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Be wary in your travels, young one.
Do not expect this world to be lenient: all great pleasures and leisures demand great sacrifices.
Paradise as written pales in comparison to the actual experience of seeing the lush, brilliant landscape unfold before his very eyes. It’d been a necessary gamble and something of a fortuitous miracle, in fact, as they’d been running low on provisions: the rats had chewed their way into their food and spoiled what had been intended to last for another few days at sea. Somehow the freshwater had also developed a strange, slick yellow sheen over it, and one crew member who’d been painfully parched enough to disregard the possible spoilage drank until his vision turned dark and spotty. His words came out slow and slurred as if he’d drunk a strange ancient wine. After a few hours, he’d screamed for mercy from the fire inside his gut and fainted on deck, burbling at the mouth and deliriously chanting about ambrosia as he was taken to the sick bay.
The incident had jarred his fellow companions, but as if the gods themselves had willed it, the next day, across the horizon, one of his first mates spotted it: the sprawling tops of emerald green trees reminiscent of tropical foliage and the shimmery white banks of a much-needed landmass.
“Land!” He bellowed, and the crew rushed to witness, in reverence, the hazy miracle unfold before them. As Jungkook gazed upon the horizon, directing his crewmates to head for land, he felt — a strange stirring low in his gut.
From what remains of his tired, weary memories, he recalls The Sage’s words: be wary, be diligent. He’s heard tales of heroes disembarking on strange lands, being accosted at knifepoint or shot dead by hawk-eyed marksmen. There are always a few survivors, sent back to spread word of the horrors — and Jungkook has no intention of becoming the protagonist of another such story for his own village. The strange shortages and disappearances have spread too far within the village youths for Jungkook to lose his way now: he’d promised his mother and the heads he’d appeal to the most likely culprits: the two trickster gods to the south. Certainly, the spoilage and the rats, the turning winds were too convenient to be anything other than the hands of those playful gods whose antics sometimes went too far.
So. He recalls The Sage’s low soft voice, the way his milky eyes sharpened as he urged Jungkook: “There are worse poisons than the deadliest venom that lurk in lands beyond the seas”, and he steels himself for whatever may come.
What comes is beautiful.
When the ship finally lands and his crew gets to work on anchoring the ship, he gazes upon the face of Eden itself. The sand glitters and glistens a pearly white, so finely milled it must feel as soft as the finest flour from his village. Clear tides the color of the sky lap pleasantly at the lip of a small curved bay, perfectly shaped for their ship to sit at the edge. Past the beach, enormous trees tower above their heads, the most vivid emerald green he’s ever seen. Dotted along their tops are large blossoms unfurling in reds, pinks, and yellows, sprawling with spiraling green vines that trail downwards. A stone pathway leads the way out of the beach into the forest where a clearing has been made under a shady canopy. He’s at least heard stories about islands like this. There are rumors about Paradise or the Garden of Eden that he’d dreamed up into life in his head, back in the winters when his home was slammed with icy white snow and violent gales, but still: nothing compares to how this entire scene wraps him up in its warm, luxuriant arms and dulls his mind with the subtle hazy scent of tropical flowers.
What he doesn’t expect though is this: a small procession of smiling men and women of all shapes and sizes welcoming his crew to the island. Some are dressed in fine jewel-toned silks draped across their bodies, while others stand in various simple linen garments, but neither appears out of place in this strangely beautiful island. The majority though, stand comfortably in minimal clothing, unbothered by the exposure.
As Jungkook disembarks with his crew, one particularly handsome, tall man from the group emerges as the crowd steps aside to make way for him. There’s something remarkably understated but incredibly magnetic about him that makes it impossible for Jungkook to tear his eyes away. The man is clad in a simple, soft linen tunic, a thick golden rope tight around his waist and a large gold medallion swinging from his neck. He steps meaningfully towards Jungkook as if somehow already fully aware of who the captain of the ship is. and he says with a bold, pleased voice. “Welcome, weary young traveller, to my humble abode.”
