Deaf hitman Park Jimin x vet YN; amnesia AU

YN has only ever dreamed of a world where she gets to care for her animals and sit by the beach, doing nothing but the things she wants.

Jimin has never allowed himself to dream of anything. He is owned. He is someone else’s property. He can’t dream of freedom because to dream is to yearn and to yearn is to be disappointed.

Still, what happens when a woman full of dreams and a man terrified of his own come together?

Masterlist  /  i don’t have a tag list  /  find me on twitter  /  word count: 2.3k

(AU: While I enjoy writing realistic stories, this one has many ‘common sense’ holes that I would like you to ignore for the sake of the fantasy world creation. Future smut and gore. Jimin is a badass. He’s also deaf. This story will only be about 10-15 chapters long. Shorter than my other ones. I’ve already written up 6 so far. I’ll update once a month. Hope you like it!)

(yandere / angst / gore / fluff / smut / violence)

Chapter 3: ‘Newness’

The man wakes up some time later and you walk him into the passenger seat of the car. The inside of the vehicle has some blood stains that twist your stomach. The man notices the blood, and he stares at the patches with an unreadable expression on his face. He only jolts when you put a hand on his shoulder and he allows you to hoist him into the car.

You got him into the passenger seat and try to drive as carefully as possible to get him back to your place. He winces and jolts a little but you can tell he’s trying to put on a brave face, clutching at his wounds tightly. His skin grows pale and sickly-looking during the short ride, and you know that he was going to have to spend some days recovering.

Your place isn’t small, thankfully. You had a house all to yourself; a bathroom and kitchen separate from the living room and bedroom. It wasn’t enough for a family, by any means, but it was more than ample enough for you and the space you wanted to make a life in for the next half a decade.

You get him into the house without being seen, for once grateful for the sleepiness of the town you live in, and when you finally have him in your space, laying on a towel on the bed, you ask, “What am I supposed to call you?”

He shrugs and makes a sweeping gesture.

You take it to mean, Anything is okay.

He didn’t have the energy to write any more. His eyes slide closed but you tap his uninjured foot with your knuckle, making him jerk.

You say, ignoring his vicious glare, “I’ll let you sleep. I’ll wake you up when you’re supposed to eat something.”

He nods, eyes sliding closed and he waves you off, a little more purposefully. I’m too sleepy for this. You read from his behavior.

You close the bedroom door and move into the living room. You were going to have to work half-shifts instead of full ones to keep an eye on the animals until you could hire someone to house-keep. You had been looking for an assistant since even before your old boss had hurt himself, because of his old and your growing responsibilities at the clinic.

It takes you about an hour to send off some e-mails, inquiring about any veterinary assistants in any nearby town or fresh graduates who were interested in studying under you, before you move to make dinner.

The stranger had been sleeping soundlessly for hours, even after you check on him randomly, part of you worried about him somehow getting into your panty drawer or pulling a knife and trying to kill you, even though you know, logically, that he wouldn’t even be able to hold up a pencil let alone a weapon.

You make him porridge, full of nutrients and blended into something smooth and easy for him to eat, and you cook up some bulgogi and quinoa for yourself.

When you walk into your bedroom, you notice the air in the room edging on the cusp of stale so you open one of the windows and let in a gust of fresh Fall breeze. It was going to rain soon, probably later that night actually, from the heavy scent of rain on the wind, so you are grateful to you of days past for having already gone grocery shopping for the rest of the month.

Living with another person was going to burn you through the food you had a lot faster than you had planned so while you set up the food, you make a list of things you’ll probably need for him.

“Hey, Mister,” you say, shaking his shoulder, gently. “It’s time for dinner.”

Groggily, he rouses from his sleep. “Mmmm?”

“Dinner,” you repeat once his eyes are opened and he seems aware of his surroundings. You help him into a more seated position, not ignorant to the pain he must be in from the clenching on his jaw. “It’s only porridge. I tried not to make it spicy or too salty, but you have to let me know if it isn’t to your taste.”

He sniffs the broth and he gets a dazed look on his face. The man’s stomach gurgles, loudly, and he looks away, embarrassed.

“Can you manage by yourself?”

The man exhales before he nods, taking the spoon in a shaky grip. His eyes are big, all lost and frightened, and he waits, patiently, for you to place the bowl in his lap, a thin towel beneath it to assuage some of the heat.

You grab your own bowl of food from the tray on the desk and cross your legs. He stares at you, waiting, glancing between your bowl and your face, before he raises his eyebrows, expectantly.

He was waiting for you to start eating so you could eat together. You give him a small smile, which he returns with his own, kind and innocent.

“Bon appetit.“

The two of you eat in relative silence but whenever you glance up from your own bowl, you see him demolishingthe plate. He finishes long before you even get through half of your meal and he seems to want more if the eager look on his face says anything.

You swallow a mouthful and ask, trying to hide your amusement, “Are you still hungry?”

He chews his bottom lip as he nods, sincerely.

With a satisfied smile, you take his bowl, uncurling your legs to get off the bed and disappear into the living room. You feel his eyes on you from the bedroom, which looks directly into the kitchen area from where he is laying down.

“There’s plenty more if you like,” you tell him as you hand it back. This bowl isn’t as hot, and he takes his time with this one, eating slower and savoring the taste of each bite. His nostrils flare as he eats, brows twitching in interest as he eats.

He’s shockingly beautiful, even like this, bandaged and bruised.

You grab a new notepad, one of the loose-leaf paper ones you stole from the clinic to help you with your late-night studies.

“I can give you this to write in until we figure out a better way for you to communicate with me,” you tell him after tapping his leg to get his attention.

The man nods and excitedly takes the pad from you, putting it next to him before he goes back to the food. Clearly his priorities lay firmly with getting his sustenance before anything else.

Some time later, after you had washed up the dishes and had carefully changed his bandages, you ask, “How do you feel?”

He didn’t put a shirt on on your recommendation, to let the injuries air out, and you have to force your eyes to stop wandering. His chest is so much more impressive now that he’s conscious and in motion. Perfect wash-board abs, his detailed, dark pectoral tattoos shifting as his muscles move when he scribbles his responses down. He was an absolute specimenof a man, something to be studied in a book somewhere.

Suddenly, he turns the notepad around, surprising you, with a tight look on his face. Like I got run over by a semi-truck.

You snort a little, gesturing to his arm. “I took a bullet out of your shoulder. You’re lucky that you’re conscious. I still think being in a hospital would be better for you.”

He doesn’t even answer. The look on his face alone is enough to remind you of his staunch lack of a desire to go the official route.

“I got it,” you comment, exhaling in minor frustration. “I’ve thought of a name for you.”

He quirks a brow in curiosity. What is it?

“Jay,” you respond. “You have a neck tattoo of the letter. It’s pretty big, so maybe your name begins with it, or someone you care about has their initial. And this is a mocking jay bird on your inner arm.”

He gingerly raises an arm to touch the side of his neck, fingers tracing the lightly raised skin. I don’t even know what I look like.

You move to grab a hand-held mirror from your vanity and hold it up for him, at eye-level.

“You’re pretty,” you compliment as he looks at his own reflection in momentary fascination.

I’m handsome.

You roll your eyes at the proud expression on his face. He keeps looking at himself, tilting his head from side to side.

“Being smug isn’t a good look,” you retort, glibly. You remove the mirror, putting it back where it belongs, and stand, putting your hands on your hips. “I’m getting ready to go to sleep. You can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He stares at you, not comprehendingly, almost as if he doesn’t want to be alone. He scrambles to write something quickly. Why? The bed’s big enough for both of us.

“No offense, but you stink,” you tell him with a twist to your lips. “Plus, I don’t feel comfortable sharing a bed with a patient.”

His frown deepens slightly as he takes a covert sniff of his body, but his face twists into a grimace as he realizes you aren’t lying. Jay writes more down. I’m not your patient. You aren’t a doctor.

“I’m the one who stitched you up. I’m the closest thing you have to a doctor, Jay,” you respond, putting a hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. He looks up at you through his lashes before you say, “Get some sleep.”

Jay sighs, heavily, before he acquiesces, shuffling down on the bed and you switch off the lights, bathing him in darkness. You try to be quiet, milling around in the bathroom as you shower and ready yourself for sleep. With still damp hair, you walk back into the living room and stare down at the couch. You would be lying if you said that you hadn’t spent your fair share of nights on the couch, having got too lost in a late night whirlpool and slept there with the tv still playing in the background. You always woke up with a crick in your neck and some kind of new bruise from how you turn in your sleep.

You toss out the blanket on the couch and curl into a warm ball. You fall asleep to the calming sounds of the beginning of Fall rain, body relaxing in slow increments until you’re gone, drifting in a sea of comforting darkness.

In the middle of the night, you are jolted out of your sleep by the sound of thunder, clapping mercilessly loud in the distance. You get out of bed, your bladder calling for you to go to the bathroom. Once you’re done with your business, you wash your hands and come out of the bathroom, but something catches your attention.

A groaning sound.

But the sound was so unbearably sad that it made your heart ache.

You walk into the bedroom, quietly poking your head into the shadowy room to see Jay, his face contorted in agony, biting so hard on his lower lip that he had long broke the skin and was dripping blood down his chin.

Instantly you are by his side, reaching for his clenched fist by his side.

“Shh,” you murmur, patting his head in tender motions. You know he can’t hear you, but you keep muttering soft sounds, running your hands up and down his scalp, rubbing small circles on the back of his hands with your thumb. You used to get nightmares a lot as a kid, easily frightened by the smallest thing, so your mom often had to cuddle you back into sleep’s embrace this exactly way. You whisper, softly, “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

It doesn’t stop the nightmare from playing behind his eyes, but you notice a degree of tension leaving his body the longer you comfort him. His moaning and grumbling taper off, gradually, as you rub the crook of your finger up and down the side of his face, back and forth along the side of his jaw.

You keep petting him, shifting onto your side so you could wrap yourself around his trembling body. It felt more intimate than it actually was, knowing that you were only providing physical support to someone in need, but the optics were saying something different. You look into the mirror directly opposite to the bed, observing yourself. Hair messy, sleep still in your eye and lines from the cushion that you had been using as a pillow pressed into the skin of your neck and face.

It appeared too intimate for you to stomach, so you look away, embarrassed.

You move to get away once he had stopped gnawing through his lip, thinking your job done, but he whimpers like a struck animal and grabs your hand tighter.

He mouths words, but no sound comes out. Jay’s thick brows twitch in displeasure as he grabs your hand tighter, almost pulling you back into the pocket of warmth at his side and he settles quickly after.

“You’re going to be such a handful,” you grumble, shuffling a little to get comfortable in his iron-grip.

- end -

(1) (2) (3)

Euphoria [8]

bad boy jungkook x librarian yn

Jungkook was used to getting what he wanted. He was handsome, disgustingly so, and he knew how to flirt his way in (and out of) danger. He lived for and with his brothers. He didn’t know anything but his found family. Still, happening upon you was one of the best decisions he ever made.

Now… How to make you realize that your life was missing him as much as his had been missing you.

(angst/yandere / smut / gore / fluff)

Masterlist  /  i don’t have a tag list  /  find me on twitter  /  word count: 4.0k

author’s note: yn’s not going down without a fight tho, is she?

Chapter 8 ‘Mission’

When you wake up, you are stunned to realize that you had actually been able to fall asleep under the circumstances. Usually, you would have been too uncomfortable to truly relax, but here you were, slobbering all over their expensive-looking couch.

It wasn’t dark outside by any means but it was significantly later than you had expected it to be.

The sun was high in the sky hidden behind the film of heavy clouds, so you presume it to be around early afternoon. The world below you was alive and bustling, despite the gray and drab weather and, humorlessly, you realize that it seems to match your mood perfectly.

Your skin feels heavy from where it had been pressed heavily into the soft sofa and as you lift your head fully, you can sense that you aren’t alone. Pressing into the grooves of your skin, you slowly turn your head toward the source of the soft sound of turning pages.

It wasn’t Jungkook, thankfully.

Jimin glances over the head of his comic book and says, “Don’t mind me.”

Unconsciously, tension leaves your body.

Jimin, objectively, wasn’t any better than Jungkook to have around - both of them being your captors - but something about waking up to see Jungkook’s metaphorical wagging tail and puppy dog eyes would have set you off something fierce.

Your nerves are shot, trembling lightly where they fist the material pooling at your stomach, and you glare at the other man, annoyed by the nerve of his sunshine-like expression.

“I wasn’t going to,” you grumble, voice croaky and thick with sleep. You clear your throat and sit up, feeling the urge to relieve yourself. Begrudgingly, you ask, “Where’s the bathroom?”

Jimin looks up and asks, voice filled with sarcasm, “You aren’t going to try and climb out the window, right?”

You glare at him but he simply shrugs. Jimin explains, “I got put on YN-watch tonight, so I have to make sure you aren’t left alone. At all. Jungkook would kill me.”

You say, barely able to hide your pout, “This is insane, you know that right?”

Jimin nods in agreement. He explains, easily, “Sure. It’s also incredibly illegal. But that’s never stopped us before.”

You scoff, lip curling in annoyance, “Right. I shouldn’t expect decency from people like you.”

He laughs, loud and sudden, like the sound was shocked out of him. “Decency? Says the person who held a gun on me and threatened to cut my eyes out.”

“I wasn’t actually gonna do it,” you retort, dismissively. Jimin pins you with a look and you huff, “Okay. But, I didn’t do it. That’s the important part. Plus, you had assaulted me first. I was just protecting myself.”

Jimin gives you a dry look, not even the slight bit amused by your excuses. The pink-haired man gracefully moves to his feet, tossing the comic back onto the table with a couple others from the same series, and he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Come on. I made lunch. You can shower, get changed then eat.”

He leads you out of the library and through the ornately-decorated apartment, too quickly for you to be able to take note of much besides the fancy decor and messy living room. Jimin walks to a room and pushes open the door. The first thing you notice is an expensive-looking drum-set in the corner of the room, a pair of overhead earphones sat on the stool and a worn pair of drumsticks are on the computer desk.

Three of the four walls are dark, charcoal black wallpaper with a slightly raised design that you wanted to trail your fingers across. One main wall is ivory white, with a huge bed pushed into the corner, low with many soft white pillows piled at the head of the bed. The room is smaller than you expected but it seems designed that way, as if comfort and coziness was the aim instead of grand expressions of luxury.

You say, eyes sweeping around the area, “This is Jungkook’s room, isn’t it?”

You miss the bemused expressions that passes over Jimin’s face. He hums. “Yeah, it is.”

The floor is coated in dark gray carpet, soft but it feels reinforced under your feet. You suspect there’s a couple of layers of carpet to insulate the room. Two paintings are reclined against the white wall, and they don’t seem to be designer, but they could be hung in an art gallery somewhere. They fit the soft dark aesthetic of the room and you want to take a closer look but Jimin pushes open a door you hadn’t seen when you first entered.

“Jungkook won’t mind if you use anything of his,” he comments. He opens up a drawer and hands you a towel. It’s soft and it smells good, even when you hold it at a distance. One thing you have noticed about being in Jungkook’s space was that the freak was tidy - anally so. Contrary to the rest of the apartment that had dots of mess, clothes draped over furniture and dishes in the sink, showing it to be lived in, his personal space was pristine. You almost didn’t want to touch anything, in case you knocked it out of its perfect harmony with the rest of the room. “Wear something of his, a sweater or something.”

“I don’t want to,” you grumble. “Give me something of yours.”

He snorts. “You see this?” He points to his black eye. “I got this for just mentioning you. I refuse to lose a tooth because he sees you in something of mine instead of his.” Jimin lets out a small chuckle at the gentle shock on your face. “It’s that or you walk around naked.”

“I’m tempted to take you up on that but I’d rather die than give you the satisfaction of seeing my perfect tits in real time,” you snark. You roll your eyes but bring the towel closer to your chest. “Go.”

Jimin smirks but disappears out the way you both came.

With the sound of the door closing behind him, you feel the strong wall you had built up inside of you collapse for a moment before your frown deepens. You slump against the doorframe leading to the bathroom and close your eyes, holding the towel tight to your chest.

You have to figure out how to get out of here, and fast. You have to figure something out before Jungkook gets back.

Jimin is on edge around you. He won’t turn his back to you. He was probably told to keep you in his line of sight every second. It’s a fortune he left you alone to wash your ass, but perhaps the risk of actually seeing a pair of breasts had the pink-haired maniac running for the hills. He didn’t seem averse to women, but then again, you weren’t one to judge, having found yourself twisted in the sheets with every flavor of the human-rainbow - some of them, more than once.

You walk into the bathroom and struggle with the knob of the shower. It comes out powerfully, and takes mere seconds to warm up. It was enticing, the urge to wash the last couple of days off. You have to be careful of your hand, the burn tingles a little but it doesn’t hurt - not enough to take any medication, at least. You stare at yourself in the mirror, watching your reflection slowly becomes absorbed by the steam filling the room. You wipe a hand across the surface of the glass, so you can see your own face, before you hang your head in surrender.

You had come to a wretched conclusion during these few moments of blessed freedom.

For now, you would have to play their game.

And that meant doing as they wanted, no matter how frustrated it made you feel.

You shower, taking care of your wrapped wrist, and dress in a pair of boxers fresh out the packet and a huge sweater. You practically drowned in the material, having to roll the sleeves up three times before you could see your own hands. Jungkook had a huge collection of socks and you grabbed the funniest looking pair you could find - yellow and green spots with a cartoon frog stitched on either side. You looked stupid, but it was better than nothing. And his clothes smelled divine.

Once you are done, you toss the towel in the dirty basket in the corner of the room and open the door, walking out into the hallway. Only to trip over Jimin’s body sat distractedly in front of the door and fall straight to the floor in a crumpled heap in his lap. The two of you look at each other for a beat, strangely close, before he shoves you off, sending you rolling.

“Holy shit,” Jimin gasps. “You’re fucking heavy.”

He swats at the invisible dirt on his shoulders and straighten out his pants as he moves to his feet. “You sure took your time.”

You roll your eyes and get up by yourself. What a dick. “Whatever. You said you made lunch. I’m hungry.”

He stares at you for a long moment before he glances away. “Follow me.”

Jimin leads you into the living room and nods to the comfy looking couch. “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog,” you snap but do as you were told.

He snorts and yells from where he had disappeared into the kitchen, “Dogs follow commands much better than you do.”

You bite down on the urge to bark back at him. Instead, you pull your legs up to your chest and glare at the huge TV across from you. The screen was showing a preview for a new romance drama that you had heard about but you had no intention of watching.

Love stories rarely moved you in a positive way. Instead, they filled you with a strange cloying sensation, like being stuck in a hot, sweaty room with barely a sliver of wind. You search for the sweet relief that the wind should give you, but the feeling of overbearing heat persists. In fact, it only gets worse the more you move around. So, you try succumbing to the temperature, but that only makes you feel pathetic.

Looking or not looking at love in motion - either way, you felt suffocated.

Jimin returns and drops down beside you. He nudges your legs so you make space on your lap for the plate in his hands. He says, “I hope you don’t have any allergies.”

You roll your eyes. “It would be a little late if I did.”

He pauses for a moment before he laughs, a little meanly. “You’re right. Eat up.”

He had made dakgangjeongwith a side of yellow rice. It smells fragrant and your stomach gurgles in hunger.

Jimin had already started chowing down but when he notices you hadn’t begun eating, he tosses you a scathing look. “What? It’s not fancy enough for you or something, Princess?”

You roll your eyes. “You gave me a plastic spoon.”

He scoffs. “Should I have given you a pair of chopsticks so you can jab the end into my eye and make a run for it? Not likely. Figure it out.”

You struggle a little with the food, getting the sweet-and-spicy chunks of boneless chicken and rice into your mouth, much to Jimin’s amusement. He lets out odd snorts when bits of meat misses your mouth and falls back into the bowl or into your lap, much to your annoyance. You jab him in his side with your elbow, only one time, sharp and purposeful, and he lets out a gasp of air.

“Fuck, YN,” he whines, rubbing at the sore spot. “What are you, made of metal?”

“Only 69%,” you retort, rolling your eyes. You ask, “Can we change the channel? All this love shit is giving me the creeps.”

Jimin looks your way before he nods. “I don’t like romance stuff either.”

“Why? You had no problem being all lovey-dovey with misery-guts earlier,” you retort. “I thought you’d eat this love crap up.”

“You mean Tae?” Jimin laughs, but the sound is strained. “Nah, that’s just… I don’t know, it’s just that we aren’t together-together.”

You rear your head back for a moment, running each incident of stomach-turning PDA you had witnessed in the very few interactions you had with both men, and you can’t stop yourself from asking, shock evident on your face, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Jimin shrugs, running his tongue across his teeth a few times, contemplative, before he explains, “What Tae and I are can’t really be explained with words. He’s my person, you know? My soulmate. I look at him and I see everything.”

“You love him… But you aren’t ‘together-together’?”

Jimin nods, as if it explained everything.

“Why?”

“Our lifestyle isn’t really conventional,” he explains, a touch shyly. It didn’t suit the other man, who you had only ever viewed as sarcastic and cocky. He seems… soft. “Kookie, Tae and I are… fated. Right now, Tae and I have to stay as we are.”

You take a moment. “Isn’t that painful?”

Jimin looks at you, eyes a fraction wider in surprise. “A bit.”

“You’re being frighteningly honest,” you mutter. “Just date him. What the fuck could go wrong?”

Jimin bites his bottom lip. “There’s a lot we have to do before Tae and I can take that step. We… We just can’t.”

He’s being intentionally vague but you don’t feel like it’s your place to pry. You have your secrets, secrets that you would prefer to take to your grave if given the chance, so you shut your mouth and turn your eyes to the screen, leaving the pink-haired man alone to his rapidly-darkening thoughts.

Some time later

Jimin actually doesn’t leave your side for the whole afternoon. He walks you to the bathroom, to the living room, to the kitchen when you want a glass of water. It feels like you had grown a tumor overnight. If tumors made stupid comments, read comics at a snail’s pace or listened to female rap music a touch too loudly in its headphones.

You don’t even try to escape. The few times you were able to walk past the front door, with Jimin’s grip tight on the inside of your elbow, you noticed the lock there. It was a touchpad lock that required a passcode to leave as well as one to enter. You presumed both were different, but even if they had been the same, you hadn’t gotten a look at the password when you first got brought here because of Jungkook’s looming presence and Taehyung’s unnecessarily broad back.

Moments of absolute frustration flash through you during the few hours you spend lonely but not alone.

You feel bouts of sickening anxiety standing in the long hallway, seeing echoes of memories in the portraits and photographs lining the walls. Happiness is etched onto the faces of your three captors, making the trio seem friendly, approachable - kind, even. But, Jimin poking his head over your shoulder and giving you the backstory of each picture is enough to remind you of your involuntary incarceration and you are brought right back to the realization that these men are capable of more than you can even comprehend.

Barbs of nausea spike through your chest whenever you see a bird pass in front of the high windows, free in a way that you had taken for granted. It brings to mind your history, the one that you have tried so valiantly to forget, to escape, to out-run. The clawed hands of the ghosts of your past reaching out from behind a ragged and beaten door, one that is barely holding onto its hinges. One day, those same hinges were doing to blow apart and crumble into dust before your very eyes. But for now, you can keep those memories at bay and that’s enough.

