“Accept it without arrogance, let it go with indifference” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
Anastasia felt a heavy sense of deja vu as she lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling while trying to figure out what was going on. She didn’t have terribly high expectations of the outcome this time, though.
She knew her relationship with Jungkook was worth a lot, enough that he wouldn’t drop her like a hot potato. Probably.But she was no longer sure if that was the best choice for him. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions and become some self-sacrificing burden, but she remembered the last time Jungkook chose to stay with her. For a while, she’d wondered if he’d ever make it out of the dark haze that overcame him. Whatever happened, she never wanted to see him like that again.
But this was all worst-case scenario, situations conjured up out of anxiety and a bit of ‘leave him before he leaves you’. If she looked at it realistically, the men all clearly loved each other and would likely work things out. After all, there was no way seven men were that close without having learned to put away their pride in favor of staying close.
Andbest-case scenario, the six were gone in a week and things could go back to their regularly scheduled program. Though she didn’t have high hopes of that coming true, nothing was ever that easy when it came to relationships, especially one as unique as theirs.
Because their relationship wasunique. She’d hardly spent any time with them, but it had already been enough for her to notice. They maneuvered through and around each other like the perfectly designed machine and she was the wrench that just got thrown in — derailing everyone.
She didn’t know what to think about that, honestly. Cleary Jungkook had had quite the life before her and he’d told no one. What was she supposed to think? A relationship too personal to share, but now he was forced to.
On one hand, these people were bound to come up eventually, if she and Jungkook were really to stay together as they’d always planned, but on the other hand, she found herself wishing it’d all been revealed in a better way. She imagined Jungkook felt the same because as much as he seemed delighted to have the six others with him, there was a hesitance to how he acted now. A fear of something — probably her reaction to howthey were so close and whothey were to him.
The curiosity burned inside her, but she would be patient. For Jungkook, she would be patient.
Her mind wandered back to what they were doing right then. How were they reconciling? When Taehyung had lunged at Jungkook earlier, the action, although filled with outrage, hadn’t seemed malicious.He hadn’t wanted to do any actual harm to the younger, only express the emotions inside of him. But the concern was…would that rage escalate?
Jimin had been ready to stop Taehyung, but would the others lend a hand? Or would they turn against Jungkook? She couldn’t predict the outcome.
An hour passed with these thoughts, then two. At the start of the third hour, there was a knock at her door.
Anastasia wasn’t sure she was ready to face what was on the other side, yet. She hadn’t decided what she wanted, what she was okay with, or how she should act.
Slowly and nervously she approached the door, peeping through the peephole just to be sure that it actually was Jungkook. What she found felt worse than if it hadn’tbeen Jungkook.
It was Jungkook and company.
Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and opened the door. Jungkook’s presence, as always, made her heart beat too fast and her stomach do flips.
“Hey, Taz,” he greeted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, a somewhat expected reaction from him.
“Hey, Kook,” she returned. “Taehyung, Yoongi,” she nodded stoically as they filed in after Jungkook.
They gave small bows in return. She probably should have been surprised at their polite demeanors, but as she hadn’t had any expectations of the turnout, she just…wasn’t. She did feel some relief that no one was trying to bite her head off anymore, though.
Cautiously, she eyed Jungkook’s body language, and, once again, shewas who he seemed most concerned about. But why?
Many possible scenarios crossed her mind, but she couldn’t confidently settle on one. What was he thinking? What was the secret?
They all stood in silence for a moment until Jungkook explained their presence.
“I, uh, mentioned that I was gonna bring some food over to you and Taehyung asked to come. He wanted to apologize,” He explained, the most confident he’d been the entire encounter.
Anastasia looked Taehyung up and down skeptically. She also wanted to ask why Yoongi was there, but she didn’t think it was important enough to.
If she was being honest, Taehyung wasn’t even the one she cared for an apology from. He hadn’t been particularly likable, sure, but that just seemed like a personality trait at this point. Jimin kissing her without permission was the thing most weighing on her mind, Taehyung not liking her felt pale in comparison. She appreciated the sentiment either way, though, however suspicious of his motives she may have been.
“Alright,” she didn’t know what else to say. In the back of her mind, she wondered if being so short would offset Taehyung, but there wasn’t much change in his expression.
“I’m very sorry for the way I’ve been behaving,” he began, his dark eyes meeting her’s straight on, “I hadn’t seen Jungkook in so long and it felt like you were trying to steal him away”
She had a hard time meeting his gaze, his body language and expression becoming submissive like a child’s. She had to keep in mind all the things she’d noticed about him up to that point, the biggest one being how manipulative he was. Jimin too. There hadn’t been a time since she met them that they hadn’t been playing the room to their advantage, even if it was for something as simple as a bite of food.
Knowing this, she wondered if she should still forgive him. If his apology was an implication that he would behave better (even if only on the surface for Jungkook’s sake), then it would be beneficial for her as well. Likely, after this, he would just avoid her entirely.
“I forgive you,” she decided, still keeping a somewhat straight face. She was aiming for civil, not friendly, after all. “That food?”
Jungkook grinned knowingly at the quick subject change and held up the bag of food, “Yup!”
**
Time passed quicker than she would have imagined and it wasn’t even an entirely unpleasant experience, what with everyone behaving themselves. It hadn’t taken very long for the other four to find their way over, probably following the food. Or Jungkook, she wasn’t sure what was more likely.
Things quickly became chaotic with the slowly growing company in one room, but she still managed to catch Seokjin quietly coming, placing her backpack silently by the door. Before she could comment on it or thank him, Jimin waltzed in with more elegance than any human had a right to possess.
She couldn’t help how she tensed up, the memory of his lips on hers feeling all too real. She was annoyed with him, she was, but she also found herself staring at him throughout the evening. For someone who insisted they didn’t like him, she was way too interested in the way the muscles in his legs flexed as he slowly lowered himself to the floor a few minutes later, distracted by whatever Namjoon was asking him.
She jumped when she felt a light hand on her waist, quickly diverting her gaze. Had she been caught staring?
“May we use your dishes for the food?” Seokjin asked politely, motioning to where Hoseok was already helping himself to her cabinets.
Her eyes widened and she rushed over, “Here, lemme help!”
“Thank you~” He sing-songed as she showed him where the plates were kept. She tried to ignore how endearing that was.
Pulling away to let him grab what he wanted, she noticed Yoongi fishing through her drawers for, presumably, utensils.
He was inches away from opening her junk drawer, where she shoved every miscellaneous screw, lightbulb, pen, paper, coughdrop, and even sometimes mail that she didn’t have a home for. Lunging for his hand, she yanked hard — too hard — causing him to lose his balance and stumble into her, sending them both to the floor.
It took her a second to catch her breath and a second longer to realize that he was on top of her with their legs entangled. Their eyes met and the world faded out for a moment until he unexpectedly dropped his forehead to her chest and muttered a low ‘fuck’.
The warmth of his breath danced across her clavicle, making her shiver as a thousand little bumps appeared on her skin.
She could feel the power in his arms as he pushed himself off her, a whoosh of cold air running between them. Hoseok, who had been laughing hardily at their expense, bent down to help them up.
It took Yoongi all of one second after they were both upright to leave the room and Anastasia had the nagging feeling that she should go after him and apologize, but she ignored it and turned to face Hoseok, who was still grinning ear to ear. At least his snickering had subsided.
“You okay?” he asked, unable to help the giggle that bubbled up as he brushed the hair that had fallen in her face back behind her ear.
“I’m great, thanks,” She rolled her eyes and swatted his hand away, far too embarrassed to be cordial.
“Don’t be upset,” He coaxed.
“I’m not, I just…I think Yoongi is,” She sighed, glancing in the direction he’d escaped.
Hoseok looked delighted by her confession, “He’s not.”
She huffed, not believing him for a second, and turned around to gather utensils from their respective drawer.
Yoongi was the only one that had seemed to remotely like her, or at the very least find her funny. She doubted he thought so anymore. She knew the whole situation with them not liking her wasn’t her fault, but did she really have to go and give them a reason?
Her eyes went wide, snapped from her thoughts when Hoseok threw an arm over her shoulder, resting it across her chest and pulling her into him.
“I’ll prove it if you want,” his breath was hot in her ear.
For a split, irrational second, she was tempted. But then she remembered they all hated her and this was probably just a follow-up game to Jimin’s pash sesh.
“No thanks,” Her tone came out harsher than she’d meant it to as she shrugged him off and walked away.
He didn’t stop her.
_____________
1/3 new chapter I’m about to post, lemme know what you think! :) So happy to be back haha
“Call me friend but keep me closer” — Billie Eilish
Anastasia stumbled over herself the next morning, the 2 hours of sleep, thanks to the boys, taking its toll. The hour was 6 in the morning and she had a class in an hour that she couldn’t afford to miss. Luckily, she’d woken up to an empty bed, no snoring Jungkook beside her. As much as she’d love to wake up to him, she knew it would only break her heart harder in the long run if she gave in to the fantasy.
When she’d walked out of her room to head to the bathroom, Jimin was spread out on her couch, phone in hand.
“You’re still up?” She croaked, afraid to look at herself in the mirror.
He hummed in confirmation, not looking up. Furrowing her brow, a thought occurred. How did none of them get jet lag? Unless delayed onset jet lag was a thing.
“Seokjin-hyung, Namjoon-hyung, Yoongi-hyung, and Hoseok-hyung all had schedules before coming to see me, so they’ve been here for like 3 weeks already,” Jungkook explained later, when they met up on campus for lunch, “Taehyungie-hyung wasjet-lagged and Jiminie-hyung always has a fucked sleep schedule”
She nodded, eyes following a group of people walking by.
“And Taz…” She turned back to Jungkook, who looked nervous as he fiddled with his lip ring.
“Hey, what’s up?” She leaned forward to let him know she was listening.
“The landlady was pretty adamant about you leaving,” He explained.
She nodded in understanding, “I figured”
“But! Hobi-hyung talked her down from pressing for repair money,” He looked more excited about this news. Anastasia was too, of course, but something was bothering her.
“Is she dumb?” She laughed, pulling back.
“Hobi-hyung is just veryconvincing,” Jungkook snickered with a wink.
Her eyes widened comically, “He slept with her?!”
Jungkook’s locks swished as he shook his head, “No, but he probably flirted enough that she thought he would”
Anastasia rolled her eyes, “He knows he didn’t have to do that, right?”
Jungkook’s smile fell as he stared intently at her, “And you know that if you’re special to me, you’re special to him, right? Whatever I’d do for you, they would too”
She pulled back, stunned, “Kook, I get that you guys have a unique bond, but that doesn’t mean you all feel the same things”
It was his turn to roll his eyes, “When you care about someone that much, when you lovethem, when you’d do anything for them…the people they love, you love”
“What are you talking about? Jungkook that’s… no,” She shook her head. “That’s not how it works”
He scowled, crossing his arms, “So you’re telling me you didn’t make the effort to get along because they were important to me?”
She paused. He had a point… Still, what he was talking about was beyond anything she’d ever thought about doing.
“You’re dumb,” she huffed, giving in. A genuine smile brightened his face and she reminded herself not to stare like a lovestruck fool.
“Oh, also,” He moved seats so he was closer and grabbed both of her hands. “Move in with me”
A startled laugh left her lips, “What?”
“Yeah,” He scooted closer so her legs were fully trapped between his. “You have to move anyway and I don’t want to be where you’re not, so it makes sense?”
“I can’t live in the building anymore, Kook” she pointed out obviously, forgoing mentioning all the other reasons why living together was a bad idea. Although it wasn’t completely unfathomable (they basically lived together already), there was something so intimate about officiallysharing a space. It was crossing lines they’d blurred for years and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to break her heart like that.
“Well, I was thinking we’d look at someplace new,” He blushed, playing with her hands. It never took much from him to make her cave, and she did just that. “Okay, let’s do that when we get home”
He beamed. “Great! Okay, I have to go, my class started like 15 minutes ago,” he informed, kissing her on the cheek before jogging off.
The two weeks following passed slowly, ritually. Anastasia got up, got ready, went to classes, did some homework, and then came home to search for a new place and pack.
She hadn’t interacted much with Yoongi beyond the occasional passing sly touch and she was pleased to find that there was no awkwardness between them. He more or less kept to himself, though, and she was much too concerned with finding a place to live to seek him out.
Hoseok and Seokjin had come over every day to help pack everything up and occasionally, Taehyung would show up too, although she’d quickly understood that he had no particular interest in actually helping. He played DJ and went throughher stuff, but didn’t do any work. She was thankful nonetheless.
“Where was this?” Taehyung asked from where he sat in her closet.
Anastasia finished placing the books she was holding in a box before walking over to see what he was talking about.
“Taehyung!” She gasped, “I justfinished packing that!”
There he was, sat in front of the box filled with all her photos. Well, it usedto be filled with photos, nowthey were scattered on the floor around him.
“His hair was so long…” He mumbled, brushing a finger delicately across the photo in his hand. The longing in his voice made her curious, which photo was he looking at?
Stepping over a few boxes to get to him, she peered over his shoulder.
Her expression immediately softened, “That was a few years ago, Christmas break. We visited my family’s farm, he really liked the animals,” she laughed at the memory behind the photo of Jungkook holding a lamb.
Noticing Taehyung’s frown, she thoughtlessly combed her hand through his hair.
“I’ll take you to meet the animals too if you want,” She offered, snapping her hand back when he leaned into the touch. She hadn’t meant to be so affectionate, it just came so easy with the pouty man.
He tilted his head back to look up at her with a smile but she was too lost in my thoughts to notice. She also didn’t notice when Taehyung grabbed another photo and grinned knowingly. It wasn’t until he started softly rapping “Baby Got Back” that she realized which photo he was holding.
“Okay! And that’s the end of that,” she quipped, snatching the photo from his hands. “Clean this all up, I’m going to go check on Seokjin and Hoseok”
“Neh~” He hummed grin never faltering, much to her embarrassment. And so with her face burning bright, she stalked off.
Expecting to find them in the kitchen, where she’d last seen them, she was confused when Hoseok was nowhere to be found. The box he’d been filling with appliances sat neatly on the counter, labeled and taped shut, the tape roller placed next to it. His keys and sunglasses, that he’d left on the table were gone along, with his shoes.
