For as long as you can remember, you’ve never been too fond of water.
The first time you stepped foot into a big body of water—also known as, the community pool a few blocks away from your childhood home—you cried. For some reason, a lot of water terrified you. You tried taking lessons once, but your instructor couldn’t even get you to step within five feet of the pool.
And your father never forced you to go back.
Over the years, you’ve tried to lessen the fear. And for the most part, you’re not scared of water anymore. You can sit in pools and be on the beach just fine. The only thing is, you still haven’t learned how to swim.
It’s like your body is just incapable of doing so.
There are only a select number of people who know you can’t swim—Namjoon and Haru, to name a few. Which is why they tried to talk you out of doing the canoe races. The weather is always unpredictable, as you never know what the gods are bickering about. And your friends were right: something bad was bound to happen, which is why you should’ve listened to them earlier.
But your stupid ego always seems to be in the way.
As you sink further down into the depth of the water, fear and anxiety begin to fill your veins. Is this really how you’re going to die? Being a demigod means life isn’t certain because danger always lurks in the smallest of places; however, drowning has never been on your list of possible causes.
What a way to out of this world, y/n.
You could already see Charon waiting for you on that boat of his, ready to take you across the river and into the Underworld. A part of you wondered if he’d laugh at you—laugh at the pitiful way you died. Then again, you’ve heard enough stories to know his expression always remained stoic.
Maybe you’ll even end up in Elysium, though you’re not sure you’ve done enough good in the world to deserve a place there. All you’ve been concerned with these last few years is how to get Jeongguk back.
Jeongguk.
Of course, in your final moments of life, only he would occupy your thoughts. How rude and inconsiderate of him. You should be thinking about your sweet friends or your father—but no, the only thing you can see is Jeon Jeongguk’s stupid face in your mind.
Still, you do find it a bit ironic now; you’re terrified of water—literally drowning at the moment—and he’s the son of the sea god.
Life sure does work in mysterious ways.
***
Jeongguk’s POV
All the screaming makes him turn around.
Jeongguk takes a glance behind him, where Athena’s canoe wades only a few feet away. Most demigods feared weather like this—the wild winds and restless waters only promised destruction. But it doesn’t bother him.
This is his father’s domain and Jeongguk feels at ease.
Until he counts the members of Athena’s canoe and realizes that one person is missing—more specifically, you. For the first time in a while, he actually feels his chest tighten in fear. Where did you go? There isn’t anywhere to go—not for miles. Except—
“Oh my god, she can’t swim!”
One of the younger campers on your canoe screams this, and Jeongguk feels something hot settle in his stomach. Without a second thought, he dives into the water.
It doesn’t take him long to spot you, and it seems your half-sibling was right—you really can’t swim. As odd as that sounds to his ears, he swims to you anyway. At the sight of your closed eyes and limp body, a weird sensation tugs at his heart. Why do you have to look so damn vulnerable right now?
Jeongguk realizes then that he’d rather take your fire—the way you’re always challenging him and the anger you possessed—over this frail girl any day.
He wraps his arms around your frame easily, pulling you back to the surface without much difficulty. Lifting you into the canoe, he watches as your half-siblings rush to you. After they take one look at your pale complexion, one bursts into tears while the others rush to perform CPR.
For once, Jeongguk feels useless as he moves back into his own canoe that has pulled up beside Athena’s.
“That was impressive.”
Turning, Jeongguk notices another canoe has pulled up—probably wondering what all the commotion was. His eyes settle on the voice, and he tries not to roll his eyes. But when it concerns the son of Hades, he often cannot help himself.
“Don’t start getting any ideas, Min,” he scowls.
Yoongi has the audacity to smirk. “You said it, not me.”
“I did what any person would do.” Jeongguk doesn’t know why he’s being so defensive. He’s never this defensive.
“Right,” Yoongi hums. “Because saving your sworn rival is totally normal.”
Jeongguk wants nothing more than to rub that stupid look on Yoongi’s face away. Just because he is amicable with the son of Hades—a fellow demigod of the Big Three, and therefore someone he could relate to—it doesn’t mean he isn’t opposed to inflicting a hint of damage. Though, before he can do such a thing, there’s a coughing fit coming from Athena’s cabin.
Relieffills him at the sight of you coughing up water. That’s a good sign. You’re going to be okay.
“Let’s get her to the infirmary,” someone says, and Jeongguk watches as your cabin rushes back to shore.
The rest of the canoes soon follow; even though the weather is starting to clear up, and the winds aren’t as brisk anymore, there’s no point in continuing the races now. Not after what everyone just witnessed.
Once they’re back on shore, Jeongguk jumps out of the canoe and his feet seem to move on their own accord—towards the Big House. Towards the infirmary. What? He shakes his head and decides to go in the opposite direction.
“I saw that slight hesitation, Jeon.”
Jeongguk looks behind him, where Yoongi casually gives him a look. He realizes that Yoongi really seems to be getting a kick out of tormenting him today.
“You saw nothing,” he says, turning back around and towards the cabins instead.
Yoongi moves to match his pace, and Jeongguk looks down at the boy donned in all-black. He has no clue why the dress code doesn’t apply to the son of Hades. “Keep telling yourself that. Denial is normal.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Yoongi laughs. “I guess we’ll just have to see how this unfolds, don’t we?”
“But it wasn’t that you necessarily regretted sleeping with Hoseok. No, you very much enjoyed it—maybetoomuch—which is why it was wrong. So fucking wrong.”
[rich boy!hoseok x reader]
genre: country club!au, smut, slightly angsty, some fluff
word count:12.8k
rating:mature
warnings: sex. lots and lots of unprotected sex lmao (please use protection), slight rough sex, some jealousy, rich prick asshole jung hoseok, mentions of alcohol, language, golf terminology (i’m sorry if it’s wrong idk anything about golf LMAO) oblivious mutual pining lol
a/n: omg this fic absolutely consumed me these last few weeks. i haven’t been able to think about anything else, which is why i haven’t been super active lol. so glad i finished this before the upcoming valentine’s holiday and hobi’s birthday <3 loved writing this so much! rich asshole hoseok has my heart. xoxo
You have never felt more flustered in your life.
It’s the summer after your first year of college, and you decided to come home—to spend a little time with your mother and her new husband. Well, more like she begged you to come home. You actually wanted to visit your roommate’s family on the coast, and spend your days at the beach, but your mother insisted that you come home instead.
Now that you are home, she doesn’t even have time to spend with you. She and her husband are too busy vacationing; that should’ve been you. You can’t even bear to look at your roommate’s Instagram account. And worse of all, your mother signed you up for a job you did not consent to.
“You did what?”
Your mother blinked back at you, feigning innocence. “I heard from Mrs. Lee—you know, our neighbor down the street that attends the local country club—and she said that they were hiring for the summer. You know how rich people love their golf and fancy dinners.”
“And you just decided to volunteer me?” You couldn’t believe her. “I don’t want to work at some prissy country club.”
“Weren’t you just complaining about being broke last week?” She really did not need to expose you like that. “This’ll be good for you, honey.”
Thus, you found yourself standing in front of the country club not even a week later. They hadn’t even asked you to do an interview; you just talked to a manager on the phone and she said for you to just come in. Honestly, too suspiciously easy but what could you do about it? Your mother had been right—you did need the money.
When you arrived, you were immediately whisked away into training. There, one of the girls, Soyoung, fitted you into the uniform—a plain white polo and khaki shorts—and told you what you’d be doing here.
“So, there are a lot of different areas here,” she began, “as you can see from how big this country club is. So, you might find yourself working in different areas occasionally…but for now, you’re going to be on the course with the drink cart.”
Soyoung explained that as the drink cart girl, you’d be driving a golf cart around while handing out beer and other drinks to the golfers on the course. It seemed easy enough, except you’d never driven a golf cart before…or tried to sell people something. However, Soyoung assured you it was easy.
But that was about an hour ago. Since then, a lot has happened. You managed to get the golf cart to work, but it is considerably different from an actual car. The forward/backwards switches were tripping you up. Because of that, you already knocked over a display…or two.
Which leads you to your most embarrassing moment.
For some reason, you forgot that being back in your hometown means the possibility of running into people you went to high school with. The thought just didn’t seem to come to mind. Being off at university has made you forget about all of those idiots you used to be around every day. Until now, when you bump into one of them. Literally.
You really hadn’t seen him behind you; then again, you weren’t looking, which was probably not the greatest idea. But you blindly backed up and hit him. Not that you were going fast or anything, but he did cause an outburst.
“Oh my—fuck! Watch where you’re going!”
Horrified, you press onto the breaks. Turning around, an apology begins to fall from your lips. “I am so sorry. It’s my first time—”
“Y/n?”
You freeze at the voice; it sounds awfully familiar. Blinking a few times, your eyes focus on the person in front of you. And your stomach sinks. Standing in front of you is none other than Jung Hoseok—the last person you ever expected to see again.
He must see the recognition fill your eyes because he instantly smirks. “Wow, it really is you. It’s been a while, huh? Haven’t seen you since graduation.”
An awkward laugh passes through your teeth. “Yeah…it really has.”
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” his smirk seems to widen, and his eyes travel down to your clothes. “You work here or something?”
“Yeah…just started today, actually.”
He nods appreciatively. “Nice. Well, I’m here almost every day, so, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”
I hope not. “Sure.”
Just as Hoseok opens his mouth to say something else, someone calls his name. He looks away from you, and that’s when you finally allow yourself a moment to look at him. For the first time, you realize how long a year is and how much change can happen in that time frame. Even though it irks you a bit to think about, he looks really good—even in his damn polo and khakis.
You take in the curved slope of his nose, the way his brows are perfectly arched to match his equally perfect eyes. And you’re almost blinded by his pearly white smile. Perhaps, Hoseok has always been attractive—dark, windswept hair and all. You’ve just never wanted to admit it; even after that one—
“Catch you around, y/n,” he suddenly says, and that’s when you realize he’s caught you. He smirks and shoots you a wink as he walks away, leaving you to mentally kick yourself alone.
***
In high school, you and Jung Hoseok were in different crowds. He was preppy and popular—kind of snooty, to be honest—and you were just normal. Not popular, but not a complete wallflower either. Despite not being in the same circles, you both had a few classes together; which meant that you knew each other decently well. At least, you knew enough about Hoseok that you wanted nothing to do with him.
Except for that one, momentarily lapse of judgment, your conscious suddenly reminds you. But you’d rather not think about that right now.
Another thing about Hoseok that you knew of was his background; he came from money—a lot of it, actually. You don’t know exactly what his family does, but they’re those old money types; the kind of rich people that have been rich forever. Which helped to explain his popularity in high school, and how he had a country club membership now.
You wished you knew that before you got the job here.
As you drive around the golf course, feeling more comfortable driving the cart now, you may or may not be on the lookout for Hoseok. Now that you know he’s here, your eyes seem to search for him everywhere. And it’s not because you want to see him; you want to avoid him, if possible.
It’s not until you’re halfway through the course that you see him with a group of other guys, which—to your displeasure—are also people you went to high school with. It’s fitting though, you presume, considering they were all close then as well.
You don’t know anything about golf, but you watch as Hoseok lines up his club to the ball. He swings only once, and the ball flies. You follow where it goes and watch as it hits the grass and rolls right into the hole. His friends cheer for him as he turns around with a smug look on his face. “And that, everyone, is how you fucking do it.”
“Nice, man,” one person—who you recognize as Jeon Jeongguk—says, moving to pat him on the back.
“The motherfucking GOAT,” another—Kim Namjoon—laughs.
“Maybe you should just go pro or something, dude,” the last guy says, and you recognize him as Kim Seokjin. “Because you’ve hit an ace, birdie or eagle at every hole.”
Hoseok laughs at that. “Maybe I’m just lucky today.”
“Dude probably just had good ass last night,” Namjoon smirks. “So, who was it?”
“A gentleman does not kiss and tell, my friend,” Hoseok winks, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the banter between all of these men. Disgusting. “But if you really want to know…”
“Not you trying to get Hoseok’s sloppy seconds,” Seokjin speaks directly to Namjoon. “Because we all know how that went the first time with—”
“It wasn’t my fault Katie caught feelings,” Hoseok interrupts, walking back towards the rest of his friends. “I told her it was a one-time thing.”
Jeongguk struggles not to laugh as he moves up to line his club and ball. “And then you introduced her to Namjoon.”
“And she used him to get closer to…” Seokjin starts to say, but then he notices you. You’ve never seen someone straighten up so quickly. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“Long enough,” you say as three pairs of eyes turn to look in your direction as well. “Um, drinks?”
“Took you long enough to get here, y/n. I was starting to wonder when you’d arrive,” Hoseok takes a step in your direction, and you watch as the rest of the guys do a double take.
Namjoon is the first to speak, “Ah…y/n. Yes, I remember you…we had chemistry together, right?”
“Oh my gosh, you were in my calculus class!” Jeongguk exclaims, golf club still mid-air.
“I don’t think we had any classes together,” Seokjin says with a pout. “Because if we did, I would’ve remembered you for sure.”
For some reason, you feel your cheeks get hotter. “Um, thanks?”
You can tell they want to say more to you, but Hoseok shoots his friends a look you can’t see, and they close their mouths immediately. Turning back to you, he takes another step close to your golf cart. “A beer for each of us.”
“Aren’t you all underage—”
“No one cares here, y/n,” he cuts you off with a smirk. “Besides, Seokjin’s father owns this country club—we can do whatever the fuck we want.”