It has to be enough.

You try to escape to the bathroom whenever this would happen to throw up, closing the door behind you while Jimin waited in the bedroom, pretending to be ignorant of the sickly pallor of your skin and the shallowness of your breathing. The bile in your throat tasted too familiar, waves of sickness crashing over you until you are left shivering. Jimin gives you a cup of green tea after, wordlessly. You don’t want to think of the pity that passes through his eyes that you caught sight of the one time you looked him in the eye.

Jimin texted a lot too. You didn’t have to ask who he was talking to.

Jungkook.

He comes back just before it gets dark.

The sky is cloudy, it had started to rain, and you had made a home in the armchair in front of the window, acceptance finally having settled like a blanket around your shoulders. You hadn’t moved for about an hour, staring listlessly out of the window, watching the people go about their lives.

The sound of the passcode being tapped in followed simultaneously by the scratching of paws catches your attention and Jimin perks up from where he is laying on his back, watching the flame flicker enticingly from the mouth of the intricately-designed lighter in his hand. He seemed to be enthralled by the flame, almost as if he were consumed by it.

“Bam!”

He hops up and opens his arms, only to be attacked by a huge, black dog.

The dog excitedly hops around Jimin, sniffing him all over, tail wagging in happiness. Jimin scrunches the dog’s face, giving him kisses all over the crown of his head, and he giggles.

He looks up from where he is patting Bam’s huge head and he says, “You got him back?”

Taehyung kicks off his shoes and walks into the room, grabbing Bam’s collar and tugging him gently to the kitchen.

“He wanted to come home,” he replies, simply. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence in the house, and while it didn’t piss you off because you wanted to talk to him, you still felt uncomfortable with the ease in which he dismisses you. It isn’t like you wanted to be here either!

Jungkook walks in behind Taehyung, quietly. He shoves his hands in his pockets, his mask still covering the bottom half of his face. He approaches you slowly, and your pulse increases with each step he takes. His eyes are a little wide, as if he were wrestling with a caged animal.

He drops to one of his knees in front of you and says, resting his mask on his chin, “YN… Did you have a good day?”

Jungkook gives you a small smile, gentle, and he reaches for your hand but at the last moment, thinks better of it, dropping his hand and letting it awkwardly rest in his lap.

You stare down at him. “What kind of a day do you think I had, genius?”

His hopeful expression shutters into something guarded. “S-Sorry. I just- I thought staying out would make you feel a bit more… relaxed. It might let you get used to… used to being here without… I don’t know, without feeling suffocated.”

“You thought wrong.”

He flinches. “YN…”

“If you thought you being away would’ve made me feel even an iota better, you would have never come back,” you snarl before shooting to your feet. “Jimin, I’m going to the bathroom.”

Jungkook grabs your wrist, loosely, and says, eyes watery, “YN, I’m trying-”

“Trying to what?” You snap. “Trying to piss me off?”

He sniffles, staring at the floor. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

You slap his hand away and stomp off toward the bedroom, feeling rather than seeing Jimin awkwardly trail behind you. Taehyung and Jimin share a long look, the younger of the two tossing a hard look in your direction that promised retribution of you kept up these brattish antics.

Taehyung got it - he really did.

But Jungkook was like a big kid, and you were breaking his soft heart.

Taehyung watches as Jungkook pulls a small bouquet from his backpack and feels his chest tighten up. He had hidden them there just in case Bam had gotten too excited in the car and crushed them with his tendency to jump on Jungkook’s chest.

The youngest wordlessly hands the pale pink flowers to Taehyung and walks into the kitchen. He swipes at his nose with his sleeve, pulling out a bottle of something clear from the refrigerator, and pops the cap.

“Kookie…”

“Stop, hyung,” he says, after taking a long gulp. His voice sounds like it has been cut with a thousands shards of glass. “It doesn’t matter. Give it to Jimin. You know he likes the color pink.”

Jungkook spends some time sitting on the balcony, right under the jutted out roof, trying like hell to ignore what he knew was going on inside. He contemplates every decision that lead him to the situation he has found himself in - maybe he shouldn’t have ever walked into the library in the first place. Maybe then he wouldn’t know how painful it was to watch your beautiful eyes fill with such a degree of disdain.

Once it started getting too cold, the rain soaking his hoodie and making him shiver, he comes inside. He pulls the hoodie off, tossing it into the corner, leaving a trail of clothes behind him as he walks back to his room. YN is curled in the corner of the room, sleeping. You ignored the bed, choosing instead to wrap yourself up in his bedsheets and hide yourself away in the corner. Your hair is poking out from a small hole in the bundle of sheets and the steady rise and fall tells him that you are sleeping.

He showers quickly, leaving the door cracked slightly open because his anxiety wouldn’t let him leave you with an option to leave without him knowing.

Jungkook couldn’t even tell you how pretty you looked, you didn’t give him a chance.

He had run through the conversation a thousand times in the car with Taehyung. What to say to charm you, to compliment you on your smile and your eyes, how not to look at you for too long in case it made you uncomfortable, but somehow within seconds he had ruined it with his stupid mouth and lingering gaze.

A fresh wave of tears silently fall from his eyes, already puffy and sore from all the rubbing. He tries to stop himself from making noise by biting down on his bottom lip and shoving his knuckles into his mouth like he used to when he was a kid to keep the frustrated cries from escaping, but it doesn’t work.

He keeps crying.

And it comes from the core of him. The knowledge that he might never see the corners of your eyes crinkling in that same warm way he remembers from the library. He doesn’t care if it was a composition of all your best parts that you left on display, hiding the shadows of your personality behind a brick wall. He feels robbed of the experience of you.

He’s angry and frustrated and in pain, and it just doesn’t end.

Jungkook tries to ground himself in the moment. He traces his favorite tattoos, he counts to a hundred five times over just to keep himself from screaming and disturbing your slumber. He counts his breaths and snaps bands on his wrist so he doesn’t think about worse things like the molly he stashed in his drawer or the way it makes him feel.

Maybe if you woke up to find him near dead, it might make you feel something other than hatred for him.

The both of you lay on the floor that night, with Jungkook laying on his side in front of the bedroom door and you curled in a protective ball in the corner.

It wouldn’t be possible for you to leave without stepping over his body and he was a light sleeper, even without the anxiety coursing through his veins. Still, he doesn’t get a wink of rest that entire night, every time he thinks he can relax enough to actually drift off, his body jerks and he’s back to being hyper-alert again.

Jungkook counts his fingers, he taps out rhythms on his upper-thighs, he paces quietly, peeking at you every once in a while to make sure you were still breathing - some hideous part of him worrying that you might try to escape him in death.

He would follow you, you know. He knows he would.

He even brings Bam into the room so the dog can sleep on his legs, knowing that he has always found solace in Jungkook since he was a puppy.

He pats his dog’s head and hums out the bare bones of a song that is forming in his head, the melancholy and anguish that has built up in his spine finally easing as his fingers tap out a perfect rhythm on his toned thighs, wishing, instead, that he could be laying beside you, holding you tightly instead of simply watching you, obsessively, from across the room.

- end -

Ego [5]

mafia bts x stripper yn; hybrid universe

Everyone had heard of the Dirty7s, even distantly. Nobody could put names or faces to the members, but the name was enough to strike fear in the hearts of civilians, criminals, and law enforcement alike. They’re known to be methodical, impenetrable, and most of all, merciless. Nobody wants to cross any of them. Lest of all you - a college student stripping to pay her debts.

What happens when you fall into their web of deceit and lies?

What happens when you find you don’t want to escape, even when you know you should?

Masterlist  /  i don’t have a tag list  /  find me on twitter  /  word count: 3.2k

(yandere / angst / gore / fluff / smut / violence)

Chapter 5: ‘Writhing’

YN’s POV

Pre-heat hits you like a bag of bricks to the forehead.

You weren’t allowed on the club’s premises until your heat had completely passed, so it gives you one day before it starts and two days on the tail-end for scent regulation. According to legal regulations for both predators and prey working nightlife and entertainment. Even patrons existing on either side of the speciation spectrum had to abide by these rules as evidence of rut and heat was too obvious to hide.

Some used scent-blockers to try and wiggle around the rules but it never ended up well for anyone involved. Gang rapes, pheromone-induced premature rut or heat, neurotoxin-sickness brought on by rapid-exposure to uncontrolled semiochemicals. All of it, well-documented and heavily-regulated by employers and social-workers alike.

By purposefully triggering another person’s heat or rut, you could end up being imprisoned for up to two years or fined an exorbitant amount of money that would make you regret even bothering.

Technically, working at the library wasn’t dangerous despite your heat coming in tomorrow, so you tried to go in for a couple of hours to help re-arrange the new kid’s fiction section that you had created for the pre-schoolers that came in every other day for an hour in the mornings, but your cramps got so bad that your manager sent you some with some herbal tea and a gentle pat on the back.

Your manager, Areum, was a Beta owl-hybrid, with wide eyes and thick glasses that make her look far more innocent than she actually was. Her partner and wife, Mina, was an Omega owl-hybrid that liked to make sweet treats in her spare time. You had a number of her Tupperware containers in your cupboards that you were due to give back a long while ago.

You take the subway because you can’t afford another cab this month and it takes you about an hour before you can breach the safety of your own home, smelling your comfort scents.

A guy on the train makes a rude gesture at you, two fingers spread and his tongue working between the digits, and it makes you recoil in disgust. He doesn’t seem to like the fact that you aren’t into it, and he flips you off before he gets off at his station.

The whole ordeal makes you feel even more weary.

Blearily, you grab your blanket from the couch and undress yourself on the way to your bed, tripping a little over your pant leg and tossing your dirty clothes somewhere off to the side. Your sensitive nose can’t stand the scent of outsideon your clothes. It almost makes you want to burn them but you know how delusional that sounds.

You bang your hip on the bedside table and you curse, side throbbing and your head banging along with it.

Disorientated, you rifle through your drawers until you lay your hands on medicine for the headache and wrap yourself up in the sheets without a second’s thought.

It takes you a little while to drift off, the effects of the medication ebbing at the aches in your body slowly - it feels slower than usual - and seconds before you actually dissolve into the welcoming blanket of black that bleeds into your vision, you hear your phone ping from somewhere in your pile of clothes.

When you open your eyes, your room is pitch dark. The curtains are drawn open, but the only passing light you can see are the lights from the buildings across the way. You are too high up to be bothered by street lights, but you can hear the distant car driving across the highway your building was built near.

The reason you woke up wasn’t due to the arbitrary sounds of life outside of your window.

No, what woke you from your near-dead slumber was the incessant sound of your phone ringing that had bled into your dreams. In your dream-turned-nightmare, the talking beetle that had been your companion for your mythical journey spontaneously turned into a gigantic, human-eating cellphone and chased you down the street until you jolted out of bed, sweating.

Blinking away your bleariness, you roll out of bed and move to your feet, but, much to your shock, your legs turn to jelly. You have to drag yourself across the room to rifle through the pile of clothes, grimacing every time another smell hit your nose. Asphalt, grit, smog, cigarette smoke, human smell, other hybrids - it was all foul enough to make you feel distressed.

You grab the phone and push it to your ears. “Hello?”

“YN, are you okay?”

You pause for a moment, confusion taking over your features. “Jimin?”

He enquires, somewhat impatient, “Are you okay?”

You push your fingers into your eyes when a sudden burst of light makes your headache feel nauseous. “No, I feel shitty.”

“Why?”

You grumble, “Heat.”

A beat.

Then,“You’re in heat now?”

He sounds testy.

You clarify, “Not exactly.”

He grills, “Are you… Are you alone?”

Your frown deepens as you query, “Why?”

Jimin commands, amusement leaking into his tone, “Just answer the question, Pretty.”

You grumble, “Only Jungkook calls me that.”

He retorts, silkily, “Exactly why I’m doing the same.”

You decide to drop it. It didn’t matter what he called you, not right now. The blistering headache that had felt like it was burning through your body mere moments ago seems to be lessening gradually the longer you talk with the man. “I’m alone.”

Jimin replies, “Good. Keep it that way.”

“Why?”

He replies, simply, “You don’t need anybody. Not anymore.”

He’s lucky that pre-heat only gave you headaches and body shivers. You didn’t get horny until day two or three of your heat, especially considering you were without a heat-partner. But, something about his tone was testing that theory.

“I’ll bring whoever I want into my bed,” you respond, pressing the button for loud speaker. Your stomach pangs in hunger and now that your headache isn’t as over-bearing, you finally feel it. You move to your feet, kicking past the clothes you dropped on the way, and into your small kitchen. “That’s got nothing to do with you. Boss.”

You tack the end word on purpose, to remind him of his position in your life. “We might have shared a fun night of conversation, Jimin, but don’t get that confused with anything else.”

He lets out a gruff sounds, annoyed but not angry, before he answers, “And Jungkook? What about him? You think he’ll be happy with you spending your heat under somebody else?”

You barely hold back a sardonic laugh. “You were the one to remind me of my place in Jungkook’s life. Or did you suddenly forget that?”

He goes quiet on the phone, so silent that you have to look at the screen to check if he’s still on the line, before he grits out, “I’m sorry. For saying that.”

“No, you aren’t,” you return, cracking another egg into the bowl. A stuffed omelette sounds like just the right. Your heat was making your mouth loose, ignoring the risk to your job in that moment to get the truth off your chest. You continue, “Alphas like you never are. You just say whatever, do whatever and everyone else just listens. You’re never sorry because you don’t feel like you have to be.”

“I could be a different kind of Alpha,” he bargains, always the charmer. “You don’t know that.”

“Our first encounter says otherwise,” you answer. “Jungkook’s impression was much better.”

“He’s not as nice as you think,” Jimin grumbles like an admonished kid. “You wouldn’t like him more than you like me if you knew.”

“He’s already told me how bad of a guy he is,” you respond. “It’s kind of like a broken record at this point.”

He asks, noting your distracted tone of voice, “Are you doing something?”

You respond, shoveling the cooked mushrooms into the one half of the still-cooking omelette, “Cooking.”

Jimin remarks, “It’s eleven at night.”

You respond, absently, “I’ve been asleep all day.”

He asks, attentively, “Where does it hurt?”

You respond, honestly. You rummage through the refrigerator for some hot sauce to go over the top, “Headache, mostly. I feel better now though.”

Jimin prompts, “Since you slept?”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see you, and you return, honestly, “Since we started talking.”

He acknowledges, and you hear the pride in his voice so clearly, as if he were standing right next to you, “I’ve heard that just by hearing an Alpha’s voice, sometimes the effects of heat can relax.”

You riposte, almost amusedly, “Oh really?”

He hums. “How about we try something next time?”

You suggest, annoyance leaking into your tone, “A sex thing?”

Jimin laughs, the sound bright and buoyant, before he teases, “Your mind’s in the gutter.”

Unable to help yourself, you palliate, defensively, “I am in heat.”

Jimin tuts gently before he says, “I just meant we spend a little time together. See if we’re compatible.”

You respond, with an eye roll, “So this is about sex?”

He takes a moment to mull over your words before he clarifies, “That’s something we could work out later.”

You bite on your bottom lip, the suggestion of mind-numbing, deeply-satisfying sex making a coil of tension grow in your lower stomach.

You shove another mouthful of omelet into your mouth to stop yourself from letting out the breathy whine that threatens to escape your throat, and you grumble, “Talking about this with me is a little improper right now. I’m not in the right headspace to make these kinds of decisions.”

Jimin says, simply, “That’s why we’ll talk about it later.”

You clear your throat and reply,“Look, I’m eating and talking to you is making me jumpy.”

He counters, easily, and you can just imagine him, sprawling out on the couch, spreading his legs apart to just occupy space, “Okay. If Jungkook or I call you over the next couple of days, can I ask you to just pick up?”

“Why?”

“Not being able to see you is hard for him,” Jimin explains. He pauses for a moment before he carries on, “He’s scheduled for a couple fights over the next week or so and he gets into these funny head-spaces where he can’t talk in full sentences or empathize with anyone about anything. So, I told him I’d check on you.”

“Jungkook doesn’t care about me,” you grumble around a mouthful of cheese, egg and mushrooms. “He’s got a hard-on for me. There’s a difference.”

He makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat and he mutters, “If only you knew how wrong you were about that, Pretty.”

Something in his voice almost sounded regretful, but you ignore it, chalking it up to your heat making you crave things that you need to lock up tight in your heart.

“I have to go,” you say, suddenly.

He demands, hurt, “What? Why?”

“I’m tired again,” you respond, quietly, looking down at the half-full plate of steaming food, and the lack of appetite that washes over you frustrates you deeply. “I just want to sleep.”

“O-Okay, Pretty. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promises. “Pick up when I do… Please.”

Quickly, you end the call and toss the phone into the sofa. You toss the food into the refrigerator, knowing your body well enough to know that the urge to eat has disappeared for at least another three hours and in that time you know you can catch a bit of sleep before your body was thrown into over-drive.

Jimin’s POV

Letting YN put the phone down was harder than he thought it would be. His instincts were growling at him to go and see you in person - just to make sure you were okay with his own two eyes. He’s almost confused as to why he cares so much, considering he isn’t the one who wants to claim you.

Or, at least, he doesn’t think he does.

Not like Jungkook does.

Jungkook’s been on your ass like white on rice since the day you ran into his chest at the club, all teary-eyed with a rabbiting heartbeat. The wolf excitedly came home to tell the rest of the boys about this pretty little gazelle that he couldn’t keep his eyes or hands off of, and that made him curious.

The others too.

Namjoon even had someone follow her at one point without Jungkook’s permission to make sure she wasn’t on the take or working with the cops. When he showed her picture to the rest of us, Hoseok almost jumped out of his skin with how fast he snatched it out of Joonie’s hand, eagerly explaining about how he knew about her.

The whole story about her friend working the blade and getting caught selling ass to a cop, then getting feisty with him and get popped in the mouth a couple times. YN came into a den of predators, an alpha-beta medley of pheromones that would have any prey skittish and crawling out of their skin, nervous but determined, and helped her friend home.

Hoseok found her unbearably cute, and brave, and he couldn’t stop himself from following her home. Hobi was a great tracker, his nose was better than any cop in his graduating class, and he found your apartment easily. He couldn’t enter, of course, with it being a prey-only complex.

But, he did sporadically park his car in the lot outside of your place or follow you home once he figured out you were working at the library, and then later at the strip club. He didn’t like it, thinking that it wasn’t a good place for you, thinking that it was dangerous, but he knows that it was only because he couldn’t go inside. He couldn’t risk you remembering his face, not when he hadn’t figured out how he wanted to approach you.

Hoseok surveilled voluntarily, never telling any of us about his pet project, but he did enjoy recounting all the times he got to see you in your element, much to Jungkook’s displeasure.

Hobi spent a whole lot of time gloating about how pretty you were, how kind you were even when eyes weren’t on you, how special you were, how brave you were, how sweet you smelled even on rainy days.

It was enough to bolster Jimin’s interest in you.

Jungkook was picky about things like this. It was his first time actually having someone catch his eye like this, so he wouldn’t let anyone come near you. Every time Jimin even mentioned coming into the club for a peek, Jungkook would start his posturing, tail swishing and a growl growing in his chest until Jimin eventually reneged.

Jungkook was technically higher up on their pack’s hierarchy than he was, although they never needed to enforce their dynamics at home. The only time they ever had to was during negotiations with other gangs to prove that there was a clear line of deference that ended with Namjoon, their leader.

Even though their home life wasn’t the same way, they needed to have the respect of the usually-traditional syndicates that they dealt with, otherwise they would be considered weak and would attract problems from other sadistic Alpha packs who thrived on violence and domination.

To do so, they had to show other people in their line of work that they had an unshakeable foundation built on deference and inflexible respect.

Although, they had mouth-pieces to work in their stead so they didn’t have to risk having their names and faces circulating. Men and women who, using their connections and endless streams of income, they had hoisted out of the dumpster and turned back into working, living human beings.

Men and women who they didn’t have to ask twice to do anything.

Men and women who owed them their lives, the very breath in their lungs.

Men and women who would die for them if they asked, falling on their sword without a moment’s hesitation.

As far as they knew, no law enforcement had their faces or real names, but a few members had a more public role.

Jimin, as the silent owner of a series of discotheques and strip clubs.

Jungkook, who was an under-ground fighter and wan involved with a couple of the big players pushing drugs out of his and some other gyms in the state. He didn’t just push drugs out of the gyms, obviously, but that was where he liked to prowl around the most.

Even Namjoon, whose official job was that of an international trader of foreign and exotic hybrids, meaning that he had to work closely with customs and even sometimes cops.

They knew our faces but have no idea just how deep the rabbit-hole goes. Never would they actually guess that the seven ‘menial players’ werethe cruel and vengeful organization that left fear in the hearts of criminals and cops alike across the country.

Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung and Jin all made the rest of their substantial income and their illicit connections being knee-deep in the illegal.

So, when Jungkook ended up falling into a rut after taking one too many sniffs of your underwear in bed, Jimin took that opportunity to go around his order.

The tabby-cat walked into the strip club, smelling the sex and sin in the air, and immediately spotted you on the top of the pole, dressed in ostentatiously bright zebra-print with a charming, seductive smile on your face that was equal parts siren as it was endearing. He could see it - the pretty in you, the softness in you, the sexy in you.

Jimin was techincally the boss’ boss’ boss so while Rocky knew him by name, the others staff didn’t.

Just the way he liked it.

He got his favorite drink sent up to their private VVIP lounge (somewhere that only he and the other six could even access) and spent the next hour silently lusting after you. He watched you, observed your behavior so closely that it was concerning, and he sent photos of you in all kinds of positions to Jungkook for spank-bank material.

Jimin felt the cravings before he started to notice the changes in his body. Alcohol stopped doing it for him a long time ago, which is when his habit started. He could control himself, most of the time, but when he got antsy and needed to ground himself in Joonie’s scent (and Namjoon had been out of the fucking country for half a month scouting for omega predators on behalf of some perverted oil tycoon in Dubai so he was already pissed off and uncomfortable), sometimes he had to rely on other means of calming himself down.

Jimin couldn’t help it. When he saw you walk in in the reflection of the glass, he let out some of that frustration on you - innocent and adorable you - and had you on your knees in seconds. He didn’t really expect you to be able to withstand how strong his compulsion was, but he was surprised by how queasy you looked.

It made him feel guilty.

Which is an emotion he wasn’t accustomed to feeling, not even towards omegas. He liked them, any alpha would, but he didn’t feel sorryfor the things he did to them, especially if it wasn’t his fault.

None of them felt feelings of guilt or regret. It had been long beaten out of them at the group home, or after many years of working knee-deep in murder, drugs and solicitation.

That should’ve been the first indication that you weren’t going to be a normal omega to him.

But, Jimin wasn’t always quick on the up-take.

- end - 

Schemer,Abstentious,Thievery,Melancholy,Writhing

vampire bts, poly ot7 x uni student yn

Through a series of curious happenstances, the Boys of Bangtan - your campus’ most popular and most handsome group of individuals - set their sights on you, a regular student with a stubborn streak and a wayward mouth.