He extends a warm, golden hand towards Jungkook and smiles bracingly. The man's grip is strong, powerful but his hands are incredibly soft as if he’s never worked a day in his life. Paradise, indeed, Jungkook thinks. His face, upon closer inspection, is startlingly handsome and appears to almost embody the lush quality of the island: his wide dewy eyes are a vivid, speckled light brown like the bark of the smaller trees dotting the coast. His skin is a lovely light tanned shade, supple and youthful for someone who appears to be the head of the island, and his lips are as thick and vibrant as the blossoms atop the flowering trees. His windswept locks are the same pale yellow-white of the sun high up in the sky, sweeping across his forehead like the gusts of wind itself.
Realizing he’s probably been staring at the man’s face for far too long, Jungkook shakes himself out of his stupor before suddenly, — the sick man from on deck sprints towards Jungkook at an alarming, crooked gait before he collapses in front of the tall islander. In a hoarse, wrecked voice, he rasps out, “Oh, it’s you - I’ve - seen the visions, you, I’ll be your follower forever, oh, to have seen the face of my god already,” he rambles, the words tripping over themselves as he kisses at the soft sand before the man’s feet. The man smiles warily down at the sick crew member before staring at Jungkook curiously.
“Your men must be quite weary and delirious from the sea.”
“Just — Just this one is delirious.” Snatching up his crewmate’s collar and hoisting him up from his prostrated position, he keeps an iron grip on the sick man to keep him from groveling again. “Thank you for the warm welcome…” He trails off before the man smiles even wider.
“Call me Seokjin.” As the final members of his crew surround him, Seokjin glances at each of them slowly, appraisingly, not even phased at the sight of a few still carrying blunt weapons with them. Even his crew gape at the handsome men in slack-jawed silent curiosity, clutching their gear around them for dear life. “We have fresh food your men can eat to replenish their strength. I’ll have my chefs prepare a feast for tonight, and you may stay as long as you need to gather your strength for your journeys.”
“Thank you. We’ll depart in the morning as the sun rises.” He replies quickly, but Seokjin just raises an eyebrow in mild amusement.
“Plans can always change, young hero.” He purrs pleasantly, voice like velvet, as he steps forward to guide Jungkook into the smooth stone pathway under the canopy. “We have empty rooms your men can rest up and wash in. As for you, Jungkook, why don’t I show you around the city first?”
The city, as Seokjin calls it, is not so much a city as it is a single, half-opened building complex that wraps around much of the center island. There are white walls, but no doors anywhere that Jungkook can see, and sprawled along in each open space are various citizens lounging around, dozing under the sun or drinking from rusty silver goblets. There’s an open garden where fruits Jungkook has never even heard of before ripen into fat, juicy perfection until they fall happily to the ground at peak ripeness. Seokjin plucks two enormous soft pink peaches from the leaves of one healthy green tree, hands it to a man that appears to be his guard, and beams proudly at Jungkook. “Anyone can eat as much as they’d like. We don’t see much need for money when the food is already so plentiful.”
In one large open entryway, he sees small groups of men and women sprawled along the grassy knolls, sipping from their drinks indolently - their eyes are glassy and their heads swing lazily from their necks in a slow, alcoholic haze. When Seokjin passes them, they blow kisses towards his direction, raise their glasses and chug down the wine from their goblets in a single gulp. Seokjin takes a goblet from one drunkard near him and sips deeply. A dark blood-red rivulet of wine slides slowly from the flesh of his lips down, and Jungkook’s eyes trace its descent, lingering and transfixed on the swell of Seokjin’s wine-reddened lips. “Wine is plentiful here as well.” Seokjin slowly licks at the droplet, fixing a pleased, knowing smirk at Jungkook, who just swallows thickly. “I’d offer, but I get the feeling you’re not much of a wine-drinker.”
“W-Why would you say that?”
“Just a feeling.” He says with a loud laugh, tossing his head back before smiling, the luminous look on his face edging into mischievous. “You might like what I have to show you next.”
They traipse through open walkways and step into a lush, colorful garden with harmonious twittering songbirds. Further into the woods, he hears it first: the rushing of water like a crystal clear stream. Then he smells it: a soft wheaty aroma that clings to the air alluringly, drawing him further in and then — a clearing opens up before his very eyes and instead of a water stream, it’s…
“A river flowing with beer.” He whispers before blinking his eyes very tightly a few times to make sure he’s not just imagining the golden amber flowing, clean and fresh. “No fucking way.”