Shock passes through you at this news, mouth dropping at the realization that Hoseok and his friends might be more privileged than you originally thought.
“And we don’t usually have to pay for anything, but”—he fishes for something in his pocket— “here.”
You look down at his extended hand, where a crumpled 100-dollar bill sits, and practically gawk at it. Who carries such large bills around so casually? “What—?”
“Keep the change,” he stares you right in the eyes, and you have no other choice but to accept the money.
“Thanks,” you manage to say before reaching around to grab four beers from the cooler.
As each bottle is plucked from your hands, Hoseok is the last person to grab his; and the way his fingers accidentally touch your own seems like no accident at all. Although it was only for a few seconds at most, his touch leaves your skin burning. Burning for what? You don’t know; but it lingers the rest of your shift in a way that is so distracting, you nearly hit someone else with the golf cart.
***
“So let me get this story straight, you saw a guy you fucked for the first time in a year and now you don’t know what to do with yourself. Worst of all, his presence at your new job is going to be the death of you.”
You cringe at your roommates’ words. “God, why do you have to say it like that.”
“I mean, that’s who he is right?” her voice echoes through the screen.
She’s not wrong, but it still doesn’t sit right with you. “When you say it like that, it’s just weird.”
“Y/n, you act like you haven’t fucked other guys before.”
“Yes, but what happened with Jung Hoseok was a mistake,” you breathe. “It was never supposed to happen.”
Her pixilated expression softens upon seeing your clear distress. “I understand, babe. We all do things we regret.”
But it wasn’t that you necessarily regretted sleeping with Hoseok. No, you very much enjoyed it—maybe too much—which is why it was wrong. So fucking wrong. It wasn’t like he coerced you into that bedroom; you willingly followed him inside. And you can’t even blame it on the alcohol because you had been as sober as the day you were born.
It was graduation weekend, and everyone had come out to celebrate. You really didn’t want to go, but some of your friends forced you. Just enjoy the time we still have together, y/n, they had said. Ironic, because you no longer spoke to any of them.
Around the fire, behind the massive patio of someone’s house, drinks were poured and passed around. Even though you held a red solo cup in your hand, the murky liquid didn’t draw you in; you hated the way alcohol tasted back then. Still kind of do. But you simply pretended like you were enjoying yourself.
Every single part of you wanted to leave early that night, but you didn’t. You ended up staying because of Hoseok. It was something about the way he carried himself at that bonfire that night. Before, you never saw him as anything more than a spoiled brat; however, the flames of the fire seemed to soften him before your eyes. Because before you knew it, Hoseok pulled you away from the stares of everyone else.
You don’t even remember what happened—what you two talked about or didn’t talk about. But something happened before he kissed you. Unfortunately, it’s all a blur now.
After swelling your lips with, what seemed like, a thousand kisses, he told you he wanted more;and you told him yes. The memory of him rushing with you through the house and into a vacant room still burns hotly in your mind. You had been giddy with nerves and excitement as he pushed you against the closed door, sucking the air from your lungs.
Hoseok ripped your clothes off with practiced hands, clearly experienced with this, and made you come undone more times than you can recall. Throughout this whole exchange, not much was said; but no words were needed when he could read your body so well.
The both of you ended up falling asleep like that—tangled in each other’s arms. And when you woke up a few hours later to the rising sun, horror filled your veins like a shock of ice.
You left without saying anything. Not that you think he would’ve cared either way. Jung Hoseok seemed like he would be used to stuff like that.
You just never thought you’d see him again one year later.
But here he is.
***
During your next few weeks at the country club, you try your best to avoid Hoseok.
This, however, proves difficult to do since you can hear his laughter echoing everywhere. From the hallways to the range, you can’t seem to escape him at all. And it doesn’t help that his friends all seem to be around too.
Every time you catch even the smallest glimpse of him, you turn in the opposite direction. You aren’t sure if he can tell that you’re avoiding him or not, but you don’t care—you just want to get this summer over with already.
“Y/n!”
Turing in the direction your name is being called, you see Soyoung walking towards you. You offer her a tight smile, hoping she isn’t here to tell you that you’re in trouble or something. “Soyoung. What’s up?”
“Do you mind helping me clean up a little by the pool? I know you just got done on the range, but a girl called out and I could really use the help.” She gives you this sad puppy look, which means you can’t refuse her offer. So, begrudgingly, you follow her back outside.
In the hot summer sun, the large crystal blue pool looks like temptation. Soyoung notices your face and laughs. At her laughter, you realize you’ve never seen the pool this close. You pass by the canopy lined pool lounge every day, but you’re not a maid here or on lifeguard duty so you’ve never had a reason to linger very long.
“Looks inviting, huh?”
All you can do is hum in agreement as you begin helping Soyoung pick up disserted pool towels and throwing them into the hamper. As you’re bending down to retrieve a particularly wet towel on the concrete, the hot sun beating down your back is suddenly gone. You look up and notice there’s a shadow blocking the sun—a suspiciously familiar shadow.
Immediately, your back straightens, and you turn around to face a shirtless Hoseok. His hair is wet from the pool, which means beads of water are cascading down his chest. You try not to stare, but he’s literally so close; there’s nowhere else to look. Your eyes follow the towel in his hand as he begins to dry himself up, going from his abdomen before they travel down to the dark trail of hair that leads to—
You freeze and force your eyes back up, but the smile on his face tells you that you got caught—again.
“Like what you see?” His smile seems to grow wider at your expression.
You scowl. “In your dreams, Jung Hoseok.”
He leans down, face inches from yours, whispering, “If I remember correctly, that dream already came true…one year ago.”
Before you can say anything, he stands back up to his full height and brushes past you—his naked skin burning holes through your clothes. Once he’s a few steps away from you, you realize his friends were also there the whole time. Embarrassment burns your cheeks at what they might’ve thought, but their expressions remain too ambiguous for you to read as they follow their friend.
“I didn’t know you knew Hoseok.”
Your head whips towards Soyoung. “I don’t…I mean, not really. We just went to high school together.”
But your coworker doesn’t seem to buy it. “Really? I’ve been working here for a few summers and those guys have always been around, especially because Seokjin’s dad is the owner. I’ve tried to make small talk with them a few times, but they’re pretty intimidating.”
“They’re pricks,” you tell her. “Typical entitled rich boys.”
“I suppose so,” she hums, throwing the last towel into the bin. “Anyway, can I ask for another favor?”
All you can do is nod. “What?”
“I have another thing I have to do,” Soyoung starts, making you realize she works pretty hard here, “so, can you put these towels in the laundry room? You don’t have to start a load or anything; just leave them and one of the maids will wash them later.”
She slips the laundry room key into your pocket, telling you to give it back to her later, as she rushes off to her next task. Which leaves you to find the laundry room by yourself. After nearly ten minutes of searching, you find it tucked in a small hallway.
Opening the door, you push the dirty towel hamper into the room. You look around and see multiple washers, dryers, and a lot of storage shelves filled with miscellaneous items. You’re so caught up in looking around the room that you almost don’t hear the door close. At the sound of the lock clicking into place, you turn around; immediately, your heart starts beating faster.
“What are you doing in here?”
Hoseok leans against the door, no longer shirtless like before, and smirks at you. “I was following you.”
Like that’s not weird at all. “Stalker much?”
“Just wanted to know why you’ve been avoiding me, that’s all,” he pushes off the door, taking a step closer. You unconsciously take a step back, hitting the hamper.
“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you lie.
He just blinks at you. “You’re a bad liar, you know that?”
You’re shocked that he can read you so well. “Okay, so what if I am avoiding you? It’s not like you should care. Just leave me alone.”
For a brief moment, something passes over his eyes; but the emotion’s gone before you can think about it. “I don’t think I can do that.”
“What?” Now, it was your turn to blink rapidly.
Hoseok takes another step towards you, severing whatever distance there had been before. His arms move to cage you between himself and the dirty hamper. Slowly, he leans down, making sure not to move his eyes away from yours. “I can’t just leave you alone—not when you’re the only thing on my mind.”
“What are you trying to say—” his hand wrapping around your jaw shuts you up.
“To put it simply, I can’t stop thinking about you—about that night after graduation,” he says, eyes swirling with a darkness you know all too well.
“But that was a year ago,” you manage to say through clenched teeth, and he loosens his grip on you.
His signature smirk lights his lips. “So?”
“I was drunk,” you lie again. “I don’t even remember what happened.”
“So, you’re telling me you don’t remember this?” One hand curves around your hip. “Or this?” Another wraps around your waist. “Or this?” He plants his lips onto your jaw.
You release a harsh breath as the memories of that night come flooding back. Heat begins to pool in your stomach from his touch. As he peppers kisses along your jaw and down your neck, your hands move to fist his shirt. Just as a moan threatens to leave your throat, he pulls away.
Your lips part in indignation at the loss of touch, and Hoseok just smirks even wider. “I thought you said you don’t remember?”
“I’m going to kill you, Jung Hoseok,” your frustration is through the roof.
“Tell me you remember.”
Right now, there are two sides of you fighting. There’s one part of you that wants to tell Hoseok you don’t remember a single thing—that you really had been drinking graduation night. But there’s an even larger part of you that wants him so bad—to feel the same high you felt a year ago.
So, you settle with, “But I’m working right now.”
Hoseok’s eyes turn obsidian as his smirk drops. “I’ll be quick.”
He pulls you away from the hamper and pushes you, stomach first, against one of the washers. Suddenly, you realize what’s about to happen and you try to force the dopey smile off your face by biting your lip. In one swift motion, he unbuttons and pulls both your shorts and panties down to your ankles. By the sudden coolness below, you already know you’re soaking.
And Hoseok must realize this too because you feel him swipe a long finger over your folds. You instinctively jerk back, letting out a moan at the slight pressure. “Hoseok—”
“Fuck, y/n, you’re so wet for me already,” he groans, using a second finger against your wetness. He slowly rubs your clit and you can’t help but tighten your grip against the cool machine. “Wonder if you’ve been wet since we saw each other earlier.”
You roll your eyes. Typical, cocky Jung Hoseok. “Of course not, you douchebag.”
“I beg to differ,” he hums, inserting a single digit inside of you. “So tight—just like I remembered. Tell me, y/n, has anyone else had the pleasure to fuck your pretty pussy after me?”
His words cause you tense for a moment, before replying, “Yes, asshole. I went to college. What do you think?”
“I’m thinking that I’m about to fuck you so good,” he starts and finishes with a whisper, “that you won’t remember any of them.”
If you weren’t already turned on before, you were now. Hoseok continues to fuck with his finger, slowly adding a second one, edging you until you’re a panting mess before him. “S-Stop teasing—I thought you said you were going to be quick?”
“I will be,” he promises, and you can hear him pushing the waistband of his swim trunks down. You’re dying to see his cock again, so you turn and nearly drool at the sight of his angry red tip. For some reason, he looks bigger than you remember and that worries you a little. “What? Think it won’t fit?”
You raise your eyes to look at his, and he has the sexiest expression on his face you’ve ever seen. “No. It fit before, right?”
He licks his lips as he brings his cock close to your entrance, brushing his head back and forth against your clit. You turn back around, arching your back more in hopes that he’ll finally just stick it inside already. But before you can get too lost in the moment, you gasp.
“What’s wrong?” He actually sounds concerned.
“Do you have a condom?” you ask, facing him again. And by the pained expression on his face, he doesn’t. You let out a frustrated groan at getting all worked up for nothing. You’re about to reach down for your panties when he pushes you back into place. “What?”
“Are you on the pill?”
“Yes,” you answer, “but the pill is only—”
“I’ll pull out,” he says. “And I’m clean, I swear.”
You look into his eyes and seeing the desperation in them makes you want to indulge him. “I’m clean too.”
Hoseok breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank fucking god.”
“You better pull out, or I swear Jung—”
You fail to get the rest of your words out because he slams his cock into you. And you’re right—he is bigger than you remember. He bottoms out at your cervix and you feel like a mess already. You both moan at the feeling of being connected like this again, after so long, and Hoseok keeps his promise and wastes no time.
He thrusts into you hard and fast, leaving you to do nothing but take everything he has to give. “Fuck, Hoseok—oh my god.”
Earlier, he talked about fucking your past sexual exploits out of you, but there was no need to mention anything at all; no one compares to him. They never had a chance.
“Shit, you feel so good wrapped around me,” he groans, digging his fingers into your hips.
And soon enough, you feel your orgasm approaching. It’s slow building, but it’s there and you want it. You figure you’ll just chase it yourself. Reaching a hand down, you find your clit and begin rubbing it. But just as soon as you feel yourself get closer to the high you desire, your hand is ripped away.
There is a sudden weight on your back as Hoseok whispers in your ear, “That’s my job, sweetheart.”
His fingers find your sensitive nub and you come immediately, screaming a string of curses into your arms in hopes that no one hears you. As you ride your high, you feel him pull out. With a groan, his cum spills all over your ass.
As you try to catch your breath and calm your erratic heart, you feel Hoseok pull his shorts back up and take a step back. All of the sudden, a strange feeling builds up in your chest. Is this what loss feels like? But you don’t have much time to dwell on your own thoughts because you feel a towel wiping your body.
You turn and see Hoseok cleaning the mess he made; but instead of looking down, he’s looking right at you.
“What?” you ask, sounding defensive.