Strangely enough, the mere sight of them sets your instincts off, red-lights flashing in your brain - danger, danger, danger, danger.

It’s too bad that they can’t seem to leave you alone, though. They like you too much.

(angst / smut / yandere / fluff / gore)

Masterlist / i dont have a tag list / find me on twitter  /  word count: 5.5k

(AN: Hi, all! This story is actually already posted on AO3. But, I decided to post it on here. I have almost 50 chapters of this story up over there, so I’ll slowly be adding them onto here too)

TW: sex dream marked with ~~~, crude and possessive language

Chapter 18: ‘Admiration’

Namjoon leaves in the morning, without alerting you to his departure, but he does press a kiss to your forehead unable to ignore the urge to scent-mark you somehow. He steps over the bodies littering the living room and ignores the lustful stares he receives from the girls that had been awake for some time. He knows what it looks like, and a small, conceited part of him wants them to think something happened between YN and himself.

He wants them to know she’s taken, and that she’s his, that she’s theirs.

Namjoon arrives back at the apartment, with a dire need to empty his bladder and brush his teeth, only to find six pairs of eyes glaring at him as soon as he opens the door.

Jimin takes one sniff of his clothes and snarls, accusingly, “You were with YN all night, weren’t you?”

Namjoon can’t even sigh before they are piling on his head, pulling at his clothes and whining like babies.

“You said we’d take it slow with her.”

“We weren’t allowed to meet with her, but you can?”

“That’s low, hyung!”

“Joon, you better start explaining yourself, before I lose my cool.”

He sighs. “Can I, at least, wash my face before I’m being interrogated?”

The boys roll their eyes and let him pass, begrudgingly. They collect in the living room, all taking their respective spots, subconsciously leaving one on the couch and another in the middle of the room where Joon takes his spot.

“I picked her up from work,” he says, towelling off his wet strands of purple. “We went back to her apartment. I slept over. No big deal.”

Jungkook asks, brow puckering,  "Nothing happened, hyung?”

“Something happened, it has to have,” Yoongi accuses, with a sharp glint in his eye. “Tell us, Joon.”

“I wouldn’t be able to lie to you guys,” Namjoon huffs. “We didn’t even sleep in the same bed. I slept on the floor. She’s probably still asleep now.”

They know he’s telling the truth, the steadiness of his pulse tells them that, but still, they still feel envious of the time he got to spend with her that they didn’t.

“Is- Is she doing okay?” Jimin asks, quietly. He’s picking at the sleeve of his striped sweater, looking ten times smaller than normal. He’s leaning against Yoongi, resting his weight on the composer, as if he couldn’t bear to stand. “Does she hate us?”

“She’s okay. Whatever happened while she was away must have helped her come to terms with her feelings towards us,” he says, contemplatively. The boys are all paying attention, focusing their eyes on their leader. “She isn’t mad at us anymore.”

Jungkook falls back, spreading out on the floor and he lets out a roar of happiness. “Thank fuck!”

Jimin laughs, dropping onto the maknae and burrowing into the dark material of his stomach.

Hoseok glances at them fondly, before he asks, “So, what’s the plan of action?”

“We play it by ear,” Jin suggests. “Take what she gives us and slowly build a relationship from there.”

Jimin asks, nervously, “Do you think it’s possible for her to really accept us as we are?”

“She’s getting over us being vampires,” Taehyung says, fairly. “If we explain to her our differences to humans, she may over time become open to our advances.”

“I don’t even really understand how it works,” Jimin admits. “But I do know that I don’t ever want to be without any of you, and especially not her.”

Yoongi nods in agreement, but he closes his eyes in minor frustration. “I really hate the whole convention around courting. It’s so stuffy and formal.”

“It’s long-winded but it’s a tradition,” Jin replies. “Our parents would kill us if we didn’t do this the right way.”

Taehyung perks up then and asks, “Speaking of our parents, have any of you actually told them about her?”

“I mentioned her briefly while we were on vacation,” Taehyung says. “They want to meet her once we’ve officially started courting her.”

“That’s going to be a shit show,” Jin mumbles, running a hand over his face. “My father is going to hit the roof.”

“He knows how soul-bonds work,” Namjoon comforts, pushing some of Jin’s dark hair from his face. He’s gotten tan over his two-week break in the Arab Emirates and he seems to glow from the inside out. “You had no choice in this, the same way none of us did.”

“Logic escapes him sometimes,” Jin spits out, face contorting in spite before he forces himself to calm down. “Anyway. Jiminie, how’s your mother’s health? I heard she was responding well to the change in medication.”

The pinkette nods happily, curling around Hoseok’s back and resting his head on his shoulder. The older man glances down at him, fondly, as he explains, “She video-called me yesterday, and she was outside. Just in the hospital garden, but still. I don’t think she’s been able to be outside since I was a kid. She looked so pretty next to the flowers.”

Jungkook sits up. Unconsciously, he curls around Jimin’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder, and he asks, “Did you cry?”

The dancer nods, mood souring. “I felt overwhelmed, but I tried not to show it. When she went back inside, I cried a lot, thinking that she might be, you know, getting better. But, it’s happened before. She responds well for a while, before her blood disorder lashes back out at her and she’s back to square one.”

“You don’t want to get your hopes up,” Jin presumes, soberly.

Jimin nods, grimly. “My Dad’s been with her the whole time. He still loves and cares about her so much.”

“Your parents are literal soulmates,” Namjoon says. “Of course, he’s by her side.”

Jimin feels his lips pull up in a ghost of a smile. “You’re right, hyung.”

Jin moves to his feet and says, “Breakfast’s on me tonight. I don’t feel like cooking and I’ve been itching to try the diner that just opened up.”

“YN might like it there,” Taehyung suggests, grin broadening until it’s boxy and wide. “Maybe we should take her there one day.”

“One day, Taehyung,” Jin agrees, ruffling his blue strands. “Let’s go.”

~~~

“How bad do you want it, Cutie?” His voice murmurs against your neck, puffs of hot breath tickling against your skin, making you squirm. His tone is dark with promise, tongue snaking out to trail along your skin. Fingers curl in your hair and pull, not tight but firm, and he whispers against your neck, just as breathless, just as needy as you are, “C’mon, jagiya. Tell me.”

“Taehyung,” you whine, grinding down against him, in an aborted hip thrust, searching for friction where you need him the most. A series of deep throbs at your core have you clenching around nothing and you let out a gasp of frustration. He grips you tighter, halting your motions with a light tut of chastisement. You beg, pathetically, “It hurts.”

“Listen to her, Taehyung,” Jin chastises from behind you, fingers gripping your hip in an unyielding, possessive grip. You are moved against his front, so you are chest-to-chest, and even though you can’t see any faces through the fog, you can smell his skin, you can feel his familiar warmth, and you melt into him.“You’re being too mean with our precious YN. Petal, where do you want us?”

“I-Inside me,” you gasp out, pressing harder against the hard, hot length you feel press against your lower back. Taehyung hisses and shifts you the way he wants it, grinding against his leaking length, and you whimper, “I need you inside of me.”

The fog behind your lids clears, slowly, and you can briefly see Taehyung’s grin, salaciously, from beneath you.

“There she is,” he murmurs, hands cradling your chin, his eyes glittering with so much affection that it makes your heart ache. He says, eyes full of reverence and gaze syrupy with sweetness, “She’s finally looking at us again.”

“I’m so happy,” Jin murmurs, pressing kisses to your shoulder-blade. The dry press of his mouth on your skin might as well have been a dribble of molten lava with how deep it burns. Fuck, it burns so good. He whispers against your skin, quietly, “Welcome back, petal.”

Taehyung’s grin turns heated as his eyes graze over your body and he moves to sit up, pressing his nude chest against your back, skin already sticky with sweat. He holds your eyes as he murmurs, lips teasing yours but never touching, “We’re going to make you feel so good that you’re going to forget your own name.”

“Please,” you beg, and that’s the last coherent thought you have before you feel as if your insides are being stirred up and you are being melted from the inside out.

~~~

Shooting up out of bed, you grip your sheets in between shaky fingers, glancing around your head wildly, as if chasing away the ghosts of your dreams.

“There’s no fucking way that actually happened,” you murmur, quietly. Glancing over the side of your bed, you see Namjoon’s spot is empty and his sheets have been rolled up and put to the side neatly. “Thank God.”

From past experiences, you know you’re on the louder side when it comes to trysts between the sheets and nothing would make you want to fake your own death and relocate to Jeju more than having Namjoon overhear you having a sex dream about his two cluster-mates.

Rubbing your thighs together, you feel the seat of your underwear stick to your core uncomfortably and you let out a long whine.

“I need some dick,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything else.

“Did I hear someone say dick?” Young-mi sing-songs as she steps into your room, fresh-faced and dressed in her yoga gear, mat tucked under her arm. “Does this have anything to do with Nayeon’s friends all creaming themselves this morning, talking about a certain Kim Namjoon spending the night?”

You toss your pillow in her direction, which she skillfully avoids. “Nothing happened.”

“Are you sure?” She teases, moving to sit on the end of your bed. “He is super handsome.”

“It takes more than being handsome to get in between these thighs,” you reply, gesturing to your legs, spread under the sheets.

“Oh, yes, I forgot. He doesn’t have the stinking attitude to match your past lovers,” she sasses. “C’mon, YN. He’s good-looking and he looks like he’s packing a whopper in his shorts. They all do. And they pay attention to you. A lot of attention. Enough attention that even I would be hard-pressed to say no. So, tell me again how you haven’t thought about it?”

“I haven’t,” you lie. You have dreamt it instead. “They’re just really good friends to me.”

“I’m your best friend and even we’ve made out before,” she tells you, disbelief written clear on her face.

“What about you, huh? Why don’t you go for one of them?” You ask, pouting.

“I’d fuck them all seven-ways to Sunday,” she replies, face free of all embarrassment. “But to them, I don’t exist. You do.”

Throwing your pillow over your head, you groan. You complain, “This is so confusing.”

“Why? Namjoon is a sweet guy,” she says, rubbing your thigh, comfortingly. “Of all the choices, he isn’t the worst. He doesn’t even rank top-50 worst guys to date.”

“It’s not just him,” you whimper, moving the pillow but still covering your face with your hands. “I think- I don’t know. They’re all so nice to me, and I’m not used to that.”

Her eyes slowly grow big at your words, as she begins to understand your dilemma. “Bitch, you really are living in a young adult novel.”

“Shut up!”

“How about this? There’s a party this coming Friday,” she says, a suggestive lilt to her voice. She’s playing with the fraying edges of your blanket as she speaks, and her behavior makes you more suspicious of her proposal. “How about… we stop by? Just for a little while.”

Sitting up to cross your arms over your chest, you ask, brow raising, “Who’s going to be there?”

She continues to avoid your eyes as she mumbles, “Oh, you know… just some people…”

“Like…?”

“Like that cute-ass first year that I’ve been trying to bone since November,” she gushes, eyes crinkling in amusement. “She’s so pretty and tall. She boxes, YN. She has a back tattoo. I need to eat her out! Don’t laugh – this is serious!”

“We can go,” you tell her, wanting to help your friend get some action, even if you aren’t reaping the benefits. “Anything to get your plasdick wet.”

She squeals, wrapping you up in a big, warm hug and she says, “I’m going to ignore your crassness and simply say this – thank you, thank you, thank you, YN! You won’t regret it, I promise.”

You already do, but you don’t tell her that. She seems too excited for you to piss on her parade like that.

—

Some days later

Jimin is outside of your first class of ancient communication, resting the back of his head on the wall, looking as cool as anything in his leather jacket and freshly dyed hair. You feel the initial flutter of butterflies in your stomach at the first sight of him, but you don’t feel a touch of fear. In fact, all you feel is guilt over the last time you were together.

You were sure you had made him cry.

“Where did the pink go?” You ask by way of greeting, glancing up at the tuft of vibrant orange.

“You like it?” He shakes out his hair, before habitually brushing it back in place. His nails have been painted too, black and shiny. “Jin-hyung thought it’d go well with the outfit. Do you think so?”

He gives you a cursory spin, and you see how professors and students alike stop to admire his absolute beauty. Hiding the blush on your cheeks with your folders, you nod. “It does.”

“As long as you like it, I’m happy,” he sing-songs, reaching for your bag and books. “What class do you have next?”

“Nothing until four,” you tell him. “I hate early classes.”

He grimaces for you. “Me too. How about we get some dessert?”

“It’s eleven am, Jimin,” you mumble. He shoulders through the exit doors leading to the parking lot, before turning back to stare at you, not understanding. “Fine,” you concede with a huff. “But if I get diabetes, it’ll be your fault.”

“Nothing like that will ever happen to you, YN,” he says, boldly grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your fingertips. The sensation of his mouth on your skin makes you tingle all over. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“Do your vampiric powers cover cavities or something? I certainly missed that section in Twilight,” you tease, sliding into his car. He flicks on the heating and lets out a chuckle of his own, eyes crinkling up into half-moons, the skin creasing, showing off the slight chip in the front of his tooth.

“Twilight is a crock of shit,” he says. “They get nothing right.”

“What did they get wrong?”

“We don’t sparkle in the sunlight. We aren’t mortal enemies with other supernaturals, especially not werewolves. We can eat, drink, fart, pee and poop just like humans can. We can’t have kids with humans,” he says, listing off on his fingers. “There’s a bunch more but that’ll come with time.”

Giggling to yourself, you change the question, intrigue bubbling in your gut. “What can you do?”

“We’re able to control our development, so if I wanted to, I could be this age forever, but once I make that choice, I can’t undo it. And, being 20 for eternity doesn’t sound like the best time, so we usually wait until we’re in our early 30s before we consider stopping the aging process.”

“What else?”

“We’re stronger and faster than humans. Smarter, too. Sorry,” he gives you a haughty smirk. “We’re impervious to most diseases and heal at a faster rate.”

You enquire, “What about when you want to have kids?”

“I was born this way,” he tells you with a quick glance. “My parents are both like me. Born. Our families are pure-blooded.”

Surprise colors your tone as you ask, “All of you were born as vampires?”

He nods, before giving you a smile filled with pearly white teeth. “Crazy, right?”

“The way you say it implies that there’s something other than being pure-blooded.”

He nods. “Half-bloods. It’s an archaic system, but that’s how we classify vampires who have been bitten and turned, rather than born, like us.”

“Is that… a bad thing?”

“Not bad,” he replies, licking his lips. “Just different. A born vampire will be stronger and faster, and sometimes they have… special abilities.”

“Special abilities? You have got to be kidding me now.”

He shakes his head. “Hoseok is one.”

“What?”

“He can manipulate memory,” he explains. “He never uses it, because it tires him out. He’s KO’d for the whole day if he does, but he can do it. We all have varying degrees of compulsion, but it doesn’t compare to his mind magic.”

“That’s… insane.”

He seems to agree. “It can be overwhelming at first, which is why we didn’t want to throw it all at you at once. But… we care for you. A lot. And we don’t want you going into this situation blind.”

Silence descends over the two of you as you digest his words, and before long, you’re pulling into the parking lot of the dessert place, and you spot a familiar car in the corner, glinting sharply under the early afternoon sun. Grasping at Jimin’s elbow, stalling the confidently-striding dancer’s movement, you ask, suddenly nervous, “Is… Is Jin here?”

Jimin nods, shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I told the group that we were going for dessert, just so they wouldn’t worry if they didn’t see you around, and Jin-hyung, Yoongi-hyung and Jungkook wanted to see you. Is that…” He trails off, suddenly worried. “Did I overstep?”

“No, it’s fine,” you pause, exhaling softly. He stares down at you, fingers itching to touch you but he holds back. He can’t ruin this, he can’t go too fast. He has to wait. It has to be perfect. He holds the door open for you and ushers you inside and out of the cold. You continue, “I wanted to see you guys anyway.”

“You did?” He stops you with a cool hand on your elbow, echoing your actions from mere minutes ago. “You really mean that?”

He’s staring deep into your eyes, so deep in fact that it’s making your skin break out in gooseflesh. Unable to speak, you simply nod, and he pulls you into a deep, long hug. His sweet natural smell is so intoxicating that you feel your eyes close without your permission, tucking yourself further into his chest to get closer to the source of the aroma.

“I missed you so much, jagi,” he mumbles into your hair, lovingly. “I really was going crazy not being able to see you.”

You wrap your arms around his trim waist, for sake of them just hanging uselessly by your sides and find that latching into him is exactly where you want to be.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he whines, rocking you gently from side to side. “’m sorry for lying to you, for keeping it from you. I’ll never lie to you again, as God is my witness I’ll-”

“If you’re done,” Yoongi mumbles, dryly, voice cutting the private moment sharply. “You aren’t the only one who has missed her, Jimin.”

The orange-haired boy pulls away from you, mortified.

“Yah! You got to see her during the break! If anyone should be upset, it’s me,” Jin growls, nudging the shorter man out of the way to envelop you in just as deep of a hug as Jimin. He smells so good that your knees buckle slightly in his grasp. Chuckling softly at your behavior, he whispers in your ear, “Does it feel that good that you can’t stay standing, petal?”

The nickname takes you straight back to your dream, his sultry words sliding across the expanse of your back as he presses into you, deeper and deeper still.

Jin’s nostrils flare slightly, an action that goes unseen by you and he feels his fangs drop at the flood of arousal that he smells wafting from your body. Fuck, he’s missed your scent. But this, this smell collects on the back of his tongue, flooding his senses with your deepest and most desperate essence. His knees buckle slightly, and his mind instantly conjures up the image of you, nude, hovering above his face, his hot tongue mere inches from where he wants to be the most: your warm, slick pink p-

Yoongi steps on his foot sharply, more affected by the combined arousal than his blank expression conveys. Shaking off the wave of adrenaline that is pumping through his body, Jin ushers you to the seat and sets Yoongi with a firm stare, one that the younger knows all too well, before letting the seriousness wash off him and Jin melts back into his bubbly, cheeky persona.

Warmly, you hug Jungkook, who nervously places his hands on your shoulders, refusing to let himself linger, no matter how much he wants to bury his face in your innermost corners. You find his awkwardness quite endearing and you want to pinch his puffy cheeks. Embracing the quiet blond, you feel the composer press a quick kiss to your temple, before giving your hand a quick squeeze. He asks, before you can question his sudden desire for skin-ship, “How’ve you been?”

“Better than before,” you admit, sitting down between Jin and Jimin. You level Yoongi with a sober stare and say, “Thank you. For everything.”

The blond shrugs, awkwardly staring off to the side, shifting his weight as if he doesn’t know where to put himself.

You assert, reaching for his thin, long fingers across the table, catching Yoongi’s gaze and holding it, “No, really. My Dad really likes you.”

He can’t help but let his chest puff up at your words. Yoongi feels a sense of pride, something the other guys could feel rolling off his body in waves. “That’s to be expected.”

“I can’t wait to meet your parents, YN,” Jimin cuts in, excitedly. He reaches for you, wanting your attention too. He says, confidently, “They’ll love me more than hyung, don’t you think?”

“It’s obvious that it’ll be me that will be their favorite,” Jin declares, hotly.

Jungkook snorts. “Whatever, hyung. Who can say no to this face?”

He cups his chin with big hands and sends you a cheesy wink.

Nodding in agreement, you lean over to copy his gesture and repeat, “Who can say no to this face?”

The two of you simultaneously turn to the eldest and bat your eyelids, adorably. Jin’s cheeks pink slightly at the sight of the two of you and he grumbles, “You’re both going to be the death of me.”

“Is that even possible?” You sass, playfully.

Jin simply tugs at a wayward curl of yours in response.

“We can, technically, be killed,” Yoongi says, quietly. The table quietens with him, mode turning somber. “But, there’s a whole host of things that have to happen for it to be effective.”

“What? Like silver crafted into a perfectly symmetrical blade, forged under the light of a full moon, by the hands of the village virgin?” You tease with a roll of your eyes.

The four of them freeze, simultaneously shooting you shocked glances, mouths parted slightly in surprise.

Jungkook mumbles, “How… How did you know?”

Mouth nearly falling open, you gasp, “Are you kidding me?”

Yoongi breaks first, bursting into laughter, followed by Jimin and Jin. Jungkook hides his face in the dancer’s shoulder, unable to stop the jerking motion of his body as he laughs.

“You should’ve seen your face, noona!”

“Shut it!” You groan, cheeks burning, hotly. “I was thinking of the craziest thing I could think of.”

“You can tell you like to read fantasy books,” Jimin remarks, amusedly. He taps the tip of your nose, affectionately. “Namjoon has been spending too much time with you.”

“Not enough, honestly,” you grumble. “We haven’t had a library date for ages.”

“Date?” Jin repeats, a challenging quirk to his brow. "That’s new.”

You stutter, ears burning, “T-That’s what he calls them!”

“I’m sure he does, the sly dog,” Yoongi berates. “Why weren’t any of us invited to your little library dates?”

“Do you guys even like to read?”

Jimin and Jungkook’s cheeks puff up in upset. “We read!”

“Comics don’t count,” Jin ribs the pair.

“Technically, they do,” you correct. “Literature comes in all forms.”

“Ah, don’t you start,” Jin complains. “We get enough of that from Joonie.”

“Joonie’s right,” you assert, reaching for Jimin’s hand and giving it a cursory squeeze. “Next time, I’ll tell you when we’re going okay? You can show me the comics you like.”

“Really?” He perks up, happily, at the idea. “Thank you, YN.”

“Enough talking, I’m hungry,” Yoongi complains, picking up a menu and sliding it across in your direction. “Choose what you’re craving.”

“I’ll take the waffles with honey and some raspberries in a cup,” you reply after some moments to peruse the menu’s contents.

Yoongi snorts at your peculiar request.

Jungkook mumbles, “She doesn’t like the cold and the warm touching, like me.”

You beam at him, finally happy to have someone who shares your specific taste. “Can I have an orange juice, too, please, Jinnie?”

Yoongi nods and Jin leans down to murmurs into your ear, “You can get anything you like, petal.”

Your cheeks redden instantly, and you stammer, ducking your head to hide you’re the splotches of embarrassment on your face, “What’s with that nickname?”

He ducks closer, practically with his lips pressed against the curve of your ear, and he whispers, softly, “Is it not to your tastes?”

“I- It’s… It’s just different,” you mumble, quietly. You feel as if your lungs are going to climb out of your throat, and the sensation only decreases once the handsome businessman reclines out of your space.

Jin gives you a warm smile before calling over a nearby waitress. He tells her the orders of the group, seemingly not needing to confer with the other boys, and you wonder how it is they can know each other so well.

“We’ve known each other since birth. Some of us have lived together for nearly half our lives. If I can’t get their orders right, what kind of hyung would I be?” He asks, tilting his head slightly. You didn’t even ask the question aloud, but he seems to have interpreted the expression on their face well.

Once the food arrives, you all dive in, eating happily. You do notice, though, that none of the boys ate anything until you’d taken your first bite, watching you carefully as you chew and swallow the sweet mouthful of soft, warm waffle.

You say, curiously, “You guys never told me your back-story.”