Why had he left without saying anything? She felt like an absolute idiot for being offended, it wasn’t like he was obligatedto report his whereabouts to her.
“What’s wrong?” Seokjin murmured in her ear, scaring her so bad she tripped over her own feet. He caught her easily, pulling her to his chest. “Hobi just went to get food, no need to make such a sad face”
“I wasn’t sad,” She denied petulantly, her back pressed to his front.
“No? Bummer, I wanted to make you feel better,” He sighed and she could feel his hot breath against her neck. And then he was suddenly pulling away, leaving her feeling cold and flushed at the same time. “Maybe next time,” he winked.
***
Jungkook hadn’t stopped pushing for them to move in together, which had initially made her heart beat fast, but then he’d implied that his entire entourage would be following as well and she didn’t know what to think. She couldn’t live with seven men. She couldn’t.
Throughout, all seven of the men kept approaching her with places to move to, which would have been great if they weren’t all in Korea.
“For the last time, I can’tjust get up and move to another country! Would you let it go, already?!” She expressed exasperatedly, dragging her hands down her face. She’d just come over to relax as most of her furniture was covered with boxes, but so far, things had been everything but relaxing.
“Whynot?You’ve exhausted all your resources, there are no other places here that you can afford! You have to move away anyway!” Jungkook hissed, losing his patience. The two had been arguing for the past 15 minutes.
Her jaw clenched with an audible noise as she took a deep breath, “Cause I don’t wantto!”
“Why.Not?!” He fumed, clenching his fists. He looked genuinely angry, something she couldn’t recall him ever directing at her (aside from one time, years ago, that she was caught snooping through his phone).
Letting out a shaky breath, she tried to convince herself not to do something rash like kick the glass coffee table or chuck his PS4 controller at the wall. “I do not speak Korean, how am I supposed to go to school there? I don’t know the culture, or what’s socially accepted! I don’t want to relearn how to live, Jungkook!”
An angry growl left his lips, “Then just stay inside! You have us, you don’t need anything else”
“Jungkook!” How could he say that? “Why are you so dead set on me moving to Korea? Did you really hate living here with me that much?!” It was a somewhat baseless accusation, but it’d been weighing her down.
“Why would I be trying so damn hard to convince you to come with me if I hated living with you? Don’t put words in my mouth,” He growled and she felt like a bucket of ice water had just been dumped over her head.
“Comewithyou?” She repeated, “You’re leaving?”
He rolled his eyes, “Of course, I’m leaving. My life is in Korea, there’s nothing for me here. I only stayed this long because of you and now you won’t even…” He cut himself off.
“Of course, I’m leaving”, His words echoed in her head, but what did she expect? Him to choose her over them?
“Do you know how that feels? Knowing I gave up so much time to stay beside you and now you won’t even considerme? Even though you have to transfer anyway, and your reason? You don’t want to .” He gripped at his hair. “And if you won’t move, what the hell am I supposed to do?!”
“It’s not —it’s not about you, I—”
“Itshouldbe about me. I shouldbe your priority. A little discomfort is all it takes for you to ditch me, huh? So every time you said you wanted to stay with me forever, that we’d grow old together, what you really meant was we could be together as long as it’s convenient for you”
“You like it here, you enjoyed being here,” she tried to rationalize, ignoring the guilt churning in her belly.
“I liked you,” he clarified. “Why would I like being away from my family?”
She shook her head, “Let’s talk about this later.” Seokjin and Yoongi had just walked in and she took the opportunity to escape. Jungkook didn’t try to stop her.
Pulling out her phone, she decided to call Beatrice for a shoulder to lean on.
“Hello?” She answered.
“Hey Bee, you got a moment?” Anastasia asked as she stepped into her living room.
Beatrice hesitated, “Actually, can I call you back in a bit? I’m right in the middle of something”
Anastasia agreed easily, ending the call. What now?
“Taz?” Hoseok’s voice met her ear moments before his head popped out from the hallway, his eyes meeting hers.
“Hoseok? What are you doing here?” She’d thought he’d left hours ago.
A mischievous smirk crept onto his lips, “Oh, nothing” he singsonged, disappearing back down the hall. She followed immediately, not trusting him, and walked into her room just in time to see him disappear into her closet.
On her bed lounged a comfortable Jimin, staring beguilingly at her. All thoughts stuttered to a stop for a moment.
“I was thinking,” Hoseok began, returning from her closet with something behind his back, “that we deserve to celebrate”
“Celebrate?”
He nodded innocently with closed eyes, “Our hard work. And look!” He pulled out what he’d been hiding. It was a calf-length fitted velvet dress, one she’d only worn once to her cousin’s wedding. The color was a deep purple and it had thin straps with a low back. “I found the perfect dress for you”
“That’s—” she laughed, taking it from his outstretched hand and holding it up to herself, “I don’t think I’ll even fit into this anymore. Besides, I’m not exactly in a spot financially where I should be out celebrating”
“I’ll pay, now go try it on,” Jimin shooed, rolling off the bed and pushing her from the room.
“Ah—wait—but!”
An hour later, she was out of the shower and successfully zipped into the dress. Although she was not at all in the mood to go out, she felt she owed Hoseok for all his help. If what he wanted as repayment was a fun night out with her and Jimin, she would do it.
Uncapping her lipgloss, her thoughts drifted back to Jungkook. Finding out that for all the years he stayed by her side, he’d wanted to be somewhere else, hurt. Why hadn’t he just been honest from the start?
He didn’t want to give you up. She knew it was the truth but that just made everything so much harder! Jungkook was always intense and overbearing, he liked to be in control, or at the very least in the loop, when anything had something to do with her. His attention to detail when it came to her was part of what had made it so easy to fall in love with him, but was she ready to move to a different country for him? He would meet someone and get married someday, then where would she be? Still, it was selfish to ask him to stay and suffer the same things that made her not want to go.
Saying goodbye though…that wasn’t something she ever wanted to do. Even the other six had unnoticingly grown on her.
Pulled from her thoughts by the doorbell ringing, she quickly finished applying her lipgloss and went to check.
Behind the door stood Jimin and Hoseok looking like a pair of gods and she felt herself stop functioning for a moment, her brain having trouble processing what she was seeing.
Jimin was in a flowy black satin top with a sinfully deep neckline and a matching scarf tied around his neck. He’d traded in his usual hooped earrings for long, thin, dangly ones and his hair was brushed back on one side, his makeup flawless.
Hoseok was the epitome of fashionable in his oversized blazer with a unique white trim and pearls adorning his neck. Tinted sunglasses, that held no real purpose in the dark night, rested low on his nose and his hair was curled to nicely fit the formal grunge style.
Feeling underdressed around them wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling to her, but at that moment she felt severelyunderdressed. They looked expensive, next to them she felt like river rock compared to diamonds and rubies.
Trying not to show her insecurity, she gave them a smile.
“You look beautiful,” Jimin complimented, his ever-present flirtatious smirk playing on his lips. Hoseok made a loud noise in agreement, making her laugh and suddenly she felt comfortable again. Well, as comfortable as she could while being overwhelmingly attracted to them. Who was she becoming?
“Let me just grab my bag and put on some shoes, hold on,” She said, dashing to her room to grab her things and buckle on some heels she’d dug out of a box.
When she returned, Yoongi and Namjoon had joined, talking in hushed tones to the other two. Noticing her presence, they quieted, sending her bright smiles as Hoseok held out his hand.
“Ready?” He asked, tilting his head.
“Uh, yeah,” She replied, taking his hand. What was that about? Had something happened?
Shaking it off, she let Hoseok and Jimin lead her out the door. It only took her the time it took to get to Hoseok’s rented car to realize she was not going out on some friendly outing, but instead on a date with two of the most beautiful humans on Earth. With the warmth of Jimin’s palm on her waist, seeping through the material of her dress, and Hoseok’s hand in hers, there really was no question. Butterflies erupted in her stomach.
“Where are we going?” She murmured, feeling like the atmosphere required a softer tone.
“It’s a surprise,” Hoseok winked, opening the passenger door for her. She ducked her head to try and hide the blood that was rushing to her face.
Why was she being so shy? She’d spent every day with him for weeks!
Settling into her seat, she let out a small squeak when Jimin bent down to buckle her up. No one else had ever buckled her up before, past the age of like 5, and yet he’d done it twice now. His smell surrounded her, making it hard to focus, his face just a hair’s breadth from hers. Even that close, the man did not have a single flaw.
He was probably in her space longer than necessary, but she couldn’t find it in her to complain, and when he pulled back, he turned his head ever so slightly so his lips brushed lightly over hers. She sucked in a sharp breath.
“Sorry,” he breathed, pulling away entirely.
It felt like intense deja vu, why did they all think it was okay to just do things like that? Mind and heart racing, she tried to make sense of her life. So caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t even notice Hoseok slide into the driver’s seat.
Jimin’s lips against hers brought back when he’d had kissed her in her classroom what felt like months ago. So much had happened between then and now, she’d forgotten all about it. Suddenly, she could recall, with perfect clarity, what kissing him felt like.
Soft music drifted from the speakers as the car pulled out onto the road and she might’ve actually enjoyed the drive and beautiful city lights if it weren’t for the confusion and over-thinking clogging up her brain. Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. Jimin…andHoseok. Did this mean they bothliked her? There was no doubt in her mind that she was on a date with them, but… how?How were they okay going on a date with the same person? Where did they see this leading? Did they think she would sleep with them?
Eventually, the car rolled to a stop in front of a beautiful restaurant by the coast. She had never eaten there before, only occasionally driven past, but it was exactly the kind of place Hoseok and Jimin seemed to thrive in.
Cool air rushed in when Jimin opened his door,
“I’m not sleeping with you,” She blurted before he could step out, gripping her seatbelt tightly, not quite confident enough to look up and meet anyone’s gaze.
There was silence until the rear door clicked shut again.
“You’re not… what?” She raised her head and took in Hoseok’s obvious bewilderment.
“I won’t sleep with you, so if this is all just some strategy to get me in bed with you before you leave for Korea, it won’t work,” She bit her lip hard, trying her darndest to keep her composure. At that moment, she needed to stay strong, despite Hoseok’s heavy gaze making her want to submit.
“And where, may I ask, did you get that idea?” He spoke low, clearly displeased with her accusation.
“J-Jimin…” She trailed off, losing her nerve for a second when she turned and saw the said man staring intently at her from the backseat.
“Jimin can’t help himself,” Hoseok interrupted, stealing back her attention, “He doesn’t mean to flirt, he just is.”
“But he kissed me,” She argued, not about to believe that that was an accident,“and you and Seokjin are helping me with my apartment even though you barely know me”
“Jagiya, I kissed you to make a point, not to come onto you,” Jimin rebuffed, coming forward to lean on the center console.
“What point?”
He frowned, “Jungkook thought we didn’t like you, that we weren’t trying to make you like us”
“…So you kissed me?” He wasn’t making sense.
He shook his head, “No, I kissed you because those girls were insulting Jungkookie’s intelligence. As if Jungkook would associate himself with someone that wasn’t worth our time,” he scoffed.
She wanted to tell him that that wasn’t sufficient reason to kiss someone without their consent, but she held back. She was afraid if she told him, he’d never kiss her again. Why thatmattered most, she didn’t know, but something in her thought; better safe than sorry.
“Jagi, we asked you to dinner because we enjoy your company,” Hoseok assured, interrupting her thoughts.
Studying his expression, she tried to discern whether or not he was being genuine. This was dangerous territory, she shouldn’t be making connections with them. They were Jungkook’s family and there was a chance she wouldn’t see them again when they left.
Despite knowing what she shoulddo (run and never look back) she let them lead her into the restaurant, wondering if she’d make it out of this with her heart in one piece.
As they made their way to the front podium, the hostess didn’t spare her much of a glance, but Anastasia couldn’t find it in her to take offense. She understood, she’d much rather look at Hoseok and Jimin, too.
Straightening her posture, the hostess gave them a warm smile, “Hello! Welcome, do you have a reservation?” She spoke directly to Hoseok, who’d waltzed in like he owned the joint.
“Hoseok Jung.” He announced loud and clear. It was obvious by his brief, dismissive tone that he had about as much interest in her as he had in Beatrice. Anastasia pursed her lips at his behavior, but as it wasn’t a familiar environment to her, so she kept her mouth shut.
The woman through the building and out onto the back deck where fairy lights lent their gentle glow and a live band played a soft, calming melody. Almost every table was filled, but they were spaced far enough apart that the quiet chatter wasn’t a disturbance.
Anastasia felt a rush of excitement, never having eaten by the water like this before. Hoseok was still handling any and all interactions, so she turned to Jimin with wide eyes. He returned her look of awe with a wink before motioning for her to sit in the chair he’d pulled out as Hoseok took a seat across the table.
They’d barely settled in and picked up their menus before a cute, doe-eyed boy appeared beside Jimin, introducing himself.
“Good evening, my name is Miloh, I will be your server tonight. May I start you off with something to drink?”
“Do you have a wine menu?” Jimin smiled politely in that enchanting way of his and Miloh just blinked owlishly at him for a moment. Jimin’s smile faded slowly as his eyebrows raised in question, snapping the poor boy out of his staring.
“Yes, of course, I’ll be right back with that.” Anastasia felt bad as the boy almost tripped over someone’s chair in his haste to retreat.
Neither Jimin nor Hoseok seemed phased, though, turning their attention back to their menus.
“See anything you like?” Jimin asked, looking up at her and nodding to the menu in her hands.
“O-oh. Right.” Jeez, she was no better than Miloh. Tearing her gaze away from him to scan the options, she bit her lip in contemplation. She’d never tried lobster before…
Glancing down at the price, her eyes bugged out. “Jimin, you’re paying, right?”
Both the men erupted in giggles. “Yes, we’re paying”
She smiled charmingly, “In that case, can I try the lobster?”
Jimin’s giggle broke out into a full laugh (that was somehow neither loud nor obnoxious). Hoseok looked thoroughly amused as well, but unlike his usual happy-go-lucky self, he was holding it together.
Her smile turned sheepish, but she was relieved to see that they hadn’t taken any offense at her cheekiness.