Seokjin chuckles next to him, low and soft, and cocks an eyebrow in amusement at what is clearly astonishment on Jungkook’s face. “Yes fucking way. You can imagine: travelers end up becoming quite.. enamored with this place.” Sly and coaxing, he turns his face to look at Jungkook head-on and says very softly - so softly that Jungkook has to lean in closer to hear, “Almost none who are drawn to this island choose to leave.”
Jungkook can imagine why that would be. With an island as astonishingly beautiful and vibrant as this, with food in such abundance that no limits on consumption are made, where drinking to excess is acceptable and an entire natural river of beer flows from streams along the city center, he can’t imagine - in fact - why anyone would ever leave this place. Every room he’s stepped into smells fragrant, light, and clean. All the citizens of the town all wear a dreamy, content look on their face, smiles affixed as they greet each other in comfortable familiarity.
The baths are even filled with mineral spring water, and Jungkook’s surprised beyond words when he sees his crew again and they all look at least 5 years younger - their skin taking on the soft, young supple look that Seokjin has. Their eyes are clouded up in pleasure, groups of them clad in the local silks, euphoric over their own endless goblets of wine. After Jungkook has bathed and rested for some time in his own specially arranged room — which too is clean and fragrant —, he looks at himself in the reflection of the water (strangely, there are no mirrors around the city anywhere Jungkook can see, though he supposes that doesn’t appear to be a particularly salient concern for the inhabitants of the island). His face has also taken on the youthful glow of the waters here, making him appear, to his great chagrin, even younger than he already is.
Even though he’s an adult by all traditional rites, and he even technically has taken on the mantle of the captain for this voyage to the trickster gods, Jungkook knows: the crew babies him and assumes they know better than he does, even as they heed his directions. His watery reflection, though, shows: slightly shaggy hair, tanned skin, but the wariness in his eyes have lifted as if by magic. He looks young: as young, in fact, as he’d looked before his village peers started vanishing into the woods, and those who’d stayed started losing their dreams, staring blankly up at the dark ceilings, crippled by some unspoken shadow inside of their hearts.
And that’s when he remembers through the hazy pleasures, the exotic fragrances, the mouthwatering waft of food why he even ended up on this island. Jungkook steels his mind for another second: there are mysteries to be solved, village youths to be recovered, and gods to be reckoned with. He cannot, in good conscience, get too wrapped up in the island or the way Seokjin’s eyes glimmer in mirth or his strange, hypnotically lush features that seem almost impossible not to lose himself in.
He still hasn’t eaten anything yet, but he has seen his crewmates ambling around the garden, plucking the fruit and biting into the juicy wet flesh with loud reverent moans of pleasure. They’ve lain under the shade of these trees, collecting seeds in the palms of their hands, tossing them out into the orchard and leaning over in full satiety. Some have taken to flirting with the local men and women, forgetting almost as if they’ve lost their heads, their wives back home, and he’d be appalled if he didn’t know from the stories already that this, too, is not an unexpected experience for the travel-weary. They fuck in the meadows or the corners of the rooms, loud and indulgent, but not a single one of them appears embarrassed or ashamed. It is as if all rules have been thrown out, here on this curious little island, and the only requirement is for the participants to enjoy themselves.
Jungkook himself is reclining in his downy warm bed in the clean stark white linen clothes Seokjin had prepared for him, staring out the open window at the clear blue sky when a man steps into his room quietly. At first glance, he thinks this might be a surprise (or perhaps planned) attack until he realizes it’s actually the man who’d been following Seokjin through their city stroll. The man smiles stiffly at Jungkook, but his smile is not the soft dreamy content smile that the other citizens have. He has the hardened visage of someone who looks like he has not enjoyed the boons of this island as much as the city-dwellers, and he nods curtly at Jungkook.
“Would-be hero,” he murmurs softly, hushed and low. “Don’t eat from the table Jin sets.”