They share uneasy stares, making you feel suspicious, before Jungkook takes the lead, surprising you at his forwardness. “There isn’t much to tell, honestly. We were born into a special family. Our parents are in a coven together and our families all go back generations. All of us belong to the same main family, but because creatures like us form clusters, we are spread out all over the world.”

“What does that mean?”

“To put it simply, there’s one main family to which we plead allegiance to. The head of the family – currently being Namjoon’s mom – communicates directly with the High Court, who organizes and carries out our legal system. There can be hundreds of clusters within a coven, so we’re just one of many.”

You think for a moment before you say, “Namjoon’s mom is like… an area manager, and Namjoon is like… the owner of a store?”

Jimin giggles at your layman explanation before he replies, “More like, Joonie-hyung’s mom is a COO. Namjoon is the owner of a store that the main branch owns. But like… a big one, you know?”

You snort. “Why is there only seven of you?”

Jin replies, simply, “We don’t want anyone else.”

“Really?”

“If we wanted to,” Yoongi says, coolly. “We could have a cluster of over twenty different bodies. There are plenty of vampires on campus who want to join us.”

Your eyes bug out of your head. “Wait, wait, wait. There are more of you?”

Jin lets out an explosive laugh, and you’re enamored with the way his eyes crinkle at the sides when he does so. He says, bemusedly, “You thought we were the only supernatural people at our university? Petal, the campus is huge.”

“But still!”

They all laugh at your lack of forethought. Jungkook comments, putting his hand over yours and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry, noona. Nobody would hurt you. You smell too much like us for you to be messed with by anyone with sense.”

You echo, brow puckering, “Smell?”

“We scent you,” Jimin explains. “Nothing weird or gross, so don’t feel that we’re invading your privacy. It’s just a natural exchange of scent so other supernaturals with sensitive noses can smell that we’ve laid claim.”

Rearing back to stare the orange-haired boy down, you ask, winding your neck back, “Claim?”

“It sounds offensive but in our community, it just means that you belong under our protection,” Jungkook hurries to explain, smiling apologetically. “Hyung didn’t mean to make it sound so caveman-like, I promise, noona.”

“When you wear our clothes or when we hug you, you are exchanging your smell with ours,” Yoongi moves to explain further. “It doesn’t just go one way either. We smell like you, too.”

That makes you feel minutely better, surprisingly, and they can tell.

You ask, quirking a brow in challenge, “So, after figuratively peeing on me to mark your territory, what does that mean for me?”

“You’ve been told about the fact that we consider you part of our cluster, right?” Jin asks. When you nod, he continues, “Well, to put it simply, we’ve begun a fledgling bond with you. Nothing will happen to you, but on a pheromonic and hormonal level, we’ve started to merge our scents, to bring you closer to our coven. We would… eventually want you to join us, but that doesn’t have to be now… Or, ever. There’s no compulsion with this.”

“There can’t be,” Yoongi says, slowly. He’s picking at the remnants of the banana split that Jimin was given, having long finished his own serving of tiramisu. “We can’t force you to Pledge. That has to come completely from your own free will.”

“What does it mean, to Pledge?”

“That’ll come later, princess,” Yoongi says, a soft uplift to his lips. He licks some cream from his lower lip, making your core thrum with heat at the sight, before he continues, “We don’t want to scare you off so early.”

“It’s best if that comes more naturally, noona,” Jungkook says, sucking on his thumb where some chocolate sauce had been smeared. A pink tongue works around the digit slowly, cheeks hollowing out as he sucks up the sweet sauce. You think you must be going crazy. You rub your thighs together at the sight, missing the way Jin digs his sharp nails into the meat of his thigh to keep his urges at bay. The other two aren’t fairing much better, Jimin having to pinch himself to keep his head in the game and Yoongi doesn’t think he’s turned half-mast so fast in his life. “Joonie-hyung will explain as the time is right, we promise.”

After shaking off the longing coiling around his spine, Jin grabs for your hand, with as much tenderness that he can manage and catches your eye as you gear up to argue. “Do you trust us?”

The other three wait in bated breath, stares practically searing into your flesh, waiting for your answer.

“Yes.”

Jin relaxes a touch. “Then, we can wait until the time is right. We wouldn’t do anything that would compromise your faith in us again. Honest.”

Exhaling, softly, you concede with a nod. “Fine. But, can I have some of that crepe? It looks good.”

“You can have whatever you like, petal.”

You completely missed the look of hunger that passed over his eyes as he watches you nibble on his food, fingers absently playing in some of your curls, imagining how perfect you would look with his fist twisted in your hair and contorting your body to fit his desires.

- end -

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15), (16), (17), (18)

Euphoria [9]

bad boy jungkook x librarian yn

Jungkook was used to getting what he wanted. He was handsome, disgustingly so, and he knew how to flirt his way in (and out of) danger. He lived for and with his brothers. He didn’t know anything but his found family. Still, happening upon you was one of the best decisions he ever made.

Now… How to make you realize that your life was missing him as much as his had been missing you.

(angst/yandere/smut / gore / fluff)

Masterlist  /  i don’t have a tag list  /  find me on twitter  /  word count: 4.6k

tw: voyeurism, jk is a real pervert lol

Chapter 9 ‘Owned’

Blinking, suddenly alert, you feel a wet nose press curiously against your cheek. Instantly, you jolt upright and nearly topple over from the weight of the blankets wrapped awkwardly around your body. Bam pokes his head out, curiously, tongue hanging lazily out of his mouth, and he hops from side to side, trying to take a better look at you.

“Bam, stop,” Jungkook’s voice comes from across the room. Immediately, the blood in your veins is frozen in fear. He really was never going to leave you alone. “She’s resting.”

You sit up, making space for Bam to nestle himself in your lap. The dog is much larger up close, and he tosses his long, powerful legs over your shoulder, taking your open arms as a green light for slobber-time. He licks all over your face and exposed neck, excitedly, sniffing you all over, pressing his wet snout against you with enough force to knock you over.

“You’re a big boy,” you murmur, sleepily, patting his head, echoing Jimin’s gestures from the night before.

Jungkook is stood, already fully-dressed, hovering awkwardly over the two of you, watching with something akin to hope blossoming in his eyes. He tries to taper it down, tries to stomp on it, to extinguish it before you see it - before you can get angry at him for wishing for something he knows he shouldn’t be too eager for. But, he’s looking at you and seeing the smile in your eyes for the first time since this whole ordeal began and it makes him feel… alive.

“Come here, boy,” Jungkook commands, patting his thighs and the dog’s attention immediately snaps from you to the other boy. Bam climbs off of you and pads over to his owner, circling his legs twice before sitting nicely at the man’s right-side, like a soldier. Jungkook sits down on his ass, pulling his knees up to his chest, and observes you, silently.

“Did you sleep okay?”

You stay quiet, monitoring the man just as intently as he was doing to you.

Jungkook looks like shit. He has bags under his red-rimmed eyes and his hair is a puffy mess, as if he spent time running his hands through it. His lips are bitten and red, and they even seem a little swollen when he angles his head a certain way. The tip of his softly-rounded nose is tinged red and he just looked… shitty.

You say as much, without thinking.

He coughs out a wet laugh, looking away. “Good to know you don’t pull any punches even in the morning.”

“I’m just saying,” you grumble, looking at your feet. “Did you not sleep or something?”

Jungkook looks sheepish when he replies. “I couldn’t. I was… anxious.”

“About me?”

He nods. “Not your fault though. It’s… totally a ‘me’ thing.”

“You didn’t sleep at all?”

He shakes his head. “The floor isn’t really that comfortable either.”

“You have a bed.”

“I left the bed for you,” he replies. “Not that you needed it. You looked comfortable on the floor.”

“I’m used to sleeping in less-than-preferable conditions,” you retort, glibly. He gets this curious look in his eye, like he’s greedy to learn more about your shitty childhood and- no. That wasn’t happening. You abruptly say, “I’m going to clean up.”

He nods, getting to his feet and awkwardly hanging out by the door. “Do you want me to-”

“Get the fuck out,” you reply without looking back in his direction. You grab a hand towel and slam the door closed, loud enough for him to hear. You hear the door softly close once he ushers Bam out into the hallway, but what you don’t see is his fist-pump of excitement once he was outside.

–

“We had a conversation,” he say, grabbing Taehyung’s shoulders and shaking him excitedly. Taehyung nearly drops his bowl of spicy ramen and he grumbles under his breath as he has to adjust his t-shirt (the one Jungkook had to practically beg him to wear considering the three men didn’t enjoy wearing shorts around the house, let alone shirts, but he couldn’t have you seeing his brother’s heavily-inked flesh so openly. What happens if that is more your type? He has tattoos too, but he isn’t as covered yet. He doesn’t think he would be able to stomach seeing your ogle another man so openly in front of him without sending his fist through a glass window) once he was released.

Bam, happily, walks beside his owner before spotting Jimin curled up in the couch and rushes to make himself comfortable, stealing the seat that Taehyung had been eyeing for himself, much to the guitarist’s annoyance.

“Fucking stupid dog.”

Jimin gasps and covers Bam’s ears. “Don’t talk about my baby like that!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes but apologizes quietly to the dog and sits on the other side. It isn’t as close to Jimin as he wants to be but it’ll have to do.

“Hyung, we had a conversation and she didn’t yell at me,” Jungkook says, gleefully.

Jimin quirks a brow. “She yelled a little, didn’t she?”

Jungkook deflates slightly. “Only a little. Maybe she’s not as mad anymore, after sleeping on things?”

Jimin and Taehyung both give the younger man a disbelieving look. Taehyung snorts into his food and remarks, “I wouldn’t have my hopes too high for that.”

Jungkook frowns. “She’s still mad?”

“Definitely,” the pair chorus.

Jimin continues, “She’s going to be mad for a long time. This isn’t a one-night fixer-upper, Kookie.”

“I just don’t want her to be angry anymore,” he responds, pitifully. “It makes my heart hurt.”

Taehyung glanced at Jimin and feels his guilt blossom. He understands what it feels like to love someone so much that it stops making sense - it starts feeling like dying would be better than not being with that person. That not seeing them smile would be like never having another breath of fresh again again for the rest of your life. That trying to stitch your world back together again without them would fundamentally be impossible because the largest piece would always be missing.

Yeah, he understands just how insane love could make you feel.

“Just give her time,” Taehyung says, sagely, moving his eyes from his love’s face to the cartoon playing out on the TV. “She’ll come around. You’re too cute for her to ignore.”

“Hyung…”

“Besides, one rejection isn’t enough to knock your big ass off your feet,” Taehyung finishes. “Like I told you before. Make her need you.”

Jimin can’t ignore the foreboding feeling settling in his gut, but as he looks into his little brother’s eyes, his mouth feels stiff as lead. All he can bring himself to do is smile, a little heavy but it was bordering on real and he was wishing for the best.

“I want to make her breakfast,” Jungkook says, suddenly perking up. “Would that be too much? It’s too much, right? Oh, but I make really good pancakes, don’t I, hyung? I should make them for her, right?”

Taehyung exhales softly and nods. “Sure, bud. Go ahead. I’m sure she’ll love them.”

Jungkook beams and merrily clambers to his feet, disappearing into the kitchen.

“You tell that miserable bitch that she better eat every scrap on that plate or I’ll toss her headfirst off the balcony, Jungkook’s feelings be damned,” Taehyung says, quietly, pushing another spoonful of ramen into his mouth.

Jimin snorts.

“I’m so serious, baby,” he says, glaring at his love’s amused expression. “Talk to her or I will.”

“You’re so scary,” Jimin teases, squeezing Taehyung’s puffy cheeks. “I’ll go give our guesta warning.”

Jimin moves to his feet and Taehyung can’t help but smack his ass as he walks by. The pink-haired man glares over his shoulder, flipping him off. Taehyung just wants to toss him over his shoulder and take him back to their room and press him into the mattress until he’s crying for him all over again.

Jungkook patters around the kitchen for a while, the smell of maple syrup and almond milk pouring from the cracked open door, and Jimin tosses a warm look back, hoping against hope that YN wouldn’t piss on the small bud of happiness that was growing in their dumb bunny.

He knocks, because even though he has the grace and tact of a tavern-owner, he still didn’t like walking in on nude girls. Especially ones who had the penchant for smacking fire out of him when they are pissed off.

“YN…”

The door cracks open and you don’t poke your head out, he takes that as permission to enter the room. He pads inside to see you bent over the edge of the bed but facing away from him, and a pair of Jungkook’s boxers covering your shapely ass from his eyes.

Jimin whistles, low and flirtatiously, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth, “I might prefer men but don’t tempt me.”

He’s too used to flirting with clients to get them into the bedroom. He subconsciously started treating you like you were a mark who only knew him as ‘Jay’, elusive and sultry slut who spreads his thighs and puts on a ‘good show’, and not someone who actually knows the him behind the curtain.

You look over your shoulder as you pull the bedsheets you had used to wrap yourself up last night over the bed, cleaning up the space around you and roll your eyes. “Cut the crap. What do you want?”

“Kookie is making breakfast,” he says, quietly. “I’m here to warn you. Be nice.”

“Iamnice,” you retort, lip curling.

“Be nicer,” he suggests. “Otherwise Tae isn’t going to be happy.”

“How your boyfriend feels is none of my concern,” you respond, sarcastically. You had thought about showering early, just to spend some time alone with your thoughts, but decided against it. You’d break up your day by showering later, giving you the illusion of privacy and some space to clear your head once it eventually got too crowded with them.

“Not my boyfriend,” he corrects. “And it will be your issue if he gets angry.”

“Oh, really? What’ll happen? He’ll hit me? Please, I can take a beating,” you answer. “And I can give one too. Seeing as how you are passing messages, let himknow that.”

Jimin exhales, heavily. “Both of you are so childish.”

“He started it,” you fuss. “I’ll be nice.” Then at Jimin’s pointed expression, you correct, “Nicer.”

“Good,” he replies, seemingly content. “Hurry up and put on some pants. I’m starving.”

Jimin leads you back into the living room and you commandeer your spot in the armchair overlooking the gloomy compound, enviously watching the families enjoying the dull morning weather.

Bam notices you walk in immediately and pads over to your side for head rubs and cuddles. The huge dog can’t fit all in your lap but that doesn’t stop him from trying, tossing his heavy head over your shoulder and kicking his long legs around your middle, curling around you.

“Alright, alright,” you murmur, letting him get comfortable and continue rubbing his back and scratching behind his ears.

The room smells delectable, all sugary and homely, and you relax into it, listening to Jungkook walk around the kitchen and sing to himself.

He has a nice voice.

After a little while, Jungkook comes out, having pulled off his hoodie when he started frying the pancakes, showing off his muscular, tattooed arms. His hair is pushed back with a headband and with his forehead exposed, you can see his eyebrow piercing better. His hair is cut neatly at the sides too. His jawline is strong, but his cheeks puff out a little as he whispers to himself, double and triple checking the food on the plate. His shoulders are wide but his waist is trim and thin, and you can tell he works out - a lot.

Jungkook looks so fucking good, you almost forget for a moment that he has you captive, held against your will.

The thought crashes into you like a truck on a highway and you avert your eyes to the ceiling. Not fast enough, however, as Taehyung watches you ogle their dumb bunny with a smirk on his handsome face. Of course you were attracted to Kookie, who wouldn’t be?

“YN, I got the syrup you like,” the man in question says, casually. Jungkook grins at you, bright and adorable, eyes crinkling, waiting for praise.

You feel the other two men’s eyes flick to you, one cautious and the other vicious, and you bite down the urge to yell some kind of defensive obscenity.

Instead, you exhale and reply, “Thanks.”

Jungkook freezes, eyes widening, before the smile returns even brighter than before.

If he had a tail, it would be wagging wildly.

Taehyung relaxes, marginally, and Jimin gives you a private smile - a grateful smile. It was all repulsive.

Jungkook asks, “Do you want to sit at the table or in front of the TV?”

“Here is fine,” you reply, tightly. Bam shifts at the sound of his owner’s voice and hops off your lap. You are surprised at just how heavy the ball of energy is - you suppose he is just like his dad, big and excitable.

Jungkook nods and hands you a plate of pancakes and fluffy scrambled eggs. “Careful, it’s kind of hot.” You take the plate and rest it on your stomach. The food looks delectable, just as you had presumed, but something in you gives you pause. Jungkook continues, gently, “I didn’t know if you wanted bacon or not so I did some on the side.”

He glances at the space in front of you on the floor and hovers, awkwardly, juggling his plate and the condiments.

“Do you want to… sit here?”

He looks up into your eyes, surprised over being caught, before his cheeks burn. “N-No… I mean, yes. I do. But- Not if you don’t like it.”

After catching Jimin’s hard look, you exhale heavily and shift your feet a little so they wouldn’t be in his face. “It’s your house. Sit where you like.”

Jungkook instantly sits on the floor, crossing his legs and resting his back against the leg of the armchair.

Some quiet moments pass between the two of you before he whispers, softly, “Thank you so much.”

He doesn’t expect you to hear him, he says it so quietly, but you do, and it makes your appetite disappear.

Jungkook is rocking happily from side to side as he eats, full mouthfuls of syrup, fluffy pancake and crispy bacon. He offers to eat the rest of your plate once he realizes you won’t - can’t - finish your breakfast, not wanting any to go to waste.

You pile the three-quarters of eggs and half a pancake onto his plate, and his eyes glow in happiness as he eats. Subconsciously, he touches you - his hand grazes your ankle as he shuffles around, his shoulder brushes against the inside of your calf. He doesn’t show too much emotion of his face, not that you would recognize it, but he barely stops his eyes from rolling into the back of his head when you do it back.

The feeling of your toes against his side, even for that nano-second, was enough to have him stiff in his sweats. He adjusts himself as inconspicuously as he can, but Jimin’s giggles give him away. It’s good that YN doesn’t know them that well yet, but he glares nonetheless, at his hyperactive brother.

Stop fucking laughing, he says with his eyes, glaring. Please!

Time passes with Jimin and Taehyung wrapped around each other in a way that Jungkook envies so deeply. Jimin rakes his nails against Taehyung’s scalp, back and forth in a soothing manner that calms the moody guitarist. Jungkook yearns for the sensation of your delicate fingers against his back, the tips of your nails against his spine, drawing intelligible shapes on his skin. Sheer ecstasy blossoms behind his eyes and his breathing gets heavy.

The tip of his dick is unbearably sensitive, having spent half of the night stripping his cock raw as the thoughts he had of you became more and more depraved. You, being in his room, filling the space with your presence, overwhelmed him periodically and he had to disappear into the bathroom to calm himself down. He thought it would help, removing the visual stimuli, but after practically tasting you in the air, he was only reminded that you had been in there, naked, and touching yourself… It was too much for him to resist.

He was a weak man, you can’t blame him for that.

His phone burns in his pocket as the video of you from this morning sleepily padding around the bathroom begs him to watch. The thought had come to him spontaneously last night, and he had done it before even really thinking it through, but what an idea it had been. The small camera he had installed in the bathroom while you slept soundlessly just meant he could see you / raw and unfiltered - whenever he wanted.

It was a win-win situation. He wouldn’t bother you when he yearned for you, and you wouldn’t have to know about it. It would be his first and only secret from you. Everything else, he would happily strip bare for your eyes, but this… this was his. At least for now.

He wouldn’t watch too much, he didn’t want to run the risk of overwhelming himself - he didn’t want to become too sick with obsession that he would act too quickly, too rashly, with his need to have you writhing underneath him that he would scare you off.

But, in that moment, the smell of you in the small room became overwhelming, the dirty towel that you had used damp in the basket in the corner of his room - he couldn’t stop himself. He was pulling his shorts down and fondling himself within seconds. Each time he orgasmed, it felt like he was being sucked through a straw - he felt fiery licks of pleasure from the roots of his hair to the soles of his feet and he leaked all over the floor and used the towel he had been sniffing to clean up his mess.

For now, he had to play the role - he had to somehow worm his way onto your good side, and to do that, he had to seem unbearably pathetic.

“Are you sure, YN? You hardly ate anything,” he mumbles, brow furrowing as he trails behind you as you both walk back to his room. “Didn’t it taste good? I didn’t make it how you like? I can try it again tomorrow, if you’ll let me, okay? Please don’t be mad.”

You roll your eyes, hidden from his field of vision and push open the door. “I’m not angry.”

Bam rushes inside first, jumping straight onto the bed and making a comfy space for himself to lay down and rest. Jungkook says, “But you didn’t eat.”

“I just wasn’t hungry,” you reply, simply.

Jungkook stands in front of you, forcing you to look up into his face when he refuses to move even when you try to step around him. You snap, patience wearing painfully thin, “What?”

“I’ll do better next time,” he promises, earnestly. “Just don’t shut me out again, please.”

You take a calming breath, the urge to grip his collar and shake him until he wakes up out of his delusion almost overtaking you. “I just wasn’t hungry. Really. Do you think if I were mad I wouldn’t tell you? I haven’t made it a habit to pull any punches with you guys yet, have I?”

Jungkook’s lips pull up briefly, a bitter twist to his mouth, before it disappears and he nods. “I trust you.”

You take a step back out of his compelling aura and move to the corner of the room, taking a seat. Jungkook trails behind you, sitting far enough away from you to give you the illusion of space but close enough to still observe you.

“Don’t you have something to do?”

He glances up, as if surprised you are instigating conversation with him, and truthfully, you are shocked yourself. You didn’t have any other means of keeping yourself entertained, considering he still hadn’t returned your phone and you couldn’t access his computer without him seeing. He shakes his head.

“I just- I’m good here,” he says, clearly holding some things back. “Do you… Do you want me to go?”

You can almost see his ears drop in dismay, so you give him an inch of rope. “No. It’s fine. I just- It’s a bit boring.”

“You’re bored?” He seems to be kicking himself for not realizing sooner. He scrambles to his knees and suggests, “I can- Uh, we can do stuff. In the living room. We have a bunch of games.. video games. I never- Oh, I never asked.”

“I like video games,” you respond, quietly.

His chest seems to raise with the new information and his cheeks turn rosy. “Shall we go and play? I’m not too bad at it.”

“Maybe another time,” you concede. “I’m tired now.”

He nods. “Do you- Uhm, you could take the bed.”

You pin him with a hard look, glancing between his innocent face and the inviting bed that Bam is already strewn across. “You… You don’t mind?”

He shakes his head. “It’s your room.”

Annoyance flares up in your once more. It isn’t your room, this isn’t your home. But he seems so soft in that moment that you worry a single word from you would turn him into a mess of tears, and while you don’t really care if he’s sad, you wonder how much hell you would catch from Taehyung for doing it to him.

Part of you wants to test it, to see if the other man is really as much of a threat as he postulates. But no, you’re too out of your comfort zone to willingly ask for such trouble, as tempting as it might be.

You have no weapons, only wit and that wasn’t enough.

Not yet.

“Whatever,” you respond. “I want to shower.”

“Fine,” he replies, hopping to his feet and shoving his phone in his pocket. “I’ll wait outside.”

You don’t respond, pushing past him careful to not touch his skin, and you miss the way his eyes close as he can’t help but sniff the air as you pass by.

He has already composed himself by the time you look back at him, hands deep in his pockets, bulking up his groin area so his bulge isn’t too obvious to the eye.

