A/n: Wow, a once in awhile post? Maybe I’ll continue, it depends if I get inspired to write again!! Anyway enjoy!!!
Summary: Be careful who you love and be careful of others feelings, because in this world each heartbreak chips away at your emotions until you feel empty. (In other words, another AU similar to Hanahaki but not)
Prologue
The (h/c) haired man looked blankly outside the window, feeling numb and empty. There was no joy or sadness watching the birds fly in the beautiful sky as sunset, that he used to love so much, turned to night. There was nothing, and he wished he could hate it. But he couldn’t, right now he was just an emotionless doll waiting for a doctor to fix him and the man only wished he listened to his mom when she said to be careful. He laid down and closed his eyes to remember what brought him to the cold white room of a hospital.
The world was both lovely and cruel as humanity evolved where feelings and empathy mattered more than anything. People were more considerate on who they truly loved as they learned that each heartbreak will take away emotions from the person who has been hurt. Luckily, it wasn’t something small like unrequited crushes or small fights with a friend/lover or something unavoidable like death taking away a loved one. No, when someone you love and hold dear betrays you or crushes your heart and trust is when your heart is chipped, the more important they are in your life, the bigger the chip. Of course, the world has found a way around a feeling empty forever. If it’s a couple of chips then simple therapy and medicine will help heal you with time but for more severe cases and those who are completely empty, there is a procedure performed where doctors will piece and fix the broken heart but at the cost of the memories of those who broke it. May it be parents, lovers, best friends, anyone who hurt the person will be forgotten.
(Y/n) learned to be careful from his mother as his father left them when he turned 5 and saw his mom become less caring, not completely but her love became less apparent. While his father was never there enough for (Y/n)’s heart to chip, his mother suffered greatly, she got better after a few years but she had told him to make sure that the person he chose to love was true and to never hurt them like his father did to her.
He knew to be careful who he gave his heart to but then in college he met someone who made his heart beat fast, Kim Seokjin, an acting major who was slightly older than the other. They hit it off when they were paired up for a scene in an acting class, and were often teasing each other and trying to get the other to break character in class. On one of their practice days, Seokjin took the other back to his dorm to practice where he met his 6 bandmates. The 6 were enamoured by the scene they performed and cheered for their hyungs. After that, the (h/c) male often visited the dorms to hang out and cheer on his new friends as they trained and debuted.
(Y/n) found that hangouts were either loud and exciting as a whole or small group or a quiet one on one with a member. Of course, the male was never with one member for too long as another would join soon after, pouting (mostly the maknae line) and wanting attention. This escalated to a day where they all fought for (Y/n)’s attention and while the other found it flattering, it got tiring dealing with the same squabbling and confronted them about it. It led to the band looking away and turning red from embarrassment as they sputtered excuses. (Y/n) expressed his concerns of him not wanting to ruin their band if they’re going to fight because of him and he’s willing to leave them alone if he’s causing them too much trouble. They quickly went to him and tackled him to the ground in a group hug, yelling not to leave and saying it’s because they all were trying to court him and see who he would choose.
It was (Y/n)’s turn to flush red and let out a small “oh”. He then started to laugh, much to the others confusion and hurt. (Y/n) apologized and quickly explained that he didn’t realize that they were actually flirting with them and felt stupid(to which all of them denied and said he’s amazing). He admitted to having crushes on all of them but didn’t want to choose and hoped they would rather be friends rather than someone getting hurt if he chose only one. They all cooed at his sweetness and shared a look and nodded.
They said they’re willing to share if the other will have all of them and (Y/n)’s eyes widened as he asked if they were sure. The boys answered him with kisses making him laugh and kiss them back with the same enthusiasm. They were the happiest men in the world. This was it, this was love, it was all theirs to cherish and to hold.
You get into a freak accident and wake up to your body surrounded by seven crying men. Or your unrequited love doesn’t seem so unrequited after all.
Chapter warnings
Angst, Horror
Chapter Rating: T (For Teen Audiences and Up)
Chapter 8: The Hen House part 1
A/N. Y'all. Have you seen airport Yoongi 2022? Also, wrote this while on the road so forgive me if it’s sloppy.
FLASHBACK
Smoke filled your lungs, an endless circle of tobacco and the smell of fried eggs and grilling meat as you tried to push your sweaty hair to the side, the sun beating down on your bare fore arms, the prickling heat shoved at the forefront of your mind incessantly.
You just know you were going to get a tan in weird places with the way your shirt sleeves were haphazardly rolled up to your shoulders and the frayed edge tied to a side knot just above your hip bone.
If anything you looked like a poster girl for Rosie the Riveter minus the iconic red polka-dotted headband.
You had foregone wearing shorts, opting for jeans instead as you weren’t really all that comfortable showing a good amount of skin below your stomach and so it was sweltering hot as you attempted with a mild grunt to carry the multitude of colored boxes for a new resident of the Hen House - you think you’ve read one labelled Toysand you weren’t born yesterday to decipher what thathad meant.
With a blush, you enter the comfortable air conditioned lobby of the home, the receptionist smiling behind the desk before going back to jot down something on her clipboard, and you trudge up the winding staircases down to the east wing.
The Hen House, built upon an old abandoned convent back in the day boasted a sprawling ten-acre enclave lined with all kinds of trees and greenery, a massive lake just behind the structure where you mostly loved to spend your time lounging by the docks whenever you didn’t have anything to do, feeding whatever woodland creature graced you with it’s presence so you tended to pocket an assortment of nuts and bits and pieces of bread whenever you visit.
It was actually one of the adopted social services program for Kyung Hee, the university you were attending, extending help to women (and men) who previously worked in the under hood of Korea’s red light districts and were trying to turn over a new page in their battered, worn out books.
Initially you were hesitant, what with your swamped schedule but your professor had convinced you otherwise in exchange for raising your GPA so you had agreed without thinking too much of the consequences.
Passing through the hallways all while giving a wave or two to the relatively cheerful residents doing their own thing, you come to a stop in front of a wooden door.
Lightly nudging it open, you toddle through and gently place the boxes in a corner of the room out of harm’s way.
“Thanks, sweet cheeks.”
Startled, you almost smack the tall intruder in his handsome face. “Oh fuck, sorry!” You bow as he barely dodges from your hands before he chuckles, bringing your flailing to a stop.
Your eyes land on the love handles peeking through his white cropped shirt.
Like a fish out of water, you blatantly ogle the dude, only to curse under your breath- first house rule, never ever check out the residents (at least openly) for several reasons, one of them being a violation of their dignity and privacy after everything they went through to get to this point.
But you couldn’t help it! He easily towered over you and he was huge, like he ate protein shakes for breakfast every morning.
Clearing your throat, you hold out a hand in greeting. “I’m LN YN.”
The attractive stranger nods taking your hand in his for a brief shake. “Kim Matthew, but you may call me BM.”
You give him a genuine, welcoming smile. “Well then, BM, I hope you like your new home. The people here can be a handful, and crazy, and sometimes pushes all your buttons and smoke like they’re sixty-five but they’re all caring on the inside.” You state plainly only to flush when you realize you were babbling.
You give a hasty bow, “Also, I’ll be in your care from now on.”
He grins, white canines glinting, the tear drop earrings he sported shimmers in the mid afternoon light streaming through the curtains as he pats your head consolingly almost amused at your little display and you look up at him shyly. “Likewise, YN.”
You have a strong feeling you and him would get along just fine.
.
BM, as it turns out, became your bosom buddy even if you hadn’t known him for long.
He was very well likeable and was basically good at everything, from cooking to building that cat dream house one of the matrons had always wanted, and writing poems that could rival Namjoon’s, you were starting to think all beautiful people were blessed by the gods themselves.
And BM was really good at writing. Like insanely good.
So it isn’t a wonder when one day, as you were raking leaves in the garden, he comes running out thrusting sheafs of paper against your face, getting you cross eyed as you tentatively take them from his excited grasp.
“I got in, YN!” He screams with giddiness and you stare confused only for your creased brows to unfurl, a giant smile lighting up your haggard demeanor.
BM had been accepted to Kyung Hee as a Literature Major under a scholarship.
The best part was, he would be sponsored to go to an Ivy League school of his choice as long as he kept his grades up.
“Woah, this is awesome!” You tell him, proud at his accomplishments as he basically lifts you up and twirls you around like you weighed nothing.
Having been a former stripper for a BDSM club, your friend didn’t have many options in his career, most regarding him with an underlying sort of disgust, a used commodity but it seems the Literature department of your university thought he had great potential ahead of him if they were willing to go so far as to let him finish a Master’s Degree abroad.
Once back in your feet, your beefy friend hesitates. “But… I’ll be moving into the dorms before the semester starts.”
You snort and smack him lightly on the chest, the only part reachable for your five foot, two inches. “Don’t worry about me, dummy. I go to the same university too. Dorm visitations are allowed on weekends. And it’s not like you can’t just text me to meet up or something. ”
He chuckles, but then his sharp eyes stray to somewhere behind you as he subconsciously grips your fingers in his. “Yeah, that’s not what I’m worried about.” He whispers seriously and you shoot a look at the middle aged man tottering a few steps away towards the sidewalk, as if he had just been caught peering through the fence.
You freeze. Who was that? This was the third time in a row you’ve caught him staring at you.
Somehow, and you don’t know why but that behavior reminded you of the Bogeyman when you were younger.
You shuddered.
BM does not let you get home alone that night as he steadfastly refuses to let you drive alone. “I’ll just take a cab on the way back.” He says, tone final and you don’t argue.
Knowing your friend for over a year now, his instincts for bad things were usually a little too spot on, (like that time you showed him a photo of an apartment you were looking into leasing which thankfully you didn’t as turns out it was a trap house) having been honed by dealing with seedy and unsavory clients for almost half of his street rat years.
Maybe you should report that incident to the police just in case.
You give him a farewell kiss on the cheek and watch him walk the driveway, past the security who open the gates for him, and back into the shadows, only for you to stop in your tracks as you feel someone watching your backside (surely it wasn’t the gatekeeper) and not wasting any time, you run into the house almost colliding into one of the boys dogs.
“Woof!”
You heave a sigh of relief as the brown poodle clings to your leg, tail wagging. “Holly, you scared me! ” You coo only for her owner to come stumbling out into the foyer sleepily.
“Oh, you’re back.” He then frowns checking the clock on the wall and is fairly surprised that it’s around two in the morning. He pauses awkwardly by the foot of the stairs. “…Had a hot date?” Yoongi drawls albeit uncomfortably, though you can’t tell with the way his lips break out into his usual smirk.
You don’t know why that gets to you, it’s just a question, but it does anyway and with how tired you were the entire goddamn day and the lingering fear still rooted in your bones, a bit of light leaves your irises. “Eh.” You shrug neither denying or confirming and brush past him, leaving Holly yapping in the background and her owner stumped because it was the first time you acted like you he was a roommate and nothing more.
Not a member of your makeshift family.
Not the man who hung the moon and the stars.
Not the man who broke your heart countless of times as he and his brothers came home looking thoroughly fucked and sated.
Nothing.
Frantic footsteps follow you, “…are you hungry?”
You stop and he stops, his dog in tow, sitting her butt on the marbled floor. “I’m sleepy. Good night, Yoongi. ” Your tone borders on a heavy sort of finality and you trudge up to your room without another word, not caring a shit what he thought about you at the moment.
Maybe tomorrow would be better.
.
The next morning finds you buried bone deep in volunteer work.
It was Sunday, and with no boyfriend or social life outside of your boys you had offered to clean the old lake shed at the Hen House.
It was a dusty old shack if anything, filled with miscellaneous stuff old residents had left and some rusty machinery which could fetch a notable price at some obscure junkyard by the roadside.
If only you weren’t alone (not discounting the receptionist and the cook who were always on duty) but the other staff had the day off and since most of the residents were capable of running the place anyway, they were left to their own devices.
You cough up a storm as the pile of books on the shelf topples, leaving you wheezing in a particle cloud of dust bunnies.
The shed may be grimy but it was pretty workable as it was small, big enough to fit at most four of you.
You huff, putting on a mask and hyping your spirits to do some shit cleaning because you were not going to leave this place without scrubbing every single inch, every nook and cranny until you were satisfied.
“Let’s do this, YN.”
It takes you approximately until seven into the evening to finish everything and you collapse in the now waxed and polished floor, muscles aching and moaning.
All things that could still be of use were boxed and taped up to be sent to the lost and found department just in case some of the residents wanted to ‘dumpster dive’.
The stuff that were practically trash was going to be shipped off to the junkyard tomorrow. Recycle and all that shit.
With a tired whine, you allow yourself to partially doze off to slumber, only minutes later, something cold taps your ankle until long fingers are grasping them and you jump up, shrieking in shock.
The old man you had seen with BM last night was here. Inside the shed. With you.
Shit!
Before you can even run out to call for help, a force yanks you back and you land on the hardwood with a thump.
You refuse to look anywhere but at him, thinking this was the way you were going to die and you’d rather not hold the face of your murderer in the afterlife lest you never find peace, only for him to practically bend abnormally close down to your level.
You gasp when you are left staring at milky white orbs and yellowed rotten teeth, “Save me.” The old man gasps and you scream.
END OF FLASHBACK
YOONGI POV
He hates you.
Well, he actually doesn’t.
He was annoyed, irritated, with the fact that you were hugging a man twice the size of the Sigma leader.
And he was a fucking dwarf compared to the guy’s bulging pectorals.
“YN?!”
He growls lowly, though the only people who heard were his brothers as you climb the big buffoon like he wanted you to climb his dick.
Something gnaws at his chest, straining, making his insides blaze with unbridled fury and bitterness as he witnesses how happy you looked, something he –they have never seen on you before.
And it hurts.
It fucking hurts.
“Guys, this is BM! He’s a good friend of mine!” You wave them over, glowing and positively beautiful that the twinge grows deeper, like a knife stabbed him in his lungs.