“What?” At that, Jungkook rights himself and stares at the man curiously. The man’s face twists in discomfort immediately as he glances around himself before staring directly, purposefully into Jungkook’s eyes.
“I don’t know what you seek to accomplish by sailing southward, but you need to remember why you’ve taken to the seas. Hold onto that thought when you’re around Jin, because it’s easy - so easy to forget here,” he says lowly, his voice softening into a low, low grumble.
“I don’t —“
Abruptly then, the guard straightens out to his full height (admittedly, not a particularly impressive full height) and says louder. “Jungkook, Seokjin has invited you to speak with him in the throne room. I’ll accompany you there.” And he heads over to the open doorway and stares, beady at Jungkook, as if begging him to read between the lines and understand. Whether Jungkook actually understands the meaning, the implication, he doesn’t know: but there’s a strange stirring inside of him that feels less like excitement and more like dread as he steps out of his room to follow the man down the winding white corridors.
When Jungkook is finally ushered into the throne room, he knows he shouldn’t really be shocked by the resplendence but alas, he is. In a large enclosed chamber, unlike the rest of the city that is mostly open space and open doors, buttressed by greenery everywhere, the throne room is an enclosed chamber lit up by torches along the walls. Gold gilding filigrees the borders, but the primary decoration appears to be life itself: vines climb up and down the walls in intricate designs as if willed into formation and flowers burst in glorious gradients, even a few blue flowers blooming by the main throne. Fragrant incense burns alongside the foot of Seokjin’s throne, filling the air with a pleasant musk. As for Seokjin’s throne - the throne sits at about three times the size of Seokjin himself, carved out of solid gold with ornate tropical flowers etched along the arms. Though Jungkook has not stepped close enough for detailed inspection, he can see the glittering gemstones embedded along the outer back of the throne that frame Seokjin’s head.
Behind the throne is an enormous statute carved out of marble, looking surprisingly well-kept, standing at about 30 feet tall. It is a naked, athletic man carrying in his hand one large jug of what must be sloshing wine, entire vines of grapes wrapped around his tiny waist, flowers sprouting along his hips to supposedly keep his modesty, although — the vegetation doesn’t really change the fact that, yes, the man is very much in fact naked. Also to note, and something Jungkook really wishes he hadn’t noted, is the fact that the face on the statute bears a striking resemblance to Seokjin, right down to the swell of his lips, the lightly amused quirk of his eyebrows, the round large eyes.
“Ah, welcome back traveller boy,” Seokjin purrs, leaning back into his gilded throne leisurely. “Your companions, they appear to be adjusting nicely. I’ve asked my people to prepare a great feast for them; they should be getting seated soon.”
Suddenly, the Sage’s words ring like warning bells in Jungkook's ears, low and foreboding: Do not eat from orchards and tables you do not know. There are poisons worse than venom that lurk beyond the seas. Seokjin’s guard’s words echo too, “Don’t eat from the table Jin sets,” but the question remains: was the man speaking about Seokjin himself? He'd only been enormously generous to Jungkook and his crew, no hint of malicious intent at all, but... The Sage has never been wrong before; his misty clouded eyes have always seen far deeper into the years and the strands of fate than mere mortal eyes, and Jungkook desperately clings to the edges of that warning despite how easily the fragrant incense clouds his mind, how heavy it fogs his judgment.
“You, my traveller boy,” Seokjin then booms, raising an ornate, ruby-encrusted goblet towards him in toast, “may dine with me. Only the finest meals are reserved for heroes like yourself. I’ve cooked it myself.”
With a snap of his fingers, a procession of tanned, blissful men and woman come out carrying large silver, glistening platters toppling over with finely grilled meats, basted with sweet sauce. A tower of luscious fruits, gleaming in bright reds and yellows is placed right before the man as if in offering, and Jungkook — he’s never had much self-control around food, but the fragrant aroma of freshly baked loaves of bread, sizzling meats and vegetable, and the sweet complex sauces accompanying them make his lips feel horribly parched and his throat close up in desire. The men and women place and unveil the prepared foods on the long marble banquet table before Seokjin and usher Jungkook to one end of the table, but he stands stock-still. There’s just so much — from the warm food handcooked by the chief himself, to the clinging scent of honeyed ambrosia, the overflowing goblets of juicy dark wines, and —
“Remember why you’ve taken to the seas”.