He fails, egregiously.

You slam the door closed behind you, cheeks burning as his not-so-innocent face replays before your eyes again and again until you have to shove your fingers in your sockets to black out the image.

Jungkook, on the other hand, disappears into the guest bathroom and locks the door behind him, tugging his boxers down to his thighs and palming his growing length in his palm as he bites down on the bottom of his shirt to keep it out of the way. He is in front of the mirror, watching himself fondle his cock as you strip down in the bathroom, unaware of his all-seeing eye above you. You have your back to the camera, shucking off his sweater and folding it nicely on the sink. You’re so neat and clean, he thinks as his lips pull up in a tight smile. What he wouldn’t give to see the line of your neck so unobstructed in real life.

You slide his sweats down your thighs and they pool at the bottom of your legs, followed by his boxers. He lets out a hiss as more pre-come drips down his length, getting trapped in his fingers, turning his skin sticky and slick. He closes his eyes, imagining the scent of your hair. He can’t help but groan loudly, the sound of slick skin-on-skin and the jingle of his belt buckle adding to the symphony of his masturbation. Jungkook’s breathing becomes labored and sweat sticks to his temple.

How much longer, huh? How much fucking longer does he have to wait to have you? Can’t you see how pathetic he is for you already? How much further does he have to fall for you to believe he needs you, he craves you? How much deeper does your poison have to penetrate before you give into him?

You are showering behind the opaque curtain, but the light above highlights your beautiful silhouette as you lather your body with the scents he chose on a whim weeks ago. He damns himself for not picking something softer, more delicate, for you. You’d like that more, wouldn’t you? A gentler scent? Something floral or fruity? Something sweeter than the heavy notes of musk and ginger that he got used to.

Shit, he thinks. He’ll have to go shopping soon. You probably hate it.

His breathing perks up more once the shower is cut off, Jungkook having forced himself from splitting apart at the seams more than once when his fantasies of you became a little too much for him to handle. He feels it, ripping at his insides. His balls are heavy and tight, his toes clenched around nothing and his face is so red, he wonders how he is keeping himself upright. The steam has filled the room and it’s too overwhelming. Everything is overwhelming him.

Your soaked arm pokes out from behind the curtain and you grab the towel. He barely gets a peek of the slightly darker shade of your areola before he is crying out and shooting all over himself and the floor. Jungkook is breathing so heavily, he has to reach an arm out to keep himself upright, and his ears are ringing loud in his skull and his legs are shaking.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. How is he supposed to hold out when he sees the real thing if the sight of your nipples are enough to have him blowing his load so messily? He looks at his come-slick hand and frowns. He needs to work on his endurance.

He washes his hands quickly, knowing that even though both Jimin and Taehyung are in the living room, he still doesn’t want to leave you alone for too long.

What if you figure out something that he hasn’t thought of and escape?

Jungkook pulls open the bathroom door, red-faced but refreshed and sees both of his brothers staring, brows quirked and barely-restrained smirks on their faces.

Taehyung asks, a knowing look on his face that makes Jungkook enraged and embarrassed,  “You having fun in there, bunny?”

“Shut up!”

Jimin tacks on, lightly. “I hope you cleaned up.”

Jungkook shoulders past them, ears burning bright, and walks back into his bedroom, to see you curled up in bed with Bam under your chin. You look up, suddenly more alert even though you don’t stop petting Bam’s head and neck.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s fine,” you respond, curtly, settling back into the sea of pillows you had made. “It’s your room.”

Our room, he barely stops himself from correcting, knowing it would put you in a bad mood.

“I’ll lay here,” he says, clearing his throat and sitting to the side of the door.

You lay down and turn onto your side, letting Bam curl into your side. Jungkook whistles once for his puppy, who responds and moves to his feet.

Jungkook plays with his eager dog’s ears and says, quietly, “Let YN sleep by herself tonight, okay?”

He watches you relax in increments.

Jungkook isn’t stupid, he can tell that you aren’t comfortable, but he doesn’t have it in him to leave you alone, especially at night, as it’s the only time he gets to look at you without seeing the revulsion in your expression. So he stays quiet and passes the time, watching you, imagining how things will be when you don’t hate his guts, and he thinks of melodies.

The other salvation that had kept him from ending his seemingly-meaningless existence all those years ago. Broken shards of sounds pieced together to create masterful pieces of music that he had fallen into, both eyes closed and his heart, for the first time since his mother left, open and bleeding.

Jungkook is long overdue to put a song together, so at around three in the morning, as you are lightly snoring in his bed, he gets onto his computer and slips his headphones on. He can’t keep his back to you for too long so he doesn’t get through a lot but by the time the sun comes up, he has compiled the bare bones for a new track he thinks the others might like.

He sends a copy to Namjoon, the manager of their little trio before cracking his knuckles and turning to face you fully.

Some miles away, Namjoon’s phone pings in the dark, ignored completely by the man dressed in all black, a rolled-up hundred in his hand as he takes another line of coke off of the svelte back of some faceless, nameless stripper in a dimly-lit room.

The tagline: I’ll own you

- end -

btsstan12:

To, My Dearest

Pairings: female reader X Jimin

Summary:Jimin is missing his wife. He is writing her a love letter for her birthday. She will be happy, won’t she? Jimin wished he could see her, but he can’t.

Genre: fluff and angst

Warnings: mentions of death, mental health

Rating:PG-15

Word count: 1.3 K+

A/N:Hello again everyone! I have been trying to write the next chapter for Dwindling Healings, but I am not able to. Till then please enjoy the one-shots and drabbles I’m putting out. I am thankful to Ashley @moonleeai and Natasha @queentiti72from@bangtanwritershq who beta read the story for me.