A friend? He’s never heard of this BM. Not until now. Dread fills his already fucked up emotional spectrum solely thanks to you.
Just how much of your life outside of them did they miss?
He glances at the others who mirror the same kind of trepidation as they all survey the gothic structure, the concrete seemingly intimidating even as they were used to grandeur.
There was something eerie about this place and if you had been working here for a long time right under their noses, he doesn’t even want to imagine what kind of horrors you faced.
And as you pull them all in to meet curious faces, he swallows, hiding his disdain as he realizes just how far away you were from them.
You get into a freak accident and wake up to your body surrounded by seven crying men. Or your unrequited love doesn’t seem so unrequited after all.
Chapter warnings
Angst, Implied low self esteem, mentioned panic attacks and anxiety, implied emotional neglect by best friends, supporting character short death flashback
Chapter Rating: T (For Teen Audiences and Up)
Chapter 7: The Ghost Witch
A/N. In honor of stopping the spread of Asian hate, and to celebrate the start of Bangtan’s entry into being more widely known not only for their music, but also for their civic involvement in all things that matter, I dedicate this chapter to a much newer beginning.
People say happiness is a choice.
But what if…just what if you try to choose to be happy, try being the word, and yet you can’t seem to feel anything but a constricting sort of self imposed rejection?
Or maybe it’s just your anxiety killing you.
You’ve had panic attacks before, and you hated it–it’s like being trapped between the chasm of falling down the stairs but you just hang there loosely, never falling until your breaths go back to normal and your brain rewires on its own, only to go back to that same dreadful feeling the next day, over and over and over again.
But anxiety…anxiety is on a whole other level.
It never leaves.
You have never had a therapist before. Unlike Yoongi, you weren’t so keen on opening up to your parents when you were a kid (and even now as an adult, you don’t delve into serious topics whenever they visited). What could you say?
“Hey, mom and dad. Nice to see you. Did you know that your daughter isn’t happy with herself so much she can’t stand to look at the mirror some days?”
Highly unlikely.
Besides, in your family, showing mental weaknesses will only get a scoff and some long drawn out double lecture about ‘when I was your age, I didn’t have that kind of shit to deal with’.
And yet you were tired.
Existing was just tiring sometimes.
“You’re thinking too much, mouse. ”
You startle at the new voice, eyes shooting to stare at the spectre floating above you, your arms finding their way against the cool sheets of your bedroom.
Or former bedroom?
Well you weren’t dead. Not yet anyway.
It was just weird to think about having your two bodies in two places at once.
The comatose one currently at MyeongDong Hospital connected to life support, and you in your ghost form or spirit form or whatever the fuck you were in the Bangtan’s residence.
Moon Byul, ethereal in her white kimono and long red hair (a trait that would have had any man, particularly your best friend Yoongi bedding her faster than even Jungkook can run and that boy runs fast).
It had been two days since the seance and Eugene had all but left you to your own devices.
That is, have Byul hang around for awhile until you eventually woke up in your corporeal body.
She did say she was going to be your unofficial ghost guide.
You sigh, turning your head to stare at her pretty face. It was a shame really that she had died so young.
According to her brother, Byul had always been sickly as a young girl, and had long since known when her time was up –it was a trait passed down from the females of Yang to the next generation.
Grim reaper’s eyes he had said.
And so one day, while it was storming wildly, Byul just drove out to sea and drowned herself.
It was a pretty morbid way to go.
“Tell me what you’re thinking about, mouse. ” Byul hovers to the side.
Her voice surrounds you like a siren underwater. Cool and soothing is what she is.
You had never met Byul before until now but you did see pictures of her all over the Yin Yang Quatro.
Eugene doesn’t talk about her much, probably hurt over the fact that she chose to die and leave him alone, but with what little you could gather, the briefest tremble in his voice told you a lot about his love for his only blood relative.
“Just…how we’re going to go about things tomorrow. ” You confess, twirling your hair distractedly.
The ghost hums, floating over to take a good look at your face and you blush. It isn’t everyday that a beautiful ghost looks at you like that! Particularly not one who is in league with the Bangtan boys’ in terms of being a god send.
She pokes your nose, another habit you’ve noticed she does while often with you (or as often as the day she nearly gave all seven of your best friends an aneurysm by dashing towards you as if to attack).
“Don’t worry, mouse. The ghosts associated with every memory you have in this community are not savage creatures. The only dark entities are the ones beyond the veil where I come from, and I have yet to sense one of them.”
Theat least for now isunspoken and that’s what makes you shudder.
“Oh, you’re fading, mouse. ” She lightly grumbles, irritated but not at you.
True enough, your fingers become transparent, only to go back to its undisturbed, solid state once Byul touches your hand.
Perhaps that was the thing about having Byul as your spirit.
Eugene had explained that the planes of where you are now were conflicting, hence you were merely limited to a human form for a couple of hours until you would eventually fade away.
It was the limit of Eugene’s strange abilities–he can’t make people rise from the dead (nor from a coma apparently), but what he can do, is make them visible to their loved ones if the desire of the person was strong enough to sustain one’s soul.
Your desperation to come back to your best friends was what helped you over come being stuck in a spirit form.
At least for a good while.
All good things must come to an end, you suppose and by then, only Yoongi for some odd reason was the only one who could get a sense of you.
Maybe because he was the most emphatic out of all of them despite him keeping to himself most of the time.
When he wasn’t loving girls and leaving them that is.
“Thank you,” you murmur, feeling the after effects of Byul’s energy.
“Sleep, mouse.” She says, and your lids flutter shut.
You awake to arguing.
“Stop, don’t open those fucking blinds, she might disappear!”
Rolling to your side, the heated whispers cease as a hand caresses your cheek.
“Forgive us, baby. You can sleep more if you’re tired, yeah?”
Blinking back the dimness of the room, you hoist yourself up to mild protests, arms coming to encircle your shoulders as you properly take a good look at the people inside your bedroom.
Seven shadows shift awkwardly, one letting go of the curtains just as the dust mites dancing in the light seeping through from your large french windows settle down into nothingness.
Oh.
“Guys? What are you doing here? Don’t you have to be at the company?” You question, wondering if they skipped training with the staff.
Your boys were after all the brains behind the KMJP Industries, an affiliate of their adoptive father’s huge billion dollar conglomerate even while doing university and you know they were working themselves to the bone recently to produce new tracks for contracted foreign artists and some other related stuff.
It was such bad timing that you got injured and you somehow felt guilty about taking precious time away from them.
From the corner of your eye, you spot a Starbucks bag and can’t help but wrinkle your nose at the smell.
“That smells like shit,” you blurt, only to shut your mouth at the realization that the boys might have brought you dinner, and you were being relatively ungrateful.
But…could you even eat at this point?
Eyeing the caramel macchiato and bread that Namjoon was slowly pulling out to sniff with furrowed brows, you decide you can’t even if you want to.
Because it smells fucking rotten. What the fuck.
Suddenly, Hoseok shouts as Byul glides through the walls, “Mouse, don’t eat anything. ”
You hide a nervous chuckle as Namjoon nearly drops the bagel and coffee, only for Jimin to catch the entire thing and hand it over to Jin who promptly takes a whiff in mild consternation.
“But…it smells fine?” He mumbles more to himself than you and you look to Eugene’s dead sister for explanation.
She flips her hair daintily before taking a hover to her new spot in the corner. “To you it does, human. But to her, it will smell sour and unappetizing, as she is trapped between wakefulness and death, her senses will not work properly. Even I cannot predict what she might feel about random everyday objects. ”
Ever the curious pup, you hum with an ask, “What does it smell like to you, Byul?”
She shrugs after a moment and you realize the boys were as curious to know the answer as you were. “Like nothing. I am already dead and everything connected to my past self has left my memories like dust. ”
You frown. “Oh, but you still remember Eugene though?”
She smiles at you mysteriously. “My brother is not a part of my past. He is a part of my present and always will be. ”
Does that mean–oh. Oh!
You remember Eugene having once told you back when he had to leave you alone to manage Yin Yang Quatro not to worry about intruders as you wouldn’t be alone.
You assumed he meant his pet dog Kimchi.
But now you are starting to think otherwise.
So Byul still haunted the place, huh.
It would’ve creeped you out, but seeing as you’re on the way to following her footsteps if you couldn’t get back, it was like you weren’t even afraid at all.
Byul had this calming effect about her that made your heart serene. If anything, you might just marry Byul in the after life if things didn’t work out with the boys.
You think you saw a twitch on the seven men’s faces but ignore them entirely in favor of your specter.
She leans forward from her position against the wood, “I scouted the perimeter, and we are going to start with the shelter, if that’s alright with you, YN?”
Byul switches topics fast and you can’t help but freeze, alerting the boys to your discomfort.
The youngest three immediately gravitate towards you, glaring at Byul.
The shelter?
“What do you mean the shelter?” Hoseok frowns.
You had never worked at any shelter before as far as they know.
You gulp.
Here’s the thing.
Although the boys spoiled you for everything, not even letting you pay a dime for groceries, and even giving you an allowance apart from the money your parents sent and your two part time jobs, you had been roped into taking a third not because you needed to but because you wanted to.
“The, um…it’s,” you exhale loudly, causing all men to shift their concerned gazes to you. “It’s a facility for homeless people. ”
They sigh in relief. “Oh. That does not seem so bad?” Taehyung hums in light appreciation, though he can’t help but wonder if the money they were giving you wasn’t enough.
The others seem to think so as Yoongi questions, “Do you…work there?”
Of course they wouldn’t know.
They didn’t know about Eugene, nor did they know about your apartment.
The only job they were aware of (and of which you had to beg them to let you work in) was at Starbucks.
You shrug. “It’s a voluntary kind of thing. ”
You try to hide your grimace as Byul raises a well sculpted brow at you (how the fuck does a ghost have perfect eyebrows on?!).
“You didn’t tell them?”
They swivel to her and you wince.
“YN?” Jin’s no nonsense tone sends you spiralling into a sort of dreaded abyss as sweat breaks out of your chin.
Forcibly closing your eyes, you tip your head back already feeling an oncoming head ache.
“It’s a home for prostitutes. I occasionally help out.”
You cover your ears at the multitude of angry outbursts, having had already expected it in the first place.
If this is how they would react to that little tidbit in your life, you wonder how you would even go through all of your memories with them, much less talk to ghosts at this rate.
This was troublesome.
FLASHBACK
“What do you mean they have to be the ones to learn everything about her? Can’t she learn it herself?” Eugene runs a hand through his handsome face.
“…okay that is an absurd statement, I retract. But! But isn’t that an invasion of privacy in your ghost world rules or something, sis?” He gripes, uneasy about the entire thing. Your boss cared about you to that extent.
Byul could only smirk. “If you’re worried about her, just think about the results. Those men of hers don’t seem to know a thing outside of the life they had created for her inside this house. ”
Eugene pauses. “So basically you’re telling me that YN has to open up to them so they could collect every fragment shard of her soul that’s somehow being absurdly kept by a bunch of your ghost friends in the netherworld? And it has to be those seven assholes?”
“Yes. ”
“…Fine. You all heard that?” He glares at the seven men while you merely shrink back behind Eugene, trying your best to avoid all the eyes on you.
At this point, you just wanted the ground to grow a mouth and swallow you whole.
Because you were about to let Bangtan Sonyeondan in on every little secret you had kept from them all these years.
“If only you hadn’t been fucking around, this would be a lot easier.” Eugene lowly mutters but you hear and you couldn’t have agreed more.
You get into a freak accident and wake up to your body surrounded by seven crying men. Or your unrequited love doesn’t seem so unrequited after all.
Chapter warnings
Just cussing
Chapter Rating: T (For Teen Audiences and Up)
A/N. Hi. I lied. I can’t seem to stop updating oh my goodness lmao. Do enjoy and tell me what you think. Don’t be afraid to comment, I don’t bite. Also, I can’t seem to stop playing Spy x Family’s Ending Theme in my mind on a loop help me.
Chapter 6: The One with the Magic
The drive to your house had been filled with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, and as the nine of you were now seated around the classy living room of the Bangtan mansion, you nervously await the gavel to hit the podium.
“I won’t lie. This is a fucking nice house.” Eugene sips his red wine as if tasting any sort of imperfections, ranking it, undecided whether it was one of the best he’s had or the worst he’s hated but you know your boss loves cheap wine more than anything and so you bite your lip in anticipation, unaware that the small action was so enticing some of your companions had to shift to hide the growing outlines beneath their pants.
Once he sets his glass down at the coffee table however, Seokjin who couldn’t take it anymore tugs Yoongi who gratefully tags along with him to the kitchens with a measly excuse of preparing dinner, while the rest are left to be fed to the wolf.
Namjoon is especially fearing for everyone’s safety, measuring the gravity of the circumstances as his eyes dart to yours in a sort of plea– your employer had taken it upon himself to sit by you and any advances on the boys’ parts might be taken as a sign of aggression.
At least for the tarot master.
The Bangtan leader clears his throat awkwardly. “So…welcome to our home, sir. ”
The maknae line are teetering on the edge of their seats, and you know they’d rather chop onions or clean shit out of the toilets than be an audience to this escalating persecution. Because you know and they know that men in red lipsticks and expensive silk suits did not come to play.
Not when the verdict wasn’t out yet.
Eugene claps his hands, a sharp contrast to the tense silence enveloping the room and all backs straighten. You could practically hear their balls recede while the noises in the kitchen come to a pause before restarting with much fake alacrity.
“Let’s get down to business, boys. Time is of the essence after all. ” He fishes out what looks to be his favorite oracle card set (all gilded in emerald green) and a scrying pendant, a real amethyst triangular stone dangling from the silver chain.
You gulp. If he’s brought that then–shit!
You briskly flicker your stare to the occultist in disbelief and as if the boys all sense your nerves, Seokjin and Yoongi pop in, bringing forth appetizers all while inching a bit to where you were, flanking behind you in the couch.
They wore matching black cat aprons that were it not for the gravity of the situation, you would find it hilarious.