The night carried on smoothly after that. Miloh had collected himself and returned the epitome of professionalism, serving them their food and wine with practiced ease. Hoseok kept her attention most of the night, flirting and making her laugh with his effortless charm. Jimin stayed fairly silent, casually leaning back into his chair, sipping wine. He looked at ease.
By the end of the night, they were all tipsy, giggling their way down the beach, Hoseok with an arm over her shoulder, as usual.
“Awe~,” she whined, coming to a stop.
“What’s wrong, Jagi?” He hummed contentedly as he rested his head against hers.
“My shoes! They’ll be — oh!” She cut off, almost losing her balance when she lifted a leg up to take them off. Maybe she was more intoxicated than she realized.
“I’ll do it!” Jimin pranced over from where he’d been toeing the waves. He’d drank more than either Hoseok or her and was teetering on the edge of fucking drunk. Evidence of it showed in the way all his movements swayed.
Dropping into a crouch at her feet, he began unbuckling her shoes, biting his plump lower lip in concentration. She couldn’t help inhaling a sharp breath when he looked up at her with a dark grin after successfully removing the first shoe. When he finished, he tossed both of them carelessly to the side, letting himself tip backward onto the sand — landing like a starfish. She watched with a stupid grin as Hoseok took it as an invitation to jump on top of him and pinch his cheeks.
The two busied themselves rolling around in the sand, roughhousing, as she turned her attention to the waves, feeling the cool sea breeze envelop her. The air had just the perfect amount of chill in it.
A startled shriek left her when she was abruptly — and quite literally — pulledfrom her thoughts and down to the sandy ground. There was a moment of laughter between the two men and she couldn’t help but join in in their contagious sounds of joy.
The three ended up laying there for a while, just staring up at the black, starless sky. Anastasia didn’t know how long the comfortable silence went on before it was broken. It was a treasured moment of peace that felt like forever. Her thoughts hadn’t been that quiet in…she couldn’t remember how long.
“You look lovely in this dress,” Jimin murmured out of nowhere, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. She turned to look at him, wondering absently how long he’d been watching her.
Smiling, she returned the compliment, “You look ‘cutie, sexy, lovey’ ,” she teased, repeating what she’d heard him say a couple of times, but the amusement faded when she looked him up and down, “Maybe just ‘sexy, lovely’. ” she amended.
“Jagiya, why do you have to live so far away?” Hoseok suddenly huffed, leaning in to rest his head on her lap. The atmosphere instantly became more somber at his reminder.
“Hey, I’m not the one moving to an entirely different country.” She evaded, sitting up to boop his nose.
He scowled and pushed her hand away, sitting up to face Jimin.
“Jiminie, you’re so lucky, you got to kiss her!” He whined.
“I know.” Jimin sighed, a little too dreamily for her piece of mind.
“I —he—what?” she stuttered. What was happening? She was too drunk for this.
Hoseok cupped her blushing cheeks, staring intently into her eyes. “Can I kiss you, Jagi?”
Anastasia froze, unable to process the request. Her blood rushed in her ears, making it hard to think. Did she just nod her consent?
Eyes fluttering shut, she felt his lips gently land on hers. With his hands still cupping her cheeks, the kiss had to be one of the sweetest kisses she’d ever received.
Anastasia blamed the wine in her veins for her next move.
Surging forward as he began to pull back, she latched her lips onto his in a deeper kiss, stunning him for a moment. It didn’t take long for him to recover, his grip becoming firmer. They made out like that, awkwardly sprawled in the sand until an impatient whine beside them caught her attention.
Springing back from Hoseok, she covered her mouth. Shit. Shit. Shit!What was she doing?!
Jimin just stared seductively, his head tilted to the side almost erotically —like an invitation to mark up his neck.
She quickly shook the thought away. “No, no, no, I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Tasia, wait.” Hoseok rushed when she stood up to walk away.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.” Shame enveloped her.
She was in love with her best friend, yet she went around kissing the people most important to him? What kind of person did that make her? Did Jungkook know she’d kissed Jimin? What would he think if he knew she’d now kissed Yoongi and Hoseok, too?
He would think she was a horrible, three-timing, bitch.And he wouldn’t be wrong, because allthe kisses were equally amazing and as much as she hated herself for it, she couldn’t bring herself to wish they’d never happened.
They were so different. Jimin was passionate and needy, lighting a fire inside her, Yoongi was cheeky, daring her to challenge him, Hoseok was sweet, but firm, gentlemanly but in charge. When they’d kissed her, it felt like she’d never been kissed before, like anything before them didn’t exist.
Stop thinking about it!
“Anastasia.” Something in Jimin’s voice made her stop, but she resisted turning around to face him. Slowly, he approached her, wrapping his arms around her waist and planting a gentle kiss on her exposed neck.
She didn’t dare react, but her body refused to pull away.
“I liked it.” His smooth, angelic voice murmured in her ear, “I like watching. You looked so good together, I just wanted to watch.” His arms wrapped tighter, a hand trailing up to rest just under her breast. “I wanted to see what you looked like, all flushed and stretched around him. Would you let me watch? Would you let me watch him fuck you dumb? I’d be good, I wouldn’t touch.”
She felt her eyes become lidded, “Ji-Jimin.” her voice trembled and it was all she could do not to moan as his warm hand palmed her chest, contradicting the promise he’d just made.
“Yes, Jagi?” He answered between gentle kisses and suckles on her neck.
“I…” she licked her lips, trying to force a coherent thought that wasn’t just Jimin.
“Jimin.”
They both startled at the commanding tone, Jimin sighing and pulling away. Anastasia instantly missed his touch.
“Next time,” Jimin promised when she turned to face him, his thumb wiping across her bottom lip.
They ended up taking a lift home, as none of them were in any state to drive and she was once again squished in the middle seat, Hoseok’s fingers drumming absentmindedly on her thigh as he stared out the window. But of course, jumping his bones would notbe a good idea. It wouldn’t.
Fuck, she was so pathetic.
When they arrived, she all but shoved Jimin out of the car in her rush to get out and he let out a grunt of surprise at the force with which she blew past him. Her whole body was flushed and she knew if she didn’t get away from them now, she would make a mistake she couldn’t come back from.
“Jagiya,” Hoseok hummed in a way that made her pause, against her better judgment, long enough for him to reach her and pull her into his arms. “We won’t fuck you tonight,” They both ignored Jimin’s noise of complaint, “so let us walk you in, yeah?”
Looking into his warm eyes, she couldn’t deny him. She knew—she knewhe was being manipulative. She didn’t miss his ‘tonight’, implying it wouldhappen another night, she wasn’t so naive to believe they had pure intentions for her, but she was dumb.So, so dumb that she nodded her head and let them lead her up the stairs and into her home.
“You can romanticize me all you wish, but the devil wrapped in silk is still the devil” - Unknown
***
Exhaling a shallow breath, Anastasia carefully opened her eyes, her head feeling like it would split open with every beat of her heart. It was dark and cold, and t he air felt so dry it was almost suffocating to breathe. Her knees were pressed uncomfortably tight against her chest and she struggled to form a coherent thought.
Disoriented, head foggy, she tried to remember where she was, but the loud whirring in her ears and the occasional jarring jolt made it hard to concentrate. The last thing she remembered, she was on the beach with Jimin and Taehyung, waiting for Seokjin and Yoongi to return.
Where was she? It was so cold.
She was in and out of consciousness after that, vague memories of indistinct voices, and moments of deafening silence the only thing she remembered. The ache in her bones, whether from the cold or something else, never left. In another moment of awareness, she felt her limp body being shoved into something, a car maybe? Fighting with what little strength she had to get out of the person’s arms, she didn’t win.
A car door slamming, voices, then nothing.
It must have been many hours before she roused again because her limbs were stiff and sore. Still groggy, though significantly less so than before, she struggled to sit up. The violent shivers, which no doubt also attributed to the soreness in her muscles, no longer wracked her frame. A small relief.
Disoriented, she flinched, not expecting his presence. He looked different from the last time she’d seen him, still angelic, but now he had deep purple bruising under his eyes and his clothes didn’t look as carefully picked as they usually did.
She could only imagine what she looked like.
“What happened, where are we?” The words came out in a raspy whisper, her mouth too dry for her vocal cords to vibrate properly.
Jimin smiled sweetly and handed her a glass of water, “Here”
Taking it, she greedily chugged it down, and when it was empty, she begged with her eyes for more.
He shook his head, “You’ll get sick. You need food first”
Clutching her stomach, she realized how hungry she was. Grinning, he said, “Thought so”
Taking in their surroundings — a plain room without a hint of personal touch, she repeated, “Where are we?”
Jimin hesitated, shrugging.
Cautiously, she pulled the covers up to her chin as if they would protect her, “Jimin,” she warned, “Where are we?”
“I don’t know”
A terrible thought occurred, “ Did you kidnap me? ” Where was Jungkook?
“Of course not,” He soothed, “ I didn’t kidnap you, I’m a prisoner here, too”
Somehow, knowing it wasn’t Jimin that had kidnapped her made everything so much worse, a cold sense of dread settling in.
“Who, then?” Worried for him, she leaned in, “Are you okay?”
Frowning, he stood from the bed, running a hand through his messy hair.
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he admitted after a while.
Wide-eyed, she cupped herself, horrified at what he was insinuating. Catching her reaction, his hands jerked out, “Not you!”
Wracking her brain, she tried to follow him. Then it dawned on her that Taehyung was the only other person there with them on the beach. Frantic, she grabbed Jimin’s hand, “Where’s Taehyung?!”
Groaning, he gripped at the strands of his hair and fell back onto the bed, whining “They won’t tell me!”
“Who’s they?”
It took him a minute to respond, “I don’t know,” he mumbled, “probably some chaebols that want to stop Seokjin and Namjoon’s influence. We’re leverage”
Chaebols? Influence? What the hell was Jimin talking about? Anastasia felt the shock beginning to wear off and the hysteria set in.
“It’s a desperate move on their part, but I suppose I understand. After all, what other choices do they have? Shooting Taehyung, though —” It was harder to understand Jimin’s accent when he spoke so fast, but she picked out the most important part.
“Taehyung was shot?!”
Jimin jumped slightly at her outburst and the nervous shift returned like he was trying to hide how concerned he actually was, “He should be fine, it didn’t look fatal”
Should be. She didn’t like those odds.
“Don’t worry,” He cooed, brushing his fingertips against her cheek, “I’ll make sure you don’t get hurt”
“It’s not me I’m worried about!” That was a lie, but she was definitely worried more about Taehyung, “What if he bled out? Holy shit, what if he bled out?! ”
“Hey, hey, look at me,” Jimin gently commanded, cupping her cheeks and forcing her to meet his gaze, “He’s fine. The goal was to incapacitate him, not kill him”
Searching his deep brown eyes, she found sincerity. Licking her dry lips, she asked, “Why?”
Jimin tilted his head back and forth, weighing his answer, “To level the playing field?”
Level the playing field? What did he mean by that? There was a sinking feeling in her chest. Cautiously, not sure if she really wanted to know, she asked, “What does that mean?”
He deliberately avoided eye contact, a playful, knowing grin on his lips. Anastasia felt irritated with his behavior.
“You should take a shower, you’ve been out of it for a while,” He suggested, changing the subject.
“I don’t want to shower — why are you not taking this seriously? Jimin, we're captive , what is wrong with you?” She growled climbing to her feet, almost tipping over when the ground swayed beneath her feet.
Jimin hummed, gripping the tops of her arms firmly and guiding her back to the bed, “You’re right, showering might be too much right now. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything, okay? I promised, didn’t I?”
Anastasia didn’t really know what he was talking about, but she trusted him, letting him ease her back into the mattress and tuck her in.
“Just stay here until you’ve recovered, I’ll get us some food,” Jimin instructed, backing away and slipping out of the room.
Low voices greeted him, but she couldn’t understand what they said. Jimin’s brighter tone was easy to pick out, even through the closed door. It consoled her some that he didn’t sound distressed.
Greeting her with an easy smile when he returned, he informed her that the food was on its way. It was obvious now that Jimin had lied about not knowing the people holding them captive, he was way too comfortable. Why wasn’t she surprised?
“Jimin, you know who they are, don’t you?”
“I’ve made friends with the guards,” he smirked cheekily, plopping beside her on the bed.
Having spent enough time looking at his face, she could see through his near-perfec t façade. There was fatigue in the way he moved and she suddenly wondered when the last time he slept was. After they ate, she decided she’d insist that he got some sleep.
Taking some time to use the bathroom and wash her face, she tried to remember how she got into this situation. Leaning against the sink, bowing her head, she wracked her brain til a headache began to form. There was a blank spot in her memory, she could recall everything up to her frustration with Taehyung when he mentioned Beatrice, and then suddenly she was waking up here .
Giving up, she stepped back into the room to find Jimin sound asleep, having passed out with his legs still hanging off the edge.
Sighing, she went to the window on the far side of the room, pulling back the curtain to look outside. She hadn’t been expecting to recognize her surroundings, but to her surprise, she did. They were two cities west of where she lived.
Letting the curtain fall closed once more, she began to plan their escape. Jimin was chummy with the guards, he might be able to talk them into helping them, or at the very least distract them while she got help.
Her mind raced as she paced back and forth, biting her nails.
When the door to the exit of the room began to open, Anastasia jumped to stand in front of Jimin, prepared to protect him in his vulnerable state.
A tall man in a well-tailored suit entered, giving her a strange sense of deja vu stepped into the room. Just by the man’s expression, she could tell he meant business.
Tilting his head, he took in the sleeping figure behind her, smirking when she shifted her weight to block his view. “Follow me,” he ordered.
Shooting Jimin a concerned glance, she hesitated. If she left, would he be okay? Did she even have a choice?
Looking at the large bodyguards that stood there waiting for her, she knew she didn’t.
Stepping out of the room, cautiously taking in her surroundings, she realized they were in a suite. Why had they been brought to a hotel? An oddly luxurious setting to hold two victims. That brought her to her next question; why had she been taken in the first place? It wasn’t like she had anything to give.
The man in the suit sat on the couch, crossing his legs and resting an arm across the back. Silence ensued, Anastasia shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. What did he want? Was he going to hurt her? If she screamed would someone hear? What if he was super rich and owned the hotel and no one would help? He looked super rich.