This is for the square “Love Letters” for the @bangtanwritingbingo spring event, That thing you do. I hope you enjoy the story.

~~~

Jimin sat on his bed with a pen and beautiful peach colored paper again. Your favorite color. He smiled to himself as he looked out of the grilled window. The sky was in a beautiful hue of orange, pink and purple, just like you liked it. How many letters would it be by today? Were you not missing him like he missed you? He sat in silence for a while before writing…

Keep reading

Min Yoongi x reader | Single Parent | Fluff | PG | wc: 1100

For this year’s Secret Valentien project by @btscreatorscorner​  I was assigned the lovely @sunshinerainbowsbts so hereby I present my gift to you, Sunny (Even if its a little late). 

Beta read by @rkivian​ and@mapleglasses27

|MASTERLIST|​

The sun had truly shown itself from its better side today, having peeked through the clouds ever since the early morning hours and warming the chilled winter air. Maybe it too understood the importance of this day. Well, the importance it held for some.

And even though this  was easily  the day your boutique made most of its earnings, you could not help but dread  the day. In itself, the day was hectic at best, but the days up to it were just as chaotic because of all the preparations you had to do. It was also the reason why you were currently running on minimal amounts of sleep.

Fortunately for you, the amount of customers seemed to be decreasing ever so slowly, making it possible for you to finally take a small break. Your tired legs almost buckled under you as you leaned against the counter, eyes darting around the shop.

Finally alone.

“What a day…” you sighed, closing your eyes only for them to shoot open in shock when you suddenly heard the all too familiar sound of the chime on top of the door, warning you that someone had entered the shop. You straightened your back and looked over at the door, but there was no one there.

Maybe, your mind was playing tricks on you? It would not be the first time nor would it be the last time it had done so. But that thought was shot down when your ears picked up on footsteps coming toward you. The steps were hesitant and came to a sudden stop, you held your breath; Fear striking.

Seconds passed before you heard a whimper, immediately you jumped up from the chair and rushed toward the sound. Your eyes darted around, trying to locate the source of the noise. However, it seemed that the source itself had other plans because as you stepped around the counter, something or rather someone tugged at your pant leg.

Chubby fingers clung to the fabric of your pants, their snotty little nose buried in your leg and big doe and teary eyes looking up at you like you held the answers to the world.

“A-app-” The child hiccupped, pressing themself even further onto you.

Without even thinking, you had swiped the child up into your arms and started to comfort them. “Shhh, I am right here,” you murmured, your voice soothing and soft while caressing their hair to provide the comfort they so desperately needed.

As the sobs subsided, the child pulled back and looked at you. Finally, you took the time to look over the child; A mop of dark hair paired with big doe eyes, a cute little button nose sprinkled with freckles and chubby cheeks that matched the chubby legs and arms every child that age should have. They wore a beige dress with small hearts on.

A beautiful little girl.

“Hey there pretty little lady”

The girl let out a squeak and pressed her head into your chest again. You could not help but giggle. A few seconds went by before she peaked up at you from her ‘hiding’ spot.

“Appa.. no appa,” she stuttered, falling over her words in her attempt to communicate with you. You nodded your head knowingly, understanding what she tried to tell you. Your eyes flicked over to the shop windows, but were only met with the darkness from outside.

A sigh passed your lips; this was going to be difficult.

“Would you like some chocolate milk?” you asked, already moving toward the machine as the girl started nodding her head rapidly. Another giggle passed your lips at how cute she looked, her hair tossing around her head and a little pout on her lips.

You settled the girl on the counter and gave her a cup. She wrapped both of her hands around it, moving it up toward her lips before taking a big sip. When she moved the cup away, she let out an ‘ah!” while smacking her lips.

“Does the pretty little lady have a name?”

“Yejun” She answered proudly, puffing out her chest.

“Hello Yejun” you said and introduced yourself, offering your hand to her with a smile. She took your hand into her much smaller one and gave it a light squeeze before going back to sipping on her chocolate milk.

Yejun seemed much more at ease with her chocolate milk in hand even though her father was still missing. Luckily enough it was not long before your eyes caught sight of a frantic looking man outside of the shop windows. The two of you locked eyes for only a split second before his eyes flicked to the child in front of you.

“Yejun! Thank God!” The man ripped open the door and ran toward Yejun, who was making grabby hands toward the man while crying “appa”.

He frantically pulled Yejun into his arms and held her against him tightly for a few moments, before sitting her down on the counter again: “Are you okay?” he was fidgeting over her, feeling and searching for anything that might not have been there before their sudden separation.

Fortunately, he found nothing.

He heaved a sigh of relief and planted a kiss on her forehead, then he turned around to face you.

“Thank you so much for finding Yejun!” He thanked you before beginning to ramble about how she had suddenly disappeared from one moment to another.

You could not help but notice that Yejun’s dad was just as handsome as she was cute. She had inherited his dark hair and cute button nose, but what really made your knees bent was the gummy smile he showed as he looked at his child.

“I understand. Children are hard work, but Yejun has been nothing but an angel,” you assured the man with a gentle touch on his arm.

His eyes lightened up when you complimented his child, chest filling with pride that even in such a highly emotional situation his little girl had been polite.  

“Still..-” He started but stopped when Yejun tugged at his shirt, the man bending down toward her and she whispered something into his ear. He let out a soft ‘ah’ before straightening himself up.

This time when he looked at you, you could not help but notice the light glint he had in his dark eyes.

“Can Yejun and I invite you out for a cup of coffee?” He asked confidently. However, the sudden confidence seemed to diminish as fast as it had come when you did not reply immediately. “Of course only if-”

You touched his arm, making him halter in his sentence. You gave him a shy smile.

“That sounds wonderful, let me just close the shop.”

I choose the prompt: Kid playing matchmaker because who isn’t a sucker for diff BTS?

OT7 x reader | Fantasy | Hybrid | Slice of life | Romance | 18+ | wc: 3400

╰ You leave the stress of everyday life for a simple life in the woods, but apparently, you aren’t the only one who wanted to get away. The goal? To find yourself. And maybe each other along the way.

⟶ warnings: Sadness, talk about death. 

Banner made by the @papillonsgf​.

Beta read by the @moccahobi​ and @taetaesbaebaepsae​ thanks to both of you.

|MASTERLIST|​

Previous|Series | Next |

He gave you a small nod, walking over to the bar cart in the far corner of the office before grabbing what you assumed to be a water bottle and poured it into two glasses. He strode back to the desk, placing one of the glasses in front of you before taking a seat. He took a sip of water and turned to you with a gentle smile.

“Let us begin then.”

The conversation had started out rather dull. Mr. Wang simply went over the legal rights regarding the will while reminding you to ask, if you had any questions. When you stayed silent, he let out a deep sigh to prepare himself for whatever he was about to tell. It scared you a little. You had never seen him act nervous. But when he began speaking again, you suddenly understood why.  

As soon as Mr. Wang spilled the will’s details, your jaw dropped. Your mind was overworking as it tried to comprehend what you had just been told, but you could not. It did not make any sense.

“Are-” you swallowed the lump in your throat “-are you sure this is what the will says?”

His eyes narrowed and you flinched in your seat, eyes darting down to your lap before he replied sternly, “do I have to remind you, miss Yun? That I have never lied or deceived you, or anyone from the Yun clan for that matter.”

“I-… It just seems too good to be true,” you muttered and unknowingly began to pick at your nails, pulling at the hangnails around them. Had you been out of line? you wondered, but before you could linger too long on your mistake Mr. Wang offered to show you the will. Immediately you nodded your head, not knowing what to expect. Not really.

He settled his briefcase on the desk, opened it, and pulled out some papers. He offered them to you and with timid hands, you took them from him. 

Your eyes darted over the words repeatedly, eyes widening as you began to understand what the papers said. Mr. Wang had told you the truth: Jihoon and Soobin had indeed left you a property near the countryside of a town you had never heard of before. Furthermore, they had also left a hefty amount of money to you.

“It is true” you murmured while your fingers skimmed over the signatures of your adoptive parents. You remember a few years ago when you had gone to the bank with Jihoon and you had been taken back by how beautiful his signature was. You had asked – no – begged for him to teach you. He had finally agreed in exchange for you to help make dinner that day. As the memory faded you quickly wiped your eyes with your sleeve.

“Good. Then I only have to ask you whether you wish to sell the property or keep it”

“I-I am not quite sure” you stuttered, it all was too much. You could not wrap your mind around it. They lived such a simple life in a one-story house within walking distance to their flower boutique where both of them worked. You would never have guessed that they had that kind of money.  

When you had somewhat gathered your thoughts you took a deep inhale and then asked in a timid voice, “Could I get some time to think?”

Your eyes locked with Mr. Wang’s, who had a small smile on his face as he nodded his head in understanding, “Of course. I will take care of the estate until you have decided. Is that okay?”

You nodded your head furiously. It was more than okay. You already knew that you would not have it in you to have anything to do with it until after you had decided what to do.

“I only need your signature here,” he showed where you had to sign, then handed you a pen. Your eyes darted over the contract, making sure that you understood what you were about to put your signature on. You let out a sigh before putting pen to paper and signing the contract.

“Terrific. That will be all for today miss Yun”

You rose from the chair and bowed to him, “Thank you for your time, Mr. Wang.”

As you had taken a hold on the door handle a firm hand landed on your shoulder, making you stop in your tracks and turn around. Somehow Mr. Wang had left his seat without you hearing him and was now standing behind you.

“Please do not contact the Yuns biological children.” He said firmly, however his eyes were filled with sympathy. You wanted to ask why but held your tongue. You were already physically and mentally drained.

You just wanted to go home.

“I promise.” You whispered, before taking your leave.

You went back to work shortly after the conversation with Mr. Wang and had found somewhat of a routine: wake up, work, sleep and then repeat. It was only temporary until you had decided what to do with the new information you had gotten.

Today was one of the days where you woke up a little later than normal, having hit the snooze button twice or thrice before leaving the comfort of your bed. Luckily for you, you had found the clothes you would be wearing today - another thing you had learned from Jihoon and Soobin. However, you were still late and it irritated you to no end.

After having tugged on the clothes which you had laid out the day before, a sudden grumble came from your stomach, causing your gaze to dart around until it locked up on the wall clock. You did not have time to eat. Actually, you had to leave your apartment now if you wanted to be on time.

You left the apartment, slamming the door shut, and began the fifteen-minute walk toward your workplace. You tried to ignore the rumbling from your stomach which disagreed with your decision to skip breakfast (again). However, the rumbling continued and became louder and louder until you no longer could ignore it, making you take a right turn and walk into a café.

With a coffee in one hand and a half-eaten bagel in the other, you entered the office building. Despite still feeling irritated from your late awakening and sudden coffee stop, you still muttered a friendly ‘hello’ here and there.

You settled into your spot near the window and wiggled out of your jacket. You took a short moment to collect yourself by sipping on your coffee. Then you cracked your fingers and stretched your back before getting to work; opening up whatever excel sheet you had worked on earlier in the week. You were on autopilot: clicking away on the keyboard, totally oblivious to anything that was going around you.

When out of the corner of your eye you noted a red notification had appeared. You clicked on it and a new window opened, displaying an email from your manager, Mr. Choi. You frowned a bit. Weird. You did not have any deadlines – that you were sure of. The email did not sound at all how Mr. Choi normally wrote, it seemed too urgent and demanding. He wanted to see you now.

As you walked toward your manager’s office, you noticed several of your colleagues talking quietly. One or two of them looked at you, but none spoke. You could sense that something was off.

Even the secretary seemed to know something you did not, she could barely utter a smile. “He is already waiting for you, miss.”

You knocked twice before slowly opening the door and peeked inside to find Mr. Choi at his desk with a serious, almost stern look on his face.

“You wanted to see me, sunbaenim” You took a small step into the office room, eyes locked upon Mr. Choi, searching for a change in his demeanor – a flicker of a smile or something. However, none came. Instead, he looked just as stern – if not more.

“Take a seat”

“Okay” you whispered mostly to yourself, then walked with timid steps towards Mr. Choi. 

You settled down in the chair in front of him, acutely aware of the discomfort that was spreading through the room. Your eyes flicked down to your lap and noticed you had already begun fidgeting with your fingers. In an attempt to seem more collected, you folded your hands and stared at them, avoiding Mr. Choi’s gaze.

Moments went by without anyone speaking, the only thing that could be heard was the breathing from the two of you. You waited for a little longer, still anticipating him to speak, but when none came, you slowly lifted your gaze. Mr. Choi was pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling noisily.

“Sunbaenim?” you asked in a timid voice, a little scared of what was going on inside his head. You had never seen him like this. Not even once through the three years, you had worked here had he ever looked so… gloomy.

As you opened your mouth to repeat yourself, Mr. Choi put up a finger to his lips to betoken silence, and then spoke “Tell me, how has work been lately?”

You could not help but stare at the man, dumbfounded. Why would he even care to ask that? Scratch that. How would he even know that anything was wrong? If anything was wrong that is.

You were about to answer with the all too familiar answer: fine, but you stopped yourself when your eyes locked with his. His gaze intensified as if he stared into your soul.

“And be honest.”

Your eyes darted around, not quite sure what they were looking for. Maybe just an escape from the intense gaze of Mr. Choi. Your gaze landed on your lap once again, but this time they stayed there as you tried to gather your thoughts.

How had work been lately? It had not been on your mind until Mr. Choi had brought it up. But now, your mind was overworking itself to find an answer.

It was true that you had felt… different, since the sudden appearance of that attorney, Mr. Wang, at your workplace. And the last meeting did not help either. It had left you with even more questions – and doubt.

And now Mr. Choi had awakened even more doubt in you.

Were you even happy at your work? You had been – or at least you thought so, but as you were seated in front of Mr. Choi you could not help but wonder: Were you happy though? It was not what you dreamed of, but it paid the bills and the job itself was fine (and to be honest, you probably could not find a job with nearly as good a pay with your experience).

Maybe it was time for you to be honest?

“I-I suppose it could go better,” you cringed internally as you heard your own words and immediately tried to correct yourself, “but I am certain it will get better soon enough.”

As you finished your sentence your eyes found their way back to Mr. Choi, who regarded you with a slightly tilted head and a raised eyebrow. He did not seem to believe your words either.

“Unfortunately, your work performance suggests otherwise and has done for quite some time.”

You were shocked and hurt. You thought you had done what was needed from you, but it seemed you were wrong. It had been going downhill for longer than you had thought.

“You have been with us for quite some time and I – and the rest of the company greatly appreciate the time you have spent working with us, but unfortunately we have to let you go,”

You were never good enough, a voice hissed.

“I understand,” you muttered sadly after a short moment, eyes darting around until they locked onto his face. His eyes were locked on you, they were filled with pity and empathy.

“I have some documents you have to sign and thereafter you can take the rest of the time off.”

You were feeling defeated: Nothing you could say would make him change his mind, so you simply nodded your head.

The feeling of defeat lingered as you walked out of Mr. Choi’s office having signed whatever documents that were needed for your resignation, and started the short but tortures walk towards your desk. You could feel the burning eyes from your colleagues – or should you say, former colleagues?

In a quick manner, you collect the few personal belongings that had found their way to your desk through the times. Then, you looked at the now naked desk and let out a soft ‘bye’. 

To whom? You were not sure of. To the desk? The office? The colleagues? Maybe, it was a farewell to it all.  

You walked out of the building with your head hung low, not wanting to meet the eyes of your former colleagues; you could hear the murmurs run through the office.

You slammed the door shut to your apartment and leaned against it. You could not hold in the annoyed grunt that escaped your mouth as you closed your eyes.

A moment went by like that: enjoying the comfort of the darkness and silence that the room offered. But even in the silence, your mind was working on overdrive trying to comprehend what had happened.

You had just been fired.

What were you supposed to do now? You did not know anything else in this city. The job had been the whole reason for why you had moved in the first place –and now, you did not even have that.  

Soon enough you would not even have money for that. How were you supposed to be paying your bills? –To be living? You had to find a new job, did you not? But you already had a hard time finding a job when you first came to the city, and to find a new one with the lack of education you had, would be a challenge. You were sure of it.

You pushed yourself away from the door with a heavy humph. Your fingers found your temples and messaged them in tight circles.

What were you supposed to do? 

You wanted to scream but held your tongue. Instead, your eyes darted around your room in an attempt to find – something – to get these negative and nagging thoughts out of your head.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Your eyes suddenly caught sight of the white envelope that the attorney had given you, still sealed shut. You had not felt the need to open it, but now - now it seemed to be calling your name. And who were you to deny it? You certainly did not have the energy for that after the day you had.

So with two quick steps, you snatched the envelope and ripped it open. Then you took out the content and flicked through it; some photographs and a folded paper. So with trembling hands, you unfolded the paper and immediately, recognizing the handwriting, Soobin.

You took a shaky breath, eyes taking in the first line of the letter. It started with the customary ‘Dear _____,’. However, it was the next line that brought tears to your eyes, ‘You are reading this letter because Jihoon and I have died.’

You had to stop yourself from continuing, overwhelmed by a sudden pressure on your chest; the frustration of having lost your job, but mostly the overwhelming feeling of grief and sorrow. You blinked away the unshed tears, and instead, you focused on the photographs you held, flipping through them until you stopped at a picture.

It was a beautiful photo. 

It was of Jihoon and you helping each other by carrying a cardboard box out to the car. It was the day of your move to the big city. The elderly man was looking at you with crinkled eyes and a smile. You remember how amused he had been because you had done the one thing he explicitly told you not to do, not to fill the box with too much. – And you had done just that. Your head was thrown back and you could almost hear the laughter which resonated out of you.

The corner of your lips tugged up in a small smile, still feeling suffocated by the sorrow.

Your heart arched both with happiness because of the memory, but also sadness. Sadness at knowing that you no longer could make those kinds of memories and that it would only be just that – memories. So with the back of your sleeve, you wiped away the tear that was threatening to fall.

You took a moment to calm yourself before flipping through the last few photographs, stopping at one particular. It was different from the others. Older; it was black and white, and blurry.  Still, you could easily see a couple embracing with smiles on their faces, totally oblivious to the world around them.

Your face flushed, feeling like you were intruding on something you were not to see, however, you could not take your eyes from the photo.

The longer you stared, the more you realized who they were - a younger version of Jihoon and Soobin. They were looking into each other’s faces, holding each other as if their life depended on it (something you had seen yourself in real life). They stood with their arms around each other in front of a small brick house and in the background, you could hint out what may be a forest. However, that was all you could see because of how blurry the image was: the figures and lines blurring into one another.

Your fingers brushed against their blurred figures. You wanted to touch them just one more time.

A tear splashed onto the photograph. You had not even realized you were crying until that moment. Quickly you wiped your eyes, not quite understanding your feelings. 

Were you crying because of grief? That you no longer would be able to see and touch them again. Would every past memory be tainted because of them being gone so suddenly? – or could it be that for some strange reason you felt happy. A strange emotion to be feeling at a time like this. A time when you should be grieving.

You had to sit down.

After finally sitting down, throwing the letter and photographs onto the table, the tears had free rein: rolling down your cheeks while you sobbed. You tried to stop the sounds coming from you by biting down on your hand. It somewhat muffled the sobs.

But your mind. Your mind was working on overdrive and kept going even as you cried your eyes out, trying to make sense of what was happening and what it all meant.

They were gone. That was the reality, was it not? You would never see them again. That you knew. But… you did not even get to say your farewell to them. Their biological children made sure of that –Why?

And what did the photographs mean? They had to mean something. They looked happy in the photos, were they happy before they died? You hoped so. They deserved happiness even in their last seconds

— Actually, especially in their last seconds on this earth.

What were you to do now?

Hmph, the older photograph had to have a deeper meaning, right? Jihoon and Soobin surely had not simply given to you for no reason. Could it? No.

It had to mean something, right?

—But what?

Your tears seemed to slowly stop, so with a hand you wiped your tear-streaked face, flinching slightly in the process: Your face was sore and puffy.

A few moments went by in silence, only your rapid breathing could be heard and a soft humming sound echoing through the apartment. You let out a heavy sigh and ran your fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face. Your eyes locked upon the content, thrown carelessly on the table.

You took a deep breath and reached for the content, your fingers brushed against the paper. You could easily feel the folds and dents from the pencil where Soobin had pressed a little too hard.

You could not help but clench your jaw when you started reading the letter again. Your eyes ran over the words that were slightly blurry, slowly a heartwarming smile stretched over your face. You had to blink rapidly to stop the tears that threatened to fall again.

The photograph was indeed meaningful. A reminder of them and the love they shared, but also a reference to the estate that they had left you.

It was bittersweet: It pained you yet it was the perfect opportunity for you now. An opportunity to start again.

A new beginning.

OT7 x reader | Fantasy | Hybrid | Slice of life | Romance | 18+ | wc: 3100 out of 7300

╰ You leave the stress of everyday life for a simple life in the woods, but apparently, you aren’t the only one who wanted to get away. The goal? To find yourself. And maybe each other along the way.

⟶ warnings: Sadness, anxiety- and panic attacks, talk about death and cursing.

Banner made by the @papillonsgf​.

Beta read by the @moccahobi​ and @hoebii​, thanks to both of you. Truly.

|MASTERLIST|​ 

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You could not remember how - or when for that matter, you had arrived home after you had been informed of the sudden passing of your foster parents. The only thing you remembered was how you had walked mindlessly around while the lawyer, Mr. Wang’s, words kept echoing in your head, a dark reminder of how you had not known of their passing before fourteen days had already gone by.

You had a hard time believing what Mr. Wang had told you, he must have been pulling a joke on you. A cruel one. They could not be dead. They simply could not. Even as you tried to contact them via phone and they did not answer, your mind kept coming up with alternative reasons for why: Maybe they were on vacation or had forgotten theír phones somewhere - it would not have been the first time. However, as hours went by the relation of the situation settled in, and you cried.

They were gone.

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, trying to control the tears which were streaming down your face as your knees buckled under the mental and physical strain, collapsing onto the hardwood floor.

The pressure around your chest increased, making it hard for you to breathe.

Once again, it was as if someone was strangling you - or holding you underwater. No matter how hard you tried, you could not catch a breath.

For a short moment, your vision darkened, then flashed with a collage of heartbreaking memories. Memories that now felt empty without them. Your first time meeting Jihoon and Soobin outside of their flower shop, the day they invited you into their home, and the first time they told you that they loved you. The last time you had been more than one around the dining table, enjoying a home-cooked meal and the room was filled with love and laughter. You screamed as the memories blurred and darkness once again took over.

When your vision returned, your breathing had steadied slightly but your lungs were still burning, aching for oxygen. With what little energy you had left, you sought comfort in yourself; bending your upper body toward your legs and tucking your head in between them. You tried to remember the breathing technique you had learned earlier in life before Jihoon and Soobin came into your life.

It took a few tries before you had figured it out. Inhaling through your nose and holding it for a few seconds, and then exhaling through your mouth ever so slowly.  Breath in through the nose, hold it, and out through the mouth. In through the nose, hold it for a moment, and then exhale through the mouth. You kept repeating until your breathing settled down and the burn in your lungs had subsided.

You no longer had any energy left in you, your eyes twitched until darkness consumed you once again.

The following days had passed by without you noticing. You could not remember much of what you had been doing the days after your mental breakdown. You only remember the overwhelming feeling of distress and hopelessness.

However, today seemed slightly better than the day before - and the day before that, and the one before that one too. It might have been because you had actually gotten a full night’s sleep without any form of nightmare, something you had not experienced since that day in the office.

You had woken up from your slumber twenty minutes ago but had yet to leave the comfort - and warmth - of your bed. You shifted out from under the covers and into a half-sitting position with a book in hand. You were completely lost in the book; immersed to the point you had blocked the real world out. The noises of the waking city melted away. The cars, traffic, and voices became silenced and were replaced with a warm humming background noise.

A loud ringing abruptly brought you back to reality. It startled you, causing you to drop your book in fright.

“Fuck me.”  

You had placed a hand on your chest and looked at the fallen book in disbelief before your eyes flickered around for the source of the sound. Your eyes locked upon your phone, screen flashing with an unknown number. You had seen the number before though. A few times actually.

You let out a deep sigh, a mixture of relief and annoyance as you reached for the phone.

“Hell-o-o”

“Miss Yun,” a deep voice pierced through the phone’s speakers.

Instantly, your back stiffened and ice ran down your spine; you recognized the voice as the elderly lawyer, Mr. Wang.

What could he possibly want? You were not ready for any more depressing news. You were not even over the ones he had given you a week or so ago - and you probably never would be.

“What do you want?!” you flinched as soon as the words passed your lips, you sounded so angry and frustrated that you felt embarrassed. This was not how you wanted to come across, neither was it how the Yun’s had raised you. You needed to be respectful towards others - especially your elders.

You became more and more aware of how inappropriate your tone had been as the silence filled the room.

“I am so so sorry, I did not mean any disrespect or hardship, sir” You apologized profusely and vehemently, but the words died in your throat as your ears perked up, registering a chuckle sounding through the phone. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you because you thought you heard him chuckle “funny girl”.

“There is no need to apologize, Miss Yun.”

You let out the breath you had held.

“I would imagine I would have been a little irritated myself if the position had been reversed” Mr. Wang continued.

“Still that is no reason for being disrespectful, sir”

“Do not linger on it, ____.”

It was the first time he had ever called you by your first name and, to be honest, it took you by surprise. It felt so out of character for him.

“Now as for the reason why I am calling: I have news regarding the settlement with the Yun clan and other information I would like to pass along to you.”  

You were nodding your head slowly, trying to comprehend what he was saying. 

“Would it be possible to meet up within the next few days?”

You hummed, still not quite sure where all this would end up.

“How does -” there was a short moment of silence, only the sound of what might have been him flipping through pages of his calendar, before continuing; “- Thursday at 1 pm sound?”

“Yeah, sure” you muttered, already knowing you had nothing planned and even if you had, you would cancel in a heartbeat for whatever information there was regarding your ‘parents’.

“Great! I will send a message with the place and time.”

“Yeah, whatever” you mumbled, hoping he did not hear it and if he did, he ignored it and ended the call with a curt yet quick farewell, then the line went dead. You looked at the phone in frustration and let out a heavy sigh, your mind was already overworking itself, making you fear what was to come.

Thursday arrived way too fast for your liking. Your nerves had been building up ever since Mr. Wang’s call and now that the day had come, they were reaching a breaking point. You had been anxious the whole day; pacing around your apartment since you had awoken and had tried to eat. But even the smallest amount of food had made you sick to your stomach. And now, you were squirming in your metro seat and picking at your cuticles out of habit.

You were not sure of how long you had been picking at your fingers, only stopping when a monotone voice sounded from the speakers, declaring the next stop which just happened to be your stop. As you took a hold of your bag, you noticed how the skin around your fingers was raw and inflamed. It was almost bleeding.

“For fuck sake” you mumbled annoyed, your skin had only just somewhat healed from last time. However, you could not linger on it for too long since you had somewhere to be, so with a heavy sigh, you left the comfort of your seat and went over to the doors, waiting patiently for them to slide open.

You exited the metro station with quick steps stopping shortly when you noted how the mass of people only seemed to grow even denser as you arrived at the street. Your heart raced at the sight of the packed place, starting to feel overwhelmed at the thought of having to go through the sea of people.  You had to zigzag around people, making sure not to collide with anyone while looking for the meeting address Mr. Wang had sent you. Even as you frantically looked for the address, your mind was just as frantically coming up with what-if scenarios. You could not help it. You were not sure what Mr. Wang could possibly want to tell you, that could not be said over the phone. What if he had mistaken and your parents had not wished for you to inherit anything? Or what if it was even more devastating? Another death in the family, maybe?