“Nothing,” he says, and you hate that you can’t read people well. You wish you could know what he’s thinking right now.
After he cleans between your thighs, you pull your clothes back up your body. You still have a few hours left of your shift, so you hope you don’t look too much like a mess right now. Pulling your hair into a low ponytail, you feel awkwardness hit you like a truck. What are you supposed to say now?
“Uh…I have to go,” you can’t even look at him. “We have a meeting this afternoon…”
You don’t have a meeting, but you don’t know what else to say. But unlike you, Hoseok can take a hint and nods. “I’ll leave first…see you around…and thanks.”
He stares at you for a moment longer before leaving the room. You look out to make sure he’s a considerable distance away before you follow, ducking into the bathroom to check your appearance. Once you look into the mirror, you barely recognize the person you’re seeing.
The girl in front of you has flushed cheeks and sweaty hair.
You spend the rest of your shift daydreaming about what happened. In all honesty, your body aches in the best possible way. And even after your shift, once you get home and lay in your bed, you’re still thinking about everything.
Did you really willingly have sex with Jung Hoseok a second time? Once is a mistake, twice clearly means there was choice involved. What would your roomie say if she knew? You don’t plan on telling her—at least, not until you get back to school. If she knew you had succumbed to his charms this early in the summer, she’d chew you out for sure. Besides, you won’t let it happen again.
There will be no more slip ups this summer.
***
“Oh, fuck—yes. Rightthere…!”
You cling to the shelf as Hoseok fucks you from behind. Your legs feel impossibly weak from being in such an uncomfortable position, but you couldn’t care less right now—you just want to come.
“Don’t be so loud, sweetheart,” he groans through clenched teeth. “Don’t want to get caught now, do we?”
“N-No…but if you d-don’t make me c-come quicker, Hoseok…” you moan, and he proceeds to thrust faster. You don’t want to scream, but it just feels so fucking good for you not to. “I’m going to—”
Hoseok clamps a hand over your mouth as you come undone. Your eyes shut on their own accord as you scream into his hand, body shaking from the impact of your orgasm. He curses, probably from how tight you’re gripping his cock, but continues to thrust a few more times before pulling out and painting you in strings of milky white.
Once your body shops shaking, he pulls you up and presses a kiss onto your exposed shoulder. “You’re amazing.”
You can’t help but smile a little. “Thanks.”
The two of you quickly clean up and readjust your clothes. You’re supposed to be organizing after all—at the place you are working at for the summer—not fucking an old high school classmate. Hoseok leaves with a promise of finding you later, and you’re left alone with your thoughts again.
What just happened?
You really did mean it when you said that you didn’t want to have sex with Hoseok again, but here you are anyway. It’s already been a month since the first incident, and you’ve been sneaking quickies around the entire country club with Hoseok.
Every time you think you’re alone, he manages to find you and that infuriating smirk makes you helpless. You’ve lost track of how many times he’s already managed to make your panties drop. But even though he seeks you out for sex, every now and then he sticks around to have a conversation with you.
You feel your resolve crumbling away every time you get a glimpse of the humanHoseok.
“So, what are you studying in school?” he asked one day, settling beside you on the floor of the laundry room.
“Is it bad that I’m undecided?” You tried to laugh it off, but the sober expression on his face stopped you.
He shook his head. “No, you have time.”
And just like, all felt okay in the world.
“What about you?” you managed to ask.
The scrunch of his nose had been nearly undetectable, but you noticed it. “Business. My father wants me to take over the company one day.”
“And you don’t?” the question slipped past your lips without a second thought. You’d been horrified.
“I don’t mind business, but I don’t want my father’s. I’d rather start my own.”
This truth had been rather insightful, and you couldn’t help but change the way you looked at Hoseok—only a little though. You still thought he was an asshole.
After another moment pondering your idiocy, you go back to whatever you were doing before. Just as you place the last shampoo bottle on the rack, a knock sounds on the door. You jump, wondering if it’s Hoseok again; but when it opens, it’s just Soyoung. “Hey—you’ve been in here for a while. Almost done?”
If only she knew.
“Uh, yeah. Actually, just finished,” you try to smile. “Got a little distracted in here, I guess.” A little more than distracted.
Soyoung offers an understanding expression. “Feel that. These storage rooms can be a bit overwhelming.”
“Did you need something?” you ask, changing the conversation.
“I actually bring word from our manager. You don’t work tomorrow night, right?” Tomorrow is Saturday and one of the few days you actually have off this week. You’re dreading what Soyoung is about to tell you. “She asked if you could come in for a few hours—just to help with dinner. They’re expecting a big crowd tomorrow night since there’s a fundraiser happening during the day. It’ll be like three hours max.”
You think about it for a moment, rolling your lips between your teeth. Honestly, you don’t want to come in on your day off—who wants to work when they don’t have to—but three hours doesn’t sound so bad.
“Just three hours?”
Soyoung nods. “Just three hours. I’ll be helping with the dinner too, so we’ll get to work together. And afterwards, we can go to a party, if you want.”
That piques your interest, even though you aren’t one to go out often. “What party?”
“There’s a few houses on this property—they’re rented out to people who want to stay at the country club for an extended amount of time. And I heard from some of the other employees that a party is being hosted at one of the houses. Anyone and everyone is invited—even us.”
For some reason, you actually want to go to this party. Why? Maybe you just want to forget about Jung Hoseok’s charismatic smirk. A party should be a good distraction. So, you tell Soyoung that you’ll come work tomorrow and attend the party with her.
And the girl gives you hug, promising that it’ll be loads of fun.
You hope she’s right.
***
The next night, you arrive to work in a different version of your uniform. Instead of the usual polo and shorts the country club has you normally donned in, you’re wearing a long sleeve button up and black slacks. In your bag, you brought a change of clothes for later. Thankfully, you remembered to grab it on your way out. Imagine having to wear your server uniform to a party.
That would’ve been a social suicide.
You meet up with Soyoung for a few minutes before the dinner staff collects you all together. They debrief about tonight’s expectations and everyone’s roles. Next, they list all the jobs and when they call your name, you find out you’re going to be taking orders.
“Do I also need to bring the food out?” you ask.
One of the leaders shakes their head. “No, we’ll have people specifically there for that.”
After all the roles are established, dinner officially begins and you try not to look dumbstruck when you walk into the formal dining hall. This is the first time you’ve been in this room and it’s absolutely magnificent. You continue staring around for a moment before walking towards your section of the room—a row of tables by the window overlooking the setting sun.
You proceed taking orders from the first table—a family of four—and then the next—a group of six—before walking to a table that only seats two people. Probably a date. You barely look at the couple as you push a strand of loose hair behind your ear and pull out the notepad.
“Can I take your orders?” you ask, click your pen.
“Yes,” says a nasally voice to your right. You follow it, meeting the profile of a gorgeous girl. Long, silky hair drapes down her back in waterfalls and she’s wearing a tight pink dress. You think that she’ll turn her attention to you, but she doesn’t; she keeps staring at her date. “I’ll have the ratatouille. What about you, Hobi?”
Hobi? “I told you not to call me that, Nina.”
She pouts. “But you let me call you that when we were kids.”
“Yeah, we were kids then.”
You spare a look at Nina’s date and nearly falter when you realize who this Hobi is. It’s none other than Jung Hoseok himself. He’s wearing a fitted charcoal suit, hair slicked back slightly. Even from this view, you can tell his suit is expensive; definitely imported and tailored fitted to his body. Still, you can feel yourself salivating. The man looks like absolute sin, and you feel a sudden flash of jealousy because he’s on a date with someone else—someone he seems to know pretty well.
But you realize you have no right to feel that emotion at all. He’s not yoursto have. You both just happen to be sexually compatible. That is all. You two never talked about being exclusive. He is allowed to see other girls, even though the thought makes you feel a little sick.
Hoseok brings his eyes to yours, flashing you a smirk that has your knees weak. “Y/n.”
“You two know each other?” Nina asks, but your eyes don’t move from his.
“A little,” he says. That’s an understatement.
“We just went to high school together,” you add, playing along with his little game. “We weren’t friends though, just happened to be in a few classes together.”
Hoseok feigns hurt, bringing a hand up to his chest. “Can’t believe you think so little of me.”
“Oh, Hobi,” Nina interjects, her hand finding his on top of the table. You zone in on the touch, blood pressure rising when you realize he hasn’t pushed her away.
You try not to roll your eyes. “Yes, poor Hobi.”
When you turn back to him, he’s already looking at you. You stiffen for a second, wondering if his eyes have been on you this whole time. And by the scathing sensation you feel on the side of your head—Nina’s eyes, no doubt—you realize he probably has. “Um. Anyway, what did you want?”
He smirks again. “I’ll have the same, y/n.”
You quickly jot it down and excuse yourself before you start thinking too much.
The rest of your short shift, you make sure not to walk by Hoseok’s table again. Whenever you’re around him, you can’t think properly. He always seems to cloud your best judgment, which is why you’ve already been fucking him this summer. You allow work to consume you, which makes the time fly by. Before you know it, the three hours is already up and you’re headed to the bathroom with Soyoung.
“See? Wasn’t that bad, huh?” she asks from the cubicle beside you.
It was terrible. “Could’ve been worse, I guess.”
“I’m so excited about the party,” Soyoung changes the conversation. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a night out.”
You can’t help the next words that bubble out of you. “Why do you overwork yourself?”
Honestly, you didn’t mean to ask. After all, it isn’t your business to ask such questions anyway. Sure, you were curious about Soyoung but it’s not your place. You’ve been really testing boundaries recently.
“It just kind of happens,” she answers, which shocks you. Not the answer itself, but the fact that she even answered you at all. “I’ve been working here for so long, I guess I just can’t help it.”
“Well,” you sigh, “don’t overwork yourself. Live a little, you know.”
Soyoung laughs. “I’ll try.”
You step out of the stall first, moving to stand in front of the full-length mirror. Tonight, you opted for a flowy crop top and tight skirt. Not something you’d usually wear, but tonight’s different than most nights—you want to enjoy yourself. You pull your hair out of its tight pony, humming in pleasure at the sensation of your hair being free.
“Okay, I see you with the sexy hair.”
You didn’t even hear Soyoung’s stall unlocking or opening. Turning in her direction, you see she’s wearing something similar to you. Only, both her top and skirt are flowy. “More like messy hair.”
She laughs. “It looks good still.”
After running a hand through your hair a few times, and fixing your makeup, the two of you throw your bags into your respective vehicles and walk across the country club’s property. Not even five minutes later, you can hear music playing. Across the distance, you can see a massive house—no, villa—lit up with lights and people all over the place.
“Woah,” you breathe.
“Right?” Soyoung chuckles. “I told you this party was going to be it.”
“I thought you said it was going to be a house party.”
“It is?” She seems confused.
You shake your head. “Are all the houses on the country club property this big?”
Even in the dim lighting, you can see her nod. “I think so. Maybe not this big, but they’re all large enough to house multiple people.”
Damn. You wonder who’s renting this place for the summer. It’s huge, so there must be more than one person; maybe a family? Though, that seems odd since a party filled with young people is happening right now. However, you can’t even begin to fathom how much it costs to rent. How can anyone actually afford that?
But all thoughts of money fade when you actually reach the villa. You assume there’s mainly college-aged people here, though it’s difficult to tell age these days. Soyoung leads the way as you two maneuver past groups of people and into the villa itself. Once inside, you have to force yourself not to gawk at everything.
Grand doesn’t even begin to describe the interior. There’s so much to look at and before you can even begin to look at everything, Soyoung pulls you away. She finds the kitchen and hands you a drink from the cooler. You remove the lid and begin sipping, tasting the slight bitterness of alcohol on your tongue.
“So what do we do now?” You’re acting like such a noob.
Soyoung slants a look at you. “We mingle, maybe dance a little. Do you like dancing?”
You bite the inside of your lip. “Umm, kind of?”
Of course, you’ve been to your fair share of college parties—where dancing and drinking do not mix well. But you don’t mind it; you just don’t think you’re very good. You voice this thought out loud and Soyoung rolls her eyes.
“You don’t have to be good at dancing. You just have to do it. Usually, it comes naturally.”
You aren’t too sure about that statement. But as Soyoung pulls you in a new direction, away from the kitchen, you realize that you have no choice. In another large room adjacent to the kitchen, someone has started a makeshift dancefloor. The bass is booming against the wall and strobe lights illuminate the room.
Even though you’re struggling, Soyoung pulls you both into the middle of the room and spins you around to the music. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can,” she shouts over the music, proceeding to move her body dramatically. You can’t help but laugh. Shaking your head, you realize dancing really isn’t a big deal and you allow Soyoung to move you to the beat. And eventually, you can do it by yourself.
You close your eyes as you sway to the music, occasionally bumping into Soyoung on purpose. It even gets to the point where you feel comfortable enough to lift your arms into the air, which is something you’d never thought you’d do.
It’s not until a few songs later that you finally open your eyes. And when you do, you immediately meet his gaze.
A jolt of electricity goes up your spine at the look Jung Hoseok is giving you right now. He’s leaning against the fireplace in the room across from you, changed out of that expensive suit he was wearing earlier. Now, he’s only wearing the white button up—sleeves rolled to his elbows—and a pair of navy-blue shorts. In his hand he nurses a beer, and that’s when you realize he’s still with that girl from earlier.
You try to keep your expression neutral as you stare at them; but by the way Hoseok’s hard gaze morphs into something smugger, you know you’re doing a bad job at concealing your feelings.