Deciding to wait it out, the buff, muscley men standing at the exit incentivizing her to behave.
“Why am I here?” She asked lowly, making the effort to keep her tone non-confrontational.
The man smirked, “Sit down”
Hesitantly, she lowered herself onto the couch across from him, shooting the guards another cautious glance.
“Jeon Jungkook…” The man said her best friend’s name like he was reminiscing a memory, “He’s been missing for a long time, you know”
She furrowed her brow. Missing? Since when? Her mind began to race with so many possible explanations, but which one was correct?
“So imagine my surprise when I find him here, with you ,” He paused to pour himself a drink from the water jug on the coffee table between them. “At first I thought you were just a cover, someone to help him seem normal, but then the other six showed up and you’re still here”
She’s still here? What was that supposed to mean?
Nodding she agreed, “I was surprised by the other six, too” She was grasping at straws, trying to make it seem like she knew more than she did.
The man tilted his head to the side curiously, “And yet you managed to wiggle your way into their good graces”
Anastasia didn’t respond.
“That’s why you’re here,” he finally got to the point, “You’ve infiltrated a group of very dangerous people and I am very interested to know how”
“Dangerous people? They’re not dangerous, you’re dangerous! You shot Taehyung! Is he even alive?” She hissed, immediately composing herself when she caught a guard stepping closer out of the corner of her eye.
Leaning forward, the man studied her expression closely, “You have no idea who they are, do you?”
Licking her lips anxiously, she nodded, “I know who they are”
Shaking his head, he stood up, “I don’t think you do”
He walked over to the kitchenette, he grabbed a tablet that was on the counter, typing something in. “I’ll show you”
Sitting beside her on the couch, he pressed play on the video he’d pulled up, handing her the tablet.
The video began in her kitchen, before the fire, with Yoongi standing at her sink, filling a pot with water, and Jungkook leaning against her fridge, watching.
“You put cameras in my home?!” She exclaimed, standing up from the couch and backing away, her eyes never leaving the screen.
Yoongi turned off the tap and set the pot on the old gas stove, lighting it up. Stepping back, he stared at the pot for a moment, tilting his head to the side almost contemplatively before turning to Jungkook and saying something she couldn’t understand. Jungkook nodded and walked out of view.
Anastasia looked up at her captor, confused at what he wanted her to see. So far he was doing a very poor job at convincing her of any danger.
“Keep watching,” is all the man said, annoyingly cocky.
Returning her attention back to the screen, she was just in time to see Jungkook walk back into the frame, holding a folded towel that she knew he got from the cupboard at the end of the hall. Shaking it open he walked up to the stove and without hesitation, tossed it next to the fire.
Anastasia’s eyes blew wide in disbelief but she couldn’t look away.
It took a second before the towel erupted into flames and it didn’t take long after that for it to spread to the counter beside it. Throughout, Jungkook and Yoongi stood calmly, watching the flames eat up everything it touched.
It felt like hours before either pulled out their phones, Yoongi dialing 911 from what she heard and Jungkook calling… her.
“Taz!” Jungkook exclaimed frantically, his voice muffled through the sound of flames. “ I don’t know what happened! I just-I left to use the bathroom for like 2 seconds! That’s it! […]I won’t be after I tell you what happened […] I maybe, sorta, kinda…lit…your kitchen on fire? […] It was an accident, I swear!”
Anastasia felt sick to her stomach, tossing the tablet onto the couch, unable to watch anymore. It was all a lie, everything was a lie.
Beatrice had been right . She thought miserably.
“Do you understand now?” The man asked.
Clenching her jaw, she sat back down across from him, “You said Jungkook was missing, what do you mean?”
“I mean exactly that. Five years ago, after a certain altercation with a man that ended in the hospital, Jungkook disappeared”
Anastasia shifted, uncomfortable with the information, “The man ended up in the hospital or Jungkook?”
“The man. He was in a coma for two years before passing away”
Making a mad dash for the kitchen, she barely made it to the sink before retching, nothing but a bit of water and stomach acid coming up.
Spitting, she blindly turned on the tap, using the water to wash out her mouth. “You’re lying,” she rasped, suddenly unsure. This wasn’t the first time she’d run into Jungkook’s temper, there had been a few times throughout the years where he’d gotten into some serious fights. A few she’d been witness to, others she’d seen the aftermath. All of them ended in the hospital. But he’d given them concussions, broken noses, dislocated knees, he didn’t put people in comas, he wasn’t a killer .
Besides, it had been a long time since Jungkook got in a fight, even if the man was telling the truth, Jungkook wasn’t like that anymore, he was a good person who loved her.
Recalling the video she’d just seen, she wondered if maybe it was just that Jungkook had gotten better at lying. Lighting a kitchen on fire and taking someone’s life were two very different crimes, though, and she just couldn’t bring herself to think of Jungkook as a murderer .
Memories of Jungkook jogging up to her with a big smile, saying her name in that teasing lilt, she couldn’t believe that he was a bad person. Despite the evidence staring her in the face, she could only see his smile in her mind.
Her captor had made it out to seem like all seven of them were evil, but evil people didn’t care and if there was anything she’d learned about them in the time she’d known them was that they cared more for each other than she had ever seen anyone care. He was right about one thing, though, somehow, she’d managed to catch their attention, become someone they wanted to protect, and for as much as she felt betrayed, she would still rather be back in the room with Jimin than here with this man.
Stealing her resolve, she stood up straight, “Tell me who they are”
***
I have a question! I’ve tried not to project what I imagine Anastasia to look like into the book so you could imagine her in the way you wish, so I was wondering, what does she look like to you?
Summary: Straight-A student by day, Kim Namjoon’s personal toy by night, you didn’t live a terrible life. At least not until you met his six equally depraved “friends.”
Tags: PWP with some plot, shameless smut, sugar daddy, possessive behavior, power imbalance, dub con, oral, overstimulation, moral bankruptcy, 5-way betrayal, kidnapping, yandere jimin, yandere jungkook, dead dove: do not eat
Warnings: noncon, non-consensual drug-use, mind break. please take care & beware.
You wake with a splitting migraine and a throb in your right arm. You want to sit up, but your head feels like a sack of bricks and…
You can’t move.
“Stay still,” Jimin says, somewhere overhead, as you blink your eyes open. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Something glides down your belly just then, light and tender.
You peer down. He’s got your bare legs spread around him, cock hanging heavy over the hem of his briefs, half-hard and wet. There’s an empty syringe on the nightstand and a cloth knotted tight around your arm. Combined with that distinctly fucked out look on his face, that dull ache between your legs – you’d have to be an idiot not to know.
“You drugged me?” you mutter, working your jaw open. Your mouth is sandpaper dry. The words come out ragged. “Why?”
Jimin smiles, pretty and sweet, the light catching on his earring as he leans in. He props himself up with a hand beside your head, looming like a shadow over you, “Because I don’t want to fight.”
“So you paralyzed me?” you ask, dreading the answer.
“Of course not,” says Jimin, easy. “I just took away your motor control for a bit.”
“God, Jimin,” you croak, shaking your head, trying to not look at him. “This is ridiculous, are you out of your fucking…”
You can’t finish that thought because you feel something wet around your hand. You glance up with a start to find Jimin taking your index finger into his mouth, sucking it down as far as it will go. The tip of his tongue traces the groove between your fingers.
When he looks at you, his eyes are glazed over, half-mast, and his throat bobs as he swallows.
“Stop,” you tell him. You want to jerk your arm away but can’t. You really can’t move a muscle. All you can do is watch Jimin wrap his lips around your knuckles. He hums and dips his head in closer, his mouth hot and tight around you. An alarming shock of arousal runs through the length of your back.
“I’ll make you feel good,” says Jimin, finally, allowing your fingers to slip out of his mouth. Your hand drops onto your chest. He climbs over you, the heat of his body pressing down onto your hips. His gaze wanders down and meets yours straight on, “I’ll make you mine.”
Your stomach flips.
“Don’t touch me,” you choke out, trying to squirm away. It’s useless. Your body’s disconnected, heavy.
“I’ve waited so long for this, you know that?” Jimin says. He spreads your thighs so far apart that it nearly hurts, humiliating in a way that makes you gasp. His cock drags up the cleft of your ass, and as if conditioned to the pleasure, your cunt throbs and aches in response. Then the head of his cock pushes into your slit.
You whimper, except you can’t escape the intrusion. You can’t even flinch.
Jimin doesn’t pause. “I think of you all the time,” he says, fucking into you in a smooth, slow stroke, and your whole mind goes blank.
You don’t want this. You don’t, but the drug has made it impossible for your body to reject the pleasure. As Jimin begins fucking you, thrusting in deep, filling the room with the creak of the mattress, you can feel your own slick smeared wet and cold over your thighs.
You’re not aroused, except you are . There are little noises slipping out of you as Jimin’s cock rubs against your walls. Your cunt betrays you, clenching and gripping down on him as if it’s trying to milk him into a climax.
Jimin groans at this, impatient, guttural, trying so hard to hold back from fucking you apart. “You make it so hard to concentrate.”
After a while, you realize Jimin’s still speaking.
“…when I screw those girls,” he pants, sliding slowly in and out of your slick cunt, as if to savour the friction, “all I can do is think about how much better you’d feel around me. I think about bending you over a desk, breaking you in just the way you like it. I’ll stretch you open on my cock at first, then I’ll pu—“
“Fuck you,” you cry out, head slamming back as Jimin’s cock brushes over your spot.
“But they’re not you,” Jimin talks over you, his thrusts languid and relentless, “and I want you, (Y/N). I want to fuck you hard and then I want to wash you out in the shower, touch you all over until your knees give out and you can’t take anymore and I’ll fuck you again right up against the bathroom wall, until my cock is so sore I’ll have to make you come with my hands.“
The next thing you know, Jimin’s mouth is against yours, swallowing your moans, tongue slithering inside your mouth. He runs his hands down the curve of your waist, pushing his body so close to yours it feels like he’s trying to claim you. "You want that too, baby?“
Before you can think to answer, a thick swell of heat drives into your core. Your body shakes helplessly, and Jimin notices, because of course he would. He puts his hand on your clit, mouth coming to suck at your ear, making sure that your body can’t shy away from the pleasure.
“Doesn’t feel good?” he says, watching you squeeze your eyes shut. He rubs his fingers over your clit in small, tight circles. The way he touches you, it’s as if he knows exactly what would drive you over.
“Fu…” you start, sobbing, crying out frantically as another orgasm jolts down your spine, “You fucking…”
Jimin just laughs. He kisses you hard, teeth cutting into your lip, then pulls out and dismounts you, shifting away.
You feel a weight dropping onto the bed, and from the corner of your eye make out a suitcase. Jimin cracks it open, extracting a neon-blue syringe. He sits back for a second, adjusting the plunger until a bead of liquid has gathered at the tip of the needle.
“Funny how you say the same thing each time,” Jimin says.
You wonder vaguely what he means. How many times have you been through this?
“Let me go,” you warn him, voice hoarse, “you’ll regret this.”
“What, are Namjoon and Yoongi going to come for me again? Or Seokjin? Or, oh, I know. That bottom-feeding Kim Taehyung?” A lopsided smirk drags up the corner of Jimin’s mouth. He hums a tune that you’ve heard before, cheerfully flicking away the excess liquid from the needle before loosening and retying the cloth around your arm. He’s efficient, like he’s done it a dozen times before. And he probably has.
“Let them come,” he says, “I’ll kill them all.”
He sinks the tip into the black, scabbed patch of needle scars on your arm. When he hears you moaning from the pain, Jimin rubs his thumb gently against the wound. He bends down to press his lips over it and murmurs, “I’ll kill anyone for you.”
Whatever he’s injected into you is instant . Your head spins, and an inexplicable warmth floods you from under your skin. When you open your mouth to respond, the only thing that comes out is a protracted groan.
“What are you doing to me,” You gasp out, moments later, drool pooling in your mouth. Your cunt suddenly feels so sore, throbbing with heat, walls squeezing down as if they needed to be filled.
“I want you to feel good,” Jimin says, but his voice sounds different. It shoots straight to your core, making you squirm.
And all you can think about is how much you want to be fucked, how Jimin had made you feel so good, that small curl of pleasuring gnawing into the back of your mind. Your body crams your thoughts with need, begs be fucked senselessly into the bed, to have Jimin bury his fat fucking dick so deep inside of you that you can’t walk for days.
But no, no no, you don’t want that, it’s not you. It’s–
“You’ve heard of Yume haven’t you? My finest. Had it flown in special from Nagoya last week,” Jimin explains, “those MIT kids are fucking annoying, but their drugs,” he kisses the tips of his fingers, then winks when he catches you watching, “art.”
Jimin palms at your ass again, and this time his touch feels different. Feels wet. It makes you shudder and tense uncontrollably. You don’t even realize you’re aroused until Jimin swipes his fingers down your slit and comes away slick, but you don’t see that either, because just that touch alone has your vision whiting out. Your back arches into the mattress, and for a few seconds you can’t breathe. All you can do is cry out, fingers locking, “PleasenopleasenopleasepleaseJiminplease.”
“Coming already?” Jimin grins, playful, cruel. He shoves his hair back with one hand so he can take a better look at the way you’ve gone completely limp for him. “You’re too fucking fun.”
“Park Jimin,” You pant out. It’s not funny, but the drug is making you feel every kind of light. You can hear yourself laughing breathlessly as the ceiling spins and doubles above you. “You’re in… so much… trouble… ”
“Thought you’d beg me to stop,” Jimin says, picking your hand up. He holds your knuckles against his lips, watching you intently as he fucks into you all at once, cock rock hard and slippery on the globs of come already leaking out of you.
Your mind is too muddled to register a thing, but your body responds instantly. You come so hard this time Jimin has to pry your legs away from clamping around him. He smiles, pleased, “Go on, beg me. I’ll stop if you say please.”
Jimin continues, voice soft and distant, but you don’t understand it. You don’t understand a word, because you’re coming so fucking abruptly you can’t even breathe. Your hands fist the sheets, your back arching itself impossibly hard into the bed, and all you can do is scream and scream as Jimin snaps his hips into you, at perfect pace with the circles he rubs into your clit, forcing you into one orgasm after another.