Finally, as the crowd seemed to thin out, you could look around a little easier and as your eyes flicked around they locked upon a building. Then your eyes darted to your phone, making sure that you were indeed at the right address. You were. So you tucked the phone back into your shoulder bag and your eyes - once again, locked upon the building.

The whole building was made of glass, reflecting the beautiful blue of the autumn sky to glowing with orange hues from pale peach to tangerine whenever the sun peeked through the clouds. It was stretching itself toward the sky, almost as if to break through to the heavens.

Then your eyes slowly traveled back down from the top of the building, until they settled upon the entrance. Immediately, noticing a black-suited man standing in the foyer of the building, staring at you with a stern look almost as if to tell you that you did not belong here. However, you already knew this, but Mr. Wang wanted to meet up here and you could not back down now.

Or could you?

No.

No, you could not do that. You had to know what Mr. Wang could possibly want. He wanted to meet up instead of simply telling you over the phone - like most people would and it had piqued your interest. Moreover, since it was most definitely about your deceased parents, you had to know.

You inhaled and exhaled with a sigh, then began the short walk toward the entrance with shaky legs. You could feel the stern-looking man’s eyes on you as you neared the entrée. It made you uncomfortable; the way he was burning holes into you, confirming you that you did not belong there.

But then again, where did you belong? 

You wrapped your arms around your stomach to shrink into yourself, lowering your head in an attempt to make yourself even smaller. With your head bowed down, you distracted yourself by counting the cracks on the pavement.

You were so preoccupied that you did not notice that someone had opened the door for you. It was only when the warm air slapped you in the face and a gasp slipped past your lips, you realized that you had stepped into the building.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Immediately, you whipped your head around and your eyes traveled over the man until they landed on his face, still as serious and stern as a stone. A few seconds went by with you simply looking at him and not uttering a word, so the man rephrased his question.

“Do you have an appointment with someone today, ma’am?” the man asked, face softening slightly as he noticed your disheveled appearance; swollen eyes, cheeks flushed and splotchy, and hair slightly tousled.

“-Yes, sir,” you said timidly. You loosened the scarf around your neck in an attempt to cool yourself down from the sudden heat. In addition, to reduce the uncomfortableness you had felt ever since he had settled his eyes on you.  

“Can I have the name of the person you have an appointment with?” He asked and fished out a tablet from the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Oh. I am here to see Mr. Wang.” As soon as the name passed your lips, the man’s eyes flicked back to the tablet and tapped on its screen. A few moments went by when he suddenly looked at you again, this time with a brow raised; “Miss Yun, I assume then?”

You nodded.

“Do you have any ID on you miss?”

You nodded once again, opening your bag and started looking for your identification card. You scolded yourself as you roamed through the bag, it had to be there somewhere in the mess of a bag. When suddenly your fingers brushed against the chapped sides of a card. You could not hold back the small victory wiggle as you pulled the card out.

The man simply took the card from you. 

He glanced at you to make sure that you were indeed the same person as the one in the photo. His eyes flicked from your face to the card and back. Unable to bear the scrutiny in his eyes, you looked away and started fidgeting with the few loose threads from your scarf. You found yourself getting hotter and hotter, afraid that he would not recognize the person in the photo. You had changed since the photo had been taken.

“Everything seems to check out, miss Yun.” The stern look washed away from his face as soon as your identity was confirmed, a loose smile finding its way onto his face instead. “You will have to take the elevator to the 42nd floor where Mr. Wang is staying, either he or his secretary will be there to welcome you.” He continued while pointing you towards the elevator.

“Thank you,” you said, a shy smile painted on your face. You gave a quick bow, then walked down the long hallway toward the elevator. You did not have to wait long for the elevator - maybe a few minutes, but no more than three.

You leaned against the elevator wall as soon as you entered and waited for the doors to close. As you stood alone inside the empty elevator, the nerves you had tried so hard to ignore ambushed you: you were staring blankly ahead of you while your heartbeat increased to an alarming pace, it felt as if it was about to jump out of your chest. Blood rushed to your ears, flushing out all other noises than the sound of your overworking heart.

A sudden ding chimed and the doors slowly slid open. Your eyes widened and darted over to the screen where the floor number shined brightly. 42nd. The floors had passed by way too quickly for your liking. You did not even have a moment to collect yourself before you stumbled out of the elevator with wobbly legs. You steadied yourself against a wall just outside of the elevator, taking a deep breath while closing your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. Luckily it did not take you long before your heartbeat slowed down to a somewhat normal rate.

With shaking legs you began your small walk down the corridor. Your eyes darted around, trying to find either Mr. Wang or a secretary - anyone for that matter, but none came into view.

You kept walking until you came by an empty desk. You look around, trying to see if anyone was near still, none were to be seen. Then your eyes landed on a dark mahogany door with four golden letters on it: ‘WANG’.

It had to be here.

You took a few steps towards the door and knocked on it, still somewhat scared about what may happen in there. Somehow you were still holding on to the hope that your parents would be standing in there, but you knew better. It would only happen in dreams. And this was anything but a dream.

You fidgeted with your jacket while waiting for any kind of response when suddenly the door was ripped open. A gasp passed your lips as you came face to face with a pair of kind eyes behind a pair of brown eyes behind a pair of glasses. There was a hint of kindness and somehow they seemed to calm you a little - but only a little.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Yun. I hope it was not too much of a problem for you.” Mr. Wang said, stepping aside for you to enter the office. You shook your head to make it clear that it was fine (even if it had been a problem, you probably would not have said anything).

“Then please sit down,” he said, pulling out the chair for you. The corner of your lips quirked up in a small smile in gratitude before sitting down in the chair he had offered.

“Would you like anything to drink? Coffee? Water? A soda?” He asked while walking behind the desk you now sat in front of. The question threw you slightly off, reminding you why you were there. This was not going to be an easy or short conversation.

It was going to be a difficult one, you already knew it.  

“Just water, please.” You answered timidly, suddenly not having the courage to speak any louder in fear of your voice breaking.

He gave you a small nod, walking over to the bar cart in the far corner of the office before grabbing what you assumed to be a water bottle and poured it into two glasses. He strode back to the desk, placing one of the glasses in front of you before taking a seat. He took a sip of water and turned to you with a gentle smile.

“Let us begin then.”

PREVIOUS|INDEX | NEXT

Yoongi x Reader

word count: 10.3k

warnings: mafia au, strangers to lovers, descriptions of violence and death, minor character death, reader treated as commodity, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ | in this chapter: past trauma mentioned (past sexual abuse & trafficking mention but not described! past drug use, mention of blood and murder) pressured to use drugs, drug use, oral sex & fingering

When Yoongi said “we” would be going to the seaside, you weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t an entire convoy of vehicles. Yoongi drives you, and there are several cars surrounding you, with Namjoon and Hoseok taking the lead. It seems excessive, but you don’t question it. In fact, you haven’t said much to Yoongi since last night.

The outfit Namjoon left out for you to wear today is a white square neck knee-length sundress covered in floral print and white wedge sandals with a cork heel. Yoongi is dressed in a white double-breasted suit jacket and pants, with all white everything: shirt, tie, shoes. His hair is coifed off his forehead, giving major husband-at-the-end-of-the-aisle vibes, which you do your best to block out of your mind as aggressively as possible because fuck Min Yoongi and fuck how effortlessly sexy and soft he can appear despite being such a dick.

It’s an hour or so outside of the city when Yoongi finally decides to strike up a conversation. You’d been content staring out the window and watching the outside world go by while ballads play quietly on the radio, and hearing Yoongi’s deep, raspy voice spikes something in you—probably anxiety but possibly excitement; sometimes it’s hard to differentiate the two.

“You seem tense,” Yoongi mutters.

Your head flinches toward the sound of his voice, and you look from the corner of your eye, almost in disbelief that Yoongi still knows how to speak. You hum in response.

“Care to tell me why you’re so unhappy?” Yoongi asks.

Your shoulder jerks upward, and you can’t help the incredulous sound that leaves your lips as you shoot Yoongi a glare out of the corners of your eyes before you stare ahead once more.

You mutter, almost to yourself, “Oh, so now you care?”

“I never said it would be easy being with me—” Yoongi says, in a defensive tone, and you roll your eyes and cut him off.

“As if I had any fucking say in the matter.”

You can feel Yoongi looking between the road and you, and you indulge him once, meeting his gaze and watching him smirk before pulling your eyes away from each other.

“Would you be attracted to me if you had met me naturally?”

Yes, you think. Yes, of course you would; you’re not a fool. Yoongi is smart, funny, sexy, charismatic, and—even without knowing the full extent of his influence—gives off an air of being powerful. Your poor fucking heart wouldn’t stand a chance against him. Of course you’d be attracted to Yoongi naturally.

You clear your throat and mutter, “Probably.”

“Does it bother you that I’m as powerful as I am?”

No, you think. Not really. There are many facets to his power that make you uncomfortable, but you tell yourself that if he and his family men have managed to stay this powerful and this alive for as long as they have, then they’re clearly doing something right.

“I guess not,” you admit.

“So then what’s the problem?”

Oh, this really boils your blood. How quickly Yoongi can make you go from contemplative to furious is still a shock to you, and you can’t help but turn to him and stare him down, mouth agape as if you can’t fucking believe his audacity—because you truly cannot.

“Do you hear yourself?” you ask, mocking his tone from last night. “You kidnapped me, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes move between you and the road. “You can leave if you want,” Yoongi states, and it surprises you. “I’m not forcing you to stay.”

You stare at the side of Yoongi’s face, and he stares ahead at the road, and god, you could fucking slap him if he weren’t:

a.) a mafia boss, and

b.) literally driving right now.

“There are men with guns following me around the property,” you remind him.

“For your safety. Do you really think Felix would shoot you in the back if you decided to leave?”

“W-well, n—”

“I can’t imagine Changbin smoking you as you waltzed off into the sunset, can you?”

Now you really want to slap him.

“You would really let me leave?”

Yoongi shrugs. There’s a glint in his eye, even if he won’t look you in yours, and you instantly know what he’s thinking. Sure, you could leave whenever you want, but can you carry all your things with you? Would you leave behind the new things you’ve been given? It’s not as if Yoongi would allow someone to stroll onto the property and help you move out.

Yes, you’re free to leave because Yoongi knows you have nowhere to go. Yoongi knows that, at the end of the day, you need to stay right where you are.

“I fucking hate you,” you mutter, and Yoongi laughs.

It’s a bright, hearty laugh that’s music to your ears, and you bite your lip, hoping that if you inflict enough pain on yourself, it’ll shield how much that fucking laugh affects you.

“Oh, darling. No, you don’t.”

Yoongi checks the two of you into a hanok on the seaside that is so beautiful it makes your heart skip a beat. It has a perfect mix of modern and traditional amenities, making it feel as if you’ve stepped into a different era that just so happens to have running water ahead of its time. There’s also a single bedroom with a smaller bed than you’re used to sharing with Yoongi, and being four hours from home and alone with him, makes you nervous because, try as you might to hate every fiber of Yoongi’s being, you find it impossible to keep your hands off him.

“There’s a night market along this street that starts at seven,” Yoongi informs as you unpack your suitcase, placing your items into the closet and dresser. “If you’d like to check it out, I can join you around nine.”

“Okay,” you respond, not fully taking in the information.

“Don’t change,” Yoongi says.

You turn to Yoongi and find him standing against the wall beside the door with one foot anchored against it and his arms crossed over his torso.

“Why?”

“I like that dress on you.”

You swallow a lump in your throat and consider changing out of it out of spite. There’s a part of you that wants to appease Yoongi and wear what he likes to see you in, and you curse that part of you. Yoongi approaches and kisses you on the forehead, sending a swarm of anxiety aflight in your chest, and you cave in to the feeling and stay in the dress he likes to see you in. You even dare to miss him as soon as he leaves you alone in the hanok.

The night market is nice, and you walk along the crowded street with Felix at your side, trying to decide what to eat. Everything looks and smells amazing, and the longer you take to decide, the more difficult a decision becomes.

It’s been a week and a half of being cooped up in Yoongi’s mansion, and it feels almost overwhelming to be out amongst a crowd. You blend in easily enough, and when Felix convinces you to try some corn dogs, you sit below ginkgo trees eating your fried treat feeling as if you’re spending time with a close friend and not your security detail. Felix is a lot more conversational without Changbin present—almost as if the other makes him shy—and you fall into conversation easily, talking about Felix’s life in Australia.

“What about you?” Felix asks as you reach the end of the market. You had been so lost in conversation that you hardly noticed you’d begun walking again, and you look around to take in your surroundings before asking, “What?”

“Where did you grow up?”

The topic of your upbringing is one you try to skirt around and give vague responses about whenever possible, and although it’s something you’ve done many times, it always throws you off-kilter—you never know what to say.

“I moved around a lot,” you respond. You attempt to describe your birthplace, but there’s not a lot you remember about being there, and a lot of the details of your childhood are fuzzy.

“I’m not really sure how I ended up here,” you admit.

“Do your parents live here?” Felix asks. You can tell that he has a lot more questions, but he seems to be taking your hesitance as a hint to not press. This question, however, is more difficult to respond to than the rest.

“I, uh—” you stare ahead at the crowded street and the brightly colored signs and booths that line it on either side. I was stolen, you think. I was trafficked in and out of cities around the world. Traded, bought and sold until I fought my way out. I couldn’t tell you what my parents looked like, but I could tell you how it feels to press a knife between someone’s ribs and watch the light fade from their eyes.

“They died when I was young,” you lie, twiddling your fingers nervously. “I didn’t really stay with one person long, and I spent my teen years between living in hotels or on the street.”

When you meet Felix’s gaze, he looks sad. You feel an overwhelming desire to comfort him and tell him that everything is okay despite not believing in the words yourself.

“That sounds difficult,” Felix says, and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You nod and scoff quietly, considering how funny it is that you fought for your freedom only to be taken captive once again. You wonder what it is about you that makes men stake claim. You wonder if your time with Yoongi will end the same way: straddling his naked body while the blood drains from his chest, hot and thick. The situation with Yoongi feels different because he hasn’t forced himself on you, but you wonder if that’s just part of the game to get you to trust him enough to give him what he wants.

“How do you feel about all of this?” Felix asks, and you know he’s not asking about the night market. The two of you begin to walk back the way you came, through the crowd.

You shrug and consider your words as your eyes flicker from booth to booth; sure, Felix has been nothing but kind, but he is one of Yoongi’s men. Perhaps you test him a little. “I’m not sure. I’m not stupid enough to think I have freedom, but I have enough freedom that I don’t feel the desire to escape, either. I’m in limbo.”

Felix chuckles. “How do you feel about Yoongi-hyung?”

You turn to Felix and raise an eyebrow at him, and he holds his hands up as if defending himself. “You don’t have to respond! Just making conversation. I don’t report back to him with anything we discuss.”

“Again, I’m not sure,” you admit. “He’s charming and handsome, and to some extent, his power and influence are intriguing. But it’s also terrifying. I don’t think I can fathom, yet, just how much power he does have. And what if I do fall for him? Does that put a target on my back?”

You worry you’ve said too much, but Felix seems unbothered. “Valid concerns. But you shouldn’t worry about a target; he’s more or less untouchable.”

“How?”

It’s Felix’s turn to raise an eyebrow at you. “That’s just the way it is.”

By the time nine rolls around, you’re back at the hanok, sitting on the bed and scrolling through the gallery on your phone. You had taken some photos of the stalls, capturing the bright lights of the neon signs as the sun began to set, and some close-up shots of rows of food. You consider posting one to social media just to keep up appearances with your handful of friends and acquaintances, but when you thumb through to find your social media apps, they’re all wiped. In fact, most of your apps are gone.

You wish you were surprised. The only thing that shocks you is that it took you so long to notice; they probably wiped your phone within the first 24 hours of your stay. There’s a part of you that feels annoyed, but you toss your phone aside and question whether it matters. You’re no stranger to being dead to the world, and there’s a freedom to it that feels comfortable. Maybe it’s better not to see the people and places you no longer have access to.

Yoongi returns, and when he enters the room, loosening his white tie, he looks anxious. You sit up and wait for him to address you, but he cards a hand through his sweaty hair and walks by toward the large wooden cabinet where your clothing has been unpacked into.

“Everything okay?” you ask, but Yoongi doesn’t respond.

Instead, he grabs a denim jacket and brings it back to the bed, setting it down as his fingers make quick work of the buttons on his white long-sleeve shirt. You’re disappointed to find he has a white tee underneath and consider distracting him, wanting to rub your hands over his body.

“It’s fine,” Yoongi finally says. When he looks at you, his gaze is less piercing. His pupils are dilated, and he doesn’t look in one place for long, tugging his shirt impatiently from being tucked into his slacks before dropping it to the floor, picking up his jacket and throwing it over his shoulders.

“It’s cooling down, grab a jacket,” Yoongi says.

“Where are we going?”

“Did you eat? Are you hungry?” There’s an eagerness in Yoongi’s voice, almost a frantic tone, and you study him a little closer.

“We had corn dogs,” you say, “but they weren’t filling. I could eat.”

Yoongi chuckles and lets out a sigh. “Corn dogs sound great.”

You sit up and reach out for Yoongi, and he gets close enough to let you hook your fingers in the belt loops of his white slacks and pull him close, stumbling to stand before you. You spread your legs around him, though your dress keeps you covered, and you rub your hands up Yoongi’s sides.

“Are we in a hurry?” you ask, looking up at Yoongi through your eyelashes. You’re not even sure what you’re doing or what it is you’re hoping to initiate, but you’re feeling touch starved, and you want to taste Yoongi’s lips.

Yoongi smirks and leans down and cages you in with his arms. “Why? What do you have in mind, darling?”

“Dessert before dinner?” you suggest. “I want to taste your lips.”

There’s a tremble to Yoongi, which catches you off guard as he leans down and pushes his lips into yours. You reach your hands up, gently grabbing onto Yoongi’s hair, and he groans into your mouth as you tease his tongue with yours.

Yoongi shrugs his jacket off, and it hits the floor in a loud smack as the metal fastenings strike the hardwood. Yoongi takes the back of your head in one hand and eases you back against the mattress, and you use one leg to wrap around Yoongi’s thigh and pull him close.

You squeeze Yoongi’s hair, and he moans, then kisses down your chin and throat, littering your neck with warm, wet spots. “What’s gotten into you?” he groans against your skin.

“Can’t I miss you?” you tease.

Yoongi stops kissing you, still anchored on one hand while the other cradles your head. He looks at you almost as if searching for something, then chuckles.

“Of course you can. You’re just so hot and cold; I can never tell what you’ll do next.”

This is pretty rich coming from Yoongi, and you want to tell him that, but you decide to take the less aggressive route and attempt to sound playful. “Excuse me for having complicated feelings for my captor.”

Yoongi’s jaw shifts, and he tongues the inside of his cheek, then stands up, letting you go. He runs a hand through his hair and nods his chin toward the door.

“Leave, then,” Yoongi says. His eyes are wide as if he’s challenging you.

You sit up, anchoring yourself on your elbows.

“If you want to go back to that prick in his shitty little apartment, you’re free to go.”

Of course you feel defeated because there is a part of you that yearns for something natural and comfortable between you and Yoongi, and you wish he wouldn’t be so cold. But then you remember he’s a mafia boss and, well…what should you expect.

You return the same expression—eyes wide and challenging—and ask, “What’s the point of taking me if you don’t want to keep me?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and sighs, then scratches at one of his eyelids. It seems like a nervous tick, though you can’t imagine Yoongi being nervous. Then again, he was trembling earlier when you kissed him.

“I’m not arguing with you, darling. Either stay with me and learn your place in my house, or leave.”

“And go where?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Not my fucking problem.”

With a deep sigh, you crash back against the bed. Why must Yoongi be so fucking frustrating? You want to ask Yoongi why he’s so guarded and snippy. You want to tell him that you don’t even want to leave his house; you just need help feeling a little more welcome. You want to ask him if  perhaps, the reason he’s single is that he captures women and then annoys them into moving out.

You settle on, “You make it so hard to like you.”

Yoongi surprises you with, “Elaborate.”

You sit up and cross your arms over your chest and watch Yoongi, who stands with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, impatiently tapping his foot like a cartoon character.  

“Let’s start with the facts: You kidnapped me—”

“I didn’t kidnap you,” Yoongi insists, and you hold a hand up to shush him.

“You took me into a vehicle and brought me to your house. You had two of your men bring all of my belongings from my apartment into that home without consulting with me or, I don’t know, asking me whether I wanted to live there. You have armed men follow me around the property, and you make them check in with you before we do anything. I don’t have free will, Yoongi. You say I can leave, but you know damn well there’s nowhere for me to go.”

“Do you want to leave?” Yoongi asks, and for just a moment, he almost looks vulnerable.

“Honestly,” you take a deep breath, “No. I don’t think I want to.”

Yoongi’s stance loosens, and his hands drop to his sides.

“I like you,” you admit. “When you’re being nice to me. I enjoy the gifts and the dinners. And your pool, and all the other expensive, superfluous shit.”

“But?” Yoongi cocks his head to the side.

“But it’s a lot all at once. I still don’t know you very well, and you’re talking about finding my placeandbeing useful to the house and…I don’t know what any of that means. I would rather cultivate a real, caring relationship with you than be enamored by all the other expensive bullshit. This whole thing feels so backwards.”

Yoongi squints, and he watches you. He even opens his mouth to respond but then appears to think better of it and closes it, licking his lips. You want to ask Yoongi to spit out whatever is on his mind, but he bends and picks up his denim jacket and nods toward the cabinet.

“Grab a coat, and let’s go. We’ll talk more later; I’m starved.”

Hoseok drives you and Yoongi to an unassuming noodle shop along the ocean. You’re surprised when you’re led through the restaurant and into a private dining room, similar to Yoongi’s restaurant in Seoul. The servers don’t ask any questions, returning with bottles of soju, and you watch Yoongi, waiting for him to say anything. When Yoongi just stares ahead, chewing on the inside of his lip for far too long, you clear your throat and watch as his eyes open wide to meet yours.

“What’s going on with you tonight?” you ask softly.

Yoongi blinks heavily and stretches his arms above his head. “Had a meeting with some men. Nothing too important.”

“You seem out of it.”

Yoongi brings his arms down, folds his hands on top of one another over the table and studies you, squinting. He sighs. “It’s none of your concern.”

There he is, being difficult again. “Do you want me to find my place and be useful, or should I not be concerned? I don’t know how to do both at once, Yoongi.”

The edge of Yoongi’s mouth curves upward as if he’s going to smirk, but then he flattens his lips and rolls his eyes. “Prove yourself trustworthy, and I’ll be more transparent.”

Before you can ask how you’re supposed to go about doing that, waiters bring bowls of udon in a rich broth stacked with vegetables and seafood. You drink back the cup of soju that sits before you, and Yoongi refills it, and you eat in silence, savoring the dish and distracting yourself from continuing the earlier conversation. Maybe it’s best if you don’t ask.

If Yoongi’s men’s expertise—and by extension, his—are brothels, drugs, weapons and gambling, what could you possibly bring to the table that would make you more useful? You saw enough of the first three while trafficked and while living on the streets and hoped to move away from any lifestyle that would invite them back. Especially the drugs and weapons. Asking how you could be useful with regards to any of that just feels like inviting more trouble than you need. Although, if you don’t, then would Yoongi let you stay?

Three cups of soju later, you’re loosened up and ready to ask, against your better judgment. You drink the rest of the broth, leaving the bowl empty, and blot the edges of your mouth with your napkin before blurting, “And just how do I prove myself to be trustworthy?”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow and smirks, and his eyes shine with a mix of darkness and mirth that makes you regret opening your mouth.

From the restaurant, Hoseok takes you and Yoongi shopping. Shopping with Yoongi is a surreal experience that involves walking into a boutique, picking out a series of dresses from a tablet, and then trying them on one by one as someone brings them out to you while Yoongi sits on a small leather sofa and sips on champagne. It’s past 11 PM, and you want to ask why they’re even open, but you assume that Yoongi and his money have something to do with it.

Each piece Yoongi chooses is a short cocktail dress that highlights at least some of your curves, if not all of them, and they all make you feel trepidation for the type of place you’re being outfitted for. These are not the types of dresses you would wear to dinner with Yoongi or anywhere but a nightclub—you’d probably only wear these dresses if you were on the prowl and looking for a hookup.

Yoongi insists on a black satin halter-neck bodycon dress that dips low in both the front and back and barely covers your ass. At first, you laugh because surely this must be some kind of joke, but Yoongi cocks his head and says, “Don’t worry, darling; we’ll find you more fitting shoes,” and waves you off to be led to another room by two employees who begin showing you selections of black strappy heels.

The staff applies makeup—a smoky eye look that you’re beginning to think it’s Yoongi’s preference—and they pin your hair back, twisting it from your face and letting the rest hang down in the back. Your original dress, bra, shoes and jacket are bagged up and you’re sent back to Yoongi feeling practically naked.

Once you return, Yoongi is standing in front of a mirror, adjusting a black leather harness that sits atop a new white satin button-up shirt. The harness has straps that go over both shoulders, then come straight down to two horizontal belts that wrap around his waist. His shirt is tucked into the tightest pair of skinny black jeans you’ve ever seen, and—to make matters worse—he’s in chelsea boots.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks, turning his head to you. Silver earrings dangle from his ears, and you are certain, at this moment, that Yoongi is far more dangerous than you could have ever imagined. How is it possible for him to get any hotter?

You nod and realize your mouth has been hanging open, so you close it and avert your eyes, but when you meet Yoongi’s gaze again, he’s studying you with his head cocked and his lips in a smirk. He clearly knows the effect he has on you, and, frankly, it’s unfair.

“Y-yeah,” you mutter. “Let’s go.”

Hoseok drops you off in front of a club with a large red neon sign that reads Serendipity. When you get out, Yoongi leads you to the front, past a line of folks waiting to get in, and the bouncer bows his head down as you pass. Inside, sexy down-tempo music blares, and you’re escorted through a hallway lit with red lights, past the main entrance to the club, where another security guard bows his head and opens a black velvet curtain for you to walk through. Up a short set of stairs and through a large black door, you’re led into what appears to be a VIP lounge that overlooks the rest of the nightclub.

Men and women turn to notice you and scramble to get up and bow their heads, and when Yoongi leads you to a large booth at the end of the room, you find three men sitting around a mirror, and one of them is snorting one of three racked up lines of cocaine.

“Fellas,” Yoongi says, and the men look up with alarmed expressions. “Finish what you’re doing and move along.”

You turn to look away, gazing out onto the artificial smoke-covered dance floor and watching people writhe under rainbow lights while the sounds of snorting and heavy exhales are heard from the booth. Leather creaks, and you hear the men get up and watch as they bow their heads to you and Yoongi while they scurry away, muttering “Thank you, sir,” as they go by.

Yoongi motions for you to get into the booth, and when you sit down, you notice the mirror is still there with a pile of cocaine, a business card that was undoubtedly used to rack the lines, and a short metal straw still sitting where the men had left it. You stay closer to the outside of the booth, away from the paraphernalia, and a server wearing a vest, slacks and tie with no shirt underneath brings you two glasses of neat, caramel-colored liquor.

“Mister Min,” the server says, head bowed down. Her hair, tied into a loose ponytail, falls over her shoulder, sending a delicate floral scent to you. “It’s our pleasure to see you again,” she continues and walks away.

Yoongi, who sits in the center of the booth, takes one of the glasses, pulls the napkin from under his drink and uses it to pick up the metal straw on the mirror, then folds it over and places it on the table away from him. He then uses the card to swipe all of the cocaine on the mirror off to one side, reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a metal vial. Your heart pounds, and you watch Yoongi with wide eyes as he removes a small cork from the top and tips the vial over the mirror, dumping out white powder of his own.

This explains his erratic, anxious behavior earlier. The dilated pupils and sweaty forehead. You should have known.

By the time Yoongi has taken out a card from his wallet and scraped the pile into two thick, long lines, your hands are clenched to the hem of your skirt, holding on tightly and sweating. You don’t do drugs—not anymore. And you certainly don’t want to start again in a crowded nightclub wearing a swatch of fabric with a man whose behavior is unstable at best. Drugs don’t exactly bring out the best in you, and there’s too much at risk. You’re so far from home.

“Yoongi, I—”

Yoongi has a 50,000 won note that he’s rolled into a tight cylinder and he holds it out to you. You know you must look terrified, and Yoongi seems unconcerned, staring into your eyes with one brow raised.

“I don't—”

“I thought you wanted to prove yourself trustworthy and useful,” Yoongi says, cocking his head to the side while his lips upturn. “Ladies first.”