Dammit.
You quickly whisper something to Soyoung about needing some air as you look for the nearest exit. Unfortunately, you don’t know your way around the house. You meander around for a moment before you find a door that leads to the backyard. Breathing a sigh of relief, you open the door and walk into the cool summer night.
There’s a pathway of rocks that leads to the dock of a body of water—a body of water that you didn’t even know existed. You aren’t sure what to call it; a large pond? Whatever it is, you take the pathway until you reach the end of the dock. There, you settle on the edge and stare at the murky depths.
Bodies of water like this were unpredictable. You had no idea how deep it actually was. It could seem shallow, but in actuality be sixty feet deep. For a second, you consider dipping your toes in; however, you decide against it. Who knows what’s in there?
You allow the echoes of cicadas and other small insects to fill your senses. Eventually, you even lay down on the dock and close your eyes, trying not to think too much about—
“What are you doing?”
Your eyes flash open. And as they adjust to the night, you make out Hoseok’s infuriating perfect face. He’s leaning over you, and it pisses you off that he looks good even from this obscene angle. “Go away.”
“Well, aren’t you grumpy,” he hums. “It seemed like you were having a great time shaking you’re a—”
“Hoseok,” you breathe. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to play your stupid games right now.”
He cracks a rare half-smile. “Who said anything about playing games?”
When you don’t answer him, Hoseok’s smile falls and he frowns. You don’t care what else he has to say; you really meant it when you said you’re not in the mood for him right now. However, the boy doesn’t seem to take the hint like he usually does. Because he settles right beside you on the dock, laying down so he’s now eye-level with you.
“You’re insufferable,” you roll your eyes, shifting away from him.
“That’s what you like about me.”
“Who said I liked you?”
“I think your actions speak louder than you think,” he says, sounding awfully calm right now, which is very unlike him. You have no other choice but to look at him. And when you do, your breath gets caught in your throat. Even in the darkness, his eyes seem to sparkle as he looks at you—so fucking intently like he’s seeing you for the first time.
You don’t like it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you force your eyes away, but his stare burns your skin anyway.
“You were jealous at dinner, weren’t you?”
The scoff that leaves your lips sounds beyond bitter. “No, of course not. Why would I be?”
“If you were jealous,” Hoseok begins, which makes your stomach churn, “don’t be.”
“Huh?” you ask, still not able to look at him.
“Don’t be,” he repeats. “Don’t be jealous of Nina.”
“I wasn’t jealous of—”
He cuts you off. “Don’t be jealous of her. She’s just a family friend.”
“But you two seem so close…”
Hoseok laughs. “I just entertain her because our parents have been friends forever. I’m pretty sure they want me to marry someone like her. I mean, she’s hot”—you suck in a breath— “but she’s notyou.”
Your eyes finally give him and meet his, and he’s still staring at you. “What’s that supposed to mean.”
As you both look at each other, you expect him to say something. But he never does. Instead, he scoots a few inches closer to you—so close your noses are almost touching—and runs his fingers through your hair. Weaving his digits through your still messy hair, he pulls your head towards his and your lips meet.
And underneath the moonlight, you allow Hoseok to kiss you until your head is dizzy and you have no choice but to let him consume you again.
***
The next morning, you find yourself wrapped in pristine white sheets that feel like silk beneath your fingers. But that’s not the only thing you’re wrapped in. A heavy arm is slumped over your waist and the body heat emanating from him sets yourself ablaze.
Last night, after Hoseok bruised your mouth and skin with his lips at the dock, you asked him why he was at the party.
“This is my house,” he said so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. Your eyes bulged out of their sockets. “Well, my house for the summer at least.”
“You’ve been here this whole time?”
He nodded. “Our actual house is in the city, and I hate driving back and forth so much—especially since I’m here with the guys nearly every day. So, my parents decided to rent this.”
You didn’t know what to say. But you realized there was nothing that needed to be said because since this is where he was staying, it meant his bedroom was here too. You let him walk you back to the villa and up the stairs into his room, to which you had to text Soyoung and let her know you were headed home early. A lie. You told her you felt sick. Another lie. But she didn’t seem to mind. She had found a few other employees of the country club there and would walk back with them.
After losing track of how many orgasms he gave you, youth both shared a bottle of vodka he had stashed underneath his bed. And tipsy you had no inhibitions.
Every question Hoseok asked, you answered honestly.
“Favorite color?”
“Red.”
“Do you like working at the country club?”
“It’s a job.”
“If you could do anything in the world, what would it be?”
“Spend my life away on some island.”
He laughed. “Really?”
“Island life s-seems fun. It’s relaxing. You don’t have to worry about anything,” you slightly slurred your words. “You?”
“I think island life seems to be the move now.”
You both talked so much. About anything and everything. It reminded you so much of the first time you really spoke to him. Moments like this made Hoseok feel normal, which you don’t know how to feel about yet.
But one thing you realized you did enjoy was his laugh—his real laugh. Not the one he smirked with, but the one he gave when he thought no one else was watching.
You must’ve said something stupid—you honestly can’t recall it now—but when he doubled over in laughter, it was infectious.
The good thing is that you don’t have work today, which means you don’t have to rush anywhere. But you have a feeling that you’ve overstayed your welcome. You didn’t even mean to stay the night, but you’d been so comfortable in Hoseok’s bed that you fell asleep after all the conversations. It was probably the best sleep you’ve ever had.
You’re going to give the credit to Hoseok’s expensive mattress, and definitely nothim.
Though, you can’t deny how good it feels to have him spooning you. A part of you wants to stay in this bed forever, but that’s crazy talk—you shouldn’t have come into the bed with him at all. You keep telling yourself—over and over again—that you don’t want to fuck him again.
But you’ve been such a liar.
Now, you’ve accepted the fact that you can’t resist him. You know it’s just sex, but you didn’t want to get involved with him in the first place.
You take in a few breaths as you try to move his arm off of you. Hoseok shifts a little, and you risk a look over your shoulder. When your eyes take in his face, your heart stutters for a moment. With his mouth slightly parted and eyes still firmly closed, you realize that he looks so peaceful asleep. So vulnerable. You have to force yourself from touching him.
What the fuck, y/n?
Turning back around, you gently pry his arm off of you and pray that you don’t wake him. But all your careful maneuvering proves to be futile because his arm releases from your grip and moves back down to your waist. With a squeal, Hoseok pulls you back on his chest.
“Where do you think you’re going?” God, his morning voice is so hot.
“Um, leaving?” you sound like an idiot.
“Stay,” he breathes against the back of your head.
You want to. You really, really want to. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” he asks, snaking his arms underneath the covers to find you—skin still bare from last night’s activities. Your breath hitches as his fingers trail across your skin, each touch feeling like sparks.
“I-I have somewhere I have to be,” you stutter as his rough hand wraps around one of your breasts, squeezing tight. Your nipple hardens immediately.
Hoseok slips the covers off your body, exposing you to the cool air-conditioned room. And without warning, he moves on top of you and begins trailing his lips over your body. You notice that he makes sure to suck those bruises he left scattered across your skin extra hard, purpling them even more.
“Hoseok,” you try not to moan. “I really have t-to—”
His lips crashing onto yours shuts you up. You kiss him back forcefully, nipping his lips with your teeth and running your tongue across his. As you two battle it out, he settles in-between your thighs. Bringing a hand down your abdomen, it slides straight to your cunt—which is already drenched.
He hisses against your lips. “So fucking wet. Thought you had to go?”
“Shut up,” you moan as he runs a finger from your ass to your clit, swirling your juices everywhere. Involuntarily, your hips buck up when he slides a finger inside of you. He gently fucks you like that for a moment, leaving you writhing underneath him. “More, Hoseok—I need more.”
A wicked smile erupts on his face. “Are you going to beg for it?”
An incredulous expression lights your face. You’ve never begged in bed before, and you aren’t going to start now. However, the man on top of you is sure getting a kick out of this. Hoseok moves his finger slowly out of you, which agitates you to no end. If you weren’t so horny right now, you’d kill him.
“No,” you narrow your eyes, not willing to give in.
His finger stops moving. “A shame, really.”
You freeze. “What the fuck, Jung Hoseok?”
“I’m not doing anything until you say please,” he smirks, moving his upper body away from you.
Even though you’re pissed, you can’t help but drink in the Adonis in front of you. Like you, Hoseok is completely naked. Your eyes rake his defined muscles and his thick cock that’s already unbelievably hard. He’s hard for you. The fact that you turn him on makes you feel good—too good.
“Fine,” you shrug, and his smirk falls. “Just get blue balls then.”
As his body goes slack for a moment, you use the opportunity to slip from the bed. But you don’t manage to get very far at all. You probably only take three steps before his arm wraps around you and pulls you back to the bed.
You fall on your back, and Hoseok pins your arms on either side to keep you from moving. Still, you squirm—heart drumming in your chest at the look on his face. His eyes have turned black, and he looks like he wants to devour you. “I’m not begging.”
“We’ll see about that.”
With your arms still pinned, Hoseok lowers his body and your legs spread on their own accord. Fuck you, body. The movement makes him chuckle darkly and he begins peppering kisses along your thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat, which turns into a gasp when he suddenly bites down on your flesh. Not hard enough to draw blood, but it’s enough to be painful.
And as much as you hate to admit it, you like it very much.
Hoseok continues alternating between kissing and biting your thighs until you’re one-hundred-percent positive there is a pool of your wetness on the bed. You know what he’s trying to do and it’s working, but you don’t want to give in. And then he’s so close to your pussy, not even an inch away. You can feel his breath fanning you there. If you just move your hips a little…
“Don’t even think about it,” he moves his head away.
You release a groan of frustration. “Oh my god.”
“If you just say the magic word,” he taunts, lips now on your stomach. He moves low, but never low enough; never where you want him to go.
When he moves up your body, pressing chaste kisses on your nipples before latching his lips on your neck, you release a breathy moan. Hoseok lets out a groan from the back of his throat, hands tightening around your wrists. Fuck, why are the noises he makes even attractive? “Hoseok…”
“Y/n,” he’s still sucking on your neck.
This position, you realize, aligns him perfectly with your body. Again, if you were able to move just a little bit…but Hoseok’s weighing you down with his body, not allowing you to move at all.
“Hoseok,” you say his name again, but he doesn’t respond—he just moves his lips to your ear, nibbling on the sensitive flesh there. And that’s when you crumble. You can’t take it anymore. “Please…please just fuck me already.”
Simultaneously, he curses into your ear as he slides his cock into you. Too perfect—the way he fills you up is too perfect.
You expect Hoseok to fuck you hard, hips slamming into you, but he doesn’t. His thrusts are slow, but the way he hits your cervix has you nearly in tears. Fuck. He releases the hold on your wrists to grip onto either side of your face. With lips ghosting over yours, you tangle your hands into his dark hair.
Your breaths mesh together as he continues to fuck you with slow, measured thrusts. You’ve grown accustomed to the rough way Hoseok likes to fuck; but for some reason, you love this so much more. It’s intimate and makes your chest tighten in a strange way but feels so good you don’t want it to stop.
“Please,” you whisper against his lips again.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, rolling his hips in a way that has you arching off the bed. Yes.
“Just like t-that,” you say, slanting your mouth to mold against his again.
Your orgasm comes without warning; you moan into Hoseok’s mouth, gripping him closer to you and you ride your high. Through the haze of your earth-shattering orgasm, you hear Hoseok ask if he can come inside you. He’s always pulled out—even last night when he fucked you for hours. But right now you don’t care, and your answer comes in the form of your legs wrapping around his hips.
He kisses you hard and comes inside you a moment later. You’ve never let anyone else come raw inside of you; never trusted anyone else that much. And in that moment, a terrifying thought flashes across your mind.
I’m in love you.
The thought comes so suddenly, burns your brain so hotly, your body stills. Hoseok finally lifts off of you, eyes crinkling in concern. “You okay?”
You quickly try to shake the feeling away. “Um, yeah.”
“You sure? Should I not have come inside you?” he slips out of you, and for some reason you want to cry at the sudden emptiness you feel. “You’re looking pale right now.”
“No, it was fine,” you blink too fast, feeling tears begin to well in your eyes. Get a fucking grip on yourself. “I’m sorry, I really have to go.”
Hoseok doesn’t try to stop you this time when you move away from the bed. You find your clothes on the floor and slip everything back on without looking at him, even though you can feel his gaze on you the entire time. Not bothering to check your appearance, you grab your stuff and move towards his door.
“Y/n,” he calls your name, voice sounding strange, but you don’t want to look at him. If you look at him, you’re going to start crying. And that’s too embarrassing to explain.
You slip out of his bedroom and take the stairs two at a time. As you rush down, you run into someone. “Sorry—”
Looking up, you realize it’s Seokjin; he must’ve stayed the night. Even in your distress, you feel feverish wondering if you were too loud. However, he takes one look at you and stares like he has you all figured out. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.
“Did something happen…?” he asks, looking at the door you just left wide open upstairs.
“Don’t worry about it,” you quickly say, adverting your eyes and sidestepping him.
This morning, it’s much easier to find the front door. Just as you’re about to slip out, you hear your name being called again, heavy steps thundering down the stairs. Shit, shit, shit. You break into a run and don’t stop until you have no more air to spare in your lungs. Thankfully, you’re far enough from the villa and close to the country club.