When you come to, you’re lying face-down on your belly and Jimin’s beside you. That suitcase he had is now empty.
Four vials, you count.
You can’t remember a thing that’s happened, but your body does. Your cunt and ass feel raw. Feel used. Come and saliva leak steadily out of your cunt, pooling into a cold puddle between your legs.
You can move now, it seems, but your body is far too wrecked to obey.
“Please, Jimin,” you ask weakly. “Please stop.”
Jimin ignores you. He just strokes his cock hard again and shoves your face into the mattress, silver rings digging into your scalp, snapping his hips into your ass with a low grunt.
“Too late,” he says.
And like this, Jimin fucks you for hours, hard, unrelenting, filling your ass and pussy and mouth until you start praying for him to just kill you. He doesn’t get any pleasure from this, you know that he doesn’t. He’s doing this to break you, to brand you, you know that too.
You know all this, but it isn’t hours later that you begin to realize that Jimin’s not doing this to hurt you. He’s doing this to teach you that you can’t run away.
That you belong to him now.
The next day, when you come to, you’ve been bathed and changed into a new, white linen dress. The drugs have worn off, leaving a thick haze in the back of your mind. The beddings have been changed, the curtains drawn open to unveil a beautiful courtyard garden. Ancient stones, lush greenery, the soft trickle of an ornamental pool. Other than an ankle chain shackling you to the bed, you’re free to roam about the room.
In the quiet, you realize that Jimin’s confined you inside a hanok. It’s fastidiously maintained, each tile of the cheoma glossy and polished. Everywhere you go you can hear the murmur of footsteps from the corridors. House staff, you think, distantly, and contemplate calling for help when you catch one of them pruning the trees.
But you don’t. They wouldn’t help you, besides. Like ghosts in the walls, they’ve heard your screams and cries for hours without a glance backwards. Without so much a question.
You don’t try to escape, not because you’re exhausted, but because you know that there’s no point. Jimin wouldn’t have left you here if he knew you could run.
Later, deep into the night, Jimin shows up with a small box of sushi.
The way your mouth waters at the smell of it, you know you haven’t eaten for days.
“Hungry?” He asks gently. He breaks apart the single-use chopsticks and brings a piece of nigiri to your lips. “Open up, my love.”
You frown, balling your hands into fists, staring defiantly at him. “No.”
Jimin perks up, delighted by the attention. “It’s from your favorite place.”
“Fuck you,” you snarl, turning away. “Let me go, you disgusting piece of shit.”
“No one’s coming for you, you know,” Jimin says, tilting his head. “You told them you’d leave, didn’t you? You told them you’d be gone.”
“They need me,” you tell him. “They’ll find me, eventually.”
“Come on now,” Jimin says, patient, “you’re smarter than this. You’re a dime-a-dozen, (Y/N). They’ll find another cockwarming whore in a heartbeat.”
You slap his chopsticks out of your face.
Jimin pauses, blinking at his hand mildly. And then he tosses the entire box to the floor.
It lands with a splat, the wasabi and soy sauce making an ugly, brown smear over his pristine white carpet.
As if on cue, the servants enter on their knees, mops in hand, eyes averted, as Jimin peels off his jacket and tugs off his tie. Jimin doesn’t look away for a single second as he rips the dress off of you.
Once you’re completely naked, he works you onto your knees and elbows, stretching you with three fingers at once, so hard and thorough you’re a mess of drool and tears before he even gives you his cock.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this, you fucking slut,” Jimin says, with a forlorn sigh, “can’t wait to make you mine.”
The servants scurry to the opposite side of the room, careful not to watch, too scared to leave. So Jimin fucks you in front of them, pounds you until you can’t hold yourself up anymore, until you’ve tumbled loosely into his arms, tears and spittle a mess on his shoulders.
And then after all that, he makes you finger yourself in front of him. He strokes his cock absently, eyes black as the night when he fucks into you alongside your fingers.
It’s six vials before he lets you go again, sometime after the sun has broken over the sky.
“Still want to go?” He checks when he returns the next night. There’s blood on his face, on his cufflinks, on the tip of his shoes. It reminds you of Namjoon.
Of Yoongi.
You scoff. “Fuck your mother.”
This time, Jimin presses your legs over your head and eats you out. You’re too weak, too faint, too exhausted to fight him, and the way he’s impatient tonight, you know he wouldn’t tolerate it anyways. He puts a needle in you and fucks you until you learn to say his name.
In the back of your mind, you wonder how long it would take for Yoongi or Namjoon to think of you. If they ever would.
This goes on for days. Maybe for weeks.
Every night, Jimin comes with food.
Every night, you tell him no.
Every night, he fucks the fight out of you.
The nights start to blend together sometime after the fifth. Jimin takes you off of Yume one day out of the blue, but by then, you can’t remember why you needed it to begin with. You’re already conditioned to his cock, to salivate at the sight of him.
Because the truth is, Jimin’s right. He makes you feel good, makes you feel like never before. And he’s right about the rest of them, too. Maybe no one will come for you, after all.
Days later, he stops fucking you. Sometimes he grabs you by the hair and fucks your mouth, his cock so hard, rammed so deep down your throat you gag and choke on it. Sometimes, weekday mornings, he pushes a dildo into you and puts it on the highest setting, listening to you moan as he types up his assignments. It’s a sight you’ve seen a million times before, Jimin in his casual tee and his cargo shorts, dressed like a normal student as he nurses an iced americano.
But never like this.
The first hour is fine, feels good, even. The second hour is painful. The third hour, your walls start jamming around the dildo, bruised and tender and raw, and you scream each time you come. You scream until your voice wears out, until you’re just pleading softly for him to fuck you instead, until Jimin finds you quiet enough to take off his headphones.
“Even Professor Kang’s been missing you,” He says, off-handedly, glasses hanging low on his nose. He walks up to you, and for a moment you quiet in anticipation, thinking he’d finally take the dildo out.
Instead he shoves a vibrator against your clit. It hurts but you can’t help coming anyways. You scream for him to stop, so of course he leaves it there, watching you squirm uselessly as he continues, voice a bit strained. “You know, I’m a little offended for you. Where the hell is Yoongi?”
There are tears running down your face and Jimin wipes at them with his thumb. “Don’t cry, baby. Do you want me to go beat that asshole up for you? Break his legs? His arms?”
“I’ll kill you,” you tell him, delirious, words slurring, as he pulls the dildo out of you.
Jimin just tuts and stuffs his limp cock in your mouth. He thrusts into you shallowly, waiting for it to become erect enough for you to gag on it, and then he rams you a little fuller, so that you’re mute for hours after.
“But if you kill me,” he says, applying ointment to everywhere he’s broken or torn, “who’s going to take care of you?”
And the truth is, you don’t know.
On the weekend, Jimin spends his days and nights fucking you apart, no food and no sleep, carefully bringing you to the edge, so very close, over and over and over. But he never allows you to come, no matter how you beg. This way, thirty hours later, when he finally pulls out of you, he can watch you touch yourself, watch you sob as you come on your own fingers.
“You want my cock?” He asks, as you lay there gasping for air.
You nod, and he grabs you by the chin and forces him to look at him when he demands, “Say it.”
“I want your cock, please,” You mumble, barely conscious anymore, “Please, I want to come on your cock, Jimin.”
So he gives it to you, and you pass out the moment he fills you out.
You realize, a few days later, when Jimin starts carrying you into the tub with one arm, that you must have lost weight.
He says, scraping the washcloth over your collarbone, “I told you, didn’t I, that you’re all mine?”
“You’re always right,” You say, voice muffled against his arm, sounding so pathetic.
Jimin just laughs and plays with your hair.
Maybe one, one and a half weeks later, he brings nothing but plain rice.
And this time, you crawl to him on all fours, a fresh hunger growling in the back of your head.
“Please, I’m hungry,” You admit, peering up at him. You sound so small, so invisible. Have you always sounded like this?
Relief melts over Jimin’s face.
“Of course you are,” He says, ruffling your hair, and unzips his pants. He keeps a hand pressed over your mouth as he strokes himself with the other, shuddering as he comes in ribbons over the rice. “My love, of course you’re hungry.”
“Eat,” He says, grin crooked, and hands the bowl to you. There are no utensils. Just his come and the rice. He probably expects you to just put your face into it.
Like an animal, like a street dog, you wolf it down. Because that’s what you are. You’re just an animal. Just a plaything. You’re good for fucking, and that’s it. Jimin’s come tastes like battery acid, tastes salty and bitter but it doesn’t matter. You’re long used to that taste and it’s–it’s not bad.
While watching you, Jimin pushes the hair away from your cheek and says, “You can’t pass out without permission tonight, OK?”
You nod, obedient, so good. You swallow the last of the rice, lick the bowl clean, and then ask, as a second thought, “How long have I been here?”
“Eighteen days,” Jimin says.
Eighteen days.
You’re missing something, you think. But you can’t remember what. And maybe it doesn’t matter. Someone else is taking care of you now, after all.
They’ve got all the shrubs pruned three times by the time Park Jimin climbs out of the back of his Rolls Royce. He’s fifteen minutes late from his layover in Nagoya, and from the corner of his eye, he can catch the Chief of Staff making a beeline for him from the crowd of senior leadership.
Jimin can hardly remember his name, mainly because he doesn’t care.
“Good morning, Chairman Park,” the man says.
“Morning,” Jimin says, distractedly scraping the mud off his cap toe oxford against the side of an Italian marble front step.
“There are a few items for your sign-off,” the man continues, falling in line behind Jimin as he strides down the winding walk-up, half-sprinting while he reads Jimin’s agenda aloud.
“Then after the lunch with the Chairman of the DP Emergency Office, Lee Jaejoong is lined–”
“Who?”
Waves of men scramble into mechanical, practiced bows in their wake. A handful of smart ones scurry into action, eagerly walking them down the maze of walkways. Jimin doesn’t recognize the kids by face—there are always too many of them—but he knows that they must be his. They all carry the same stench, of fear stretched taut and ambition whetted sharp enough to cut. He’s good at beating that kind of thing into people. That deep, unshakable greed for survival.
“PharmaGreen’s CEO, sir. The current board’s policy is to explore secondary strategic alliances,” the man says, an unwavering two paces behind Jimin.
Turning up the main staircase, Jimin levels the man with a hard stare, “I don’t recall giving a rat’s ass about board policy.”
“Understood, sir, but we have significant shares in PharmaGreen. Overseeing the sustainability reports from next quarter would be critical to assessing operative risked shares.”
Jimin pauses mid-step and takes a sip of his coffee. “We have a floating 1.2% share in PharmaGreen. Doesn’t sound operative to me.”
“The CFO signed off on new numbers this morning,” the man says, softer.
“Listen,” Jimin smiles, polite, patient the way he’s raised to be, and leans in closer to him. “You may fuck me, but you still have to call me sir in the morning.”
All the blood drains out of the man’s face at once. “I’ll have him run another check on those numbers.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Jimin says cordially.
He pauses, for a second or two, taking another sip of coffee as he surveys his property. The perfectly manicured lawns, the precisely trimmed bushes, the import marble fountains. All around him, the courtyard is silent. His bodyguards are hanging a good distance from him. This scene is just right, uncannily so, but still–he would be stupid to miss it.
“Don’t be shy, Sergeant,” Jimin says. “Come say hi.”
The first time Seokjin met Jimin, he had been a few days undercover at Goldmoon. Back then, Jimin was just a freshman in boarding school. As Chairman Park’s whip-sharp golden child, Jimin was well regarded in the family. But, Seokjin thought, when he ran into Jimin at a Christmas gathering, the kid seemed too nice. Even though he was just a junior officer on the force, Seokjin had seen enough criminals to discern potential.
Cherub-faced, boyish, happy, Jimin just seemed soft.
“Hi,” Jimin had said, tagging behind Seokjin as he made his way to the buffet table. “You’re dad’s new accountant, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Seokjin told him. “I’m Jin.”
Jimin grinned, “Lucky you, Jin. Dad really likes you. What’s your trick?”
“I do my job,” Seokjin said.
“So you graduated from college? Seouldae?” Jimin asked, around a mouthful of tangerine.
“Yes,” Seokjin said, filling his plate with galbi. “Are you planning to go?”
“My dad would pop an artery if I didn’t,” Jimin said. “Thinkin’ about Seouldae too. Are the girls there hot though?”
Seokjin wondered if there hadn’t been a mistake. How could someone as immature as Jimin be expected to run the family?
The answer became clear the second time Seokjin met Jimin.
“I have a rat problem,” Jimin said over the phone, the summer he came back from junior year. “Are you free?”
When Seokjin showed up, he found his handler in an empty oil drum. His undercover handler from the police force . His mentor of three years, who met him not two hours ago for a debrief, who was Chairman Park’s favorite consigliere.
Seokjin’s heart beat so loud he thought Jimin could hear it a meter away.
“Sorry to drag you here,” Jimin said, responding to whatever unnerved expression was on Seokjin’s face. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“No, that’s not necessary.” Seokjin croaked, a dry whisper that even he couldn’t understand. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he stared at Jimin, wondering how much Jimin knew. Surely, Jimin knew. Surely he did.
Cherub-faced, grinning ear to ear, Jimin handed Seokjin a gun and said, “Take care of it, will you, Jin hyung?”
“I–”
“What?” Jimin prompted, mouth curving knowingly. And right then and there, it became clear to Seokjin that Jimin knew. He knew that Seokjin knew that he knew. And he said, “Do your job, hyung.”
So that’s what Seokjin did. Hands trembling, tasting metal, Seokjin pulled the trigger. A part of him died, flaked and crumbled at his feet, as his mentor’s head flung backwards, exploding over the side of the barrel in chunks.
“You scared?” Jimin asked, barking out a laugh. He took the gun back from Seokjin with a wink. “Watch me.”
He put a few more bullets in the corpse, and Seokjin felt every single one in his own chest.
Then, the third time Seokjin met Jimin, Chairman Park had died. Jimin waltzed into the reception of Goldmoon, a severed head in a fruits basket, looked Seokjin straight in the eye and whispered, “I’ll let you go home, Jin hyung. But don’t ever forget your debt.”
