.
Seokjin’s jaw fucking aches. He realizes what’s going on—he knows that its a torture method, knows that his life core will be siphoned away from him once he’s submissive and pliant, magic always was finicky when the subject still had lucidity. He’d seen it on the off days that the guards had relented and he had been able to slip out to the camps that had taken up residence, enemy warriors using his people as they pleased. He had been so disturbed, heart aching for his people, and here he was, finally experiencing the same thing. He wondered, ironically, if this was fate playing a trick on him—he had seen the scornful eyes cast in his unmarred direction.
He feels cold metal pressing to the spot right between his thighs. “You don’t have a cock,” Murmurs the other man, tracing the vee of Seokjin’s hips down to the man’s heat, where a pretty pink pussy with folds sits in its prime. He’s fascinated, eyes staring at the clit and the pussy folds that seem so fat, begging to be sucked. He presses the flat of the blade against the area, watching as the captive yelps and tries to wriggle away. He gently pushes the blade along the area, tracing the skin, before deciding enough was enough and leaning up to wrap his mouth around the clit.
Oh, fuck. The man is eating him out, and he knows, he knows that he was supposed to save himself. His people had expected him to remain pure until he was to be married, and Seokjin can’t help but sob out protests, trying to get away. But the man’s hands are on his thighs, holding him down and the sharp flashes of pain as his hands dig into the fresh cuts he has made on Seokjin’s thighs are not helping.
Yoongi sucks his clit like he’s starved, draping his tongue over the bundle of nerves over and over again, and the Lunar’s body doesn’t lie. Slick has begun to pool, a clear liquid slipping out of the aroused cunt, and Yoongi’s laugh sounds in the room as he lavishes his attention on the captive’s entrance again. “Taste so sweet, Lunar slut.” He moans in appreciation at the heavenly elixir dribbling onto his tongue as he pushes his mouth into the winking entrance. The captive lets out noises that sound like strange mixes between pleas and moans, but Yoongi really couldn’t care less.
The door opens and he shifts, looking over at his shoulder at the “Yoongi hyung?” That is called out. Namjoon is standing there, looking at him, then the captive, then the mysterious absence of a body part.
“Yes, Namjoon-ah?” Yoongi hums, not bothering to give the captive a break from his attention as he slides a finger in, lubricated with the juices flowing out of the pussy, crooking it in a way that makes the suspended man jolt. There’s a vague slurring that comes from the captive, something that sounds vaguely like “help”, but he’s quite sure that the fabric paired with the dislocated jaw is very much a barrier for the captive to even articulate a sentence.
“Hoseok asked me to join you.” Namjoon murmurs, trailing off, eyes fixated upon the man that Yoongi’s slowly crooked a second finger into, scissoring the walls open for his cock.
“Did he, now? He’s probably impatient, that bastard.” Yoongi murmurs thoughtfully. “Here, Namjoon-ah. Why don’t you get him all loose and sloppy from behind, and I’ll fuck his little cunt? We’ll fill both of his holes at the same time.” He suggests, and the thought of them pistoling into the smaller body with their cocks sheathed in the captive makes Namjoon start forward, coming around to rest at the back of the captive. He’s rougher than Yoongi, who had taken his time to stroke the pussy lips thoughtfully, big hand spreading the globes apart for him to look at the tightly furled asshole.
“He’s so pretty.” Namjoon sighs, kneeling down to press his finger against the pucker, the captive struggling above them to get away from the hands that caress him too intimately, in ways that he had never wanted with anyone other than his intended. Namjoon pulls his finger away, looking at the rim now pressed into a brilliant shade of peach, and he can’t help himself. He leans forward, tongue laving over the tight hole, pressing in. Seokjin feels the muscle enter his hole, and he’s stuck. Canting his hips forward would mean that he’d fuck himself onto the long fingers of the man named Yoongi, backwards would mean fucking himself onto the tongue of the newcomer, Namjoon.