Only then do you allow yourself to fall into the grass as the tears finally cascade down your cheeks.
You’re a fool, you realize. A fool to have fallen in love with someone like Jung Hoseok. Someone who will never feel the same way. Someone who just uses you for a good time. someone who you barely even know. Someone you never wanted to get involved with.
***
You call out of work the next week, claiming to have the stomach bug. But you don’t have the stomach bug; in fact, you’re not even physically ill at all. You just can’t bear the thought of running into Hoseok at the country club.
On the first day, you listen to your sad girl hours playlist on repeat.
During your second day of moping in bed, you half consider quitting your job. Would it be too cowardly? Maybe. Unfortunately, there’s only a few weeks left of summer and you doubt that you’ll be able to find another job.
When the third day arrives, you finally get out of bed and take a proper shower. You didn’t realize how much you needed it.
Your mom knocks on your door on the fourth day. You only know it’s her by the way she taps on your door rhythmically; she’s always done that ever since you were a child. When you don’t respond, she dares to crack the door open. Shit, you forgot to lock it last night.
“Are you feeling better, love?”
You don’t move on the bed, hoping your mother thinks you’re asleep or something. But despite you not moving, she still shuffles into your room and settles herself on the edge of the bed.
“Is this because I haven’t been spending time with you this summer?”
No, mom. It’s me. I fucked up. Although, I would appreciate it if you did spend time with me—like you dragged me here this summer to do.
“I’m really sorry, love,” she whispers, getting up after a moment.
Once you’re sure she’s by the door, you finally open your mouth. “It’s not because of you. It’s…something else.”
You hear her grab onto the door, but she doesn’t say another word before leaving you all alone again.
On the fifth day, the bruises that littered your skin finally start fading. Glancing into the mirror of your bathroom, you run your fingers along the—now greenish-yellow—hickies he left on your neck. Goodness, there were so ma
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.
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.
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
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.
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.”
“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.
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.
❦ word count. 17.7k ❦ genre. parent fic, fluff, angst, a bit of boob action ❦ warnings. illness, mention of hospitalisation, mention of minor character death, yoongi is kind of a dick sometimes, accidental(?) flashing ❦ summary. it’s not that you don’t like your job. on the contrary, reading bedtime stories to a certified little princess is something you still can’t believe you get paid to do. it’s just that between all the school runs, snow days and secret second hot chocolates before bed, you may fallen a little too hard for those dimpled cheeks and gummy smiles…. worse still, you’ve fallen for her father too. ❦a/n.merry christmas everyone!! this fic is a collaboration with the wonderful @underthejoon@kpopfanfictrash@suga-kookiemonster@junghelioseok@bendthekneetobangtan @lamourche and @hobidreams. it’s late, lame and cheesy (and probably under-edited) but I like it that way. I hope you’re all having a fantastic holiday, wherever you may be <3
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
❦ word count. 17.7k ❦ genre. parent fic, fluff, angst, a bit of boob action ❦ warnings. illness, mention of hospitalisation, mention of minor character death, yoongi is kind of a dick sometimes, accidental(?) flashing ❦ summary. it’s not that you don’t like your job. on the contrary, reading bedtime stories to a certified little princess is something you still can’t believe you get paid to do. it’s just that between all the school runs, snow days and secret second hot chocolates before bed, you may fallen a little too hard for those dimpled cheeks and gummy smiles…. worse still, you’ve fallen for her father too. ❦a/n.merry christmas everyone!! this fic is a collaboration with the wonderful @underthejoon@kpopfanfictrash@suga-kookiemonster@junghelioseok@bendthekneetobangtan @lamourche and @hobidreams. it’s late, lame and cheesy (and probably under-edited) but I like it that way. I hope you’re all having a fantastic holiday, wherever you may be <3
.
.
.
Now
“…Can we talk?”
For the first time since blustering in through the front door, Yoongi actually stops to spare you a glance.
You’re standing in the entryway in a pair of high waisted jeans and a peach coloured blouse, hands clasped behind your back and a nervous expression on your face. If he notices your outfit is new, he doesn’t pass comment on it. He doesn’t mention the fact that you’re wearing makeup today either, nor that you seem to have taken a little more time with your hair than usual. Not that you’d expected him to. Your employer isn’t well known for giving compliments, much less understanding when a woman is trying to impress him. Yoongi probably wouldn’t recognise flirting if it hit him in the face with a brick.
His face is impassive as ever when he drops his keys into the bowl with a shrug. “Sure. There’s actually something I wanted to discuss with you too.”
You nod, fiddling anxiously with his hands as he slips off the snow-smattered trench coat to reveal the suit jacket beneath. He looks tired this evening; more so than usual if the dark bags under his eyes are anything to go by. Even on his days off Yoongi works like a tank, often letting himself get so wrapped up in getting everything done he forgets to eat meals. It’s a coping strategy, of course - one that always tends to get a little out of hand when this time of year rolls around.
Yoongi turns back to you, loosening the knot of his tie with a ringed finger. He raises his eyebrows.
“Kitchen?”
You follow him through into the heart of the penthouse: a masterpiece of white granite and gold strip lights. The room is utterly spotless save for the mug of freshly-brewed tea that sits waiting on the island, steam spiralling upwards towards the vaulted ceiling.
“Here,” you say, nudging it towards him. It’s a comfortable ritual between you at this point. Yoongineedsa hit of caffeine if he’s going to make it to dinner without taking his work stress out on whoever’s unfortunate enough to be in the room with him, but following a series of chest pains a few months ago, his doctor put a strict ban on drinking coffee past 7pm. Replacing the habit with a cup of white tea in the evening was your compromise.
Yoongi takes it with a small nod of gratitude, lowering himself onto the bar stool. His eyes flutter closed for a moment when he takes a sip, and your chest feels warm inside when the tension visibly starts to drain from his shoulders. The man is always so tightly wound. It’s really no wonder he suffers from back pain, what with all the stress he carries around with him. You’ve been trying to convince him to see an osteopath, but Yoongi insists there’s only so much ‘voodoo medicine’ he can bring himself to splash out on per month, and the December quota was already filled by the VapoRub you made him buy for his blocked sinuses.
He places the mug down with a quiet sigh.
“How was she today?”
You snap out of your reverie, meeting his expectant gaze.
“She was wonderful,” you say honestly. “Coach said he’s really proud of how hard she’s been practicing. Her toe double toe loop has come on leaps and bounds these past few weeks.”
Yoongi raises his eyebrows questioningly.
“The jumpy spinny thing,” you clarify.
“Ahh. So that’s what it’s called.”
A fond smile tugs at your lips. Though Yoongi never misses an opportunity to support his daughter on the ice, the ins-and-outs of the sport are often lost on him. Surprisingly, he’s far more adept at the hair and costume side of things than he is at giving his little girl feedback on her actual performances. Ever since the day her first ever coach had pulled him aside to tell him Dee had ‘a god given gift’ that needed to be nurtured, he’s much preferred to leave such things to the professionals.
“So.” Yoongi laces his fingers atop the table. Though you remain standing, you can’t help but feel that you’ve entered in on one of his business meetings. He looks you up and down. “Do you want to go first or shall I?”
“Oh -” All at once the nerves return full-force, fluttering away in your stomach like a flock of migrating birds. You instinctively drop your gaze to the floor when you feel your neck heating up. “Y-you can start.”
Unsurprisingly, Yoongi doesn’t so much as bat an eyelid at your odd behaviour, and you wonder how on earth Mina thought you could do this. You wonder how you -believed- her. Holding a conversation with your employer without taking offense to his social tactlessness was hard enough, especially before you understood Yoongi’s deadpan honesty is something he genuinely doesn’t know how to reign in. But admitting you have feelings for him?
That was a whole other kettle of fish.
“I got a call from Dee’s grandmother today,” he says, drawing your attention back to him once again.
You raise your eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Her grandpa’s been taken into hospital with a shattered hip.”
Your eyes go wide. “Oh my god, is he alright?!”
Yoongi waves off your concern, cringing slightly at the shrillness of your tone. “He’s totally fine. He underwent surgery last night and he’s stable,” he eyes you across the island. “…It does mean they won’t be able to have Dee for the run-up to Christmas though.”
As your panic ebbs, you think you catch a glimpse of something softer beneath Yoongi’s default unmoved expression. He’s not only tired, you realise, but exhausted, worn thin by the constant pressure he keeps himself under. It takes everything in you not to close the space between you and wrap your arms around him. You know he’ll only burn himself out if he carries on like this, and the thought makes your heart ache.
“I know it’s a big ask,” he continues with a weary exhale, scrubbing a hand down his face, “but it’s too late to cancel on this work trip. Flights to Berlin are fully booked up until late January, and the company we’re doing business with has made it abundantly clear they plan to proceed with or without our input. I’d pay you overtime of course. Whatever works best for you. I just need someone to sit here for a few days and make sure my daughter doesn’t burn the apartment down while I’m gone.”
“Yoongi,” you say quietly, shushing him with a gentle hand atop his wrist. He stares down at the point of contact, and you hope to god he can’t hear the way your pulse is going crazy. “You know I’d be happy to do it.”
Tentatively, he meets your eyes. “Are you sure? Your family -”
“Can manage a few more days without me. Looking after Dee is never a burden. She’s…” you cut yourself off, unable to hold his gaze. “She’s the best thing in my life.”
It’s not a lie. But perhaps it’s only a half-truth. The other best thing is sitting right opposite you, after all.
Yoongi has never been the type to smile much. He’s stoic and blunt, and doesn’t know when to loosen up when the time calls for it - but he never says anything he doesn’t mean. That’s why it makes your heart feel so full when he says a soft, “Thank you, Y/N. You’re really helping me out here.”
You extract your fingers from his wrist, suddenly too shy to maintain the proximity between you.
“Don’t mention it,” you cough.
Completely oblivious, Yoongi picks up his mug again. “You wanted to talk to me about something too?”
“Oh, uh… well. I was just -” You scramble for the right words, your mind drawing a complete blank beneath the weight of his gaze.
It wasn’t like you’d come unprepared. You’d planned this whole thing out with Mina over the weekend, even going so far as to roleplay the possible outcomes of your confession (a necessity when it comes to Yoongi, because the man has absolutely zero concept of letting someone down gently). You’d practiced exactly what you wanted to say several times over in the car before heading over to pick up Dee, and all the whole way back to the penthouse you were convinced you had it down pat.
Right up until Yoongi walked through the door, that is.
With the air stolen from your lungs just looking at him, your confidence crumbles, and the fact that he’s clearly had a shit day doesn’t help any. The harder you will yourself to form a coherent sentence, the more your tongue refuses to do so.
“I-It’s not important,” you manage eventually.
Yoongi quirks a sceptical eyebrow at you. “Are you sure?”
You pause, then jerk your chin in a nod.
“I’m sure.”
Yoongi doesn’t push it.
“Okay then.” He finishes off the last dregs of his tea and rises to a stand. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Oh, you really don’t have to -”
“I know I don’t.” He crosses over to the clothing hooks and grabs your jacket, holding it out to you. “Put this on. I need to check in on Dee first.”
Dazedly, there’s little else you can do but follow his instructions. It’s not an uncommon occurrence for Yoongi to see you through the parking lot outside his place, especially during the winter months when it’s dark out, but the gesture still never fails to make you giddy.
Next time, you say to yourself firmly when he returns, holding open the front door for you to slip out first. Next time, I’ll tell him.
.
Last Year
You slide your feet into your heeled boots, wincing at the way your toes pinch together inside.
It’s a Saturday evening - one you’d normally spend watching curled up on the couch with a takeaway in your lap or running yourself a nice hot bath, had Mina not spent the better half of the week trying to convince you to go on a date with the IT guy from her office - and between running slightly late and the shot of Dutch courage you definitely shouldn’t have taken ten minutes ago, your stomach feels like it’s tying itself up in knots.
“You need to get out more,” your friend insists. “It’s been literal years since you last had fun.”
You open your mouth to correct her but she fixes you with a warning glare before you can say anything.
“Fun in the form of Hula Fit and pottery class don’t count, Y/N. And you should probably save the conversation about your weird hobbies until at least the third date. Preferably after sex too, or your chances of getting any will be slim to none.”
You sink down in your chair, scowling at her over the top of your ice cream cup.
“I still have fun,” you mutter. “I just have a lot on my plate right now. This new job is taking up a lot of my time, and I’m really not interested in getting fired before the trial period is up.”
“Y/N, you pick a rich couple’s kid up from skate club five times a week, make her pasta and watch cartoons until bedtime,” Mina snorts. “What the hell could go wrong?”
“First of all Mr Min is a single father,” you say, pointing your plastic spoon at her accusingly, “and second of all, you haven’t met the guy. If you had, you’d understand why I’m so on edge.”
“Why? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s freaking terrifying, Mi!” You throw your hands up in the air to emphasise your point. “He barely spoke in my interview, just sat there giving me the dead eyes while his assistant asked all the questions! And he did exactly the same thing the first time I met his daughter. Just stood in the corner of the living room and watched, like he was assessing my ability to play with her or something.”
“Well he must have liked what he saw, right? You got the job.”
“Barely. Apparently when he called the agency to let them know I was hired, he made a point of saying it was only because the other girl he’d been speaking with came down with pneumonia and he needed someone ASAP.” You pout sullenly, stabbing at your ice cream. “And since then he’s taken every opportunity to point out when I’m doing something wrong.”