They all warily stare at the deck of cards in his hand, having never seen one before.
Your lovely boss hands the pendant to you and you catch it, eyes watching your every movement. “Eugene, this is–”
“Shush, child and let the master begin. ”
Oh shit, he isserious.
Okay.
You forcibly do not breathe for a second or two as the show commences.
“WHAT IN THE FUCKING FUCK?!”
Bellows, screams, and shouts all mingle in one moment as the Yin Yang Quatro’s floor master spreads the cards in the air, floating them to a steady position in front of him one by fucking one like some fascinating magical performance one would pay good money for on any given day.
The only one unfazed here is you however having been privy to his skills countless of times for his high end clients such as politicians and celebrities, as you contain a sigh–Eugene was flashy but you loved him for it anyway.
Ignoring the hands at your shoulders as if to protect you from whatever the fuck was going on, you focus instead as three cards come to a stop in front of you.
You open your palm upwards and they readily reveal themselves to you.
These were his phrase Oracle cards so the meanings were pretty clear in the reading:
To move forward you should not let things be.
Okay, pretty damn straight.
Beware neglect for it shall cost you a fee.
Neglect? Does it mean that you have a time limit or something? Well shit.
You read the last card, eyes widening in shock.
Love will save you.
What the fuck! These seven men don’t even love you! At least not that you know of.
You don’t think they even like you in the romantic sense?
The occultist tilts his head to the side, seeming to consider for a moment before snapping his wrist and the cards fly back neatly in a pile in his hand.
Several gasps resound once again as he keeps the deck back inside his suit pocket and checks his watch. He nods minutely, all the while you eye the pendant which has now taken on a silver hue.
That was definitely purple a second ago.
“Doll, if you would?” Eugene gestures to your neck and you immediately clasp it around yourself to the light protests of your boys -who knows what the fuck that necklace does!- who instantly shut their mouths with one look from the tarot master himself.
He stands, circling the room as you all remain watchful before he’s kneeling down on the center rug, tracing patterns over it with his index finger, mumbling phrases which only you were now familiar with.
At your small gasp, you are hauled against a sturdy chest –Yoongi– while Jin’s broad shoulders shield you. The rest of the room have given your boss a wide berth to do his shit.
And when he finishes, you flinch feeling your necklace heat up only for you to get practically flung to the center to everyone else’s extreme concern but yours and Eugene’s.
Your bare feet land on the soft mass of carpet, a circle of light surrounds your frame, before it vanishes just as quickly.
And then a ghostly form shimmers into existence.
“Hi, Byul. Long time no speak.” Eugene smirks, as the long haired witch narrows her gaze at him.
You gulp. This was Moon Byul, the former owner of Yin Yang Quatro, Eugene’s estranged sister and someone who was supposed to be dead.
Eugene turns to you cheerily. “No one better who could help than a real ghost, huh?”
You hear someone (might be Hoseok) faint in the background.
You get into a freak accident and wake up to your body surrounded by seven crying men. Or your unrequited love doesn’t seem so unrequited after all.
Chapter warnings
Angst, Sickness, Cussing, Implied drug use , Implied manwhoring around
Chapter Rating: T (For Teen Audiences and Up)
Chapter 5: The Neighbor (and friends) Across the Hall
A/N. Hello there. Am I dropping chapters too quick? Anyway, I let this chapter basically write itself and it ended up surprisingly good. But I may not be updating again for this week as I wrote this chapter with a head ache and I may be out of commission for awhile. We’ll see. Hope you enjoy! Comment for taglist. :)
ALSO. A BIG THANK YOU TO ALL WHO HAVE READ AND ARE READING THIS SERIES. 감사합니다!
FLASHBACK
Like claws raking horribly against a chalkboard, you hold back a grimace, lips down turned from the overcast shadows looming before you, a sign of doom or at most the barbie league club from the drama department who could only afford the cheapest drink they could get at their local Starbucks.
Icy blue irises roam over the standard uniform you and every employee in this branch were forced to don –fitted green shirt and baggy corduroy pants– and as if the devil himself reincarnates, she tips the cup of her Teavana with a flick of the wrist, the contents spilling all over the place and your ears burn as she gives you a lame ‘oops, how clumsy of me’.
The other patrons are glaring at the girls to leave like the bunch of idiotic menaces they were and when they finally do (but not without giving you the finger), your shoulders sag, a heavy sigh escaping your lips just as your manager inches his way towards you, shaking her head as she helps by handing you the mop.
“This is coming out of your paycheck unfortunately,” she mutters under her breath before going back to her station.
Your eyes sting with unshed tears (you were already feeling a bit rundown due to the non stop rain and you had several papers due tonight) and now this.
Can’t you just catch a break?
Some of the more long term patrons offer you consoling glances as you pass them by to go clean up and you shoot them a tired but grateful smile nonetheless.
Once you’re done with things, you go back to the counter to tend to the next batch of customers, hoping they weren’t as mean to you as those blonde bimbos had been.
-
They say time flies by quickly when you’re happy doing what you love but to say you loved working was an overstatement.
It’s not like you were poor. You came from a good and loving family (despite your parents being gone all the time) with money, and one word to them would leave you with a few thick bills in your disposal.
But you didn’t want to remain dependent, stemming from a mindset that you were an only child and you would eventually (and sadly) have to learn to navigate your entire rest of your life once your parents are gone.
Hence you wanted as much practice as you could get.
However, with merely an undergraduate, not many high paying jobs will take on a college student buried in loans, so you took to the streamline and applied at the nearest Starbucks.
You loved the smell of coffee anyway and though you weren’t a barista, you were quite efficient at pushing buttons so you’ve been told.
In the least, you liked your job but not enough to be willing to stay after hours, so when Kai comes in for the next shift, you happily hand your apron over to him. “Here, good luck!” You singsong and get the fuck out of there, not giving your friend a chance to respond mainly because he looked even grumpier than you had been going in to work.
It was still raining even if it was already half past ten in the evening (yes, your boss operated twenty four seven), and you hazard a glance at your phone to see whether any of your best friends had even bothered to check in.
Well no, apparently not. Though your other boss, Eugene, (yes, you had two jobs because student loans are fucking killer) did tell you not to come in tomorrow as the energy in the shop was not going to be pleasant and you send him a response, already knowing that he’s chastising you in his own weird way to get the day off because he knew you got sick easily when it got cold.
With a shiver, you run to your car, umbrella in hand and turn on the heat at full blast once inside.
Anyone who asks you how you could afford an expensive ride with a cashier’s daily wage, you just shrug and let them assume you were a sugar baby. It was more fun that way.
You sneeze before you could even step on the pedal, and you grow nervous, hand feeling your forehead. Well at least you weren’t running a fever. But you did feel a bit dizzy…
Ignoring the slight discomfort, you blend through the highway traffic, hoping you don’t faint.
-
You don’t faint. In fact you nearly faint and hastily park your vehicle to an emergency stop clearing where fewer cars drove through.
Harsh water pelts the roof of the Bentley and you wish you brought your noise cancelling earphones to at least drown out the low, metallic rumble from the now full on thunderstorm.
Afraid of getting hit with one of those stray lightnings, you had kept away from any trees and instead held yourself front and center in an open field where a murderer in a mask would most likely drag you to Christ knows where.
Not feeling up to continuing risking your health, you ask one of the guys to come get you but you are merely left on read.
Fuck.
It was an hour to midnight and you don’t think it was safe for women to be out by themselves in the middle of nowhere. Groaning, you gently lay your head on the cool window, when your phone rings.
Renewed hope wells within you only to be shot down with a flaming arrow when Taemin’s voice bounces from the other line. “Heya, neighbor!” He chirps a little too enthusiastically for your liking.
Your head was already pounding and it doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.
You hum lightly, tracing invisible circles in the air and he instantly notices. “YNie? Are you okay? You don’t sound so hot. ”
“Well, I am cold…” You murmur, closing your lids for a brief moment for respite from the drudgery of it all.
You can hear a few people in the background and Taemin shuts them up, baritone serious as if just then remembering that you were a sickly goose. “Oh shit, are you somewhere dry and warm? Baby, where are you?”
“Is that Kai? Did he manage to skip work and go to that stupid Beta Tau Sigma party after all?”
“No, now I said shut your mouths, didn’t I?” Your sweet neighbor calls out with a lowly growl, something you haven’t heard for a long time, and all laughter ceases.
Woah. That’s hot.
And wait, you didn’t hear about any type of parties happening with Bangtan tonight? If you would they would have told you and you would have been a good girl and not gotten in their way (that is lock yourself in your room but leave through the fire escape and sleep over at your own apartment, possibly hang out with Taeminie and binge watch a few Netflix episodes of Kotaro lives alone).
Beta Tau Sigma threw subtle parties where alcohol was plenty and sometimes women and drugs were involved. You had to learn weed butter recipe for the guys at some point just so Jin wouldn’t strangle the maknaes for basically slaughtering every carton of milk they could find in the kitchen to curb their failed attempts at churning a presentable lump of pimped dairy.
You loved your best friends to death (and are in love with them sadly) but the Beta Tau Sigma fraternity tended to go all out at house gatherings and you’d rather not accidentally intrude in case one of them decides fucking someone in your home was fine.
Especially if it were one of your boys. Well not your boys. Anyway.
Gathering what little strength you have left as the drowsiness was taking over, you clumsily send your coordinates to your friend on the other end of the line.
A bellow reaches your ears and you shy away from the angry voice. “You are fucking where?! Stay there, YN. Like hell you’re going back home in that condition. ”
Huh? Did you tell him you were sick or something?
“Okay,” you mumble, unaware that you were succumbing to sleep.
-
“Shit, she’s burning up!”
“Hurry, pass me that cold pack!”
“Anyone started on the hot broth yet?”
“Yeah, over here. ”
“When the fuck is Kai coming back with the cold medicine?”
Blearily, your eyes open a millimeter, only to close once more as they feel heavy under the bright lights.
Who were these people again?
“Taemin-hyung, here.”
A brief mumble of thanks and then a wet cloth is pressed to your forehead. Instantly, you feel so much better already from the feel of the coolness.
“Ravi, can you…”
“Yeah, here.”
Someone helps you up gently, arms roped around your shoulders as you are put in a sitting position. Something hard slides between your lips followed by water and you subconsciously gulp whatever it was down.
You cough a bit only for hands to scrabble at your back in up down motions and then you’re lying on the softest bed you have ever felt.
“Taemin, I can take it from here. You go help Sungwoon with the chicken soup. ”
In the distance, rushed footsteps are heard as a door opens and closes with a click. The footsteps get nearer and a voice you recognize as your friend Kai’s comes barrelling through with a whisper. “Where is she? Oh shit, YN. I’m so sorry I didn’t notice earlier!”
A hand touches your burning cheek and you nuzzle into it.
“Did you tell them?”
“What?”
“ Bangtan. ”
“Fuck no. I mean I ran into Jimin awhile back, they were picking up some food as I was leaving and when I asked if YN got home okay, they weren’t even aware she had left already. ”
A sigh and then you are shifted to the left as a weight on your right settles, hands coming to stroke your hair.
“No shit? If I ever come across Bangtan, I am pummeling their pretty boy faces. How could they leave her like this? All for a fucking house party? I’m so glad I refused Park Jimin’s invitation to join all those years ago. ”
The hand in your hair pauses. “…It’s uh, I think they have weed in there so they might be high for a bit. That may explain why they’re pretty much out of it. ”
“Honest to God if they ditched her for a fuck, I will murder them. ”
Murmurs of agreement float through the room and your brain shuts down, not even thinking about the entire conversation you’ve overheard.
Not until the next morning where you are left alone with your thoughts (your friends had their own lives and own work so you couldn’t fault them for leaving you unattended–at least they made a mean breakfast and set up your bath and even gave you a change of spare clothes and some medicine to go with it) and decide to run to Yin Yang Quatro, teary eyed and heart broken because not one of Bangtan had even left a text.
Guess your friendship with the seven men wasn’t that important after all.
END OF FLASHBACK.
Now Taemin wasn’t a vindictive person.
He wasn’t also one to be easily angered.
In fact, he was the most patient out of all of his friends.
And yet when it came to YN, his neighbor, his friend, he would do anything for her.
In fact they (Sungwoon, Ravi, and Kai) would be willing to walk through fire for her.
It was a pact they took once they decided to help the unconscious girl behind their apartment’s trashcan whom they would later come to know as YN, the most beautiful human being on earth, inside and out.
So when rumors of her getting smashed and cut with the art club’s glass prop started circulating, he had to find out.
And now the four of them were standing before her hospital bed, emotions simmering wildly under the promise of hurting whoever did this to her.
Kai especially was quiet and the guy hardly had nothing to say. Not with his affiliation to Beta Tau Sigma as some sort of honorary member.
“Did they come visit her yet?” Sungwoon asks through gritted teeth as he stares off into space, refusing to acknowledge the reality in front of him so soon.
Ravi frowns as he surveys the damage on YN. Bandaged head, patched up cheeks, and bandages all over her arms and hands. Shit. How was she going to continue working if she woke up? “Yeah. The doctors said they did. ”
Taemin, for all the anger bubbling up inside of him was quick to stamp it out like a lighted cigarette. Cancer sticks they say. “Good. One less fly off the wall. ”
“Or seven. ”
Eyes flash deadly. If there was one thing they were going to do, they were going to search for YN’s soul and bring her back.
They knew YN. They knew everything about her. And they accepted it all. Even if she were to be haunted by some old woman’s ghost or whatever.
Even if they had to make a deal with the devil himself.
They loved her that much.
They were going to have to make a quick trip to Yin Yang Quatro.
Eugene Lee Yang might be the answer to their problems.
You get into a freak accident and wake up to your body surrounded by seven crying men. Or your unrequited love doesn’t seem so unrequited after all.
Chapter warnings
Angst, Cussing, Hospitals, Supernatural
Chapter Rating: T (For Teen Audiences and Up)
Chapter 2: The Girl in the Rafters
A/N.Italics for flashbacks and whispers.