When Seokjin returned to the force, the formal report was that his handler was killed in a cross-fire. Middle-management didn’t have the appetite to pursue Jimin. Chairman Park had died, and Jimin was just a child. How much damage could a child incur?
But Seokjin knew.
Though Jimin kept mum, Seokjin could feel his eyes on him as he rose through the ranks. Officer, corporal, sergeant. With every step, he could hear Jimin’s words ricocheting in the back of his head. He owed a debt, and that was the truth. Jimin had spared his life, his reputation.
And today, it seems, Jimin’s here to collect.
“Long time no see,” Seokjin says, “Chairman Park.”
“Sergeant,” Jimin says, throwing his arm around Seokjin. He whispers, his arm an anchor around Seokjin’s shoulder, infinitely heavy and light at once. “Here to do your job again?”
“I’m here to take back what’s mine,” Seokjin says.
Jimin doesn’t seem to hear a thing. Instead, he lugs Seokjin forward, “Yes you will, hyung. Don’t look so upset — have I ever refused you?”
Summary: You are a genius, a billionaire, a morally flexible business magnate— And by absolutely no fault of your own, also roommates with a demon. A few demon(s).
Tags: Eventual smut, fluff and smut, domestic bliss, domestic fluff, moral bankruptcy, polyamory, slow burn, overprotective!bts, chaotic!bts, chaotically whipped bts, demonically petty bts, past infidelity
You wake up planted face-down on the couch. There is a dull ringing in your right ear and overhead, a mosquito circling your neck for landing.
Someone says, somewhere above you: “I heard humans need to eat every few hours.”
“But that Tibetan monk only ate every two weeks…”
You blink your eyes open, forefinger twitching.
“Yes, that is why you had to reap him, Jungkook.”
And you swiftly shut your eyes.
“Anyways, my point stands. We should feed the poor thing.”
There is a collective pause. Then, someone pipes up, politely, “Or perhaps not? We all saw what happened when you tried to feed Socrates, hyung.”
Seokjin huffs, affronted, guilty, “How was I supposed to know hemlock is not edible? Is it my fault humans have a shelf-life of two seconds? Did I create them? Am I god?”
The one they call Jungkook intercepts, nostalgic, “It’s been four hundred years since I cooked for a human.”
“More importantly, have you ever cooked a human?” Someone says, darkly, “The young ones can be pretty juicy.”
A weight presses into your back, warm and gentle and protective. “We are not cooking my toy, Taehyung.”
Taehyung hums. “Of course not, Jimin. But hypothetically, if some of us were starving…”
“If you lay a single finger on her, Kim Taehyung, I will snap you like a piece of candy and feed you to my dogs.”
“You’d do that to your own dogs?” gasps Jungkook, scandalized.
Not caring to hear more, you pass back out.
At 3AM on the dot, you wake. To be exact, you haven’t slept.
Without moving a muscle, you glance over your room. Dead quiet. No demons in sight. Silently, with the stealth of a battle-trained ninja, you poke one foot out of your blanket. Then another foot. Then, alert, scarcely breathing, you slip off the blanket, careful not to disturb even one corner. Still no demons.
You crouch beside the bed, peering into dark. All clear—
“What are we looking for?” comes a whisper beside you.
You promptly flop over, screaming so loud you hear it ricochet in your own head.
Beside you, the angelic face, too, squints into the dark, a conspiratorial hush over his voice, “What if this house is haunted?”
Sitting flat on your ass, you feel the corner of your mouth twitch. Out of fear, yes, but also because this situation is completely fucking ridiculous. “Are you joking me, sir.”
“No but,” the little angel says, urgent, eyes like a doe’s. “We could totally be standing on an ancient burial…”
You lift your brows.
Mainly at the fact that he’s wearing a suspiciously dramatic hood and holding a scythe the size of a lamppost. It smokes from the blade, wisps of white unfurling into the darkness.
“Oh,” he says.
“Yeah,” You say, pointedly.
“I’m Death, by the way. You can call me Jungkook,” he says, tailing you like a puppy as you amble back to bed. “Say, you’re kind of cranky. Did you have a bad day? What happened? Are you stressed? Would you like a warm beverage?”
You ignore him and gruffly kick your feet under the blanket, yanking it up over the top of your head, until all there is, is dark and quiet. You’re about to be demon dinner, anyways. The universe owes you at least one final moment of peace.
And, of course, Jungkook. He ghosts right beside you, nesting his face in the nape of your neck, until personal space has become but a thing of the imagination.
He says, grinning sheepishly, those beautiful eyes piercing into the side of your face, “Want to know a secret?”
“Not really at the oversharing stage yet, thanks,” You deadpan, screwing your eyes shut.
“I’m scared of the dark,” Jungkook whispers. “If you try to run away again, please aim to do it in the daytime.”
You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry so you go ahead and do both.
There are only four of them.
It can’t be that bad. Nothing a plan won’t solve. And you, you are a master at planning.
So when Jungkook’s pager beeps and he disappears into the dark, you scramble to the desk and crack open your laptop, typing furiously into a document.
You stop for a moment, fingers flexing tentatively over the keyboard, staring unblinkingly at the bullets.
And then you crush your face into your hands because what the actual hell is this ridiculous clusterfuck of bullshit.
A voice snakes around your ear, low and smooth and honey sweet, “My weakness? I suppose I’m fairly ticklish, if that helps.”
You’re not terrified and you’re certainly not panicking. It’s just that your laptop decided to throw itself out the window.
“Did I scare you?” Jimin grins, straightening. He settles easily against the desk, looking every kind of attractive.
“No,” You lie flatly, heart pounding in your head, gaze fixed on anything but Jimin.
Jimin’s fine with that. He simply slips a finger under your chin and draws you towards him until you’ve met his eyes, a solid, unwavering line.
He looks down at you, smile warm and rueful and so so dangerous, “Good, because I wouldn’t want to lose you, darling.”
It takes you five tries, each with exponentially less vigor of spirit, to throw in the towel. On the fifth attempt, the only time you manage to physically leave the house, you make it all the way to the police station. It’s an old, rickety little place, with a single receptionist manning the front.
You declare, sweating bullets, door wobbling in its frame as it slams shut behind you, “I am possessed by—”
“Grab a ticket and take a seat,” the lady says, from behind a tall stack of papers.
You gesture wildly, incoherent, “But I’m being haunted—”
“Ticket. Seat.” She repeats, jabbing a finger towards the registration machine.
“NO BUT—”
“Or you can go out the way you came in,” She shrugs.
So you grab a ticket.
Except, behind the ticket machine, not too far away, someone is playing with the water fountain. Someone familiar.
Nope.
Nope nope nope.
“Can you buy this?” Taehyung asks, eyes twinkling as he turns to you, water spurting out in rhythmic pulses. He’s changed his outfit for the occasion, a glaringly bright green sweater and a weirdly repulsive trench coat. You’d wonder where he shops (a crematorium?) if you weren’t actually dying of panic.
“Um,” You start, cutting urgently to the receptionist.
She’s gone.
You squint, incredulous, whipping around in circles.
“She was rude to you,” Taehyung explains, like it makes all the sense in the world. “So I un-existed her.“
You freeze.
He continues, bright, “Anyways, can you?”
You check that there is no one else he needs to “un-exist” before answering, “That is not for sale, sir.”
“I’m sure you can do something. You drive a really expensive looking car,” He pouts.
You stare.
Taehyung repeats, mulish, “Buy it, (Y/N)-ah.”
Here’s the thing.
He’s a demon.
He’s a demon asking you to buy a water fountain.
Who on planet earth even wrote this shitty story—
“No, sir,” You say, equally mulish, because you’re already fucked anyways.
Taehyung broods, “It’s no, oppa.”
You absolutely refuse to engage. “So you’re not attached to the house?”
“I can be,” Taehyung shrugs, slinking away to explore the other trinkets in the station. Papers explode themselves out of the cabinet as he continues, disinterested, “But you’re more fun.”
“Fun,” You parrot, eyes totally dead, files raining down in clumps around you like the first snow of winter.
“Right?” Taehyung beams, sending all the papers back into the cabinet with a snap of his fingers. The receptionist, too, reappears in her seat as if nothing happened. “Also, did someone force you to wear that shirt?”
“No,” You squint, uncomprehending. “Why?”
“Don’t be mad,” He sniffs, rather diplomatically. “But it’s a tad ugly.”
“Next ticket,” The receptionist says, pushing her glasses up her nose. She turns to you, bored.
You glance at Taehyung, at that crooked smirk drawing over his face, and show yourself out the door.
“How’s your vacation?” Hoseok asks, your third week at the house. And like the devil, Seokjin manifests right across the dining table, chin cupped in both hands, smile angelic. He’s not threatening anything, and that’s the point.
He doesn’t have to.
“It’s perfect,” You answer, soulless.
There’s a pause on the other end. Hoseok says, hesitant, “Really?”
“Yes,” You sigh wistfully. “All I ever needed.”
The pause is even longer this time. Eventually, Hoseok says awkwardly, “(Y/N). It’s just a break up. You’re the leader of a trillion-dollar company. You are loved. You are needed. Please don’t think dark thoughts.”
“Are you suicidal?” Seokjin mouths.
You ignore him. “Hobi, don’t worry. I’m fine.”
“An eternal friend!” Seokjin says, pumping an enthused fist into the air.
“I’m just,” You pause, batting at Seokjin with an arm until he’s dissipated, “I’m just, dealing with some demons.”
“That’s good,” says Hoseok. There’s clicking in the background, the sound of people shouting over telephones, getting work done, deals brokered, making a difference. “Moldova wants to meet in person for the PR-42 demo. We discussed deferring it, but maybe it’s best if you could attend.”
“Who’s Moldova again?”
There is a pause. Hoseok sounds extremely confused as he says, “Moldova… the country? The army general? Hey, are you OK?”
Seokjin appears just long enough for you to toss your tea at him, and disappears again. “Right. No, I’m fine. Put it in my calendar.”
“Sure,” Hoseok says. Then, sounding a bit embarrassed, he adds, “I’m proud of you for doing this, you know. We all are.”
“Great,” You say, face burning, and hang up. You rub your forehead, a bit out of sorts.
“Army general?” Seokjin asks, floating back into his seat. “Are you super important or something?”
You’ve sat through more interviews than you care to remember, but that is definitely a new question.
Modestly, you answer, “I wouldn’t say important. I mean, I am the founder of the largest weapons oper—”
“That’s great, because I was afraid my handsomeness might intimidate you.”
Synopsis: You’ve rarely spoken to your neighbor Jimin, but he’s always been kind to you. When you get into an accident that lands you in the ER, you’re grateful to see who’s taking such good care of you. It isn’t until later that you start to wonder… will you ever be leaving the hospital?
As you slump back into your bed, with him lying on the floor next to you, a hazy thought informs you that it must look like a scene straight out of Romeo and Juliet.
Although, you think ruefully, glancing down at the sharp shard of glass clenched in your fist, I don’t think Juliet would have done this.
“Merry fucking Christmas.”
~Three weeks earlier~
Taehyung, leaning against the doorframe with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand, looks as handsome as the day you married him. “Have a good day at work!”
You give him a quick kiss, shivering in the brisk morning air. “You too. Remember that we have that dinner tonight!”
Tae laughs. “Is that what we’re calling the awards ceremony? You know you’ve earned bragging rights.”
“Shush!” You boop him on the nose before turning and making for your car. On the other side of the fence, you can see your neighbor Jimin step out onto his porch. He catches your eye and, as Taehyung goes back inside, you smile amicably and nod at Jimin before getting into your car. You see him at his front door every morning, and he’s always friendly.
On your drive to the university campus, you think about tonight’s dinner. You’ll be presented with an awards for Arts Education despite being one of the youngest professors in the university’s faculty. You were thrilled when the dean of the school contacted you for the honor.
Once you park, you speedwalk to your first class of the day and burst through the door. You soon find yourself looking at twenty students, some bright-eyed, some more zombie-like.
“I’d apologize for being late,” you say, “But at this point I don’t think anyone is surprised.” The more awake students laugh, and you sling your bag onto your desk at the front of the room. “Let’s get started. Yoongi, you’re up first for workshop. Why don’t you stand up and read?”
Of all of your students, you think Yoongi is the most likely to pursue his career in creative writing.
He nods and stands. You can see his hands trembling as he clutches the paper.
When he sits back down after reading his poem, there’s a smattering of applause. “Very nice,” you say. “Now, who’d like to offer their feedback?”
~~~
Hours later, you dismiss your last class. You can’t wait to go home and tell Taehyung all about your day.
“So this one kid really decided the best move, instead of asking for an extension, was to plagiarize Twilight.FuckingTwilight!”
Taehyung laughs as he buttons up his shirt. “What did you tell her?”
“Ugh, I hate to report anyone for plagiarism, I told her to write something new and turn it in for half credit.”
“No wonder your students love you. I think you’re personally responsible for all of the creative writing majors on campus.”
You finish zipping up your dress. “Probably. Let’s get going, yeah?”
“Your wish, my command,” Taehyung says, gallantly bowing you out the door. You giggle as he opens the passenger side door for you. “For real, Y/n, want to get away for a weekend to celebrate? This is a nationally recognized award!”
“Hm…” you pretend to think. “Maybe we could go somewhere warm and sunny, with lots of beaches.”
Taehyung interlaces his fingers with yours, lifts your hand to his mouth, and kisses your palm. “Whatever you want. Christmas is coming up, maybe we can travel somewhere for the winter.”
You smile and look out of the window as Taehyung begins the drive. The ceremony is being held at a hotel twenty minutes away. And in a few weeks, you’ll be spending Christmas with the love of your life somewhere warm.
Under the twinkling night sky, everything feels so peaceful. Suddenly, you see a flash of light overhead. “Tae! A shooting star! Look-”
BANG. You hear the sound of crunching metal, feel a violent jerk, and everything goes dark.
~~~
“When she wakes up, start her on 20 milligrams of morphine. If her blood pressure is still low, go ahead and add saline to the IV. She shouldn’t need a transfusion unless anything opens up again.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Doctor. Are you in the hospital, then? Was there an accident? “Ugh…” You blink hard in the blinding light. You’re woozy, and your mouth tastes like copper.