“Maybe you’re just taking it too personally? That’s his little girl after all. He probably just wants to make sure she’s in safe hands.”
“I guess… I just wish he wasn’t so blunt about it,” you sigh. “Mostly I just feel sorry for Dee. I don’t get the chance to see them interact often because he usually gets home after her bedtime, but he doesn’t strike me like the type of dad who’s particularly involved, you know? She must only see him a couple of days a week.” You take another spoonful of ice cream, your gaze turning contemplative. “She must have one hell of a mother, wherever she is. I can’t think of any other way she could’ve turned out to be such a good egg, given that her father’s so emotionally constipated.”
“Okay, that’s it.” Mina lifts a hand to stop you from going on. “You think way too much about other people’s problems, you know that? It’s depressing. You need to stop getting stressed about the things you can’t change, and start focussing on the stuff you can.”
“Such as?”
“Such as your non-existent dating life.” She pulls her phone out and starts typing. “I’m sending you Jungkook’s number, and you willtext him this week. Understood?”
Your phone vibrates in your back pocket.
“Mina -”
“Nope.” She holds up a finger. “I’m not backing down this time. Not until you agree to put yourself first for once.”
“…Fine,” you sigh eventually, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “I’ll text him. But I’m not promising anything more, okay?”
Though it physically pains you to admit it, Mina was right to an extent. You haven’t so much as given a guy your number in the past year, let alone one as hot as in the picture she’d showed you. Zipping up the tiny black skirt you’d borrowed from her closet, you realise with a sense of looming dread that the odds of making a fool of yourself tonight are decidedly not in your favour.
“Jungkook is a gentleman,” you recall her telling you, sipping daintily at her bubble tea. “He definitely doesn’t put out on the first date. Buuut -” she’d lifted a finger before you could chime in. “that does not mean you get the green light to wear your granny panties.”
“I don’t see why not. They’re comfortable and non-restrictive.”
“A girl should always wear her best lingerie when it counts, Y/N.”
“Says who?”
“Oscar de La Renta.”
“Ha, right. And what would he know about women’s underwear?”
She fixes you with a deadpan look. “Are you literally kidding me right now.”
“Mina, if Jungkook’s not going to see it then what’s even the point?” you mumble through a mouthful of ice cream, pointing the spoon at her to emphasise your point. “I’m not just gonna slice myself in half for nothing.”
If it were possible, you’re fairly certain Mina’s eyes roll all the way back into the back of her skull.
“It’s not for him, you loser, it’s foryou. Sexy underwear is a confidence booster!”
“It’s also expensive and a pain in the ass to move around in. Quite literally.” You tilt your plastic cup in an effort to dig out the last of the chocolate chips, but Mina reaches across to pluck the spoon from your fingers. “Wha-? Hey!”
“If you think I’m letting you pull a Bridget Jones on your first date in twelve months, you are sorely mistaken,” she says resolutely, ignoring your sullen expression. She raises a hand to flag down the server, muttering under her breath, “Clearly we have more work to do than I anticipated.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m taking you to Silky Fit, and we’re not leaving until you’ve picked something out,” she clarifies, pulling her purse out when the waiter came over with the bill.
After sparing you a second glance, her expression softens somewhat. She tilts her head and sighs fondly at you, the same way someone might sigh at a helpless child, or a puppy covered from head to toe in mud after playing in the garden.
“You have ice cream on your chin, babe,” she says, tossing a balled up napkin your way.
And thus, here you are a week later, teetering around your apartment in an outfit that’s two sizes smaller than anything you’d usually opt to wear, the string of your new thong pulling uncomfortably tight between your ass cheeks.
Admittedly, glancing at yourself in the mirror before slipping your blouse on had left you feeling pleasantly flushed. Even despite the minor physical discomfort, Mina hadn’t been lying about the confidence boost. Your body looked good. The colour of the set you’d picked out provided a pretty contrast against your skin, and the bra had just the right amount of upward push to make your breasts look full and perky in their cups. Though ‘sexy’ was never typically a word you’d thought to associate with yourself, turning from side to side in the mirror almost had you reconsidering.
Makeup done and hair styled into a loose updo, you snap a quick picture of yourself in the bathroom mirror, feeling surprisingly content with the end result.
Y/N:[image.png]
Y/N:all good ???
Despite being at a formal dinner with her boss and some company associates, it takes less than a minute for your friend to respond. You snort when an image of her disgruntled face comes through, clearly shot from beneath the restaurant table.
Mina:stop trying to sext me ?? I don’t have time for this right now
Y/N:desperate times. need validation :(
Mina:you look so good I could eat you
Mina:…are you wearing them?
You smile at your phone. Feeling emboldened by her praise, you pull up your camera again, this time shooting a quick video in which you turn slowly so she could see the full effect of your outfit. At the very end you tug your blouse to the side a little, flashing just the top of your lace bra with a comically over-exaggerated wink.
Y/N:video.mp4
Y/N: enjoy your night baby x
Your taxi calls shortly afterwards to let you know they’re downstairs.
.
Despite how busy the restaurant is tonight, it isn’t hard to spot your date.
Jungkook isbig. Far bigger than you’d imagined the stereotypical nerdy tech guy to be. He practically dwarfs you when he stands up to shake your hand, and you feel positively giddy when he rounds the table to pull your chair out for you. He even has the presence of mind to catch you when you inevitably stumbled over your heels on the way down, a gentle hand on your elbow stopping you from face planting in front of the entire establishment.
“Careful there,” he murmurs, the amused smile on his face causing your neck to prickle with welcome heat. “You almost fell for me.”
When you let out a loud snort in response, clapping a hand over your mouth as a second too late to catch the unattractive sound, Jungkook doesn’t even bat an eyelid - just proceeds to tuck your chair in behind you and call the waiter over to take your drinks orders. You can’t help but wonder if Mina warned him about you beforehand.
All in all, the date gets off to a good start. You’re relieved to learn that Jungkook is smooth enough for the both of you, seamlessly filling any lulls in the conversation before things have a chance to turn awkward. What’s more, he seems genuinely interested in learning more about you, listening attentively when you explain how you’re currently studying part time for your masters in education whilst nannying on the side. You flush with warmth when he praises your ambition.
“It must be hard, juggling work with your studies,” he remarks. “It’s awesome that you’re so committed.”
“It’s not that impressive really,” you say, though your whole body is practically aglow from all the compliments. “Truth be known, the agency I work with deals primarily with parents from wealthy areas of the city, so most of us get paid a bit more than your average sitter would. It almost feels like cheating, really.”
“Oh?” Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, raising his wine glass to his lips. “Any celebrities on your contact list so far?”
“Sadly not. I’m only two weeks into my first job so far, and my current employer flies a little lower under the radar than most rich people.”
“A businessman then,” Jungkook nods.
“Precisely. He used to run a tech company, which I think is how he made the majority of his wealth. Nowadays he just does marketing stuff though.”
“A tech company, huh?” Jungkook presses. “Would I have heard of him?”
To your alarm, he almost spits out his wine when the name Min Yoongi comes out your mouth.
“Min? As in Min Enterprises?!” he sputters.
You’re quick to fill him a glass of water, which he accepts gratefully. “That’s the one. You know him?”
“Sure I do,” he says between gulps. “We use literally allof his anti-virus software at work. The guy’s a genius.”
You raise your eyebrows curiously. “Really? The woman from my agency told me his tech company closed years ago. I don’t know much about this stuff, but I would have thought any software they produced would be a little outdated by now…”
Jungkook snorts in amusement. “Closed down is one way of putting it.”
“What do you mean?”
“His programme was good. So good that none of the other tech giants compete with it,” Jungkook explains once his eyes have stopped watering. “Come 2010, Microsoft bit the bullet and bought him out for around fifteen million. They’ve been developing and expanding on his work ever since.”
“Fifteenmillion?” Your eyebrows shot up towards your hairline. “Christ! No wonder his apartment looks like the Louvre.”
“I bet it does,” Jungkook laughs. “I’d kill to see what your Christmas bonus looks like.”
It certainly explains a lot, you think to yourself. Particularly Yoongi’s attitude. You’ve seen The Social Network, after all, as painstakingly boring as it may have been. Those matrix-minded, Zuckerberg type kids always grow up to be emotionally stunted. It’s like a trade-off they make with God for getting to be smarter than ninety-nine per cent of the human population.
When the waiter comes back to whisk away your starter plates, you momentarily excuse yourself to go to the bathroom to check your teeth for wayward broccoli. After giving yourself the all clear, you fix your lipstick and pull your phone out to let Mina know everything’s going well.
You’re surprised to discover you already have three new messages from her.
Mina: helloooooo ??
Mina: man. she goes on ONE date and already I’ve been dropped
Mina:after all I’ve done for you
You furrow your brows in confusion, scrolling up in the chat. Your bewilderment only increases when you discover Mina’s previous texts have, indeed, gone unanswered. Your video clip is nowhere to be found, and you wonder absently if the Wi-Fi back at your apartment is screwing you over again.
No sooner have you exited the chat that another text comes through, this time from a different number.
We need to talk.
Your heart abruptly flatlines.
Several things click at once after that, the first being that clearly, it was not Mina’sname you had clicked on to send that video to.
With shaking hands you open up the chat with your employer, utterly horrified when all your worst nightmares are confirmed at once.
There, staring back up at you from beneath a message asking if Dee is allergic to band aids, is your cleavage.
Enjoy your night baby, is what you’d said to Mr Min afterwards.
Mr Min, who could slice a grown man’s confidence to ribbons with little more than a look.
Mr Min, your boss of merely two weeks.
“Fuck!” you hiss, pressing the call button and bringing the phone to your ear. “Oh fucking, fucking fuck…”
Your employer picks up on the second ring. You suck in a shaky breath before speaking.
“Sir, I -”
“Miss L/N.”
His voice is ice cold. So cold that the sound alone sound has your apology catching in your throat.
Not for the first time since you met him, you’re reminded of exactly why Yoongi is so revered and respected among those in the business world. You can’t imagine what it would be like to have him speak your name like that in a boardroom full of men in suits, but you’re pretty sure any shred of self-confidence you had would be all but crushed beneath the toe of his designer oxfords if he so desired. In all honesty, you’d probably prefer it if he were yelling at you. At least if he raised his voice, you wouldn’t be gripping the faucet right now for fear your knees might buckle beneath you.
Somewhere on the other end of the line, a door slams shut like Yoongi is just getting in after a long day. Or perhaps he’s taking this conversation somewhere more private. Either possibility has your stomach churning with anxiety.
“What is wrong with you?” he hisses under his breath.
You swear you’ve never wanted the floor to swallow you up so badly as you do in this moment.
Screwing your eyes shut, you force yourself to respond.
“Sir, I can’t tell you how completely sorry I am… th-the video was meant for someone else. I would never be so bold as to -”
“You do realise I’m entrusting my childto you?”
Immediately, your mouth snaps shut. The sensation that you’ve just been slapped across the face takes you by complete surprise.
It takes a few seconds for your brain to play catch up with what Yoongi just said, but when the words finally compute, you feel -hurt-. The suggestion that your personal life might impact on your ability to take care of Yoongi’s daughter stings like hell, and for all his lacking interpersonal skills, your employer didn’t strike you as the type to draw such conclusions until now. The notion doesn’t sit well with you at all.
Swallowing tightly, you place a hand over your abdomen to ground yourself.
“I really am sorry, Mr Min,” you repeat quietly. “It was an accident. I never intended to put you in an uncomfortable position, and I promise it won’t happen again.”
On the other end of the line, Yoongi is quiet for a moment.
You wonder if he could hear the slight tremble in your voice. If he can sense the fact that he just squashed your self-confidence beneath his thumb like it was nothing.
“Make sure it doesn’t,” he mutters eventually. Then, after another short pause, “I’ll see you on Monday.”
Before you can so much as thank him for not threatening to report you to the agency, you’re met with the tell-tale click of your employer placing the phone down on you, leaving you with an embarrassed lump in your throat and bottom lip wobbling with the threat of tears.
As could probably be predicted, your date with Jungkook goes rapidly downhill from there. Apparently unable to enjoy a good thing without utterly humiliating yourself along the way, you feel sick to your stomach with anxiety for the remainder of the evening. You barely even touch your dessert, and when Jungkook walks you to your cab half an hour later, you brush him off with a forced smile and a handshake, already having accepted the fact that he wouldn’t want to see you again.
Only when you’re in the back of the cab and heading home do you allow the first quiet tears to fall.
.
Showing up to work the following Monday is one of the toughest things you’ve ever done.
Even Dee seems to notice something is off when you pick her up from practice. Shrewd as she is, she eventually settles for humming along to the radio when she realises you’re in no mood to talk. Try as you might, you can’t stop replaying her father’s words to you on the phone, and despite Mina’s insistence that he’s an unforgiving prick, a small part of you still wonders if he’s right… Are you even fit to look after a kid? Are you fit to do -anything- besides making a fool of yourself?
To make things worse, Yoongi arrives home early that evening.
As nervous as you are to see him again, you can’t help but be momentarily distracted by the way he hoists Dee up onto his hip to greet her. It’s not that he’s smiling or anything - such an expression would probably look wrong on him, anyway - but the way he cradles the back of her head seems strangely affectionate for a man like him.
“You’re getting heavy,” he murmurs, pausing to sniff her damp curls. His eyebrows furrow slightly. “And you smell different.”