At merely four years old, death came knocking at your doorstep.
You can still vaguely recall the white mesh, a sort of heavy sensation fluttering over you as soon as you closed your eyes, like a weighted blanket but instead of comforting your anxiety, pulling you in deeper through an unfamiliar ensconce of mist and river.
The healer said your soul was floating in between the wakeful consciousness of reality and the spirit world.
Anyone would have scoffed and relegated the wise old woman’s mutterings to that of a lunatic, but not you.
You who were there.
You who were saved by seven men in white.
You who nearly drowned by invisible hands clawing at your shoulders, your back, your neck, all to take you to the depths of wherever.
You never wanted to relive that moment. For all it’s mysticism, it rendered you bedridden, immobile and not living for a whole month at the least.
Your parents were nearly devastated.
They were frightened.
You were frightened.
So after you woke, the healer had advised you to leave that old, wretched place.
That house built upon slippery river stones and dried up bodies of soldiers long forgotten from the war.
A river of blood. Of suffering. Of ghosts.
Being religious people, your parents heeded the warning, packed what little things you had, and left.
To this day, you have never set foot in that house ever again and you don’t dare to.
However, that was only the beginning of a traumatic experience in your young life.
Once your family was settled in a small one bedroom apartment (it was only much later when you were able to have a glimpse, a taste of the finer things that money could buy) in the uppermost story of your uncle’s house by the dirtiest river you’ve ever seen, the hauntings continued for awhile.
There was a depression in your soul, something you could not pinpoint. Not even the doctors could determine what was going on with you.
Perhaps it was the river spirits out to get you once more.
Or maybe not.
And then one drunken evening, your older cousin (the son of your uncle) smashes your mother’s face with his fucking fist after a brief argument, and in a furious move, you up and leave that fucking hellhole into a much quieter, much nicer suburban area just outside of town.
It may have been for the good of things, as the hauntings vanished. Your declining health stopped waning like the moon high in the sky on eerie nights, and you were happier.
Or happier as an only child with no friends could ever be.
That’s when things changed.
You wouldn’t know if it was for the better or worse, but perhaps a fated meeting was set in stone somewhere faraway, somewhere you didn’t know where to look, that seven boys would barge into your peaceful mornings, all boisterous and loud.
You didn’t get along with them at first.
They were Mr. Bang’s local troublemakers.
Seven children who weren’t related by blood but were bound by an invisible, unbreakable, impenetrable bond.
And that was the thing.
They didn’t just let anybody who was nobody in.
Until you tripped on a rock on the side of the road in front of their stupidly grandiose gates, skinning your knees in your open sundress and righting yourself only to trip once more, this time hitting your forehead with a hard thump.
You didn’t know whether to laugh at yourself or cry in disbelief when three boys around your age came rushing to help you up, two more dusting you off, while another two grabbed your hand and gently led you into the loveliest house you ever laid eyes on.
And when you could only offer a shy gap toothed smile, that cemented you in their lives and themselves in yours.
Floating in this void abyss, you wonder where they are now. Were they even missing you?
You groan as your head aches, the pain too much to bear, your thoughts becoming a jumbled haze.
Who were you thinking about again?
Without much difficulty, as if gravity didn’t exist in this time and space continuum, you tumble seamlessly and land on your feet over a soft patch of what seemed to be your shadow.
Wake up, child.
Startled, your eyes flit to…somewhere because everything was black and empty.
They’re waiting for you.
Who?
The question bubbles from the tip of your tongue.
No further answers are given as you are enveloped in a blinding light and thrust into the rafters of an all too familiar room, clean white walls, equally clean white ceilings, and the sounds of a heart monitor mixed with sniffles enter your ears like a harmonious cacophony of whimpers and sadness.
Suddenly, knuckles pop and you shrink in response to a vase toppling over and breaking, flowers all over the floor as water pools beneath someone’s feet.
They don’t bother cleaning it up, only dodging the mess.
Someone will come in to fix it later anyway.
There is a shuffle of movement and you realize with a heavy thump of your ghostly veins that you knew– memorized the planes of that broad back, or the pale skin on that man, or those dimpled lips, or that forlorn glance hidden beneath curled waves.
Footsteps crash through the somber atmosphere and with a start, you recognize the three men practically panting to catch their breaths before one of them collapses onto his knees, snarling as his fearful gaze darts to the person on the bed.
Oh, that was you.
That was you wrapped in a lump of antiseptic, bandages and a white blanket.
And they were…
The broad shouldered man turns, eyes lidded and coarse and with soft touches leads the broken man on the floor next to you, the other two following almost robotically.
“Hyung what–” The tearful one croaks, and your heart squeezes for him for some reason. He looked like a hurt rabbit.
The palest man frowns, eyes never straying from your prone form, as if analyzing beats on a MIDI but couldn’t quite get the desired placement. “She’s just sleeping.”
A hand pats his shoulder, a head shakes, before the tallest of them bleats, voice a deep dulcet tone and you close your eyes for a moment, savoring his soothing bass with a hum. “She…” A swallow. “YN’s…she’s not going to wake up anytime soon.”
You echo their frowns.
Wake up? Why would you wake up? You were dead…right?
Eyes stray to the fallen daffodils on the cold tiles of the hospital room, each pair glistening over with what you could only determine as grief.
Why were they crying over you?
Why does your heart hurt seeing them like this?
You try to float over to them, to console their aching souls, and when you reach the first one, you skim your finger tips over his cat like features, as if to say “don’t be sad”.
“I’m here. Always.” You whisper tentatively wondering if they can hear you at this point.
There isn’t much of a reaction so you sigh.
Not thinking too much of it, you peck this one’s cheek, pouring everything you have into that single touch.
“YN?!”
You jolt out of the man’s way when he tries to reach for you, pupils wild in abject shock and anguish.
He can see you?
The others around him hold him in fear of what he might do to himself, thinking that he had gone beyond the bend with his torment.
“Yoongi-hyung!”
“Yoongi!”
You take a step back, memories flooding your subconscious or what’s left of it anyway. “Y-Yoongi?” You whisper, tearing up. “What am I– How can you—” You shake your head, just as the older man grabs your wrist and you involuntarily clench your eyes with a small whimper.
Yoongi doesn’t let go, doesn’t mind the others very concerned warnings, and pulls you to his chest as if you were a living bag of flesh and bones. “Baby, please come back.”
You sniffle into his toned chest as he cries, struggling against several arms holding him back form something they couldn’t fucking see. “I’m here. But I don’t know how, Yoongi.” You stare up at him. “I want to come home to you all. ”
Yoongi sobs, kissing your forehead, your hair, your nose, “It’s okay, princess. We’ll figure this out. Just please, stay with me, okay?”
“Hyung…” Someone jostles him but Yoongi in his slightly distraught state lowly growls and the footsteps back away an inch.
“She’s here. You can’t see her, but she’s here. In my arms right now. ”
Hesitant, as if any sudden movements left would startle the older man like one would a feral cat, the tallest one(Namjoon, you think), slowly licks his dry lips (dehydrated from all the crying he did earlier), and croaks. “Okay, hyung. Okay, we will believe you. ” He directs his stare to the space between his hyung’s arms (because if it weren’t a drastic situation, the pose would have been one for a comedic meme).
The rest shuffle warily, staring right at you but also unseeing and you scrunch your red nose.
Yoongi can’t help but kiss it again and you bury your face in his armpit, earning a sultry laugh from the man.
God you missed him. His laugh. His smell. Everything.
Although bits and pieces were still coming to you, you know that these seven men were your entire fucking universe.
You’ve missed all of them.
How long has it been anyway?
You open your lips to ask the question when the sliding doors slam open, and an imposing figure clad in six inch boots and dark red lips looms over you. “Hello, gentlemen.”
FratBoys! BTS x Comatose!Reader (A bit of a slow burn. Just a very teensy bit.)
Supernatural Fluff and angst with a happy ending. Smut will be implied. (For the NSFW, DdoveDE, PWP, check out my other page @clutterfied)
Comment for tags.
Thank you to all who are reading this series. You make this and myself included come alive. 고맙습니다.
Synopsis
You vowed that if you were ever going to die one day, the first thing your ghost would do is haunt the seven men who were nothing but a pain in the ass for you.
Or due to a freak accident, you find yourself staring at your own body lying on the hospital bed. The strange thing was, there were seven insanely gorgeous men crying over you. Huh.
All standard disclaimers apply. All banner edits are mine save for the image backgrounds used which belong to their respective creators.
Update schedule: No definite date. Random. Anytime. BTS could be dropping a post right now and I might just be inspired to drop a chapter.
There was something about the island that was serene, calm, something that was shattered when the 8 of you stepped foot on the sand. What would have been a tranquil quiet morning had turned into the usual chaos.
“Seriously Hyung! Again?” You wake startled to Jungkook shouting at the man currently enclosing you tighter in his arms, ignoring the maknae.
“This is the third night in a row,” Jungkook continues when neither of you reply, he’s angry but there’s more to it, he’s hurt. You try to pry the hands around you away, trying to get your thoughts together after being harshly woken, but Yoongi doesn’t move an inch, only offering you a grumbling “tsk” to your movement.
“Hyung!“ Jungkook yells for his attention. You don’t have to see him to know he’s got his tongue harshly pressed against his cheek in annoyance, you can feel it, just as you can feel his stare that you swore was burning you more than the Sun’s heat.
“Jagi fell in love with me first,” the prince let out smugly, you can feel the smirk on the back of your neck. “I saw her first, we would never have met her if it wasn’t for me.”
“So?” The maknae replies seething, while your jaw drops at the Prince’s audacity.
“So I get Princess whenever I want,” Yoongi chuckles arrogantly.
You nearly choke as Jungkook storms out, leaving Yoongi amused and you stunned.
“Kookie wait!” You call after him but the chains around you called Min Yoongi wouldn’t give.
“Yoongi that was mean,” you scold him lightly, which finally makes him let you go, only to turn you to face him.
He’s so pretty in the mornings, so carefree, it’s hard to hold on to your annoyance when he attacks you like this.
“He woke us up,” is his only reply, as if that justified everything.
“That doesn’t excuse you being mean,” you pout, leaping to the maknae’s defence. “This is the last time you convince me to sleep next to you.”
“Tough, you’re sleeping next to me tonight too,” he states confidently, completely disregarding your statement.
His behaviour was giving you multiple cases of whiplash, and it was too early in the morning for so many.
“Yoongi, that’s not fair.”
He sighs, the self-assured attitude melting away to reveal his vulnerability, the change makes you still. He has a soft look in his eyes as he gazes into yours, but there was an intense sentiment behind them that takes your breath away.
“Y/n, I thought I was going to lose you forever,” he admits quietly, the heaviness of his tone making your heart ache. “I still have nightmares Jagi, I still wake up believing we didn’t make it out.”
Your eyes tear up, you had those dreams too. Worse ones sometimes, your father dragging him to the guillotine with the others lined behind him while you scream, restrained by his guards. You shiver at the reminder of those horrible images.
“The only thing that convinces me we did is waking up to you in my arms,” he looks down at your fingers, playing with him softly to distract himself. He wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but he’d let you see it.
“Yoongi talk to them,” you sigh, understanding his point, but you had six others to also think about, and you knew in the long term this would cause a rift. “They’ll understand…”
He kisses your hand softly, contemplating your point even if he looked like he was ignoring it.
“Not yet,” he hums, “I want to keep you to myself a little longer.”
The smirk he gives you makes you gulp, your skin starting to burn under the new dangerous glint in his eyes. You fight the pleasant shiver that travelled down your body, biting your lip to stop yourself smiling.
“The bed’s big enough for someone else to join us, you can’t keep hogging me,” you shake your head, laughing lightly at the way his gummy smile grew.
“Fine, on one condition,” he grins, leaning in, his eyes drawn to your lips before looking at you suggestively. “Admit you love me the most.”
Your jaw drops for the umpteenth time that day.
“Min Yoongi what’s gotten into you this morning?”
“I’m happy,” he breathes against your lips with a sincere smile.
The sight has your heart flying, unable to control your own bashful grin that he starts kissing. He kisses the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, loving the sound of you giggling at his ministrations, holding you closer.
“I fell in love with you the moment I met you Y/n,” he mumbles against your skin, his nose nudging your jaw with affection before his eyes meet yours. He’d tell you it a million times. “You’re the reason I’m free.”
His heartfelt confession made the words of love you wanted to return get stuck in your throat behind the rising emotion. You kiss him again instead, slowly, deeply, making sure he understood how you felt for him too.
“Am I interrupting?”
Yoongi groans when you pull away, turning to see Namjoon leaning on the doorway with a knowing smirk.
“Yes,” Yoongi grunts, trying to pull you back.
“Morning Joonie,” you greet him much to the Prince’s dismay. Well that was his morning ruined.
“Morning Princess,” Namjoon says softly, walking up to you both to kiss your forehead before sitting next to you, playing with your hair.
“Let me guess,” Yoongi huffed. “The maknae had some complaints.”
For a second he thinks Joon didn’t hear him, not with the way he was staring down at you fondly, dimple peeking out of his cheek. Yoongi rolls his eyes at the way you’re grinning back. All the reservation your head bodyguard, or ex bodyguard he supposed, had about his affection for you had disappeared the second you both confessed. It was as if the proverbial dam broke, and Namjoon’s show of love could no longer be controlled.
I think I preferred it when he denied his feelings, Yoongi thinks to himself but even he knows he doesn’t mean it.
“Hyung you’re upsetting the others,” Namjoon states, not taking his eyes off of you.
“Am I upsetting you?” Yoongi challenges, ready to call out any self serving agendas he might be hiding dressed as concern from the others.
“Is Jungkook okay?” you ask, feeling a pang of guilt for the youngest.
“He’s swimming it off little queen,” Namjoon reassures you, thumb trying to soothe the crease between your brows of worry. “He’ll be fine.”