He shakes the heavy clinging morass of desire from himself and gazes up at Seokjin - who is admittedly himself another source of the problem because he can’t deny the fact that he’d been attracted to the islander from the very beginning. Surrounded by everything pleasurable and beautiful, Seokjin had been part and parcel of the experience: perhaps one of the most beautiful parts of the island that he’d tried to deny himself. Which begs the question that he'd wanted to ask from the beginning: was Seokjin more than just an inhabitant here?
“That — huge statute. Behind your throne.” Jungkook blurts out. “Is that you?” Seokjin shifts in his throne and ponders at the enormous statute, as if he’s never been asked this question before. Then he straightens himself out and smiles graciously at Jungkook, eyes glimmering as brightly as the ripples along the coast.
“That’s the god of pleasure, Jin.” He says lightly. “Funny enough, I’ve often been told I bear a striking resemblance to him.”
“So… it’s not you?”
“My,” Seokjin smiles wickedly, lips curling in amusement as he steps from his throne. “Are you really suggesting I’m as handsome as the god of pleasure himself? Are you perhaps a blasphemer, young hero?” As the man descends from his seat, down the steps leading towards the banquet table, Jungkook is truly struck by the resemblance between the two, nor can he shake the fact that Seokjin has again sidestepped the question. “They say he inhabits this island. And no one who comes wants to leave because — isn’t pleasure all anyone really wants in life anyways? What do you think, young hero?”
Jungkook swallows down the bitter pill, the nauseating hunger that’s been exacerbated by the smell of Seokjin’s freshly cooked food. As Seokjin steps down from his throne and comes to stand besides Jungkook, Jungkook realizes for the first time that Seokjin is much taller now, even broader than the first time he’d seen him. In fact, Jungkook now has to crane his neck to look Seokjin in the eye when they stand next to each other, and — that confirms his suspicions.
“I… I—“ Be wary. Be diligent. “I think... you’re actually the god, Jin, himself.” He rasps out, feeling very much like a small sacrificial lamb caught between the two great paws of a wild lion. No one has ever told him the proper actions to take in the presence of a god, but he feels it’s appropriate, probably, to avoid staring directly at Jin’s face now that he knows.
But a soft warm hand touches his chin and tilts Jungkook’s face back up, and Jin gazes down at him with a such a look of fondness, Jungkook’s struck by a bout of confusion. His features are gentle against the dim light of the chamber, his warm breath the scent of vanilla and lavender.
“Yes. You’re right. So," he smiles gently, "won’t you dine with me?”
“I—“ His stomach grumbles loudly in desperation, and he thinks of his crew: which of them have already eaten from the fruits of the island or from the foods prepared here? Is there perhaps some sort of… poison in the water that makes them subservient to pleasure? Are they slaves to the indulgences of the island now, like all the other inhabitants here? “I can’t - I have to help my village.”
“All heroes believe they have to prove themselves somehow,” Jin coos softly, his voice bordering on sweet and melodic. “But you don't have to prove yourself here. Don’t you just want to eat and drink and live in luxury?” He takes one of the peaches — the one he’d picked in the orchard earlier with Jungkook, and bites into the wet juicy flesh with a soft low moan of appreciation, and it’s not — it’s not like Jungkook is a man of steel will - he’s just a kid. He watches in fascination as the juices glisten on Jin’s red lips, so bright they look like rubies, and his breath hitches because the plump flesh of his lips and the wet sheen ignite more than just a stirring inside of him. His skin burns like his blood is inflamed, leaving him tortured and desperate to reach over and lick the slick juice clear off his lips. So when Jin purrs even more silkily, “Don’t you want to stay here with me?”, it takes every fiber of his willpower to tear his gaze away from the face of this unfair god.