“Y/N put lime jelly in my bath,” his daughter responds in a sleepy voice, her voice muffled against his lapel. “The water turned green like a skeptic tank.”
“Septic tank,” Yoongi corrects quietly. Though his face remains as expressionless as ever, you don’t miss the way his aura grows soft around her - a detail he himself probably doesn’t even recognise. “Sounds like you two had fun.”
His eyes lock with yours across the living room and you drop your gaze immediately, your body flushing with heat like you’ve been caught out doing something you shouldn’t.
“S-sorry,” you blurt reflexively, already moving to grab your satchel. “I didn’t realise you were coming home early. Let me just pack up my stuff -”
“Y/N.” Yoongi’s voice stops you in your tracks. “Can I speak with you for a second?”
Standing stock still like a deer in the headlights, a sense of impending doom floods through you. This is it. Clearly Yoongi’s thought it over and decided to fire you after all. And the worst thing is you couldn’t even blame him! How could he possibly see you as a professional again after witnessing you running your tongue over your top teeth like a hungry carnivore? You haven’t even had the chance to explain it was -ironic.-
“Sure,” you squeak, torn between accepting your fate and grovelling on your knees for forgiveness. Who the hell was going to hire the babysitter who got fired from her first job during the trial period? For sending -provocative images- no less!
Carefully, Yoongi sets Dee down on the floor again, nodding in the direction of her room.
“Why don’t you go pick out a bedtime story?” he says.
His daughter peers up at him like he’s just sprouted a second head.
“You’re going to read to me?”
“No, I’m going to hit you over the head with it.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Obviously I’m going to read to you.”
Dee doesn’t look convinced. She folds her arms over her chest.
“Alice in Wonderland?”
“That book is long as hell, Dee. I’ll read two chapters.”
“Five.”
“Three.”
“With the voices?”
“What am I, a performing monkey? Get out of here before I change my mind, kid.”
Dee huffs, clearly dissatisfied. Nonetheless, she trudges off to her room, her ringlets bouncing as she goes.
The living room falls uncomfortably quiet again once it’s just you and Yoongi.
You fiddle idly with your hands, unsure of where to look. The embarrassment of the situation hits you all over again when you accidentally replay the video in your mind, and despite the fact that you’re wearing two layers already, you can’t help but cross your arms protectively over your chest.
As if sensing your discomfort, Yoongi clears his throat.
“May I offer you a drink?”
You pause. It’s not quite what you’d expected, but then again, rich people are weird. Maybe it’s customary to send your incompetent employees on their way with a glass of Chateau Petrus. Having skipped out on the whole making-millions-of-dollars-in-your-early-twenties thing, you probably wouldn’t know.
“I’m fine,” you manage weakly, shaking your head. “Thank you, sir.”
Yoongi gestures towards the couches. “Shall we sit then?”
You gnaw at your lip anxiously. “… I think that depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you’re going to fire me.” You force yourself to look up. “With all due respect, Mr Min, I’d rather just shake hands and go. I’m finding it hard enough to look you in the eye right now as it is.”
Yoongi blinks. Your words hang heavy in the air between you.
“Miss L/N,” he says slowly, clearly taken aback by your forwardness. “If I wanted to fire you, I would have done so already.”
You open your mouth, then abruptly close it again. Your eyebrows tug together in confusion.
“So you… aren’t?”
“Of course I’m not.” Yoongi shakes his head as if the notion alone is utterly ridiculous to him. “I only held you back tonight because I wanted to -”
He cuts himself off suddenly, like there’s a physical barrier stopping the words from coming out. Then with a tired sigh, he leans back against the sideboard, carding his ringed fingers back through his hair.
“Because I wanted to apologise,” he finishes.
If possible, your eyes grow even wider than before.
“…Huh?” is all you can manage.
“I shouldn’t have been so hard on you,” Yoongi clarifies simply. “I was out of line. I had no business speaking to you how I did.”
“Oh, n-no Mr Min,” you scramble for words, already raising your hands to stop him from going on. “Please don’t say that. What happened on Saturday was totally my fault. That message was -”
“A harmless accident,” he cuts in gently, and you pause at the unfamiliarity in his tone. “Please rest assured thatI was the asshole in that situation, Y/N, not you.”
Lips parted softly, you gape at him from across the dimly lit living room. It’s beyond strange hearing such a formidable man issue such a humble apology, and you had absolutely no idea how to respond.
Seeming to mistake your silence as a prompt for further explanation, Yoongi exhales heavily through his nose, his gaze momentarily dropping to his feet.
“I tend to get a little… short-fused around this time of year,” he says. “I lost Dee’s mother in early December. Yesterday was the four-year anniversary of her death.”
Your heart stutters in your chest.
Of course, you knew there was a woman involved at some point. And in more than just an oven-for-the-bun kind of way, if the drawings on the fridge were anything to go by. But up until now, you’d assumed the two of them had simply parted ways - that she lived a few neighbourhoods away, and Dee visited her every other weekend. To learn that her absence is something far more permanent than that - to witness that purple stick-woman transform into a real, vibrant image in your mind’s eye - is something else entirely, and a thousand possibilities flash through your imagination at shutter speed. You see someone who took care of Dee when she was sick. Someone who encouraged her husband to pursue his goals and start up his own company. A mother and a wife, with hobbies and dreams and a presence that probably bled itself into every cranny of the apartment before Yoongi had stripped it bare in her wake.
Someone who probably would have been utterly furious at you for all the bold assumptions you’ve made about him so far.
You wonder who the man standing before you might have been, had he not had the person he loved most in the world torn from him just as they were starting a life together. All at once, your gut burns with shame.
“Mr Min…” you say, your voice barely loud enough to make the distance between you. “I’m so sorry.”
Yoongi is quick to shake his head. “Don’t be,” he says, his tone kind but firm. “I’m a grown man. My grief is no excuse to treat people poorly. If I could take back what I said that night I would, but when your message came through it -” He abruptly stops talking.
If you didn’t know better, you’d think there was a hint of a blush on his cheeks.
“It caught me off guard,” he finishes eventually, inclining his head in a small bow. “Please accept my apologies.”
Feeling a little winded by the whole ordeal, there’s little else you can do but return his gesture, stooping low with your hands on your thighs. “Of course,” you manage. “Please, consider it forgotten, sir.”
Yoongi straightens up with a nod. His dark eyes skim over you with an unreadable expression.
“Just for the record,” he adds tentatively, “I never would have fired you for something like that. I’m afraid my daughter is already far too attached to you.”
You flushed at the sentiment, embarrassed for reasons you couldn’t quite place. “I highly doubt that’s true,” you mumble, glancing downward. “I’ve only been here two weeks.”
“On the contrary, there’s a bag of Christmas peppermint creams in the fridge that she made you at after school club,” says Yoongi. “I asked where mine were and she pulled my wallet out of my pocket, handed it back to me and told me to stop sponging off other people’s hard work.”
For the first time during a conversation with your employer, you let out a genuine laugh.
Yoongi doesn’t laugh along, of course. He doesn’t even smile. You’re starting to figure at this point that his blank expression might actually be his happy one.
“Hey - will Dee be okay?” you ask a few moments later, when the room lapses back into a comfortable quiet. “I wasn’t aware that she might be going through a tough time…”
“I think she’s normalised it now,” Yoongi explains, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “She was too young back then. Her memories of her mother are abstract at best. The drawings she brings home from school, they’re just copies of photographs really. The stuff she knows from home videos or stories I’ve told her.” He pauses. “I think she can sense it though. How I get a bit funny around Christmastime. I think it upsets her.”
“You can’t help it,” you insist gently, the guilt of judging Yoongi too harshly causing your stomach to clench up once again. “Dee’s a smart girl. I’m sure she’ll come to understand it one day.”
Yoongi watches you from across the room, his head slightly tilted like he was trying to figure something out.
“Thank you,” he says eventually. “For taking care of Dee. Things before… they were hard on her. I wish I could be there for her more.” He glances away momentarily. “I think you being here has made things easier.”
Something warm and fuzzy unfurls in your chest at his words.
“I’m happy I could help,” you say honestly. “She really is a great kid.”
“She is.” Yoongi nods.
“And she thinks the world of you,” you can’t help but add, because despite your previous assumptions about Yoongi’s parenting, it hadn’t taken long to cotton on to the fact that Dee never shuts up about him.
“Right,” Yoongi snorts. He pushes away from the sideboard. “Tell me that again when the teenage years roll around.”
You grin, and he hesitates a moment for gesturing towards your raincoat.
“It’s dark out, and the light in the parking lot keeps flickering out,” he says. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
The offer takes you by surprise. You’re not used to seeing the kind side of your employer. Hell, you’re not used to much more than thinly-veiled criticism and blunt remarks.
Nonetheless, after saying a final goodnight to Dee, you let Min Yoongi walk you downstairs that day.
(You let him do it every day after that, too).
.
Now.
You’re sweating buckets by the time you reach the front door, your hair a wild mess from the unexpected bout of snow that had caught you on the way over. Panting like an animal, you raise your elbow to press the doorbell, taking about three tries before you actually manage to accomplish such a feat.
It’s barely even finished ringing before Yoongi is standing before you, a disgruntled look on his face and cheeks pink from exertion.
He’s dressed down - or as dressed down as one can be in a Ralph Lauren sweatshirt and comfy slacks, which in reality is about as close to loungewear as he’s likely to get. Up until now you were convinced the man slept in a full suit.
Standing in the doorway with one hand on the frame, he gives you an unimpressed once over.
“You’re late.”
You roll your eyes. “Hello to you too.”
“What’s with the bags?”
“Just a few things to get us through the week. Can I come in, or…?”
Begrudgingly, Yoongi moves out the way, though he’s still eyeing you warily.
“Exactly how much sugar are you planning to stuff my kid with while I’m gone?”
You place your shopping bags down in the entryway with a sigh. “It’s Christmas, for heaven’s sake, what else are we supposed to do if not overeat until we pass out in front of the TV?”
Yoongi hums, his lips pursed. “Right. Just remember no sweet treats after eight. And no milk either for that matter, we’re trying her on -”
“A lactose free diet to see if it helps with the stomach cramps,” you drone. “I’ve been here every weekday for a whole year, Yoongi. There’s no need to reiterate the rules every time I walk in.”
“You might know the rules, but I know my daughter. She despises oat milk with a passion, and she’ll try every which way to get you to cave when it comes to hot chocolate.” He pulls out his wallet with a sigh, and your expression morphs into one of confusion. “How much do I owe you?”
“O-oh! You don’t have to pay me back,” You hold your hands out in front of you, shaking your head. “These are a gift, and they barely cost anything anyway. It’s just gingerbread men and.. and colouring books and stuff.”
Yoongi quirks an eyebrow.
“Really,” he drawls. “So you’re telling me I won’t find the new Super Smash Bros game buried underneath all that junk food if I take a look?”
“Shh!” You clap a hand over his mouth, eyes darting towards the living room. “Don’t spoilit!”
Yoongi sighs, taking your wrist gently so he can speak again. “Snacks are fine, but that game is at least forty dollars. I can’t have you spending that much money on us.”
“But I want to,” you insist, giving him the puppy-dog eyes. “Dee’s wanted it for months, and she’s been working so hard recently. I want to show her I’m proud of her.” You stick your bottom lip out. “Please let me.”
Yoongi narrows his eyes at you. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know what.”
You grin wickedly. You already know you’ve won.
With a reluctant grumble, Yoongi slides his wallet back into his pocket. “I’m only letting this slide because I’m running late,” he says, even though you’re both aware he’s not. He nods towards your grocery bags. “You need help getting those to the kitchen?”
“I’ll be fine,” you wave him off. “You finish packing, boss. I’ll go say hi to the little monster.”
Unsurprisingly, Dee is still in her pyjamas when you find her. She’s curled up on her side at the foot of the Christmas tree, Home Alone playing on the TV for the umpteenth time. You know it’s her favourite. She and Kevin have a lot in common when left to their own devices.
“Hey, bug,” you say in passing. “You getting into the Christmas spirit?”
Dee barely even lifts her head to look at you. “How can I?” she mumbles into the carpet. “I’m being abandoned. Again.”
You tut, opening the fridge so you can unload the goods into it. “Hey now, it’s not all bad. You have me, remember. AndI have gingerbread men.”
You hold up the box and shake it, but Dee merely blinks at your efforts to raise her spirits.
She sighs forlornly, her gaze sliding back to the TV.
Your eyes soften as you watch her. She looks so small like this, rolled over on one side with her knees tucked up against her chest. It’s hard to believe this is the same little girl whose performances explode like dynamite when she hits the ice, the energy she exudes reaching every corner of the rink.
In these smaller, quieter moments, you see more of her father in her than ever.
“Dee,” you say, your voice gentle but firm. “Look at me, bug.”
Reluctantly, she peels her eyes away from the TV screen to meet yours.
“You know your dad doesn’t want to go any more than you want him to, right?” you say. “If it were up to him, he’d be staying right here.”
“I know…” Dee mumbles, playing with her fingers. “I just don’t like it when he’s gone.”
“I know you don’t, bug.” You smile sadly. “And that’s totally okay. But we need to make sure we don’t make this any harder on him than it needs to be, right? That means no tears this time.”
Dee rolls her eyes, her cheeks flushing.
Yoongi had been called away on a weekend business trip in Paris a few months ago, and for whatever reason, the kid had had a meltdown like nothing you’d ever seen before when it came time for him to leave. It had taken all your strength to pry her arms from around his leg, and at the time it had been heart-breaking to witness.