His body was being explored, yet he hated it—the fingers that dug into his ass were painful, he could feel the nails cutting into his skin, Seokjin hated the rough swipes against his engorged clit, he hated it. He didn’t want to be here, this was all a mistake, but his sobbing went ignored.
“Taste his cunt’s juices,” Encouraged Yoongi, spreading the captive’s legs wider so Namjoon could lick at the exposed folds and the liquid dripping down. He watched as the younger’s eyes widened at the taste, sucking so hard at the pussy entrance that when he released, the pink hole was puffy and red. “So good, hyungie,” Namjoon panted, and Yoongi leaned forward to kiss the slick off of the younger’s lips, messy and hot as their mouths clashed. They went back, watching as their fingers disappeared into their respective holes, watching as the captive was slowly loosened for them.
“Wanna hear him, hyung.” Namjoon panted slightly once four fingers had been worked into the tight asshole. Both men were standing once again, hand wrapped around their aching erections, both wanting to plunge into the delicious heat that the captive offered. Yoongi slowly removed the fabric that had been muffling the sounds from the captive, and with one hand, snapped the dislocated jaw back in place with a sharp cry from the Lunar. “Shut up.” Namjoon told Seokjin, smacking a sharp slap onto the fleshy ass of the other. “Shut up. I just want to fucking hear you as we pound into you.”
“Please, please. You’ve got it all wrong, I swear, this is a mistake!” Seokjin sobbed out, his voice slurring because of the pain in his mouth. He found his freedom from the gag to be short, long fingers being shoved into his mouth. “Suck, bitch. Lick your pussy juices off of my fingers.” Seokjin wrapped his mouth around the extended fingers as best as he could, tears splashing down the curves of his cheek.
“Hyung,” Namjoon pouted, the tip of his dick pressing into the pucker that he had loosened with his tongue and fingers. “Hurry. I want to fill up his asscunt.”
He nodded, a nonverbal signal for both of them as they shoved into the captive’s holes, the man screaming around his gag as his body stretched around his cocks. Whores didn’t get the privilege of knowing when they were about to be fucked, and Yoongi wasn’t about to give this one the courtesy either, no matter how good he tasted.
“Fuck, fuck. He’s so fucking tight, Hyung. He’s clenching around me, so fucking well.” Namjoon gasped, fingers digging into the hips of the captive as he pushed flushly in.
“His walls are fluttering around me, Namjoon-ah. He’s so fucking hot around my cock. Such a fucking slut, his holes were meant to be filled like this. Fuck, I can practically feel your cock against mine. Such a fucking whore, look how well we’ve pushed him.”
“I need to move, hyung.” Namjoon mumbled out, clearly strained as the asshole fluttered around his cock, his insides feeling tight and warm for the cock to remain in. They nodded at each other once they had had time to adjust, both shoving in and out of the entrances in tandem. Their captive seemed to lack body strength, going limp between them as he sobbed out unintelligible pleas, mouth still wrapped around Yoongi’s fingers.
The chain rattled between them as they shoved in and out of the tight body, Yoongi watching (and enjoying) the imprint of his cock settling against the captive’s smooth stomach. Namjoon came first, rutting into the captive as he spilled his hot cum into the channel, and Yoongi was soon to follow, his climax hitting as he fulled the cunt with his seed.
They pulled back, their captive sobbing out loudly after Yoongi pulled his fingers away from the bitch’s mouth, white spilling down from the abused hole as they pulled their dicks out.
“So fucking spent. Gonna go take a nap.” Namjoon murmured, licking away a spot of slick that had been caught on the corner of Yoongi’s lips. The two left, leaving Seokjin once again alone. He could feel the cool liquid seeping out of him, and had his hands been unbound, he would have tried to wash it out immediately. It was sticky and thick and he felt that his inner walls had been tainted.
He had been tainted.
He barely caught his breath, sobs coming to an end as the door opened once again, two excited voices, but different. One of them was Jungkook, he recognized the Mercury representative, the other…was one of the others.
“Wow, they really did fuck the shit out of him.” The other commented.