He sputters out, gaze fixed to the floor, “I can’t, I have a quest - my best friend, he’s vanished. Everyone’s disappearing —“
With a surprisingly petulant huff of annoyance for someone who is very evidently an actual divine god, Jin purses his lips in dissatisfaction before muttering, “…I see. Perhaps I’ve been courting you with the wrong pleasures.” Then, he impatiently waves an arm with a flourish, causing an unexpected door hidden in the white walls beneath the statute to slowly rumble open. The stones slide aside, revealing a darkened walkway deeper into the chamber that is dimly lit by lines of torches and the heavy scent of aphrodisiacs - and something… earthier, muskier like the seeds of the earth are birthed in the belly of this place.
Jin gestures mock-seriously to Jungkook, ushering him in as if he’s still genuinely personally offended by Jungkook’s rejection of his cooking, and though Jungkook steps mechanically into the space, his nerves are on edge. All the alarm bells are ringing violently in his head: he shouldn’t go in - there’s no way he’ll deny what’s waiting for him on the other side of the chamber if the moans echoing from inside are anything to go by.
Jin smiles then and says coyly by the entrance. “How do you want me? I can be anything you want me to be.” With a snap his fingers, he transforms in a crack and a wisp of smoke, into a shorter, porcelain-skinned girl with dark smooth hair, eyes blinking wide and vulnerably up at Jungkook with pouty lips. “You used to be sweet on a girl who looked like this, right?”
Jungkook winces. Low blow, even for a god.
“But you’re also not exactly particular about specific types, are you, young hero?” Jin snaps her fingers and transforms in another crack of smoke, over and over, into different models of beautiful humans of all shapes and sizes, as if Jungkook might suddenly feel compelled to say, ‘Stop! This is the one!’, but…
But. None of them are right.
Finally, Jin stops his rapidfire transformations with one final loud crack, and he reemerges in his original form from the final white cloud of smoke. As Jungkook stares up at the broad muscular man before him, standing at full height, his face radiant and captivating under the dim light, Jungkook can only croak out, wearily as if in defeat, — and it’s an honest confession when he breathes out finally, “This one. I just want you like this.”
For a second, Jin doesn't speak; he just stares at Jungkook under the flickering light of the torches in quiet contemplation, and in that moment, Jungkook can almost see the millennia that Jin holds inside reflecting in his curiously sharp eyes.
“An excellent, if unconventional, choice,” Jin finally says with a soft, fond laugh that sounds like wind chimes — innocent against the backdrop of a crescendoing orchestra of moans and grunts echoing from inside. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, the musky, sweaty scent of sex envelops him and just as outside, the rooms are wide open without doors. As they walk through the corridors, he sees: the silhouettes of naked bodies moving rhythmically together, in pairs, in trios, in tangles of limbs. Most appear to be men - young men, even - as if Jin has a particular type he’s partial to, and — a sudden wave of envy washes over him as he realizes: has everyone here been with Jin? Countless open rooms pass by them like a never-ending labyrinth of bodies, faceless and nameless under the shadow of this god.
“Heroes.” Jin clarifies with a soft snort, as if reading Jungkook’s mind. “You all are so strong-willed and driven, it makes the seduction that much more pleasurable. The sex is way better too - in fact, a bit too good for mortals to handle.” He motions in passing to one room where an already sated couple appears to have barely caught their breath before reaching for each other again. "They'll never experience it quite like they did with me, but they're certainly trying."
As they reach the end of the corridor, Jin waves his hand at a gilded heavy door and it slides open to reveal what must be Jin’s personal bedroom, drenched in flowers and littered with jugs of wine. At the center of the room sits an enormous white bed, looking perhaps even softer than the one Jungkook had lain in. The headboard is made of a small table and, surprisingly, a large mirror.
"… Were all those people back there heroes?”
“Hmm.” Jin hums in deep thought before answering with almost a tone of regret. “You can’t really call them heroes if they didn’t actually accomplish anything, can you? Though I suppose fucking a god must count for something,” He laughs, voice low and husky, before he finally steps into Jungkook's space, bringing upon the full oppressive heat of his body to thrum right under his skin. "So. Young, sweet traveller." His large hands settle along the curve of Jungkook's waist, gentle despite how terribly hot Jungkook's skin feels and Jin leans closer to whisper, brushing the shell of his ear with the soft swell of his lips, "Won't you stay the night with me?"