Her separation anxiety always tends to show its face at some point when Yoongi goes overseas, but never before to that extent. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man look quite so torn as Yoongi had in that moment. If you hadn’t been there, you’re convinced he would have cancelled the trip altogether.
Thankfully, the farewell goes a lot smoother this time. When Yoongi returns from his bedroom with suitcase in tow, Dee stands up and hugs him with little fanfare, burying her face in his stomach. He lifts a hand to smooth over her hair.
“Be good, okay?” he says. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Love you,” Dee mumbles when she pulls back, and you send her an encouraging nod Yoongi’s shoulder.
“Love you too, kid.” Yoongi bends to kiss the crown of her head, and you observe the exchange with the familiar ache of longing in your bones.
You see him to the door afterwards, the two of you loitering in the threshold as you go through the usual routine of checking he has everything.
“Boarding pass?” you say.
“In my bag.”
“Phone? Wallet?”
He pulls both out to show you. You smile fondly, leaning up against the doorframe with your arms crossed.
“Text us when you land, okay?” you say softly.
“Yeah.” Yoongi nods. “If you have an emergency while I’m gone -”
“Call Namjoon, his number’s on the fridge under the banana magnet.” You roll your eyes, absentmindedly reaching out to fix his collar. “Again, been here a whole year, Yoongi. I know the drill.”
Your brain catches up a few seconds too late, and by the time you’ve realised your error Yoongi is already blinking down at your fingers, frozen in the process of smoothing down the hem of his sweater.
Your eyes go wide in panic.
“Um-!” You retract your hands as if you’ve been burned. “H-have a safe flight, okay? I’ll see you soon!”
Yoongi merely hums, staring at you from beneath hooded lids with an unreadable expression.
You all but slam the door in his face, leaning your back up against it and pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration.
“...fuck!” Yoongi hears you curse on the other side.
.
Last year
The first time you realised you’re in love with your employer, it’s the evening of Dee’s first regional skate competition.
At the request of the little princess herself, you wander into the changing rooms fifteen minutes before the show to give her a good luck hug, finding her perched on a bench in a sparkly blue costume. Her skates are already done up, feet swinging back and forth and her entire body seeming to buzz with energy. Smiling, you begin to make your way over.
Then you spot him.
Perched on one knee, his hair swept back off his forehead and the sleeves of his work shirt rolled up to his elbows, Yoongi wields a makeup palette in his left hand and a brush in his right. When he murmurs something soft under his breath, Dee responds by closing her eyes. You watch on in quiet awe as Yoongi leans up to brush the glittery powder over her right lid with feather-light strokes.
When he’s satisfied with the blending, he swaps out the eyeshadow palette for a pack of rhinestones, even going so far as to use a pair of tweezers to apply them seamlessly to her lash line one by one. You can’t help but wonder how many times he’s done this before. He must be the only father in the room right now, and something about the way he owns that fact makes your chest swell with something warm and unidentifiable. You wonder if the braids on her head are his handiwork too. If it was his idea that she wear her mother’s necklace over her costume tonight.
In this moment, you know with certainty there was no one in the world Min Yoongi cared about more than his little girl.
When he just so happens to glance your way a moment later, Yoongi’s expression barely shifts from his default glower.
“Oh, good,” he remarks drily, tossing you a can of hairspray. You barely managed to catch it without fumbling. “She’s got some flyaways round the back. There’s a comb in the front pocket of her gym bag.”
He goes straight back to work without sparing you a second glance after that, firmly instructing Dee to stop wriggling lest he poke her eye out by accident.
You swore your heart has never felt so full.
Biting back a smile, you wordlessly locate the comb and start smoothing out her hair.
.
Now
“Hold it… hooold it…”
“Dee, babe. I really don’t think -”
“Hold it, Y/N!”
You exhale heavily through your nose, arms trembling as you struggle to maintain the downward dog position you’ve been forced into. Dee isn’t having nearly so much trouble, her forehead lightly touching her yoga mat when she arches her spine. She wiggles her bottom playfully in the air.
“That’s, guys. You look great!” chirps the annoyingly perky young woman on your iPad screen. “Now we take our right leg and extend upwards, pushing down hard into our heel so we can really feel that stretch in our hamstrings.”
“Trust me, I’m feeling it,” you grunt, barely managing to raise your right leg thirty centimetres off the ground.
Dee giggles, her leg already extended to its full height as if her body were made of elastic.
Your core contracts with the effort of keeping you upright, knees threatening to buckle beneath you.
“How is this fair? You’ve been skating since before you could walk and I haven’t moved this much since high school.”
“Tina says each new day is an opportunity to improve yourself.”
You roll your eyes. “Tina sounds like a hoot.”
“That’s the spirit, ladies! Other leg, let’s go!”
You groan, switching sides. It’s the third day in a row that Dee’s had you do stretches with her, and you’re starting to feel more like you’ve signed up for a week of boot camp than a week of babysitting.
Dee squints at you from beneath her armpit.
“Y/N,” she sighs.
“Mm?”
“You’re dropping your hips.”
“My apologies, Drill Sergeant Min. Won’t happen again.”
She returns to her position, shaking her head like a disappointed school teacher. “You’re worse than dad, you know.”
You do a double take. “I’m sorry -Yoongidoes this with you?”
“Sometimes.” Dee moves gracefully into a side plank, facing away from you. “When he doesn’t have work.”
“And you’re telling me I’m worse?”
“Consideradly.”
“It’s considera-bly,” you correct her with a huff, more out of indignation than anything else.
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” Dee shrugs.
You let out an amused snort, though your mind is still reeling at the thought of Yoongi willingly assuming the lotus position and breathing out for eight counts. Scratch that, your mind is reeling at the thought of Yoongi wearing anything other than slacks. What kind of power does this kid wield that she can get the human robot himself to break a sweat?
You continue on with the routine until you can’t any longer, at which point you collapse onto your back with little ceremony.
“That’s it,” you pant, waving the metaphorical white flag in the air. “I’m done. No more.”
“But we haven’t even got to the headstand part yet!”
“Go on without me, bug. I’ll only hold you back at this point.” You manage to sit up despite the dull ache in your abs, glancing over at the wall clock. “Man, it’s getting late. I should get started on dinner.”
No sooner have you spoken it that Tina’s bouncing breasts disappear from your screen, replaced by Yoongi’s caller ID.
“Dad!” Dee gasps, already lunging forward to press accept before you can think to stop her.
When Yoongi’s expressionless face appears, he is confronted with the image of you kneeling on your yoga mat in a ratty pink sports bra and leggings, frozen like a deer in the headlights with your brow glistening with sweat and an eight-year-old’s halloween headband holding your hair back from your face.
You freeze. Yoongi blinks at the velvet cat ears sticking up from atop your head.
“Good morning,” he says in a low rumble.
In the next second you’re diving off-screen with a muttered curse, grappling for your T-shirt where it sits bundled up on the floor.
None the wiser to your panic, Dee scrunches her nose up.
“Morning?” she says, settling on her stomach with her chin in her hands. “It’s like five p.m.”
“Different time zones, kid. It’s almost lunchtime here.” Yoongi reclines in his fancy armchair, which is presumably in his hotel suite. “You two have been working hard I see.”
“No pain, no gain,” Dee tells him matter-of-factly, even going so far as to flex her bicep for the camera.
Yoongi hums. “Just don’t go pushing yourself too hard, hm? One of these days you’re going to twist yourself up into a pretzel position you can’t get yourself out of, and when that happens -I’m- the one who’s going to end up carrying you around.”
“Tell that to Y/N,” Dee snorts. “She looked like a drowning octopus when we got to the backbends.”
“I was not that bad,” you hiss, your face heating up with embarrassment despite being off-camera. Then, as an afterthought, “And how the hell does an octopus drown?”
Nobody is listening to you. It might just be a trick of the light, but you’re convinced you spot the corner of Yoongi’s mouth give a slight twitch of amusement.
“Be nice, Dee,” he says, though he doesn’t sound particularly worried for you. “The only bad workout is the one that didn’t happen, right?”
You pause, giving Dee the side-eye. “…Did he just quote Tina?”
She fixes you with a serious gaze. “Careful. Dad is abigTina fan.”
“Ugh, I bet he is,” you mutter under your breath, pulling a face as you recall the way Tina’s cute little glute muscles had contracted during the standing pigeon.
“Feel free to let me know when you’re done talking about me like I’m not here,” Yoongi drawls dispassionately, taking a sip of his coffee. “I need to speak with Y/N.”
You can’t help the way your stomach flutters at that. Hesitantly (and having disposed of Dee’s cat ears), you lean back into frame.
“What’s up?” you say with an awkward wave, already cringing at yourself internally.
Yoongi blinks languidly, passing no comment on your previous state of undress.
“I’m expecting a delivery to arrive at some point this week,” he says. “I need you to sign for me and put it somewhere safe. Preferably out of reach for anyone below four-foot-two, if you catch my drift.”
“Ohh,” you nod slowly, giving him the thumbs up. Clearly this delivery was Christmas-oriented. “Gotcha. Don’t worry, boss, I’ll make sure no prying eyes see anything they shouldn’t.”
You shoot him an exaggerated wink behind Dee’s head.
The smallest of smiles works its way onto Yoongi’s lips, and the sight is nothing short of stunning. Just like clockwork, the sight has your chest aching for him to be home. You open your mouth to speak again - perhaps to ask how Berlin is treating him, or some equally lame attempt to keep him on call for a little longer - but before the words can form there’s a sharp knock on the door of Yoongi’s hotel suite.
“Come in,” he calls gruffly.
Fortunately (or perhaps not so fortunately) the angle of the camera is just right that you can see the reflection of the door in the mirror behind, swinging open to reveal his guest.
“Aha! There he is,” a sultry female voice sounds through the screen. “I’ve been looking all over for you, mister.”
Your heart sinks right to the pit of your stomach. Lower, if it were possible.
There’s no doubt in your mind that the woman standing in Yoongi’s doorway is anything short of a goddess in a pinstriped skirt. You’d have to be blind not to see how gorgeous she is, all long limbs and softly curled red hair that falls in waves about her shoulders. She leans up against the doorframe with her hip cocked, a playful smirk on her face as she looks at your employer.
“Sofie,” Yoongi acknowledges with a polite nod. True to form, his expression betrays precisely nothing of what’s going on in his head. “Did you need something?”
“I just wanted to ask if you’re coming to lunch. We’ve made reservations at the restaurant downstairs if you’d like to join us.”
Your eyes skirt away, seeking out something better to look at. Anything really, so long as it’s not the obscenely beautiful woman who’s hitting on the man you love in a swanky hotel eight thousand kilometres away.
“That’s very kind of you,” says Yoongi, and you wish for oncethat his voice was anything other than a monotone drawl. There’s absolutely no way of deciphering whether he’s into this woman when he talks to her the same way he talks to you, and Dee, and noodles on the damn stove when he wants them to hurry up and boil. “I just need to finish up this call. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Perfect.” Sofie pushes away from the door with a coy smile. “I’ll see you there.”
She turns on her heel, hips swaying like a pendulum as she slinks out of the room. When the door closes behind her, Yoongi returns his focus to the camera, totally nonchalant.
“Looks like I’m out of time,” he says.
Dee props her chin on her hand, pouting sullenly. “Are you gonna be home soon?”
“Four days, kid, then I’m all yours.” His gaze flickers over to you. “You two take care, okay?”
“You too,” you nod quickly, determined not to let the internal battle you’re having right now show up on your face.
“I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Dad.” Dee waves.
“Enjoy your-”
The call ends abruptly, cutting you off.
“… Night,” you finish lamely.
The lovely Miss Tina returns to your screen, and Dee blows a gust of hair from between her lips. The sound startles you somewhat.
“Man,” she says, flopping down onto her stomach. “I hate that B-word.”
“Dee!” you shriek, your eyes almost bugging right out of your head.
She blinks up you innocently. “What? I didn’t curse.”
“I - God, who eventaughtyou that?”
“Family Guy,” she shrugs.
“Right, that’s it. I’m revoking your TV privileges for the rest of the week.” You stand up, waving your finger at her so she knows you’re serious. “Just because it’s a cartoon doesnot mean it’s suitable for kids.”
“Fine. I’m sorry,” she mutters. “But Sofie really -is- annoying. She’s a froo-trarian, so we had to eat this really weird meal with papaya and stuff when she came over. And she said figure skating is basically just a style of dance!”
You freeze halfway to the kitchen.
“…What?”
“A froo-trarian,” Dee repeated, with extra emphasis on the ‘froo’. “It’s this religion where you don’t eat anything with a face, or anything that came out of something with a face, or anything green unless it’s a kiwi.”
“No,” you shake your head jerkily. “No, I mean - Sofie camehere? To the apartment?”
“Yuh-huh.” Dee’s already distracted, rewinding the workout video to where you left off. “She was doing some work thing with Dad. They were in his office for hours.”
Immediately, your stomach tightens with anxiety. Something about that doesn’t sit right with you at all. Yoongi hardly ever has people from work around, much less for a meal. The man can barely even feed himself when the recipe calls for more than a microwave.
A selfish part of you wants to press the matter with Dee. To ask her more questions about Sofie, and what was said over this illusive dinner they had together. How Yoongi had acted with her. But you know it’s not your place to