“Are you both going to start arguing?” You could already feel the atmosphere changing even through the grin Namjoon was wearing.
“Yes.” “No.”
Well that answered that. Yoongi scowled at his younger friend, buttering you up and feeding you white lies, at least he was honest.
You sigh, it was definitely too early for this, and you didn’t want to hear it. You’ve been caught between their little spats before and never ended well. You jump out of bed, using the glares they were both giving each other to your advantage.
“Where are you going?“ they both ask simultaneously, Yoongi propping himself on his elbows to watch you leave.
“To see a friend.”
—
The knocking on the door can only be one person, one very stubborn runaway princess on a mission. There’s a sigh as the door is reluctantly opened, a sheepish grin from you that could only be described as trouble.
“You’re going to get me killed,” Nym says matter of factly, opening the door wide to let you through without complaint.
“I’m not going to get anyone killed,” you reply, already taking a seat though you technically hadn’t been invited to.
“They’re going to realise you’re over here more than you are over there,” they chuckle.
“Because we’re friends,” you pout. “And they know how thankful I am to have you.”
Dammit, you had a way with words, you could convince the stars to stop shining if you wanted it. The journey to the island was a long one, after the first flight on the private plane, there was a long car trip to a helicopter which brought you here. The island was owned by Namjoon and Yoongi under an alias not even you knew about.
“It would get lonely here if I didn’t visit you,” you admit, thinking about how alone you were in your old life and comparing it to now.
This place was an isolated drop of paradise floating in the calmest ocean, the only people living on it were doing so under their command or permission. Two out of a handful of the people lived in this house, Nym, the tech genius who kept the island safe, secure and under the radar for the guys, also your new best friend. And her husband, the getaway driver and pilot, Lee Minho.
“You have seven men ready to lay down their lives for you at your villa,” an eyebrow rises, calling you out completely. “I don’t think lonely is the term you’re looking for.”
“I know, and I love them,” you agree. “But there’s a lot of testosterone…”
Nym laughs, making you laugh too.
“Sure you’re not using me for my tech gifts?”
“Maybe a little,” you tease, not meaning it at all, before getting down to business. “Anything yet?”
“You’re right,” she sighs. “They have been watching her, but no one’s taken her in for questioning as far as I can see.”
You nod, taking the information in.
“And as for contacting her to let her know you’re okay…” Nym hesitate, “I’d hold off for now.”
“I know,” you let out a deep breath, thinking to yourself. “I wouldn’t implicate her, or risk them finding us. I just want Sana safe.”
Your head is hung low, if anything happens to your best friend because of your escapade you’d never forgive yourself. You knew she would be the first place they check, the one to keep an eye on, she must be worried sick… A hand squeezing your shoulder breaks you out of your thoughts, a reassuring smile from your saving grace. Nym could hack into anything, satellite feeds, security cameras, all without leaving a trace. Thank goodness she was working with you and not against you, which begged the question-
“So you haven’t actually told me how the guys recruited you,” you say before realising you might come off a bit rude with your prying. “Not that you have to tell me of course.”
The tech genius shrugs like it was no big deal.
“Yoongi’s uncle wanted to use my skills in the worst kind of way,” Nym admits before clarifying, “the world war kind of way, when I refused I became a fugitive, Namjoon and your prince got me out. A lot of us here are like that, we’re not loyal to a monarchy, just the ones who helped us escape.”
Your jaw drops, that was not what you were expecting at all. Well that was a bombshell.
“Yeah, the crown is corrupt in most places, I’m glad you don’t have to wear yours anymore.”
“Me too,” you agree wholeheartedly, you never wanted that weight on your head again.
—
The afternoon Sun had peaked in the sky when you walked back home, like an alarm blaring. Or maybe that was your guilty conscience making it feel so. The others had strictly laid down the law not to contact anyone from the outside world, and you weren’t stupid, you knew the implication if you did. But this tiny molehill you were hiding would be made into seven big mountains if they ever found out.
You’re so deep in your thoughts you don’t realise you’ve made it to the door, walking through it in a trance. The second you turn to the door to ensure it was closed, arms wrap around you from behind making you jump back to reality.
“You’re spending a lot of time over at their house,” Taehyung states in his signature deep timbre, not needing to elaborate. Soft kisses start at your temple working their way down your face.
“I really like going over there,” you giggle when his nose tickles your neck as he nuzzles himself as close to you as he can.
“I know,” you feel the pout of his lips on your skin. “I’m getting jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“It feels like you’re running away from us,” it’s the little huff that has you biting your lips to stop from laughing but you can’t hold it back.
“I’ve already tried to run away from you guys once,” you can’t help chuckling. “It didn’t go well, I won’t be doing it again.”
“Don’t joke about running away with someone else,” he grumbles, making you both walk to the sofa like huddled penguins, refusing to let you go. “It’s not fair, we’ve escaped to paradise and I see you less than when we were on duty in the castle.”
“Tae we’ve only been here a week,” you need to stop laughing at his behaviour before he got grumpy, but he was so cute like this. He falls back into the sofa, taking you with him with a yelp.
“I don’t care, I’m not letting you go for the rest of the day,” his head is buried again in your neck as if that would cement his statement, legs locking onto yours keeping them in place.
“Okay,” you agree to placate him but he seems to have more on his chest.
“Yoongi Hyung gets you enough,” he starts ranting, head falling back on the sofa as he complains. “I can’t sleep unless I’m hugging you and he doesn’t let me join.”
“You hold Jiminie and Kookie all the time,”
“It’s not the same!” He whines dramatically, starting to fake cry like a child. “Yoongi Hyung is so mean, and you love him more than us.”
He waits for you to correct him, hiding his insecurities through his pretend wailing.
“Taehyung, that’s not true and you know it,” you nudge your head with his, seeing right through his little act. Any other day you might’ve teased him, or pretended to contemplate it, but you knew that Yoongi’s attachment issues were going to cause just that, more issues.
“Prove it,” he doesn’t drop the childish tone. “Stay here with me all day.”
“I said I was going to, you big baby!”
You feel him laugh, his chest shaking with it as he pressed his lips together to stop it coming out.
“Can we nap?” You ask him yawning, “Jungkook woke us up at stupid oclock.”
“And Yoongi hyung kept you up late,” he grumbles, lying you both down.
You ignore the remark sheepishly, settling into his arms as his leg straddles your waist to keep you from leaving as if this were all a cruel ploy to escape him.
Good thing the villa had air conditioning.
—
“Taehyung we’re borrowing Princess for a second!”
Did no one want to let you sleep in peace? Jimin’s loud announcement ripped you from your slumber like a blaring alarm. You hear a grumble of disapproval from behind you, hands trying to keep you in place as Hoseok pulls you out of his hold.
Like a scene from a bad diamond heist, Jimin quickly puts a pillow in Taehyung’s arms, grinning in satisfaction when he settles again.
You on the other hand wobble on your feet before Hoseok steadies you, an amused smirk on his face when you grab onto him for support. You give them both a grumpy glare which they choose to ignore, dragging you down to their room. You’re half asleep when they push your shoulders, making you sit on the chair in the middle of the room a length away from the foot of the bed.
“Why do you both look like you’re about to interrogate me?” You ask the pair.
“Because we are,” Jungkook announces his arrival, closing the door as he grabs another chair and sits on it in front of you the wrong way round. The back of the seat faces you as the youngest straddles it, arms crossed at the top, his eyes boring into yours.
He’s about to speak but you’re all distracted by the door opening again.
“Ya did you seriously just slam the door in my face?” Jin’s ears have gone red with rage as he spits at the maknae who giggles like he has a death wish.
“You’re too slow Hyung!” he complains grinning mischievously, maybe he did it on purpose, but he wouldn’t admit it.
“Can we get back to the matter at hand please?” Jimin sighs seriously as he addresses the room.
“Which is what exactly?” You yawn, still not quite awake.
“Your betrayal,” Hoseok states bluntly, making your heart jolt out of your chest.
“M-my what?” You splutter out, how… how did they know? You try to keep the guilt and stupor off your face. Ignorance until proven guilty, that was the saying your father taught you growing up amidst his scandals.
“You told Yoongi Hyung you loved him first,” Jungkook pouts, an irritated scowl on his face from the memories of the morning.
“You said you fell in love with him the moment you met him,” Hoseok’s eyes narrow in distaste.
“We’ve managed to come to terms with it,” Jimin says before muttering to himself, “even if it is annoying.”
“So the question remains little Queen,” Jin stands behind Jungkook. “Who did you fall for next?”
Any sigh of relief you had been in the middle of was swallowed back down. Nope, no way, you were not getting into this. You almost want to be accused of the other thing.
“All of you,” you diplomatically reply, meaning it.
“Princess we’re not above torture if we need it,” Jimin warns, ready to tickle it out of you if neccessary. “Who?”
“This isn’t fair,” you whine before word vomiting your defence. “I didn’t even realise I was for ages and when I did I realised it about you all!”
“Yet you still figured out you loved Yoongi Hyung first,” Hoseok should have been a lawyer with the way he was ready to pick apart your argument.
“But I do love you all,” your puppy dog eyes and pout may have worked any other day, but not this day. Today they were determined to know and settle it once and for all. Min Yoongi was monopolising you and they needed weapons against it, something to wipe that smug smile off his stupid royal face.
“It’s Namjoon I’m telling you,” Hoseok sighs, all of them turning to each other suddenly ignoring you.
“Nope Namjoon was the harshest on her out of us all for ages,” Jin disagrees. “He was fighting his feelings.”
“I don’t know, Princess might like the mean type,” Jimin comments, contemplating the facts like their question was the hardest puzzle on the planet.
“Then it’s me,” Jungkook exclaims like he’s solved it. “I ignored Princess for months before giving in.”
“Because you were shy, idiot,” Jimin refutes him, rolling his eyes.
You use their distraction to your advantage, trying to sneak away but you must’ve forgotten who they were. They weren’t the world’s best bodyguards arbitrarily.
Jin grabs your arm, bringing you back to the chair with a thud.
“Little queen, you’re not leaving without giving us an answer,” Hoseok looms over you, his hands on each side of the chair, trapping you in place. You look up at him earnestly, how could they be insecure about your love for them?
“Look I didn’t realise I loved you all until that night I met my father,” you explain calmly like you were in police custody, being framed for a crime. “But gun to my head, I was falling for you all from the moment we met as we all got to know each other, there wasn’t a time when I loved someone more or less.”
“But you fell for Hyung first,” Jungkook grumbles through pouting lips, pulling Hobi away so he could attack you with them visually.
“I met him first,” you chuckle, “he came into my life like a dream when everything was dark and I was alone, and then he disappeared, but when he came back he brought you all with him.”
They all go quiet, like your words were confirmation that you loved the prince more than them. It shouldn’t make their hearts sink, not when they knew you loved them too, but a sad jealousy hit them, making all their demenours deflate. It felt as if you and Yoongi had something they could never share, it left them feeling on the edge of their own relationship, like you both were at the centre and they were on the outside looking in. They wanted you to love them just as much.
“You guys remember when Sana left,” you try to rouse them from their thoughts. “That morning after when you all panicked as I was crying,”
You laugh to yourself at the memory, remembering all the ways they were trying to get you to stop.
“I was crying because I loved you all and I was happy,” you explain hoping they would really hear what you were trying to say, “I was sad Sana left, but I was happy you were all with me.”
The looks they give you has your heart reaching for them, you knew where they were in themselves. You had been there, thinking they didn’t love you the way you loved them, that they all loved someone else, it was a feeling you would never forget.
“Just because I fell for someone first doesn’t take away how much I love the rest of you,” you tell them wholeheartedly, meaning every word.
“But Yoongi Hyung-“
“Yoongi and I relate to each other a little bit more,” you cut Jungkook off, “we wore our crowns reluctantly, there’s an understanding there I admit you all can’t empathise with, and I would never want you to, but that doesn’t mean I love him more.”
“But we want to understand too,” Jimin mumbles dejectedly, looking at the floor, the corners of his lips weighed down. “We want a special bond with you too.”
You let out a breath of laughter at his words, didn’t they see the bond you had with them, the way they all kept you alive when the crown threatened to bury you again and again.
“You all don’t realise it,” you say smiling but your eyes watered as you thought of every moment of love you had with them, all those times you were too blind to your own feelings. “But each of you have touched my life in your own way, I was so alone before you.”
Their eyes glisten like yours, but you don’t mind when your tears drop.
“You didn’t just save me,” you confess, your voice growing thicker, “you saved Yoongi too. How can I love you any less?”
—
Their figures go rigid at the scenes playing in front of them, the static on the screen doing nothing to hide the facts. Namjoon and Yoongi feel their chest seize for you as the words blare on the intercepted news channel.
Your father was dead, and with you missing, your cousin and Taeyeon were to take the throne. Nym watches the pair in concern, each of them could feel the pressure from the sudden tension, the air so thick it was suffocating. Your kingdom was on the cusp of ruin.
“Don’t tell her,” his solemn voice breaks the minute of silence.
Namjoon’s jaw drops in shock, that was usually his line, Min Yoongi was always the first one that suggested telling you everything.
“Hyung we can’t keep this from her,” Namjoon states dumbfoundedly, unable to believe what he was hearing.
“We can, and we will,” Yoongi replies sternly, no room for argument in his tone, but he forgot who he was talking to.
“Hyung that’s her father, he might be a piece of cr-“
“If we tell her she’s going to want to go back,” Yoongi snaps, advancing into Namjoon’s space heatedly, not willing to back down. “The second we step on to any national soil we all end up with a noose around our necks and she knows that, she’ll go alone.”
He looks at the Prince’s unhinged posture, stepping back to breathe and calm the situation down. Titles didn’t matter when they were both fugitives, in Yoongi’s country the head bodyguard would think twice before opposing him, but when he was under his command, he brought down his consequences like a tonne of bricks on whoever disobeyed him. Here they were evenly matched, stripped down to two men who only wanted the best for you, both as stubborn as each other.