“Namjoon-hyung said that he fucked the captive’s ass. Yoongi hyung got his cunt.” Jungkook murmured.
Seokjin could feel them step closer to him, their touches light over his neck, his stomach, his back.
“Please,” He slurred out. “This is all wrong.”
“They mentioned that too. How long do you think it’s going to take for the captive to realize that we don’t fucking care?” The other spat out, and Seokjin shrunk away, the tears cold on his cheeks.
“He’s a bit fucking dumb, Jimin-hyung. Should we fuck him even more stupid?”
The one named Jimin laughed lightly, dainty sound that would have rung pleasingly in Seokjin’s ears had he not been in such a terrible situation.
“What did you have in mind, Jungkookie?”
They didn’t voice it out loud for him to hear, and Seokjin wondered if it was better to know what horrors they’d inflict on his unwilling body, or to stay blissfully ignorant.
It was worse, in a way. A part of him had been resigned that his body had been touched by someone else, used in such a filthy way, another part of him was still trying to come to the realization that this was what he had been exchanged for, nothing more than a bargaining chip for his parents to use, a toy for these men to indulge in. Maybe, if he concentrated, he’d be able to block all of this unpleasantness out, think about the lotus blooms that were due any day now in the gardens he frequented. But no. They were not as kind as to let him slip away to a far corner of his mind—he could still feel the hands on him. They said he was “sloppy” and “loose” from the earlier two’s use, and the words grated on his ears, a sort of humiliation that made his cheeks burn.
There’s a hand between his legs again, parting his thighs roughly, not even caring about the exposed slashes on his skin. It burns, and Seokjin whimpers loudly, before his mouth is being occupied again by some fabric. It seems these two have no use for hearing him moan, not like the previous two did. Jungkook’s fingers tend to trail around his chest, fingers punching at his puffy nipples, but these two aren’t really interested in foreplay. Jimin eases his cock in first, mumbling something about still being tight, and they laugh, rude and shrill, and Seokjin knows this round is not easy either.
His body jolts in alarm when he feels something else pushing into his abused hole, stretching further. Please, please. He’s stretched, he can’t go more, please, he wants to beg, and he barely manages a sorry imitation of the begging, when he realizes that Jungkook has forced his cock right into his aching cunt, right next to Jimin’s. They kiss, wet and messy, the smacking of their lips right in front of him, and it isn’t long before they’re shoving into him in tandem. He can feel himself being ripped, spread too far for their double penetrating dicks, and the tears that stream down his face feel endless as they selfishly chase after their own pleasures, mumbling quiet confirmations of pleasure to one another. Seokjin is mute, hanging in the balance, feeling more and more like the toy that he had marked himself originally to be, and he can’t help but wish that his mind would kick in now, protect him now.
They fuck Yoongi’s cum deeper into him, and there’s hands cupping his belly. “Let’s fill him up,” one suggests, and he shakes his head, thrashing against the chains. He doesn’t want more evidence of them on his body, doesn’t want to feel them dripping out of his abused hole, but that reaction only elicits sharp laughter and a harsh smack that snaps his face to one side.
“We’ll use you as you like.” Jimin grunts, his grip on Seokjin’s waist tight and bruising, watching as the creamy skin tugged and discolored under his rough treatment. “Who the fuck are you to disagree with us? You’re a gift, meant to be under us. You’re a coward, you’re representing the cowardice of your people. And now you’re fucking paying for it. You’re never, ever, going to be able to escape this. We’re going to send you to the main control once you’re nice and broken in, and I assure you, they’ll be ten times more rough than this.” He hisses, and Seokjin would have flinched at how venomous his words were had Jungkook not gripped his hair between tight fingers and shoved in relentlessly.
Jimin cums first in him, digging his finger into the letter that Yoongi etched into his body. It’s a mixture of pleasure and pain that has him keening, body arching, trying to get away, but they’re holding onto him too strongly, keeping him in place. Jungkook slides wetly against Jimin’s softening dick in his hole before emptying out into him too, muffling sharp curses into something that Seokjin simply can’t see.