“Y/n! Doctor, she’s awake!” You hear a familiar voice, and feel a hand grip your own.
“M-Mom?”
“Y/n. Thank heavens, you’re awake.” Your mom’s voice is strained and thick, as though she’s been crying. When your eyes finally focus on her, she’s sniffling, and her eyes are bloodshot. She’s wearing a formal black dress – did she come straight from the ceremony?
“What happened?” You croak.
“You were in an accident,” your mom says, her voice breaking. “A bad one. We weren’t sure if you would make it.”
You wince. That doesn’t make sense, and the cost of a hospital stay isn’t in your budget. “Where’s Taehyung?”
Your mother is silent for a moment too long, and you feel your chest grow tight. “Mom, where is Taehyung? He was in the car with me!”
“He… he didn’t make it. I’m so sorry,” your mom whispers. “The doctors did everything they could.”
No. “You’re lying.” Of course she is, she has to be, he’s your husband, he can’t be gone. “Don’t lie. He’s fine.”
“Y/n, baby…”
“No!” You weakly pull your hand from her grip. Angry tears form and begin to spill down your swollen, tender cheeks. “You’re lying!” Please, you beg inside your head, please be lying. Not Taehyung. He’s healthy, strong, smart, he has to be fine.
You can see unshed tears shining in your mother’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“We weren’t going that fast,” you say desperately. “It can’t have been bad.”
“You broke a leg and a rib, fractured your collarbone, and punctured your lung,” Your mother says quietly. “They said you were lucky to have no brain damage.”
You sit back, stunned. It’s true, you’re wrapped in bandages and the parts of your skin that you can see are black and blue. When you lift the blanket, you can see a small clear tube protruding from your chest. Still, it’s impossible. You had only been driving for a few minutes. “What happened? The accident?”
“I-It was a hit-and-run,” your mother responds shakily. “They T-boned your car and drove away. There were witnesses, but no cameras and nobody got a license plate. They put out a notice for the car.”
You swallow. Despite your injuries, it seems like you’re unable to feel anything at all. Please, no…
There’s a soft knock at the door. “Y/n?” You look up and through the dark fog in your head you feel a tinge of shock.
Standing in front of you, wearing blue scrubs and a mask, is… your neighbor.
“Jimin?”
Jimin nods. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through. I just need to adjust your IV – are you in pain?”
“No- yes.” As soon as the word escapes your mouth, feeling spills back into your body. Fuck. Suddenly you can’t breathe, your chest feels like it’s on fire, and your leg… “It hurts really badly.”
“Let me increase the morphine dosage.” He steps towards the machines and IV to which you’re hooked up and fiddles with some buttons.
Your heart feels as though it’s stopped on Taehyung. You refuse to believe it, and so you refuse to grieve. “I didn’t know you were a doctor,” you say to Jimin. Your voice sounds like a robotic copy of itself. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your mother glancing at you with worry.
“I’m not, I’m a nurse,” he replies.
“You take good care of her, you hear?” Your mom says to Jimin, clearly understanding your silent signal not to bring up Taehyung. She was lying – he has to be fine.
Jimin nods firmly, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Yes, ma’am. She’ll be up and about soon, but for now she needs rest.”
As your mom rises slowly from her chair beside your bed, she grasps Jimin’s hand in hers. “Make sure she’s okay.”
“I will.”
Once your mom leaves, your eyelids feel heavy. Your brain is foggy with distorted thoughts of Taehyung. Why can’t you remember anything? “What time is it?”
“Three in the morning,” Jimin supplies.
That surprises you. “It’s been hours.”
“It has.”
“Do you know what happened to the awards ceremony?”
“The… what?”
Of course he doesn’t. Why should he? You sink as far as you can into your pillow, wishing only that it would suffocate you. It feels like there’s an all-consuming black hole in your chest, clawing at every part of you. Taehyung. Taehyung. Taehyung.
“I’m sorry about your husband,” Jimin says gravely. “I met him several times. He was a very kind man.”
“He’s not gone,” you reply stubbornly. He can’t be. “I just need to get better and get home.” Tae will be there.
Jimin pauses. “We’ll do our best.”
“Thank you.”
“The doctor will be back in soon,” Jimin adds. “I can give you something to help you sleep after.”
“Oh, you’re an angel.” After everything that’s happened, you don’t think you can ever sleep again. At least, not until you’re with Taehyung. Surely, the doctor will be able to tell you the truth.
The doctor comes in, a middle-aged Black woman who introduces herself as Dr. Greene. She walks you through your injuries and the path to recovery. “Luckily, they could have been a lot worse,” she says, eyeing your chart appreciatively. “You should be discharged in two weeks, give or take. After that, it’ll be a while still with your leg in a cast. You’ll have to come back for more check-ups. And as soon as your lung heals, we want you to start physical therapy to counteract all the bed rest. Do you have any questions for me?”
“Where is my husband?” You ask desperately. Behind Dr. Greene, you see Jimin’s face has turned stony. “He was in the car with me, his name is Kim Taehyung–”
“Your husband has passed away,” the doctor says simply, quietly. “I’m sorry.”
At last, with this authority figure having sealed his fate, you allow yourself to cry for Taehyung. Loud, animalistic sobs tear from your chest until your abused ribs and lungs can’t support you anymore and you collapse, screaming silently into hands that hurt to lift.
“Y/n…”
“It’s not fair. It’s not fair! It should have been me.” The two of you were only on your way to the dinner because of you. It’s your fault. Your fault. Your fault. “It should have been me!”
You feel fingertips lightly touch your aching shoulder. From his earlier position near the doorway, Jimin is suddenly right next to you. “No, it shouldn’t have. And it’s not your fault, Y/n,” he says.
“Grief is natural and necessary, really, for the healing process,” Dr. Greene adds. “But Nurse Jimin is right, you shouldn’t blame yourself.” She looked back at her chart. “Jimin, you’re on call for the night, yes?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Keep an eye on her pain levels. Y/n, if you’re uncomfortable or need anything during the night, press this button and Jimin will come check in on you, alright?”
You nod numbly. You don’t care. You hope you do die during the night, so you can at least be with Taehyung.
Jimin leaves and returns in what feels like both an hour and two seconds, holding a clear bag full of liquid and a bottle of pills.
“Take one of these to help you sleep. This is for your blood pressure – it’s still low – and we’ve added more morphine.”
You simply hold out your hand for the bottle, shake out a pill, and swallow it down without water. Why would you need water when the love of your life is gone?
“Remember, press the button if you need anything,” Jimin says. “I’ll be right here for you.”
“Mm.” You turn over as much as you comfortably can and almost immediately fall into a hopefully dreamless sleep.
If only you were so lucky.
The crash. The moment of the shooting star. Over and over and over again.
“Y/n! Come on, baby, wake up!” You can’t see anything, but you can hear his voice. “They’ll be here soon, you have to hang on for me, okay?”
7.
“Help! Somebody help! No, she’s worse than me, hurry up!”
H.
“Miss? Can you hear me?”
“Shit, he’s coding!”
L.
“Y/n?” You feel yourself being gently shaken, and still half-dreaming, your body gives a great shudder from the accident. “I’m sorry to wake you. I just need to take your vitals.”
“Blue,” you reply, barely able to form the word. You saw it. “The car was blue.”
When you look up, you realize that it’s not Jimin, but a nurse you’ve never seen before. She pauses for a moment, clearly perplexed, before she blinks.
“Oh! You were in a car accident?”
“The car was blue,” you continue, scared to lose the thought. You’re a professor of writing at a top university, you should be able to express yourself more fluently. But your words seem to escape you before you can capture them. “License 7-H-L.”
“Oh, my… the nurse looks around before grabbing a pen clipped to her scrubs and scribbling the numbers onto a notepad beside you. “You’re a regular detective!”
“Where’s Jimin?” You ask. You don’t know this new nurse, but at least you trust Jimin.
“Oh, his shift ended,” she replies. “He’ll be back tonight! In the meantime, can you tell me how you feel?”
“I’m… dizzy. My heart…” You can hear it pounding hard in your ears, far too quickly, and leaving you lightheaded. Your whole body hurts, centralized in your leg and chest, far worse than last night.
“Your blood pressure must have gone back to normal, let me get that saline off for you. How’s the pain? Your morphine should have worn off by now.”
You wince. “Bad.”
“Okay, I’ll adjust that.” The nurse fiddles with your IV before turning back to you. “I think your mother will be here soon. In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you?”
“Actually… can you tell her not to come?” A wave of guilt tries to wash over you, but it’s overpowered by the darkness already inside. “I just want to sleep today. She shouldn’t bother.” You pause. “I don’t want any visitors.” “Ah- sure thing, whatever you’d like,” the nurse chirps hesitantly. “Oh, and… what happened to your hair?”
“What do you mean?”
The nurse points. “You’re missing a chunk of hair, I’m guessing from the accident. Hey, maybe when you get out you can try a new style!”
“Yeah, maybe.” You lay back down and stare at the ceiling, wishing only that it would fall apart and crush you. What’s the point of anything without Taehyung? But… what about your students, your classes?
The day passes in a blur, and your intermittent napping keeps you barely aware of your surroundings. You don’t dream of the crash again – it’s a blessing, but at the same time you wish you could remember the rest of the license plate. You finally awaken for real once dusk has settled on the hospital.
You press the button, and immediately Jimin is in your room. “What can I do for you, Y/n?”
You take a deep breath. “Can you please bring me a pad of paper and a pencil?” You were a teenager when your father passed away, and writing was the only thing that saved you then. Perhaps it will be your healing salve now.
“Sure, there’s paper right-” Jimin pauses beside your bed before handing you the pad of paper. “Here, sorry. And you can use one of my pens. How are you feeling?”
“Groggy,” you reply. You’re surprised by how weak your grip on the pencil feels. “Numb. It hurts, but…”
“I’ll make a note for the doctor. Don’t worry, I promised your mom that I’d help you get better. Your lung should be healing soon,” Jimin says. “But I need to change the bandages on your chest tube, if that’s okay?” “Yeah.” You forgot it was there, the clear tube coming out of your chest. It’s held in place with bandages, which Jimin carefully removes before cleaning off your skin and placing new ones down. He’s wearing a silver locket that you’ve never noticed before. It suits him, shining against his skin.
“Thank you,” you say as he finishes taking your vitals.
“I’m happy to help.”
The next week passes in a blur; between crying fits for Taehyung, assuring your mother that you’re alright, scribbling down everything on your mind, and forcing yourself to sleep simply to avoid the reality of waking hours, you barely have a second to consider your own healing process.
It isn’t until Dr. Greene beams at you that you register: physically, you’re feeling a lot better, and after a week of bed rest and god awful depression, you’re ready to try hobbling around.
“Looks like you might actually get out a few days early,” Dr. Greene says. “We’ll be able to remove that chest tube tonight.” Beside you, your mother begins crying with relief.
“Wonderful.” It’s still hard to smile, but you manage a weak attempt. Later that day, you hear a bit of commotion in the hallway, and soon the nurse brings in a huge basket of cards, flowers, and stuffed animals.
“Woah… what’s all this?” With effort, you sit up and take the offered basket. The sweet smell of the flowers is a welcome change to the cold sanitation of the hospital.
“From your students!” The nurse says happily. “Some even sent you books!”
“Aww, they’re sweet.” You flip through one of the books and notice that all your advisees have signed the title page and scribbled well-wishes in the margins of the chapters. Their kindness and love sparks your first real smile since the accident.
You spend the day reading, counting down the hours until your chest tube is removed. When you’re finally wheeled to the OR and numbed up so they can sew the hole in your chest shut, you feel relief. Your leg is still in a cast, but at least your body is fighting for you.
That night, you’re drifting off to sleep when you feel a painful tugging on your chest, right where your stitches are. “Mm?” You blink sleepily and see Jimin’s silhouette standing over you.
“Ah, Y/n. I’m sanitizing your wound so it heals well, don’t mind me. How are you feeling?”
“I’m a little sore,” you reply honestly. “It’s not too bad, though.” “Let me fix that for you.” You can see Jimin’s dark figure change something on your IV. “That’ll help you feel better.”
“Thanks,” you mumble, feeling sleep begin to overtake you.
“It’s my pleasure, Y/n.” That night, your dreams are choppy and chaotic. At one point, you dream that your body is on fire; at another, you’re back in the accident but instead of Taehyung, it’s Jimin. The sun has barely risen before you bolt upwards. “Gah!” Your throat is burning, dry, painful – it feels like you’ve swallowed sand.
It must be extra early, because Jimin is still there. He rushes to your bedside. “Y/n? What’s wrong?”
“I- who are you? I need… water…” you croak, your vision swimming before you. You don’t know who this man is, and you don’t know where you are. You can vaguely feel yourself falling backwards.
“Okay, let me get you some- wait, Y/n!”
~~~
You awaken with Jimin, Dr. Greene, and another nurse standing over you. Packed in bed beside you are several ice packs. Even so, you feel your body sweating.
“What… happened?” You manage. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth.
“You woke up with a bad fever. It’s lucky Jimin thought fast and worked to cool you down.” Dr. Greene said. “We’ll have to keep you monitored for longer than we anticipated.”
“W-Why do I have a fever?”
Dr. Greene’s brows knit together. “I… I’m not sure. We’ll keep an eye on you for the next couple of days and see if anything changes.”
Your fever goes up and down throughout the day, occasionally spiking dangerously enough that the monitors around you begin to beep in alarm. Around noon, Jimin comes in with water and a bottle of pills. He’s wearing a lopsided Santa hat along with his scrubs.
“Merry almost-Christmas. Here, take two for the fever.”
“What are you doing here?” You ask weakly. Even in your fever-addled mind, you remember he only comes at night.
“My shift changed. You need more urgent care anyways, and I volunteered.”
You swallow down the pills and nod. “Thanks.”
“Your bruises have improved,” Jimin observes, lightly touching your face.
“I guess. Fuck.” You feel the sudden urge to douse yourself in cold water. “I just want to get out of here.”
Jimin is quiet for a moment. “Have they found the car that hit you?”