“Hyung we have to tell her, plus she doesn’t have the means to go back even if she wanted to,” Namjoon tries to placate the Prince, knowing he wasn’t going to get through to him by matching his energy.
Yoongi laughs under his breath as if the cleverest amongst them said something stupid and it pisses him off. His jaw clenches hard as he holds himself back from unleashing his own fury at his friend for ridiculing him.
“Namjoon for as long as you’ve known Princess, when she wants something, has anyone been able to stop her?” He shakes his head.
“She’ll listen to us,” Namjoon pushes back, knowing you would, you always listened to him when it mattered. You trusted him with your life, more than the others, he knew that, it was never stated out loud, but with his whole heart he knew it. You always looked to him first, you might’ve fallen for the prince first but Namjoon was the one you sought implicitly above anyone else. In the game of chess, you were the Queen, he was the next powerful piece on the board, what people believed to be the King but actually the Rook. He protected you, he understood the politics better than anyone else did, even Min Yoongi. He could see the outcome to all the scenarios the situation called for, but one stood out amongst them all. If they kept this from you, you would never forgive them.
“She’ll find a way,” Yoongi continues, deep in his own thoughts. “Don’t say a word.”
The conversation makes the third forgotten person in the room uncomfortable… especially when glowing feline eyes turn towards them like prison lights about to catch an escapee.
“Don’t say a word,” he repeats himself warningly.
There isn’t a reply, just hesitation. This was morally wrong, there was no way-
“Nym, you can’t tell her.“
“But if her fathers dead, he can’t make her marry Wang anymore,” your new friend tries to come to your defence. “She can reclaim the throne-“
“She doesn’t want to rule!” Yoongi yells, startling them. “She’ll think she has to go back, to save her people from a psychopath who probably killed her father.”
“Hyung…” Namjoon places a hand on the prince’s shoulder, calming him. “That’s not our decision to make.”
There’s a silence that fills the room bringing with it a heavy weight on each of their shoulders.
“Taeyeon will kill her if she goes back,” Yoongi says quietly.
“With us beside her?” Namjoon tries to sound reassuring, but he can’t even convince himself.
“She’s tried before and we barely managed to keep her safe,” he strikes where it hurts, harshly throws the events that scarred them all in his friend’s face. “If we go with her Namjoon we’re all dead.”
You and Yoongi understood the rules and the corruption more than any of them did. Any dream of going back and returning to what used to be was buried the second they left. You were both defectors, both traitors of your countries, the public wouldn’t take to your return kindly.
“We can say we knew of a plot that would attack the royal family so we had to get the princess out, he died under suspicious circumstances,” Namjoon offers, gesturing to the screen still playing the events of your fathers death, trying to come up with options for every outcome. “That’s what this whole island is about hyung, we can prove that.”
“I’m not risking her safety,” Yoongi breathes menacingly, unwavering in his conviction. “Do you understand me?”
And Namjoon did, he completely did. He had been the one to utter that line too many times, it was unnerving to be on the receiving side.
t/w: possessive behaviour, manipulation, questionable consent at times, sexual content, frequent strong language, graphic descriptions of violence, blood, gore, death, uninspiring overuse of the word “baby”. The boys are not the bad guys, arguably.
Holy moly… how did I just find this gem of a series?? You best believe I legit binge-read it in one sitting. The characters, the PLOT, the universe itself. They’re all very interesting and so well-written! I’m actually bouncing on my seat, waiting for the day the sequel finally comes. If it’s not too much trouble, can I please be tagged in Rains of Faraway Summer? Thank you!
He takes you in his arms, a hand on your back, the other under your knees, and picks you up effortlessly. You fall limply against him, head resting against his chest, eyes closed tight, the tremor no longer as prominent as it had been when you reached out to him, pleading a silent cry of help because your legs could no longer support your body up.
Mingyu watches you carefully for a moment, brows knitted slightly together upon the sight of red around your neck and the weariness which lies on your face.
You’re tired. Drained. And he wishes he had the power to take all your pains away in a heartbeat but the world doesn’t work like that and you’re left to suffer your own wounds alone.
When he looks up to find your previous lovers watching your limp body held in his arms, he questions what goes on in their heads.
Are they worried? Angry? Upset?
They caught you in a moment of weakness, something he knows you will most definitely come to grow angry with yourself for, and found out a secret you had hidden away in your heart to stay. As compared to everything you’ve gone through, they only know so much, but how does finding out the lover that they threw away had suffered through something they never knew about make them feel?
Daejung had scarred you physically and mentally and being in that room with him, being made a laughing stock, he wonders how they view you at this moment right here.
Mingyu turns around from their hard gazes, refusing to let their eyes linger on you any longer because he knows that they don’t deserve to feel concerned. Not after everything they’ve done to you. He still doesn’t know the complete story, perhaps he never will, but he knows enough to understand that among the living hell you walked through, they betrayed your trust and left you to fall.
He walks away from the scene, a tense silence filling the air saved by the sound of his footsteps walking down the hall.
Yuna opens the doors for him to get out once he’s made his way through and Dasom holds an umbrella over the two of you. Under the sound of the heavy rain, the three of them walk side by side in silence, brows heavily knitted together, while you remain unconscious in Mingyu’s arms.
.
.
.
A blink in the wake, a blur in the eyes, before you can finally adjust to the light in the room. Your head falls heavy, a shot of ache against your temple when you sit up, and as you feel around your neck, you find white bandages wrapped around them.
The memories of what had happened flash in your head just as vividly as it was when you faced Gwon Daejung head-on, letting you know just how well your mind will refuse to let go of it any time soon.
This was what you feared; remembering the very things that you’ve buried away long ago.
Yet how do you think you can possibly go on to live a life of freedom if you can’t face the enemies of your past? You can’t. You have to get rid of every last one of them. Staring at the invisible shackles that wrap around your wrists, you fear the things you will have to face.
If meeting Daejung made you this much of a mess, you wonder how it will be when you meet the others. Your hands tremble beside you when you think about it, hating every last second of it as the sound of rain falls prominent outside the windows. The room you’re in is bright as compared to the outside world yet when you turn to look outside, you feel as if you belong there and not here.
But then again, what difference does your room make as compared to the darkness of the outside world? It’s dark both inside and out.
Ah, you don’t like it. You don’t like it at all.
You try to call out for someone, a name, yet nothing comes out as if your voice is stuck against your very own throat, and the memories of Daejung’s hands wrapped around your neck flashes back.
You ball your hands into fists, brows furrowed, head lowered. Why are you so weak? Why are you so damn weak?
You throw the blankets off you and rush to try and walk out of your room. But you don’t get even a footstep in when your legs give in underneath you, failing miserably, and you find yourself sat right on the floor beside your bed.
Weak again.
“You are not allowed to be weak,” you hear your father’s voice in the back of your head. “If you show me any signs of weakness, I will kill you right now. Don’t think I won’t do it.”
Oh, you knew he would. He’d kill you in a heartbeat.
Once he came to know of your potential, your strength, your ability to listen and heed his every word, your lack of hesitation to kill a man for him while carrying all the scars there were to carry in order to get stronger, he grew even more powerful as his role of the puppeteer.
You were his doll to control, his puppet.
And there was nothing that you did to go against him.
You stare at the floor mindlessly, body hunched over, head lowered, with your hands right beside your head, trembling hard.
Daejung. Daejung. Daejung.
He’s dead. He’s gone. He can’t hurt you. He never did for years after your escape but for the longest time, he remained in your head, mentally draining you for nights on end.
Just four days. You stayed with him for four days and he remained scarred in your heart for the rest of your life. How many more people will you have to prepare to face? How many more are there left for you to get rid of? You don’t want to face them. Ah, you don’t want to face them.
You reach out as if someone will be there to catch it, as if there will be someone you can hold onto when you feel as if everything is falling apart and nothing is going right.
You reach out, and feel someone take hold of it.
“Y/N.” You look up with a bit of shock, not expecting someone to catch your hands, but there he is, the very man who kept you warm for the longest time without ever leaving your side.
“I’m cold, Mingyu,” you tell him like a needy little child, crawling into his arms as if seeking out the warmth from the love of her parents. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you.
How many years has it been since Mingyu first reached out to you? When he held his arms around you, transferring his warmth onto you when you shivered in his presence? For the longest time he had always been the one to make the first move as any caring older sibling would, selflessly keeping you warm in his arms, never one to force you to speak a word when you fell silent. You don’t remember when you first sought out him, for his comfort, his hearth, but you remember Mingyu always being there whenever you needed him.
He was always there.
You let your ear fall against the beat of his heart, wanting to steady yourself, to feel composed again because you hate feeling out of control, you hate it when the world gets the best of you.
“I can’t control it,” you tell him in a whisper, desperately trying to search for some sort of answer to tell you what to do, and right now only Mingyu is in your line of sight. “I can’t control it,” you repeat again, stronger, more frantic, as your hands tremble against his blazer, clenching onto them tightly as you look up at him for answers.
He remains calm, a somewhat exasperated sigh leaving his lips with a small rueful smile looking down at you. “Sure you can. You’ve done it for years,” he reminds you kindly.
But you shake your head, hating this more than ever. “Because father forced me to and now..now that father’s gone…Now that he’s gone, I don’t know how to—”
Mingyu takes ahold of both your shoulders when you begin to stray away, eyes frantically searching the room, and brings you back to focus on him. “Do not rely on your father, Y/N. He is not your control, he is your disorder.”
Your disorder.
Disorder.
Disorder.
“But that’s all I know, Mingyu.” You speak those words like a plea, a prayer to take you out of his cuffs, to set you free from him, because you know that no matter what happens, you will never be able to truly let go of your father. A part of you will always be with him just as a part of him will always remain with you.
Why did you have to love him so desperately when you were younger? Why did you always crave for his love and attention? He never cared, never batted an eye your way. Only when he found you useful, a pawn, were you met with those eyes of his. It was toxic but you held onto those eyes, those eyes that found you and kept you chained up as a puppet in his hands.
As long as he paid attention to you, you wanted to be of use to him in any way possible.
Seokjin taught you to hold your head up high, to never shake before others underneath you.
Yoongi taught you beauty and kindness hidden behind an unmovable strength.
Hoseok taught you to rest, to rely on others, and that a single embrace would be enough to dispel all exhaustion and suffering.
Jimin taught you to free yourself from rules and laws, to enjoy in the moment and revel in its thrill.
Taehyung taught you to let go, to release yourself from the tensions, to let the tears flow not just when you needed it but when you wanted to.
Jungkook taught you innocence and vulnerability concealed underneath a hard exterior.
And Namjoon taught you to be the calm in the storm. He taught you control, he taught you power. He taught you how to stand before a crowd even if you were never successful in practice. He taught you that while it was important to conceal your emotions before others, it was just as important to let your walls down before your most trusted ones.
He taught you the balance of controlling your emotions.
Now everything’s burned down into flames and all that’s left is you right in the center, unable to escape.
“All I know is disorder.” You whisper into the room once more, eyes rounding about as your hands tremble against the opening of Mingyu’s blazer. “I can’t be perfect. I can never be perfect. Not for him, not for me, not for anyone.”
“I’m not asking you to be perfect.” He stops you once more, holding onto both your hands as if taking the tremor for himself, to induce control, to show you a sturdy foundation that you were never allowed to rely on. “When you shake, Y/N, when you tremble, I will be your control.” He squeezes your hands that are wrapped around his own, face written with a firm and strong expression so transient, so beautiful. “So be the storm as much as you’d like, whether you can help it or not, and I will be your calm.”
The world falls heavy against your shoulders, darkness surrounding your every corner. Even in this very room which shelters itself from the crying storm outside, you still feel as if you are a part of the rain.
But here is Mingyu, letting you lean against him, falling into your storm despite the fact that he can easily escape it if he really wanted to. But he doesn’t.
He doesn’t run, he doesn’t leave.
Just like Yuna.
Just like Dasom and Yeonjun and the rest of the Reapers that have kept by your side since the day you saved them.
Mingyu holds you steady and the tremor in your body begins to weaken little by little. You feel your heartbeat slowly settling, though you know that a storm still resides there, not wanting to ever leave. In the darkness of your heart, the storm which seems to only grow day by day, he is your calm, he is your control.
Almost like a soulmate. A platonic soulmate.
The grip you had against his clothes falls and you let your head rest against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.
You can do this. You can control your ire, your fears, your weaknesses that wishes to unveil you. You can regain control once again.
You can regain control.
Two knocks against your door and you hear familiar footsteps walking right in but you remain still in Mingyu’s arms.
“We may have a problem, boss,” Yuna alerts with a careful approach. “Mr. Kim would like to discuss it with you. He’s sent a letter in and asked of you to visit him when you woke.”
You sigh. “What’s the problem?”
“Close allies of Daejung couldn’t handle his assassination so—”
“So they figured it out.”
“It is only speculations at the moment.”
You let yourself fall silent and nothing but the sound of the storm outside can be heard. For a long while you sit there doing absolutely nothing, while a mess of darkness scribbles all throughout your mind, wanting to take you in.
You listen to Mingyu’s heartbeat.
A second.
Two.
Three.
And your eyes shift from that desperate little girl to a void of emotions, a blanket of boredom, blankness, and bland masking your face.
You sit up a little straighter to grab a light sheet of blanket off your bed and wrap it around yourself, not ever leaving Mingyu’s lap. “Speculations or not, they’ll still try to come after me.” You take a long look at your legs for a moment, wondering if you can stand up well but eventually give up to look up at Mingyu. “Carry me.”
He hesitates initially. “You need more time to—”
“I don’t need time. I’m fine.”
So when worrying doesn’t work, Mingyu resorts to narrowing his gaze at you, returning to his usual playful self because anything else will anger you. “Surely you can walk on your own, kid. I’m not your slave.”
“You sure look like one. How long have I been out?” You deadpan.
He looks away with hesitation. “…Three days.”
“You know I hate sleeping and you left me unconscious for that long. My legs are weak.”