Their hands pat mockingly at his stomach, laughing at how much it’s distended. “So full of us. Nothing short of a hole for us to breed.” They snicker, pulling out of him, and their retreat only brings Seokjin a brief respite and the anxiety of someone else entering. He sobs into the empty room once the door clicks shut, and tugs aimlessly at the chains making him dangle. His wrists ache, he’s lost feeling in the greater parts of his body, and he really just wants to go home.
The door opens again, and there is no words spoken. Seokjin stills in his movements, face turned towards where he assumes the door is. He can hear footsteps, somewhat. There’s a ringing in his ears that started sometime during the time that Jungkook slapped him, so he’s not quite sure if his listening ability has been impaired or not.
It’s the fingers parting his ass that indicates that there’s someone even there. Namjoon’s fucking has kept his ass loose, and the newcomer takes advantage of it, sliding in. Seokjin whimpers as a body is pressed fleshly against his back.
“I’m not here to make things pleasurable for you.” The stranger murmurs. “I find it pathetic that we even have to resort to using you, but that’s what happens with spoils of war. You’re below me. Nothing more than a fucking whore for me to use, a simple hole for me and the others to abuse. You’re going to be passed around from leader to leader, nothing short of a cockslut and a breeding hole. Don’t be surprised if you die there. They don’t care about keeping their sluts well fed, don’t care about whether or not you’re dehydrated. Some of them even like killing you, it’s a part of the appeal. The point is, all of your rights are gone, you’re no one. Just a pretty face that’s meant to open his mouth to take cock and spread his legs for whoever’s closest to him to fill.” The stranger murmurs, tone carefully controlled with sharp hints of anger contained within the melodious chords. He shoves in and out of Seokjin clinically—it’s very clear that this person has no affection associated with him, or none that could be contained with touches or lips. No, it’s with this person that Seokjin feels the most dehumanized, the realization that he’s truly been abandoned cutting into his soul. The stranger’s pants are hot against the nape of his neck, ruffling the short tufts of hair found there, and they only grow increased in ferocity as the stranger uses him at his own direction, the strokes growing more precise. He cums rapidly, not even pausing in his actions, instead fucking him harder to ride out his orgasm. Seokjin wants to sob at the feeling of the chains cutting into his wrist, digging into the skin that he can barely feel what’s happening with the stranger, but he muffles it, teeth digging into the fabric in his mouth in the hopes that he will not trigger this stranger’s wrath. He hasn’t seen this man, isn’t quite sure if this is the Mars man or the Solar, but he knows that he does not want to be on the side of his temper, doesn’t want to make him angry in any way. This was the one named Taehyung, wasn't it? The one that dislocated his jaw.
The man pants sharply, giving himself a few moments to come down from his over-stimulation, before pulling out of Seokjin, who pants slightly at the feeling of his hole not having anything to clench around. God, he’s been so fucking used, and he hates it, he can feel the stranger’s cum deep within him.
The door clicks shut. God, please. Let that be the last one. Let that please, please, be the last one.
His prayers are not answered.
The door clicks open one more time, and Seokjin wants to breakdown, wants to die right then and there. He wouldn’t mind if they just put him out of his misery right then and there, anything would be better than this humiliation of being used like this.
There’s a sharp click of a tongue, the newcomer reaching up at his chains. Seokjin muffles a sob as he’s jostled, hoping that he isn’t shook too much so the chains don’t dig more into his skin, but the chains are…gone. Removed. He can hear them clinking, but his wrists are now free, and he slumps forward into the hold of someone.
It’s the heat that transfers across their bodies that Seokjin knows. This is the Solar, the one named Hoseok.