Your eyes travel from Yoongi to the cocaine and back, and you swallow a lump in your throat. Where past you would have taken the note and slid over excitedly, snorting the line no problem, you sweat, and your heart pounds, and you feel the overwhelming urge to run.

Yoongi opens his arms and motions for you to join him in the center of the seat, and you let go of your skirt and attempt to wipe your sweaty palms on the dress, but the fabric is thin and useless, and the texture feels terrible against the moist skin. You place your hands, balled into fists, against the seat and slide in, and when you’re close enough, Yoongi wraps his arm around you and pulls you to him.

Fingers draw lazy shapes between your shoulder blades, and Yoongi uses his pinky and ring finger to tilt your chin to him, still clutching the rolled note between his thumb and pointer. You look up, meeting Yoongi’s gaze, lips only about an inch away, and Yoongi smiles sweetly. His cologne and the loud but sultry music of the club soothe you, which, in the back of your mind, sets off more alarm bells; nothing about this should be soothing.

“What are you afraid of?” Yoongi asks.

You swallow another lump and study Yoongi’s face—his sharp eyes, round nose and plump lips. Up close, he’s somehow more beautiful, and you wonder how someone so soft, so pretty could be the leader of something so dark and so cold. You don’t want to tell Yoongi about your past drug use or past anything, really. You don’t want him to know how closely the situation he has put you in mirrors the situations men had put you in for years and years. Although it was never your fault, you fear what Yoongi may think of you.

“Uh—I—” you struggle to form a thought. Your heart pounds, and you can tell you’re breathing more shallow than usual. You shake your head. “In the past, I—”

“Don’t you trust me?”

Yoongi’s voice is deep, low, and so quiet it could only be heard at the distance you sit from him. Yoongi uses his fingers to pull your chin to him, and you gasp lightly as your lips touch. It’s light and sweet, and it makes your shoulders relax. You turn your head slightly to the side to better slot your lips together and chase a deeper kiss.

“I’ll take care of you, darling,” Yoongi mutters against your lips.

You whine as Yoongi licks between your lips, grazing your teeth, and when your mouth falls open, inviting Yoongi to chase your tongue with his, you reach up and place your hands on Yoongi’s chest. You run your fingers over the leather straps, passing a fingertip over a nipple, and Yoongi gasps as the hand on your back pulls you closer.

“Trust me,” Yoongi whines, leaning his forehead against yours.

With a deep exhale, you sit back and accept the note from Yoongi. It’s just cocaine, you tell yourself. You’ve done this many times before. If Yoongi is as powerful and influential as he says he is—as untouchable as Felix claims—you shouldn’t have to worry about the quality of his drugs. With your free hand, you reach for your drink and take a big gulp. Whiskey. It’s smooth, but it burns the back of your throat and fills your chest with warmth.

You set your drink down and lean over the mirror, scooting it close to you, and Yoongi’s fingers continue to ease your mind, drawing lines up and down your spine, skin against skin. With a deep inhale and a soft, slow exhale, you lean forward, line the end of the note with one of the lines, press your nose close to the other end, and inhale.

The powder instantly hits your throat, and you continue to inhale the entire line. And although it takes no time at all for the drug to course through you, it’s the adrenaline of the situation that has your heart pounding dizzyingly. You tilt your head up and rub the back of a shaky hand against your nose and sniff, getting the powder that’s stuck to the inside of your nostril to travel back into your throat.

“That’s my girl,” Yoongi praises, pulling you close and kissing your temple.

Yoongi takes the note from you, and with his hand still on your back, he leans forward and inhales the second line in a quick, practiced movement. Sour mucus drips down your throat, and the air suddenly feels thick and heavy. You feel the urge to sink into the booth and will your soul to push itself up and out of your body. You want to dance and drink and fuck, and you tilt your head back against the warm leather and close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

“How do you feel, darling?” Yoongi asks. His breath is warm and close, and he runs a finger down the side of your neck.

Energy trembles and sparks through your limbs. It shouldn’t hit you so fast, but it has. “Electric,” you mutter, opening your eyes and staring at the dark ceiling.

“You won’t find anything this pure on the streets.”

The words swim around, but you can’t make sense of much. The lights are flashing, the music is loud, and your bodies are radiating heat. The cocaine did smell clean, almost floral, and you’re inclined to believe him; you’re used to shit smelling like gasoline.  

“Care to dance?” Yoongi asks.

You look at Yoongi, searching his wide-eyed, smirking face. You nod your head, and Yoongi reaches for his drink and chugs it back, so you chug the rest of yours and let Yoongi pull you along as he slides out of the booth. Yoongi leads you through a door similar to the one you came through, but in the opposite direction, and you walk down a short set of steps, through a black velvet curtain and past a man whose head is bowed down. Then you’re led through an entrance into the nightclub, and Yoongi pulls you into the center of the crowd and wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding you close.

The music is slow enough that you sway your hips at a languid pace and pull Yoongi close, arms over his shoulders with your fingers twisting in the long hair at his nape. One of Yoongi’s hands holds your back, flayed open and radiating heat against your bare skin, and the other moves down to the swell of your ass, moving slowly over the fabric, hiking and dropping the skirt. You’re aware of how many eyes might be on you, but all you can do is look at Yoongi.

“Is it dangerous to be in a crowd like this?” you ask softly. You grazed a finger over a nipple earlier; Yoongi is not wearing a bulletproof vest.

Yoongi cocks an eyebrow. “In my own club? No.”

Of course Yoongi owns this place. You chuckle and pull him closer, resting your head on his chest, feeling foolish for even asking.

“How do you feel, being seen with a man like me?”

And you thought your question was stupid; his is frankly astounding. You tilt your head back and meet Yoongi’s gaze, smiling as you roll your eyes to show him just how silly he sounds.

“How do I feel in the arms of the man who everyone in this room envies? The man who everyone wants to be, or wants to be with?” Yoongi’s eyes flash, dark and devious, and you pull him to you until your lips are close to touching. “How do you think I feel?”

You run your hands down over Yoongi’s chest, feeling his warmth through his shirt, and Yoongi smirks. The song blends into something new, something with a faster tempo, and Yoongi grabs you by the hips, spins you, and slams your ass against his body. Your head whips to the side as if trying to see Yoongi, and he takes it as an invitation to lean in and kiss your neck. Yoongi’s hands open and flay over your hips and the tops of your thighs, pushing and pulling the satin around, and you moan quietly, melting into the feeling.

“How do you like the coke, darling?” Yoongi asks against your skin.

Yoongi’s lips leave sparks on every spot they touch, and you reach your hands back to rub the sides of his thighs. “Good,” you respond.

“How good?”

The deep rasp of his voice sends a shiver along your spine, and Yoongi presses your hips back, grinding your ass against him, pushing the tense bulge in his very tight pants against you. Your breath comes out shaky, and your body is flooded with arousal.

“Sogood.”

Although you’re not really dancing, more like swaying, there’s a rhythm in Yoongi’s hips that has your mind going places. His long fingers come so close to rubbing past your thighs, ghosting near your pussy, and you swish your hips in opposite movements, rubbing your ass over Yoongi’s cock. Yoongi hisses and sighs behind you, and you can feel every inch of your skin break out in goosebumps. The song changes, but the tempo stays the same, and as each minute passes, you feel yourself becoming needier and needier.

“Want to go somewhere more private?” Yoongi rasps.

It occurs to you in this moment that this club most likely doubles as a brothel and that somewhere private could mean a lot of things. A lot of dangerous, enticing things. And god, you want to fuck Min Yoongi so badly. Mafia boss Min Yoongi who not only runs Seoul but apparently some of Busan too; his power feels immeasurable and scary, and you’re increasingly turned on by the idea that all eyes are on him and his eyes are on you. The cocaine energizes yet relaxes you in a delicious blend that has every nerve and sense on high alert, and you want nothing more than to be absolutely overwhelmed by Yoongi.

“Yes,” you mutter, and in an instant, Yoongi is grabbing your hand and pulling you along in the direction you came, through the entrance and toward the security guard. Only, rather than enter the black curtain at the end of the hall to go back to the VIP area, you stop in front of the guard, who steps aside and opens a black curtain you hadn’t noticed behind him. Red light fills the small stairwell, and you’re led down a winding flight of steps into another red-lit hallway.

The hallway is lined with heavy black doors, and although the music from the club upstairs comes through speakers and shakes through the ceiling, you can hear moans and grunts, slaps and gasps, and other salacious sounds from the rooms. Yoongi leads you to the door at the end of the hall, types in a long code on the keypad and swings the door open, guiding you with a hand on the small of your back to enter first.

Yoongi pushes a button on the wall as he enters, and the lights flicker on, purple and dim, as the door closes behind you. To the right is a bed with wrist and ankle straps snaked from beneath the mattress, making an X shape in the center atop the neatly tucked silk sheets. On the wall beside the bed is a rack with various whips, floggers and other striking tools. Shelves along the wall are covered in various toys and devices, and you hold back a chuckle at the sight of dildos and anal plugs standing alert, waiting to be used. In the center of the room is a large white couch facing the shelves, and on the left wall is a large bar stocked with bottles of liquor.

“Have a seat,” Yoongi offers.

Reluctantly, you make your way to the couch and sit. You can’t help but rove your eyes over the shelves of toys, landing on the row of monster-looking cocks with strange bulbous bases and tentacles covering the lengths. Yoongi goes to the bar, and you can hear the sounds of glasses on a glass surface, a bottle opening and closing, and liquid pouring, but your mind is clouded with everything this room has to offer. This is so far beyond what you expected—though, if you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure what you should have anticipated lies behind that door.

“This is the executive suite. Busan has some real kinky little fuckers; they love those monster cocks here.”

The creaking of the leather couch pulls your gaze from the dildo wall to Yoongi, who smirks widely. “Seems you’re intrigued by the monster cocks, too.”

“Please stop saying monster cocks,” you mutter, suddenly feeling shy and taking one of the glasses from Yoongi.

“Everything is sanitized, and staff are required to use condoms with customers, in case you—”

You hold up a hand, stopping Yoongi mid-sentence. “Yoongi,” you giggle, “I think I’m good but thank you.”

Yoongi chews on the inside of his cheek and chuckles, and you watch the rise and fall of his shoulders and try not to swoon. “If you insist,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

The mood you were in on the dancefloor seems to have all but dissipated, but you sip the whiskey and let your eyes fall over Yoongi’s face and throat, down to his chest, and—

“You should undo some of your buttons,” you suggest, meeting Yoongi’s eyes.

“I could remove the shirt,” Yoongi offers, taking a sip of his drink.

You take a drink and let the warm, slightly sweet, bitter liquid sink you further into the mental and physical calm that you chase. “Keep the harness on,” you say, raising an eyebrow, and Yoongi chuckles.

Yoongi drinks his whiskey down and sets his empty glass on a shelf next to a large black and purple tentacle dildo, and you drink back yours, setting the glass next to a red cock with a large knot in the center of the shaft. Yoongi takes your hand and tugs you to him, and you get onto your knees on the couch and straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your skirt barely covers you, and Yoongi runs his hands up your thighs, pushing the satin up and exposing your panties.

Suddenly, you feel nervous and drop your head onto one of Yoongi’s shoulders. You nuzzle against his skin and inhale his scent, and Yoongi chuckles and moves one of his hands, pushing your knee away so he can reach into his pocket and pull out the metal vial. As soon as you see it, it occurs to you that your high has more or less begun to wear off, and the come down has you feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable.

Yoongi opens the vial, sets the cork lid on the couch, and reaches into his shirt to pull out a necklace you hadn’t noticed he’s wearing. Hanging from a thin gold chain is an angel with big, open wings, and her hands are pulled into prayer with her head tilted slightly forward. Her legs smooth out into a stem and at the end is a small spoon. Yoongi hands the angel pendant to you, still hanging from his neck, and you dip the spoon into the cocaine and gather a small pile onto the end, then inhale it.

“Both sides, for good measure,” Yoongi mutters, and you oblige, dipping the spoon into the drugs once more and inhaling it into your other nostril. Yoongi delicately uses the pad of a thumb to rub away any excess cocaine on your nose, then takes the angel and snorts two piles before closing the vial and tucking the necklace back into his shirt. Yoongi leaves the drugs on the couch and runs his hands up your thighs, lifting your skirt again.

The buzzing, electric feeling starts to flow through you, and you rub your nose against Yoongi’s, watching as his lips tug into a smirk before pulling you in a deep, hungry kiss. Yoongi’s hands grip onto your thighs, and you grind your ass down against his half-hard cock, delighting in the hiss that falls between his lips.

“Fuck,” Yoongi groans. “You drive me wild. It’s so hard to hold back.”

“Don’t hold back,” you whine against Yoongi’s lips.

Yoongi rubs a thumb over your clothed pussy, sending a jolt of arousal through you, and you gasp into his mouth. He circles over your clit, pressing the thin, soft fabric against you, and you moan short, desperate sounds. His thumb slides over you, down over your folds, parting them, and back up.

“This what you want?” Yoongi asks, and you hum in response, though it sounds more like a moan.

“Already so wet for me, darling,” Yoongi groans, and you whimper in response, eager for more praise to fall from Yoongi’s lips. Yoongi taps your hip. “Get comfortable for me.”

You climb off Yoongi’s lap and sit, and before you can ask where he wants you, Yoongi slides onto the floor and crawls between your legs, spreading you wide and pulling your ass to the edge of the couch. He reaches for a throw pillow and hands it to you, and you put it behind your back but lean forward, pulling Yoongi’s face into a kiss. Yoongi licks eagerly into your mouth and sucks on your bottom lip, then pulls from the kiss and rubs his open hands up your thighs, spreading your legs.

Yoongi hooks your right leg over his shoulder as he litters kisses from your knee up your inner thigh. His lips are warm and soft, and the closer they get to where you want him, the more shattered your breath becomes. You don’t know what to do with your hands, so you grip onto the edge of the couch and sink into the feeling, watching Yoongi get closer and closer.

Two fingers touch you, rubbing over your clit, and you whimper and exhale a deep breath. Yoongi’s lips are so close, and the sensation of his mouth, his fingers, his hair tickling the inside of your thigh, everything has you panting in anticipation.

Yoongi sits back, inches from your pussy, and reaches up with both hands, rubbing over your tummy and breasts. You whimper as Yoongi squeezes your nipples between his fingers and thumbs over the satin, and he smirks before pulling his hands back down, down, down, spreading your thighs again.

“I’ve been dying to taste you,” Yoongi rasps.

Long fingers dimple your skin, holding tightly, and Yoongi leans forward and licks you over your panties, slowly up and down and up again, and arousal drips through you, thick and saccharine. You moan and let your head crash back into the leather surface as Yoongi tugs your panties aside and gently, slowly parts your folds with his tongue, teasing you, making you unravel so delicately for him.

You knew that Yoongi would be skilled, but you’re still surprised by how quickly, almost effortlessly, Yoongi’s tongue has you melting just from teasing and tasting. By the time his tongue circles over your clit and his lips close over the bud, gently sucking, you’re moaning and whining and holding onto the edge of the couch like a lifeline. Every inch of you may as well be engulfed in flame.

Yoongi sets a rhythm with his lips and tongue that has every inch of you burning hot and eager with arousal. Pleasure pools and builds and threatens to swallow you whole, and Yoongi moans and hums as he savors you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of total collapse.

Two fingers tease your entrance, then press slowly into you, and your hips rock involuntarily as he stretches you around his knuckles and slowly thrusts into you. You moan and whimper and chant, “please,” under your breath, and Yoongi hooks his fingers and gradually begins to fuck them into you, fast and rough enough to have you seeing stars. Yoongi flattens his tongue and leans his head forward, and the thrusts of his hand have your hips rocking just enough that your clit grinds against Yoongi’s tongue.

“F-fuck,” you whine, feeling the quick, steady rise of an orgasm. “Please, don’t stop.”

Yoongi sucks your clit between his lips and fingers you faster, and that’s all it takes to have you grabbing onto his hair and crying out. Your voice blends with the squelch of Yoongi’s fingers in your pussy in a lewd cacophony of pleasure, and you cum hard, grinding against Yoongi’s face as your back arches and your legs tremble, and you feel as if you’re absolutely fucking drowning in pleasure. Yoongi doesn’t slow, and as your high begins to dissipate, leaving you overstimulated and sensitive, you begin to cry out and squeeze your thighs closed, but Yoongi keeps you spread, and he doesn’t stop.

“One more for me,” Yoongi groans, and you let your hands fall from his hair and grip the couch instead, doing your best to relax into the feeling and allow him to make you cum once more.

It takes no time at all for another orgasm to rise. Your thighs tremble, and you feel as if a haze has covered the room. You’re blissful and exhausted despite taut, intense coiling in your core that feels ready to burst and shatter you into thousands of pieces. Your hips begin to shake, grinding on Yoongi’s face, and you feel pulled in every direction, overwhelmed in the best way.

Yoongi’s phone rings. The sound almost yanks you out of the moment, but Yoongi’s fingers don’t slow, and he pulls his lips from you long enough to grumble, “What?”

You try to hold back your moans, but you’re so close, and they fall so easily from your mouth. From the phone, you hear Namjoon’s deep voice ask, “Bad timing?” and tense up at the realization that Yoongi has him on speaker.

“What do you think?” Yoongi growls back before sucking your clit between his lips, and holy shit, you are falling apart quickly. You try not to make too much noise, but your orgasm courses through you so fast, and you tremble and grind and whimper through the feeling.

“Are you at Serendipity? We have a problem.”

Yoongi hums loudly in affirmation with his lips attached to your clit, and you continue to ride out your high, squeezing the leather below you and panting heavily. Yoongi’s fingers slow but continue to trust deeply, dragging along your walls.

“Jimin is on his way to the executive suite. Clean up and meet us in ten.”

With a sigh, Yoongi licks one last slow stripe over your clit and mutters, “Heard,” then ends the call and flips his phone over.

Yoongi sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His face is pink, lips slick and swollen, and his hair is disheveled. He looks sinful yet soft, and you wonder if you could fall in love with him.

There’s a knock at the door before a code is punched into the keypad, and you attempt to cover yourself, but Jimin is in the room before you can sit up. You look over your shoulder to find him standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. Jimin wears a leopard print jacket with thick black lapels that rise in dramatic peaks over his chest. Under the jacket is a black satin shirt with a loose, long bowtie collar. You marvel at how nice it is to see Jimin in something other than a plain black button-up.

“This won’t do,” Jimin says, eyeing Yoongi. He begins to untie and unbutton his own shirt, and Yoongi catches on and begins to unbuckle his harness.

“What’s going on?” Yoongi mutters, tossing the harness to the couch and unbuttoning his white shirt.

“Ryujin heard you were in town.”

Yoongi’s fingers stall over his buttons, then he continues to work them open. “So?”

“Just because you own the district doesn’t mean she doesn’t have free reign to enter as she pleases.”

“Is she here?”

Jimin shrugs out of his jacket and shirt, and you tear your eyes away. He’s similar in build to Yoongi but a little more muscular and a bit more honey-toned. Instead, you watch Yoongi grab the shirt that Jimin had tossed onto the couch and watch his hands—those magic fucking hands—button the black shirt, tie the collar into a delicate, loose bow, and then pull on the leopard print jacket.

Jimin rounds the couch, and you notice how his tiny waist is cinched in the harness that Yoongi wore earlier. He uses his thumbs to rub away any makeup that may have smeared from your eyes, then fixes your hair, unpinning and repinning sections.

“Whatever you do, do not look this woman in the eye, and do not let her intimidate you,” Jimin says. He stands and holds his hand out to you, and you take it and allow Jimin to help you stand on unsteady legs. “In fact, don’t even look at her at all. This dress is perfect, by the way. It looks hot. Stand tall with your chin up and cling to Yoongi’s side. Only look at him and us, alright?”

You nod your head, but the instructions take a moment to settle. Jimin straightens out your dress, then he turns to Yoongi and messes with his tie, smoothing his lapels over his chest.

“You smell like pussy,” Jimin grumbles through a smirk, and Yoongi bites back a grin. “And what did I say about leaving glassware by the dildos, hyung?”

“Don’t do it,” Yoongi mutters like a scolded child.

“Don’t do it!” Jimin parrots. “Alright, Joonie-hyung is waiting; grab your coke and let’s go.”

Jimin makes his way to the door, and Yoongi grabs his metal vial and wraps an arm around your waist, leading you along behind him. You’re still in a daze from Yoongi’s mouth and fingers, and you feel like you’re walking through clouds as you make your way down the red-lit hallway and up the stairs. Jimin takes you to the VIP section, and you pass the booth you and Yoongi had been in, noticing the mirror of cocaine is still there.

“Who are you meeting?” you ask quietly, finally starting to mentally catch up with what’s happening, but Yoongi doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he stops in his tracks near the bar that runs along the far wall, and as a few of Yoongi’s family men crowd your space, a woman walks up with men of her own surrounding her.

Jimin instructed you not to look at her, but you can’t help but take a glimpse. Long, black hair is tied in a low ponytail with loose hairs in the front hanging over her face, framing it nicely. She has soft red eyeshadow around her eyes and bright purple lipstick, and she wears a tight black leather crop top beneath a black blazer, and slacks. Although the outfit is simple, she’s breathtaking.

“Baby!” the woman squeals in a tone that borders genuine and sarcastic in a twist that confuses you. “Did you miss me?”

You realize she’s talking to Yoongi and turn to look at him, clinging to his side with one hand on his chest and the other around his waist. Yoongi’s expression is almost unreadable, but there’s a hint of sadness that you try not to overthink. He doesn’t respond.

“Heard you were in town and wanted to come say hi,” she says, getting closer. She places a hand on Yoongi’s jacket and rubs over it, and you see she’s turned to look at you, but you don’t look at her. “I guess you brought a new pet along to play instead, though, huh?”

“What do you want, Ryujin?” Yoongi mutters. He places a hand over hers and pulls it off his jacket, and she drops her hand and takes a step back.

“You, obviously.”

Yoongi sighs. “That’s it? I was a little busy, you know.”

The woman, Ryujin, hums, and you fight the urge to look at her. She smells like fresh citrus and something floral.

“I can tell,” Ryujin responds mockingly, then steps back. “The streets speak, Yoongi. Busan doesn’t want to keep you unless you accept my proposal.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Tough shit.”

“Yes, it will be tough shit when you wake up to find your precious seaside port gone. How will your little coke operation run?”

“Busan isn’t the only port city,” Yoongi responds. His hand on your hip tightens, but otherwise, you wouldn’t know he’s tense. “If you think I can’t buy a village, you grossly underestimate me.”

“We’ll see,” Ryujin sing-songs. “It’s not too late to merge families, though.”

Yoongi sighs. “Cool, good talk,” he says, pulling you away from the bar. His men crowd around behind you, creating a barrier between you and her men.

“You can’t run from me forever, Yoongi, baby!” Ryujin shouts, “As long as you have a district in my city, I’ll come for you.”

Yoongi pulls you closer and continues walking. You’re led out of the VIP, through the red-lit hallway and out into an alley. Hoseok is in an SUV just outside, and Yoongi opens your door, waiting for you to climb in before he shuts it and rounds the vehicle.

“How was meeting the ice queen?” Hoseok asks with a grin. You hum a question, watching Hoseok watch you through the rearview mirror, and Hoseok opens his mouth to speak, but Yoongi opens the door and gets into the backseat beside you.

“I want everything out of the warehouse,” Yoongi says, pulling on his seatbelt. “We’re heading back tonight.”

“One step ahead of you, boss,” Hoseok says as he pulls out of the alley. “Jungkook already has the cargo in tow to Seoul with Changkyun and his men. I have your luggage in the back.”

“Everyone knew well before I did?” Yoongi asks.

Hoseok smirks. “You were having fun, boss. We didn’t want to interrupt until we felt it was necessary.”

You watch the city disappear as Hoseok drives in the direction of home. You wish you had more time to spend at the hanok, but whoever Ryujin is, seems to have shaken Yoongi enough to make him want to leave.

“Who is she?” you ask, and Yoongi’s jaw tenses.

“She,” Hoseok offers with a smile, which you catch in the rearview mirror, “was none other than the love of Yoongi’s life.”

Yoongi sighs, and you look to find him staring out the window with a sharp, cold expression.

“What happened?” you ask, though you’re unsure you have a right to.

“Found out her father is the head of a rival mob and that she was using me in hopes of blending power and helping her family take over my family’s territory,” Yoongi mutters.

“Oh,” is all you can say.

“Want to know the best part?” Hoseok asks, and you look into the mirror to find him staring at you.

“Hoseok,” Yoongi warns, but, aside from glancing forward at the road, Hoseok’s gaze doesn’t falter. “Yoongi found out just before their wedding.”

Their wedding. Yoongi and Ryujin were engaged. Bile rises to your throat, and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

“How long were you together?” you ask.

“High school sweethearts!” Hoseok chirps and Yoongi buries his face in his hands. He looks exasperated. “You were together for, what? Ten years?”

Yoongi grumbles, and you’re not sure if it’s an affirmative or not, but you’re guessing that it is.

And although you can tell Yoongi does not want to talk about it anymore, you can’t help but ask, “How soon before the wedding?”

Yoongi turns to you, and his eyes are sharp and angry, but they soften as he studies your face. He chuckles a low, humorless sound and says, “I was tipped off while standing at the altar.”

“Oh.”

“Yoongi almost shot her father dead there in the church as he began to walk her down the aisle. It was like a scene from a movie.”

“Fucking should have,” Yoongi mutters, looking down at his hands.

You reach out and take Yoongi’s hand, and he squeezes your fingers softly and smiles, looking down at your hand in his.

“Does she actually want you still,” you ask, “or was she just taunting you?”

Hoseok chuckles. “She not only wants him, lately she seems ready to stop at nothing to have him.”

The information set

Let Me Tell You About the Schonbek Chandelliers

Summary: Yoongi comes home from the White House trip to his wife who is way too excited for… interior design

Pairing: Yoongi x f!reader

Rating: EXPLICIT. No minors allowed.

Genre: idol!au, established relationship, dad Yoongi + mom OC

WC: <1k

Warning: oral sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, our couple is horny for interior design, also author’s very poor knowledge of interior design thus heavy reliance on google dot com

~Part of the Domestic Yoongi series~

“So, how is it like? To walk around in the White House?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes as he continues to towel dry his hair. You have been hot on his heels since he came back from the airport, impatiently waiting for him to wash the travel off of him before asking questions.

“We didn’t walk around much, you know, just the areas we needed to be for the clips and stuff.”

He grabs for a tshirt but you stop him. He raises an eyebrow. You simply pull him out of the walk-in wardrobe, directing him to the bed.

“How was the wainscoting?”

“Neatly done.” Yoongi lets you push him down onto the bed. He tries to secure the towel around his waist, but you slap his hand away and straddle him.

“The colors? I read the President installed an inky blue rug in his office.”

Yoongi swallows, feeling your heat even through the terry cloth. “Nice shade of blue.”

You lean forward, eyes boring into your husband’s. His hands reach up to hold your waist. He hears your breath hitch a little.

“Did you see the Zuber wallpaper?”

“What?” He pulls your oversize shirt off and bites back a groan. You have gone braless and your nipples are already hard.

“It’s in the Family Dining Room. Did you get to see it?”

“What? Uh,” Yoongi can’t think clearly, not when you have plastered yourself on his chest, kissing and licking his collarbones. “No, I don’t think so.”

You tut, chiding him. “I told you to pay attention to all those things.”

“I did, I did, babe,” he wiggles his hips, loosening the towel around him more. “Just… wait, I can’t think!”

“The Rose Garden?” You murmur your next question to his skin, mewling a little when he cups your ass.

“Yeah,” he pants, “… think so.”

“Still those icy white roses?” You grind your core harder to his crotch, feeling him hardening beneath you.

“Yeah.”

“Did you- Ah!”

You could barely ask the next question, for Yoongi flips you over and is now hovering above you. The towel is completely off, his erection hot above your panties.

“You’re asking too many questions.” He sits back on his heels, large veiny hands on your waist keeping you still.

You huff. “You know that building is on my design bucket li- ooh!”

Your panties are suddnely pulled off, your legs raised up in an erotic V in the air. And his tongue shoved inside you, reaching the depths to collect your juices.

“The stone…” you wreck your brain to find the name, amidst the carnal pleasure building, “… sandstone… Aquia Creek! Yoongi!”

He slurps and sucks for a few more seconds, then inserting two fingers to replace his wet appendage. “What about it?”

You look down at your husband, at his wet lips and chin. “Did… did you touch it?”

His free hand pulls back the skin over your clit, exposing it to his tongue. “Mmm hmmm.” He grunts his answer.

“Oh fuck,” your legs start shaking. “Fuck, Yoongi, tell me more.”

His tongue leaves your nub, but his fingers move faster jackhammering into you.

“Damn, babe, you weren’t this worked out when I went to Europe.”

You blink, mind reeling from the almost-orgasm. “The… the… thing…”

He smirks at your state. “My tongue and finger got you dumb huh?”

You almost cry when he pulls his fingers out and uses your arousal to lubricate his cock. Panting, you welcome his weight on top of you, the head of his cock searching for your wet hole.

“Baby,” he coos, “let me tell you…”

He trails off as he pushes inside you. Your walls welcome him eagerly. You wrap your legs and arms around him, wanting to feel him, all of him.

“… about the Schonbek chandelliers.”

Your body shudders almost violently the moment the words leave his mouth, at the same time as his cock burying itself fully in you. He chuckles teasingly in your ears.

“Fuck baby, you’re so worked up.”

You can only moan in response.

“Gonna take you there hmm? Fly you out to DC,” he raises himself only to put your legs over his shoulders. “Gonna take you on the tour then fuck you senseless after.”

Your eyes fluter close at his words. His hips are snapping hard and fast, his cock splitting you open, determined to go as deep as he can get it to. You cry out when he leans down to roughly suck your nipple, and in your mind, you see it.

The crystal and gold hanging from the neoclassical ceiling, the lights sparkling with the sun rays that hit them, burning brighter and brighter as Yoongi’s filthy words fill your ears, until you finally erupt.

A/N: ahem, just a little short one of my favorite couple… and if you’re not familiar with this universe, OC is an interior designer (hence probably where Yoongi got all those design trivia in that sexy brain of his). AND… we all have screamed over all the WH photos and how much YG prob has geeked out there, soooo naturally, his lovely interior designer wife very likely geeked out even more too in more ways than one…. and thus this little drabble was born.
OK bye for now, I still have a lot of WIPs to go through.

Like this fic? Pls reblog so it can reach a wider audience!

Published 06062022. Crossposted to my AO3.