Mingyu lets out an exasperated sigh as he goes to stand with you in his arms, knowing not to argue with you because he knows he always loses. “Yes, yes, your highness.”
“Your legs aren’t that weak, are they?” You hear the worry in Yuna’s voice. “Should I call for a doctor?”
“No,” you shake your head although Yuna cannot see it. “I can walk on my own if I try, this is just Mingyu’s punishment.”
The older gentleman simply rolls his eyes.
.
.
.
“You should have taken some more time to heal,” Namjoon says after Mingyu takes his leave upon being there to set you down.
You stare at him for a moment, thinking with nothing but a blank expression. You’re used to this, not resting after a hard mission even if your body had taken a toll from it. Father never allowed you to rest so you’ve managed to get better at getting right up once you finish a mission, ready for another one right away.
But you remember always reminding Namjoon and the others to rest when they could, to never push themselves against their limits, fretting over their injuries, scolding them when they went too far. You never understood the complexity of the mafia but you knew that not allowing your body to properly heal was important and that was that.
They grew to take care of themselves more because of you, learned to rest, learned to heal properly.
You never had someone to remind you of such things because even when your loyal secret Reapers tried, what would be the point in listening to them when your father’s words were law? He stood above everyone, threatening your life while you held on by a piece of thread.
“You don’t matter. Get up and fight even if you have to die.”
His words were law.
“I’m fine,” you say, dismissing Namjoon’s concern with a turn of your head to the side, catching sight of the outside through the window. “I hear I might be wanted now,” you say nonchalantly with no emotions on your face or tone. “Do they know you’re involved?”
“There’s a high chance I will be linked with you, being as I’m allied with you and Mr. Gwon. Gwon was never one to choose his allies casually after all.”
“You knew the risks when accepting my request, didn’t you? I presume you’ve already chosen a side, then.”
“Well, you did promise me information on my brother.”
“Right.”
Now isn’t the time though and Namjoon knows that. “What do you plan on doing?” He asks, his eyes staring pointedly your way.
You give him a simple answer. “Take out whoever tries to come after me.”
“You do understand there are many risks to that, don’t you?”
“Oh don’t worry. My next target is another man allied to Daejung so the situation is actually rather helpful,” you tell him nonchalantly as you take a sip of the drink before you. “They’ll come after me and I’ll get rid of them just like how I got rid of Daejung.”
Namjoon sits there for a second, his eyes narrowing as he realizes something. “You have this all planned out from the very beginning, don’t you?”
“Everyone is linked to something, Namjoon, including you and I. Taking out the first target is what brings everyone together, just like how you came back into my life after I killed my father. Though of course, I never expected to meet you there at the time.”
“So you intended to meet eventually.”
“I need your power,” you tell it straight to his face, eyes peeking over the porcelain cup in your hand. “Just like how I was used in your game of chess, I’m making my use of you now. Position and power matter after all, and without influence, a strong and ambitious hero is nothing but another sidekick. Who gets the recognition in the end? The hero who took hold of the people’s hearts and minds. And the sidekick? They simply get kicked off to the curb and will alwaysbe second to the hero. That’s why so many heroes turn into villains.”
Villains.
Every villain has a story, a tragic past that caused them to become the person that they are. They never chose the path, life forced their hands.
And now here you are, playing the role of a villain who may never return to the light. What’s so bad about being a villain anyway? They always get what they want while the hero remains a people pleaser and will always need that validation from others in order to remain relevant. So what happens when those people turn against them and no longer approve of them?
They fall.
Just the way you did.
On your knees, begging for attention, begging for love. Namjoon was right about one thing, it was quite shameless of you to do such a thing. A shameless little fool who didn’t know when to stop, who was so desperate for love she needed others to keep her at bay in order to remain stable. A shameless fool who was too stupid to realize no one stays forever.
They will always leave in the end.
Just like they did.
“Thank you for being one of those people who made me realize that,” you set the cup onto the table, eyes void of emotions even as the corners of your lips curl upwards. “You played your role well, Kim Namjoon. Being hurt by you made me realize a lot of things even though it took me some time. I won’t be blinded by false promises and hold onto false hope anymore.” You stand from your seat and ignoring the way it trembles slightly underneath you, you offer Namjoon something. “I’d like to show you something, if you have the time.”
He checks the watch on his wrist and stands. “One hour,” he states, and you begin to walk off with him not too far behind.
.
.
.
“My lady.” The second a man in a grey suit sees you, he is quick to lower his head in a respectful manner.
You whisper some words to him and he nods obediently before running off at your command. Meanwhile, Namjoon stands there, slight suspicion falling your way when you turn back to him, standing still. “He doesn’t belong to the mafia, does he?”
“I have loyal members outside of the darkness,” you tell him, “in case anything goes wrong and I need help elsewhere.” He looks around the building, observing the fancy white structure and when the man returns again, he holds a wooden box to you who takes it after a word of appreciation.
“For you,” you say as you hand him the box when the man walks away.
Namjoon’s brows furrow with confusion. “Me?”
“I’ve kept them safe for all these years, hidden through people like him where my father was unable to get to.” You begin to walk towards an area that leads towards a large white balcony and Namjoon follows, staring at the box. “It belongs to your brother.”
He freezes for a moment, staring at you who leans her forearms against the balcony, eyes staring straight ahead as you let the wind flow through your hair.
His brother, you said. Whatever could be in here?
He opens the box carefully to find envelopes after envelopes on top of one another, each of them almost completely blank and without a name except for three little initials written on the bottom right corner.
KNJ.
None of them have been opened.
“He gave them to you?” Namjoon asks, looking up at you.
You shake your head. “I found them.”
The night of his murder, even though you were still shaken up pretty badly, you rummaged through Mister Butler’s belongings, quick to grab anything that looked important, and hid them away so your father couldn’t find them. Initially, that wasn’t hard. After all, no one ever comes into your room, hence that was the best place to hide it, but once you grew older and had a better understanding of things, once you learned to make an impact on people’s lives, you had his belongings sent away.
Far, far away from the manor.
Away from your father’s eyes.
Because there was no way he killed Mister Butler just because the two of you cared for one another. Maybe that was part of the reason but your father was too much of a wicked man to ever tell you the truth about his death.
To this day it’s still a mystery because even though you were the one who went through Mister Butler’s belongings, you never dared to ever look around and read through everything.
They were his things after all, his secrets.
You never dared to look into them.
“I assume he wrote those with no intent to send them to you,” you say, reminded of where you had found those letters. “They were all stuffed away, as if what he wrote were something like a diary to a brother he could no longer see.”
A diary written to a brother he could no longer see.
Why did he disappear with no intent to return?
Why?
Why?
If his father was here, he’d know the truth, force it out of him, but Namjoon knows more than anyone that would only harm him. Yet he falls so desperate to find out the truth behind his brother’s disappearance.
“What was he to you?” He asks, eyes hardening as he stares at you with accusation.
You ignore it to speak your truth. “A man I loved.” Namjoon’s brows furrow at your confession but you look over to the side to meet his eyes. “A father. A brother.”
“Did you know he belonged to another gang?”
“How could I have known? I was sheltered from a lot of things, remember?” You remind the man. “Whatever his purpose was to infiltrating the Reapers’ manor, the me then had no idea except for the fact that he was a kind man who always stood by my side.”
For a second there he can almost see the girl he knew then. Your eyes are gentle when you speak about his brother, softness in your words, tenderness in your expression. It’s subtle and you’d have to look very carefully but it’s there.
And for a moment he falls awestruck by how soft you look right now.
The wind which had been stronger moments ago slows down into a little more than a gentle zephyr. Your hair blows as the sun shines against the blush of your skin.
You used to be as soft as this — no, softer then — but even as the years have changed so much of you, the way you speak about his brother in such a manner, Namjoon knows not to mistake that with a false pretense.
Nothing about your expression is fake. You held onto his brother dearly and Namjoon wonders what happened in those years his brother had been your butler. What’s the story? What happened? And how did he disappear?
Suddenly he feels a dagger-like gaze from far away and his body automatically tenses up. A glance over his shoulder, the wooden box falling from his hands, and Namjoon’s quick to take your shoulder and hide you in his arms as a sharp pain pierce through his shoulder.
“Namjoon!” You gasp when he hurls over, a hand quick to clutch against the shoulder that had just gotten shot.
“Go.” He demands when you knelt down with alarm and upon his words, you quickly rush up to your feet and jump down from the balcony.
You land in a safe position, eyes scanning the area like a hawk and once you catch sight of a slip of a black figure, you’re flying past a few people and cars to catch up.
Only things don’t work too well in your favor as the strength in your legs weakens abruptly and your knees fail you as you fall hard onto the ground. You wince at the pain, realizing you’re still dealing with the aftermath of the fight with Daejung and just as you’re about to grunt with frustration, someone is quick to pick you up and run towards where the figure had run off to.
You don’t question Jungkook as you put one arm around his neck to keep yourself steady while the other reaches for the gun around your belt.
The man in black is just up ahead, running in a flash and into the woods as Jungkook keeps up with his pace. With your eyes keeping close contact with the flashing black through the greens and browns of the woods, you set your gun aiming at his figure, and in three seconds count, you pull the trigger and his figure disappears somewhere deeper in.
“I got him on the leg, let him go,” you speak into the intercom of your earpiece before patting Jungkook on the chest. “Let’s go back.”
“What? You’re gonna let him go?” He asks in disbelief.
“There’s a high chance he’ll be at the place I plan on going in a few days, I’ll take my revenge there,” you say. “In the meantime, your boss just got hurt so we should head..—ah,” you groan at the pain that pieces sharply against your leg, and Jungkook looks down with worry.
“Did he get you?”
You shake your head. “No, it was from the jump.”
“You’re still hurt from three nights ago, aren’t you?” He settles you down onto the ground and rolls up your dress pants to check on your leg. Thankfully it’s the left leg, thankfully he won’t have to see that scar left on your right leg from the night you pulled your ring out because you realized you deserved better. “You’re too reckless, Y/N.” You see the way his brows furrow when he finds your leg bandaged up but you still decided to jump from a balcony. “You’ve sustained injuries from Daejung so you shouldn’t be doing too much or else you’ll leave a permanent scar. Can you walk?” He asks as he goes to check your other leg but you’re quick to pull it back from him.
“No,” you say while refusing to meet his eyes.
You can feel his gaze on you but eventually, Jungkook sighs as he stands to carry you in his arms once more, this time to return to the building you left Namjoon in.
No words are exchanged from there, just an awkward silence you refuse to take away.
“You’re injured.” You point out blankly once the two of you have returned, finding your ex-husband on the steps waiting for you as Yoongi stands beside him, holding onto the wooden box that had fallen when he took the bullet from you.
Namjoon looks up with an observing stare at the way Jungkook’s carrying you. “And you can’t walk once more.”
You shrug when Mingyu walks up to you and Jungkook, his eyes a hard stare as he holds his hands out to take you back from Bangtan’s maknae. For some reason, silence fills the moment and they face off in a staring contest none of them are willing to back down from.
You sigh.
How childish.
And reach out for Mingyu, causing Jungkook’s brows to furrow a bit but he eventually willingly lets you go to your second in command. Once secure there, you face Namjoon once more.
“They were aiming for me, weren’t they?” When he nods to confirm your speculation, you think back on the man who had run hard for his life, brows furrowing as you wonder why he would recklessly do such a thing in the open air when you were literally in a meeting with another member of such an influential mafia. “Will you let me take care of this?”
“Seems you weren’t expecting this.”
You shrug. “I have my ways of working through things but whatever people do in response is a script I do not write up. I knew someone would strike out in public but for it to happen while you were with me is quite a surprise. Surely they know who you are, no?”
“It’s likely to confirm whose side I’m on.”
“Well then, I guess you’re as guilty as I now.” He shrugs. “You don’t regret it?” You ask, noting at his injury. “You do realize that associating with me will only bring you more conflict, no? I am now the public’s enemy.”
“I’m already head deep, Y/N.”
“Then if you’re up for it, in three days’ time, I will make my next move.”
He looks beyond the scenery, right into the woods where the man had run towards. “If you continue to keep this up, Y/N, you’ll eventually wear yourself out,” he says, noting the way you can’t even seem to walk on your own. “The way you’re going about things is dangerous.”
“My hit list is filled with powerful people, what did you expect? It’s not as if I asked to be associated with them,” you say with a lighthearted shrug. “And if you keep this facade up, eventually I might believe you’re actually worried about me.” With a pat against Mingyu’s shoulder, he begins walking away, leaving the scene so the two of you can climb into a black vehicle that had just pulled up for you.
The three that were left behind simply stare at the moving vehicle until it disappears into the distance.
.
.
.
“The invitation came as expected.”
You take the red envelope that Mingyu hands to you, a leg crossing over the other with a blank stare at the fancy golden letters spelling out your name. “Seems he really is a fool,” you utter as you read the content of the letter to make sure it was true. “Who in their right mind would send an invitation to the woman who killed one of his most important allies?” You laugh a little when you think about it. “He really plans to cage me in, huh?”
“Are you actually planning on involving Bangtan in this?”
You shrug at Mingyu’s question. “They’ll be invited to the party but whether they want to get involved is all on them. Whether they do or not does not change the fact that I plan on killing Jummy that night. Something tells me it’ll be a big headache though.”
“That man doesn’t hesitate to act out on his anger.”
You sigh when you think about it. “Well, it’ll be fun playing with his feelings for a while. Get ready.”
“Yes, boss.”
.
.
.
With a tight fitted black dress that almost hits the floor when you walk and a long slit upon your left leg, Hoseok cannot help but simply stare at the woman he sees walking into the room. Even in a crowded room that fits many guests who also have on their own formal gowns, you grab ahold of the room’s attention the second you step foot into the room.
Hair rested in a pretty updo, you let a hand gracefully swat the straying hair in the front, eyes looking up to scan the room and despite holding the attention of almost everyone in the room, you pay them no mind as you walk along, steps bold and unwavering, standing tall and proud without a blink to your eyes.