“Shh, little moon.” It’s gentle, so sweet, and Seokjin wants to fall into the gentle cadence of the voice, but he knows it’s a fucking trap, knows that it’s just a few moments more before the next round of nightmarish torture begins. He’s gently set down on the floor, and he whimpers slightly as his wounds come into contact with the cool surface. The other seems to pay no mind, instead dragging a towel between his thighs, quietly cleaning him up. Seokjin allows his head to rest on the hard surface, finally feeling his body supported, and drifts, far away from wherever his body is being abused. It’s when the fabric that’s been soaked in his mouth is being tugged away that he’s recalled, the Solar snapping his jaw into place with a firm hand, sharp pain radiating up and down his body.
But his legs are parted once more, what feels like the hundredth time since his capture, and his cunt is exposed to the cool air, soft touches to his clit. Soon, the Solar’s fingers press down on the hood of his pussy, rocking against his sensitive bundle of nerves, and he can feel himself start to drip, his body betraying him as he gives into his pleasure. The Solar doesn’t slip a finger inside of his entrance or anything, just works four fingers against his clit, relentless in his rubbing, and Seokjin trembling against him, overwhelmed at the feelings running through his body. The heat in his belly grows and grows and grows and before he’s climaxing, back bowing off of the floor as he orgasms. He barely has time to catch his breath and rest against the floor before his hole is being stretched, pussy being stretched to fit Hoseok’s dick. There’s nothing in his mouth, and his jaw is reset, but Seokjin wasn’t sure if he could manage words or protests, even if given the opportunity. His mind is blank. His nails cut little crescent shapes into his palms from where his fingers are clenched tightly into firsts, and he vaguely knows that he’s supposed to feel pain at that, he can even feel the stickiness of blood clotting his nails, but he can’t, blissfully numb.
The Solar pushing into him burns, though he vaguely suspects that’s from the ripping and tearing that Jimin and Jungkook inflicted on him. The Solar is quiet above him, not as vocal as the duos had been, but not as detached as the Mars boy had been either. His touches are gentle, skirting around the slashes and cuts now engraved on his skin, and Seokjin’s body jolts with him on every thrust in.
There’s a thumb wiping away the tears that slide down his cheeks, and Seokjin wasn’t aware that he was crying to begin with, but this is when he breaks. He’s pathetic, useless. He’s allowed himself to experience pleasure from this Solar, got used in every way possible by the others, but it’s the connotation of pity in this strange circumstance that breaks him. He goes limp, whatever barrier that his fractured soul had been holding onto finally vanquished, his magic free to use and siphon away. It comes at a good time too, right as Hoseok empties himself into Seokjin’s gaping hole, the Solar’s touches inciting warmth that he no longer has the power to feel.
He’s left on the ground as Hoseok pulls out, but he knows it, and the Solar knows it too: he has no will to fight anymore. He’s the brilliantly submissive doll that they had expected him to be, pliant and easy to be molded, a source of magic that they’ll eventually drain.
A small part of him is excited for that. He wants to be drained, doesn’t want to deal with any of this anymore. If he’s drained, he’ll be able to rest, forever closing his eyes into the warmth of inky oblivion that calls out so lovingly to him, that’s simply too far for him to attain in that moment.
The door opens and closes behind the Solar, and Seokjin, for the life of him, can’t manage to form a single coherent thought about it, simply left limp in the darkness of his blindfold and his broken mind.
—
Hoseok zips up his pants, raking a hand through his hair, feeling his back crack at the stiffness and awkwardness of fucking the captive on the floor. He steps into the living room, seeing the other five gathered there already. “He’s broken, life core is ready to be used.” He announces, and sees five nervous looks cast in his direction. “What?” He demands, knowing that they only ever looked at him like that when Namjoon broke something in the house that was important or when Jungkook hurt himself while sparring.
It’s Jimin that speaks up, face abnormally pale. “HQ says that they already got the peace offering from Lunar a few hours ago. They say that whoever we have wasn’t approved as a transaction. They…they say they don’t know who he is, hyung.”
It’s when Hoseok’s face slips, adopting a look of absolute horror that the five realize what has happened, and they all glance to the door down the hallway, where the innocent Lunar they’ve mangled and traumatized rests, evidence of their abuse drying on his thighs.