You’re so different from who you used to be then. You used to be more hesitant and meek, always seeking to instinctively hide behind others. You hated the attention that always seem to draw your way. After all, who can ever deny such attractive beauty? So you always kept your head down, eyes lowered, and kept to their sides whenever possible.
But now, whether you’re beginning to embrace the attention or not, he cannot tell, but you sure are handling it better than you did then. You’ve learned to stand on your own.
He can’t help but feel a little skip against the beat of his heart, proud of your newly found confidence.
“It’s only been three days but you seem to be walking well again.” When you approach him, Hoseok doesn’t hesitate to offer you a drink. The two of you fall under the attention of others but decide to ignore them. After all, everyone at this point understands you to be Daejung’s murderer.
You take the champagne glass, swirling it well for a moment as your brows furrow slightly. “I’m not too fond of these types of dresses,” you admit with a scowl.
He chuckles a little. “Well, it does suit you rather well.”
“Careful, your boyfriends might get mad at you if they were to hear such compliments made to me.”
He shrugs with a slight roll of his eyes. “They’ll get over it.”
When you look at him, you wonder how Hoseok dealt with the aftermath of your leaving. He had been the only one who seemed to care until the very end, while the rest of them let you be when Namjoon decided to stop being the good husband he once was. They all grew distant except for Jung Hoseok who had no idea what was even happening outside the room he had been hospitalized in.
It was you who grew distant with him.
You wanted to hold onto hope, to him, but knew it was impossible when it came to such a relationship, so you had to let him go.
“Why?”He would repeat that question. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Sounding so broken and hurt, angry but his anger was never intended to be directed your way. Hoseok could never get angry, not with you, not ever.
He was angry at himself, for not being there for you, for not being enough, for not knowing. He was angry at the boys who decided to let you go. He was angry at everyone but you, begging and pleading that somehow, in some way, things would be okay again.
But it was too late for that. You had made your decision, deciding to free yourself from them and to return to the dreaded hellhole you were so used to.
A part of you always wondered what could have happened were you to give in to his words and give it another chance but even the you then understood that nothing could be done to save your relationship. It was already too late, whether you and Hoseok wanted to admit it or not.
You wonder if he fought for you. He probably did.
You wonder if he punched any of them. He probably did.
You wonder how long he loved you until he eventually gave up. You wonder how they made up, if the rest of them find him suspicious in some ways now that you’re back, whether they question his feelings, whether he still loves you or not.
No.
It’ll do you no good to have such intrusive thoughts.
The past is done, you’re over it.
You’re over it.
“Well, well, well.” The two of you look up to find the man of the hour who approaches you with a sly little grin as he holds his arms out, and you straight up, eyes staring him down with your guard up. “Seems you were shameless enough to attend this party in honor of Mr. Gwon.”
You know he’s trying to humiliate you, to have you cornered and stared down by the crowd but you don’t give him the benefit. “Isn’t it more shameless to invite the woman who’s the cause for this dreaded party to exist in the first place?”
“So you admit to your crime.”
You shrug. “Why hide it when everyone already knows? That’d be quite foolish of me. It would seem as if I regretted my decision in eliminating him.”
Jummy’s brows crease. “What bold words, little miss Reaper. I’m surprised such a small little thing like you who used to submit to everything your father said has turned into the boss herself. I didn’t know you had such the potential.”
Quite a close ally of your father’s. You remember his face well, how can you not? Out of all the people your father used against you, he was one of the more prevalent ones, a true villain who thought the world of himself. For some time he acted as if he was on your side — you never believed it, of course, how could you trust so easily after what Bangtan had done to you?
So eventually when his tactics didn’t work, he resorted to being your father’s fist.
You cannot count the many times your father would use him to punish you, the many times his hand rose against you, the many times that familiar sly smirk of his formed along his lips, laughing and laughing hysterically, a proud man for being your father’s little puppet.
The amount of hate this man has by your loyal members and you will never cease to exist.
Yuna’s probably the happiest knowing he was the next person on your hit list.
“You were such a well-behaved little girl.” When he tries to reach out to hold your face, you take a step back as Hoseok takes ahold of his wrist, stopping him from doing so with a warning glare. “Ah, Jung Hoseok,” he turns to the man, finally acknowledging his presence as he shakes his hand off with a fake smile. “Good to see you here, huh? Where’s Mr. Kim?”
“He has more important business to attend to,” Hoseok states flatly without a filter.
“Well, being as he aided little miss Reaper here upon getting to Daejung, I had expected he wouldn’t have come.”
Hoseok’s brows furrow. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Such a traitor.”
“In a world where power is the most important,” you cut in with a swirl of your drink, “don’t you think he made quite the wise decision to back me up? Mr. Kim has good eyes for who he decides to ally himself with, even if that means betraying someone along the way. If they’re weak, why keep them by your side?”
Just as how he threw you out of his life when you became of no use to him.
“You on the other hand just love to suck up on anyone in position no matter who they are.”
The smirk on Jummy’s face twitches slightly, his facade slowly breaking. “What did you say?”
“Just like the way you obeyed my father’s every command, wagging your little tail each time he called for you. You’re a little attention whore who needs validation from everyone else in order to remain relevant.”
“Weren’t you the same?”
“Oh don’t do that,” you laugh at his pathetic attempt to bring you down along with him, “because unlike you, I knew where my goal lied and that wasn’t living under the shadows of everyone that came my way. I’ve built my own empire, where’s yours? Ah, that’s right,” you look around the room, an amused expression plastered on your face, “you’re too busy wagging your tail for everyone to think straight. It’s quite shameless if I do say so myself.”
You see the way he grits his teeth, hands balling into fists, and scoff at his foolish reaction.
How is it that such small little words have already gotten under his skin already? He always did have quite the temper, one similar to your father. Though, unlike your father, he was never one to keep calm and composed for a good amount of time.
How foolish.
You used to fear this man for all the things he’s done but looking at him now, he’s just another pathetic man.
A pathetic bug.
“Since when did you get so bold, little Y/N?” You don’t like how he’s using your name as if the two of you had a close relationship in the first place. But it’s a bit amusing seeing him trying to keep calm in front of a crowd because the Jummy you know would always lash out and take his anger out on you whenever you were available for him.
Father never stopped him.
“I was always bold, Jummy.” You look up at him through the hood of your eyes, a smirk curling along your lips with amusement. “Did you really think I grew this confidence out of nowhere? I feared you, I do admit it, but even children stop believing in the monsters living under their beds, especially once they come to realize that everything was fake and they never existed in the first place. You aren’t a monster, Jummy, you’re just a pathetic fool who never knew how to control his anger, believing he was the bigger and stronger man when in reality, you’re weak for not being able to control your emotions. You’re pathetic and shameless, and even now, you’re still sucking up to Mr. Gwon who’s already gotten sent to hell, thinking you can still win by—”
You feel a harsh impact against your cheek as the wind picks up the force, lightly blowing against the strands of your hair, and as you face to the side, your eyes widen a bit as you realized Jummy had just slapped you.
Ah.
That kind of stings.
Hoseok is quick to grab him by the collar while you stand there, a light chuckle leaving your lips.
“Congratulations Jummy, it seems you’ve just signed your death warrant.”
Part 1 of my multiverse au mini series. Massive thank you to @oknymz/@shadowofahope for keeping me alive and sane and editing bits for me, otherwise I would have run away from this completely. And to everyone who kept cheering me on.
Warnings: 9k words, possessiveness, testosterone, jealousy, suggestive shit, sexual tension, general horniness, mentions of scenting + marking + breeding (the usual hybrid trope stuff). Blood (only a few drops).
You were late… not actually late, not by the company’s standards, but by your own. The bunny hybrid watches the clock tick closer to the scheduled meeting time, bodies pouring into the room with their own scents, but he couldn’t smell you. You normally attend meetings half an hour early to set up, Jin had noticed the habit and the maknae was hoping to catch a glimpse of you before everyone attended, but when he entered, expecting to see you, you were nowhere to be found.
He nibbled on his bottom lip in worry, where were you? The moment he decided to text the others, and yourself, he finally sees your figure rush in through the door. Relief fills him, albeit only momentarily.
Jungkook inhales and freezes for a moment. If you paid any attention you’d see his doe eyes dilate, his leg thumping underneath the desk.
Why did you smell like that? He grips the armrests to the chair with his nails almost tearing the metal to shreds like he were a wolf hybrid not a bunny. Someone obviously had their hands all over you last night. Why else would you smell so good? The state of you now, slightly dishevelled and tired, small dark circles under your eyes, he bet you didn’t even have time to shower, the smell is so pungent he can barely think of anything else.
*Bonus chapter - Flashback alert* This takes place before chapter 1 (and after chapter 8.5 ‘envy’). There’s a lot of negative emotions in this one so proceed with caution ~ 3K words
“There’s an error,” Yoongi says, frowning at you from his desk in his private office. It ticks your nerves, you don’t have time for his usual bickering today.
“No I didn’t,” you snap, turning away with a roll to your eyes but he grabs your hand gently, coming to stand next to you as he leans you against the desk as if that would brace you somehow.
“The margins are 1.5, for pink and pink they have to be 1.25,” he tries to lighten the mood by scrunching his nose similar to the maknae and while you found it adorable the implication of his words had you reeling.
“I made a mistake?” Your voice is small but Yoongi can hear the sinking feeling in your chest through it. You skimmed the formatting instructions for this company very briefly, a jaded feeling running through your veins when you were given the project, images of Jungkook and Jin with the Pink and Pink CEO running through your mind. But that was no excuse for not doing your job properly.
Boys are so stupid. But then again, she’s so silly. If I didn’t like her I would lecture her about her self-image issues like the big fucking hypocrite I am! But all those negative thoughts keep piling up and the pressure is increasing, alongside with the existence of Susan because if I get my hands on that bitch I will wipe those luxurious floors with her face. Women should not hate on other women, especially because of men. I hate how she acts like YN is the one seeking them out. The CEOs follow after her like lost puppies and suddenly it’s YN’s fault that the boys don’t pay attention to Susan. UGH, so annoying.
The jealousy… jealousy… poor baby. I wonder how the boys would react if they saw her ex… Omg I’m a sadist that would be so funny. I can see the steam coming out of their ears *cackles* oblivious little duckling, so cute and so sad. I can’t decide.
I might have to *coughs* admit that the CEOs’s worry is cute. *coughs and makes a weird face - must be the pain from the previous chapter when she was choking on a dick so big I felt it - swallows hard* oh wow i could not have written anything weirder… I feel like I’m challenging myself and If I don’t fuck off this reblog will take a w h i l e
So they’re sweet and have to communicate *blushes in hypocrite* with my little duckling to make them happy and horny. Da boom tss.
I love this. I love this a lot. Brilliant work by Brilliant Blue
“Come on beautiful girl, let’s get you cleaned up,” Jin smiles, watching your dazed eyes happily.
“I don’t think I can move,” you giggle, making the three of them laugh with you.
“Come on,” you’re lifted into Jin’s arms bridal style and in any other circumstance you’d complain, but you weren’t going to tonight.
“I’m so sleepy,” you yawn, closing your eyes as you were moved.
Hobi follows you both into Namjoon’s en-suite, hair band in his hand to tie up your hair, you could wash it tomorrow they’d keep to the essentials for now. Yoongi isn’t far behind with Namjoon’s top and boxers, steadying you when Jin places you on your feet.
“We’ll have to go in tomorrow, but I think the Maknaes should be allowed to take a last minute day off,” Hobi mumbles to Jin and Yoongi as he ties up your hair, you barely register the words. Jin turns the shower on, setting it to the right temperature while Yoongi handled the towels.
“Namjoon’s sorting it,” is all Yoongi says.
“She’s not going in,” Hobi states what he thinks is the obvious. “We’ll get a doctor to call.”
“Deal with it in the morning, let’s just get my kitten to bed,” you couldn’t make out the words but you could hear the fondness in Yoongi’s voice. You opened your eyes long enough to take in his face and that soft smile he had for you, you’d never seen this one before, it was new, and it was making your heart beat faster, ridding your bones of sleep. Was the steam making the bathroom hotter?
You have to look away, it’s not an intense look of love he’s wearing but it’s so pure it does something to your insides.
“Hyung, why are you taking off the rest of your clothes?” Hoseok says, breaking the moment in an unimpressed tone.
“She can barely stand, I’m not sending her in there alone,” Jin replies aghast as the other two shake their heads in disapproval.
Soft hands pull you under warm water, watching the content sleepy grin on your face as soap lathers on your skin, stealing kisses as the other CEOs watch through the glass, happy envy in their smiles.
That’s it, that’s the tweet. If hell exists, or anything like it, I’ll be there and I’ll see all of you here because I’m sure there is a special place just for us When “possible hell” appreciates you more…damn, I love life (note the fucking sarcasm)
Ok so I’m not going to go into a detailed explanation about how much I enjoyed this whole chapter. Maknae line knows their shit. We stan. I hope the aftercare was good because my throat was hurting and I didn’t choke on Tae’s dick. I know it’s big, ok? I JUST KNOW IT. My throat feels it (it might be Covid, but eh). And then Jimin-ssi… Bro, just take my life and go. I don’t need it anymore. AND THEN JK. I’M NOT CUT OUT FOR THIS I’M TOO FRAGILE NOW I CAN’T THAT WAS SO HOT PLS THE BITING NEVER SEEMED SO HOT. FUCK.
Also, I love the hyung line, but stealing the nickname because “her reaction to it” and “they couldn’t help it” is not an excuse. They should sue. I would. SO THAT MEANS THAT I’M FUCKING CACKLING AT THEIR RAGE SJEHDJDNSJSNSJSJSB. This is gold. I love the revenge/suicide. It’s the best way to go. Adios.
Blue, I have missed you! AND YOUR STORIES! I’M SO SORRY I’VE DISAPPEARED PLEASE FORGIVE ME You’re the best! Brilliant Blue!