“How would I know?” You feel a wave of dizziness hit you, likely brought on by a heartbeat that never seems to slow down. “Jimin, please…” Save me.
“We’ll see how you’re doing tomorrow,” Jimin says. “For now, you should stay awake. What’s your favorite color?”
“Uh, green.”
“Favorite food?” You can barely think. “Sushi.”
Jimin grins. “Favorite neighbor?”
You try to summon a chuckle. “Whichever one is saving my life.”
“Fantastic. I’ll see you later tonight. Your mother should be in here soon – let me adjust your pain meds, we kept you off of them from the fever but they might just help.”
The night feels eternal; you can’t sleep a wink, and your mother stays with you the whole night. Your fever continues to climb and although at first your breathing is rapid to cool you down, by the time the sun rises it feels as though your lungs have stopped working entirely. You don’t know if that’s normal for a fever.
“Doctor!” Your mother calls for what feels like the thousandth time.
Dr. Greene hurries into the room, Jimin right behind her. “Is it her fever?”
“No, it’s…” Your mother points wordlessly at your hands. You can’t see what she’s talking about, but when you raise your hands you see your fingertips are blue. You can’t think. You can’t breathe. You don’t care. Everything is fuzzy, so fuzzy… the monitors are beeping again, but you can barely hear them. You’re gasping for air now, choking on nothing. You can’tbreathe.
Jimin darts out of the room and returns just as your eyes begin to flutter closed. Taehyung…
~~~
There’s a cliff. Taehyung is there, you know it. You just need to jump. The moment you start walking, though, it’s almost as if you’re being pulled away from the edge. No! You open your eyes. Has it been minutes? Days?
“Dear god,” your mother says breathlessly. “She’s awake.”
“How on earth…?” Dr. Greene wonders, wiping her forehead. “Jimin, props to you for your quick thinking. But an overdose? How?”
“Doctor, it’s possible that with her weakness and weight loss, plus the fact that we held off the morphine for several days, an average dose might have caused her to OD.” Jimin suggests. His voice seems to carry more authority than even Dr. Greene’s.
“Yes, perhaps… but the fever?”
“Hm…” Jimin reaches forward and prods at the stitches on your chest. You immediately flinch, your raspy voice yelping in pain. “An infection. Possibly blood poisoning.”
“You know, you really might be right,” Dr. Greene says thoughtfully. “It’s not impossible. Okay, we’ll start you on an antibacterial and switch to lower-grade painkillers.” With this note, Dr. Greene and Jimin file out, leaving you with your mother.
“Momma, did you ever find the car?” You ask, gripping her hand urgently. The owner of that car killed your husband; you want them brought to justice.
“No, sweetie, I’m sorry.”
“What about the license plate?”
“Well, none of the witnesses saw it-”
“No,” you shake your head. “I- the nurse wrote it down. On…” you point to the notepad beside you. “The first page.”
Your mother picks up the abused pad of paper, filled with random journal entries and doodles, and flips to the front. “Y/n, there’s nothing here. It’s blank. Maybe you dreamed it?”
“What? No.” You’re sure that the nurse wrote it down for you. “Check on the floor.”
After a brief but thorough search, the paper doesn’t turn up. What had happened? You can’t possibly remember the partial plate now. Shit. And even so, it was a literal fever dream – you could have made the numbers up.
“Y/n, I’m going to go for an early Christmas dinner at Aunt Ella’s, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning, okay?”
“Sure, mom.” She’s barely slept, after all.
The next several days pass and you gradually begin to recover. The lab tests confirmed your blood poisoning, and you feel more grateful than ever that Jimin managed to catch it early – it could have killed you. It’s now been more than two weeks since the accident, and finally the doctor tells you that you’ll be ready to go home soon. As Christmas approaches, you’ve heard holiday music float through the air and bows and wreaths appear in your hospital room and down the hall. Even with the holiday cheer, the loss of the license plate weighs heavy on your mind.
“Merry Christmas Eve! Time to get up and try walking around!” The afternoon nurse says cheerfully as she helps you out of bed. With your heavy green cast making your leg feel detached, you clunk around while holding the nurse’s arm. You near the window, which overlooks a parking lot decorated with dirty snow, and gaze down onto the cars. Can you ever feel safe in a car again?
“Which one’s yours?” You ask the nurse absentmindedly, suddenly struck by another bolt of grief. Her life is normal. She has a car and goes to work.
“That white one right there next to the blue Prius,” she replies, pointing. You mindlessly follow her finger, when suddenly –
Blue. You clutch at your chest and stumble backwards, nearly falling if she hadn’t caught you. “That’s…” No, it can’t be. But in your heart and deep, deep in your memory… “Can you read the plate number on that blue car next to yours?”
“Uh, it’s a little too far away,” she replies, squinting. “I think it’s Jimin,’s though, I always see him pulling in just as my shift is over.”
Jimin. “Does it look dented at all?” You manage. “His car?”
“Ah… a little? I’m not sure.”
Jimindoes have a blue Prius, you know that from seeing it in his driveway every day. So why, today, did the thought strike you so violently?
“You know, I think I’m tired. I’m going to lay down.”
“Oh, okay. Do you want some water or to go to the bathroom?”
“No. I just want to be alone.”
“Okay.” The nurse looks worried, but leaves you settled back in your bed. Night falls quickly and you hear a knock on the door. Jimin lets himself in, a bottle of pills in his hand.
“Hey, I heard you’ll be getting discharged soon,” he says cheerfully. He’s still wearing the Santa hat.
Blue. “Yeah, hopefully.”
“Awesome. Well, you need to take these,” he says, shaking two pills from the bottle in his hand and handing them to you.”
“What are they for?”
“They’ll help you sleep and let your blood vessels dilate to regulate your blood pressure.”
“Mm.” You wash them down with his offered water. Almost as soon as you swallow, you feel your body rebel against you – you lean over and vomit onto the floor. The smell makes you gag and you feel everything you’ve eaten come up a second time, the stomach acid burning your throat.
“What- what did you give-” you can’t finish your sentence as your stomach convulses again. Jimin rushes over to you with a bucket and you lean into it, retching. You continue dry heaving long after your body is completely emptied, while Jimin rubs your back reassuringly. “G-get the doctor,” you croak.
“Are you going to be okay alone-?” “Yes. Please, just…” your body shivers as he gets up and leaves. What did he give you? You’re doubtless that those pills caused your vomiting. Just the thought sends you back to your bucket, although you’ve no more left to give.
“What on earth happened?” Dr. Greene says, rushing in. Jimin is close behind her.
“He gave me pills…” you gasp as your body tries to vomit again. The muscle contractions leave you feeling boneless. “They made me throw up.”
“You’ve got no known allergies on file…” Dr. Greene says, consulting a chart by your bed. “Jimin, what did you give her?”
Jimin produces a bottle clearly labelled DOXEPINE. “Just to help her sleep, she was asking for something earlier.”
Your heart drops. “That’s not-” you’re interrupted by another gagging fit. You want to scream at your body that there’s nothing left, but you can barely speak. “Not the same-” fuck.
“She must have a sensitivity to the Doxepine,” Dr. Greene says thoughtfully. “Jimin, make sure she stays hydrated. If she keeps throwing up we’ll need to keep her longer for observation.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Ngh… no…” Dr. Greene leaves before you can tell her that that wasn’t the same pill bottle.
“Here, drink this,” Jimin says, offering you a bottle of water.
“What did you give to me?” You ask, panting. As soon as the water touches your tongue you reach for the bucket, your body rejecting it immediately.
Jimin blinks innocently. “Sleeping pills.”
“Fuck off, that wasn’t the… same bottle.”
“Y/n, you’re sick and grieving, it’s understandable that your eyes are playing tricks on you-”
“No. You… poisoned me!” You summon what strength you have left and swipe at the nurse, who’s now leaning over you. Your fingers catch the silver chain around his neck, and the motion knocks the locket open.
Fluttering out of the locket and onto your bandaged chest is… hair?
No, not hair. Your hair. The color, and texture… it’s exactly the same.
You’re missing a chunk of hair, I’m guessing from the accident, the nurse had said.
Not from the accident. Almost in slow motion, your eyes travel up to meet Jimin’s.
“Y/n, you’re acting erratic.” As if nothing happened, he plucks your hair from the bed, tucks it back into the locket, and straightens his Santa hat. “I’ll have to tell the doctor to consider sedatives. Merry Christmas, Y/n.”
“No-” Your stomach contracts once more and by the time you look up, gasping for breath, he’s gone.
You spend another sleepless night in the hospital, growing more paranoid by the minute. You refuse to eat or drink anything you’re given – you’re still nauseous, and what if it’s full of sedatives?
When dawn breaks on Christmas Day, you’ve never felt less cheer. You’re concerned about Jimin; the car is surely a coincidence, but the hair? And the pills?
“Y/n?” Dr. Greene knocks on the door. “Merry Christmas. How are you feeling?”
“I want to get out of here,” you respond immediately.
Dr. Greene smiles. “We’ll see how you do moving around today. How’s your nausea?”
“Better,” you lie. Anything to leave. You can handle nausea at home.
“Wonderful. Well, Nurse Jimin will be taking care of you today, since your other nurses are off duty. Press the button if you need anything.”
You nod, shivering. Should you tell Dr. Greene? Before you can consider it, though, she’s left the room.
Hours later, Jimin pops his head in, his Santa hat crooked. The locket is still swinging from his neck.
“Hey! Dr. Greene said if you’re doing well by the end of the day, you might be discharged for tomorrow!”
You stare at him. Can he really pretend nothing is wrong? “Great.”
“Let’s get you up and walking around.” Jimin offers you his arm. At first you don’t want to take it, but your legs are too weak on your own. He slowly leads you out of your room and down the hall before circling back. You pass another window overlooking the parking lot and there, in the same spot, is the blue car. From this window, you can see much better.
“Which car’s yours?” you ask quietly.
“That blue Prius next to the white one,” he says cheerfully, pointing.
Finally, when you squint you can read the license plate: 7HLC946.
7HL.Your body stiffens. It’s the same car. Then, that means… you swivel slowly until you’re staring at Jimin, who’s still looking out of the window. He killed your husband.
He leads you back to your room. You feel frozen, and not from the wintertime. When you go inside, you hear a soft click. Your eyes widen. He locked the door.
“How are you feeling?” he asks softly from behind you.
“F-fine. Perfect,” you reply, your voice shaking.
“You know, you really have to stop getting yourself in trouble,” he says, strolling to the bed and smoothing down your sheets. Your eyes dart to the locked door. If you made a break for it with your cast, he could still beat you to it. “Every time you’re supposed to get discharged, something happens, and then who has to save you?”
“I’ve recovered,” you say firmly. Is it an ego thing? He wants credit for doing his job?
“Before, you always had your husband to save you,” Jimin says, standing. His eyes are drilling holes into you. “Do you know why he’d always see you off at the door?”
“Wh-what are you talking about?” “It’s so I couldn’t even look at you. He was always around, but not this time. And this time it was me that saved your life.” Jimin is advancing now, still smiling serenely. Your heart pounding, you back away, your cast clunking against the floor.
“It was you,” you whisper when your back hits the window. “Your car. You hit us.”
“Almost gave me a heart attack when I saw you remembered my plate,” he says now, examining his nails. “Lucky I saw it before your mother did. How is she, by the way?”
“You… you killed my husband!” Your scream is more animal than human when it rips from your throat. You’re fully prepared to leap at Jimin and take the life he took from Taehyung when he pulls out a syringe.
“Shhh…” he says, stepping forward. “What did I say about sedation?”
Your blood runs cold. You don’t want to know what’s in the syringe, or what he’d do to you if he injected you with it.
Caught between him and the window, you freeze. You have to get away from him. You turn around and swing your heavy cast at the window.
With a painful CRASH,the glass shatters. Shards fly everywhere, several of them catching and slicing your skin. You hear commotion outside and below as you shoot for the window and try to grab onto the windowsill. You nearly sob when the glass in your grip breaks off the windowsill. Almost… just like your dream of the cliff, though, you’re dragged back from the escape. Jimin locks one arm around your neck and pulls you away from the window.
You feel a sharp prick in your arm and, seconds later, your muscles seem to melt. If Jimin weren’t supporting your weight you would have fallen. Shit. What did he do to you?
“It’s for your own good, my love,” he says, carrying you to the bed and tucking the blankets in around you. Your tongue feels too heavy for your mouth; you can’t speak, and you can barely move your arms.
There’s a loud banging on the door. “Y/n! Are you alright?”
“One second,”Jimin says to you before striding to the door and opening it.
“Jimin! What happened?” The voice belongs to a doctor you don’t recognize.
“Hey, Dr. Kim. Y/n started being combative and went for the window. Luckily, I got her calmed down and back into bed.”
Help. Your vocal chords won’t respond to you. “Hhe…”
“Goodness. We should get her moved out while the window is being repaired.” “I agree, but she did just fall asleep and she hasn’t slept in a while. I suggest giving her an hour.”
“Alright, well, please keep an eye on her.”
“Sure thing, Doctor.” Jimin shuts the door and locks eyes with you.
“I’ve waited for you for a while, you know,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. His position pins down your left arm, but your right is still free. If only you could move it. “You never got sick, or hurt. I checked. You never even came to visit.” Jimin continues smiling, but his eyes are cold. “That wasn’t very nice. It’s your fault that I had to make you come visit.”
“Stuh… you,” you gasp, forcing your head to clear. “Psy…” Let me go, you want to scream. You’re straining with the effort just to lift your head.
“I know, I know, why didn’t I just talk to you at your house? Well, your guardian was always there. But here, I’m in control. And I’m the one that can save you.”
You can sense feeling returning to your arms. If he keeps talking, it might give you more time to recover from your paralysis. Luckily, Jimin seems so relieved that he can finally tell you everything that he doesn’t seem close to shutting up.
“Do you know how many times your mother has thanked me for saving your life? How Dr. Greene said I was her favorite nurse?” Jimin caresses your cheek, becoming more animated as he speaks. “Even you, Y/n, you called me your angel.”
You try to bite him when his hand gets close, but your jaw muscles are slack. C’mon…
“And you’re right, I am your angel. I’m your guardian angel, and I’ll always keep you safe.” You can almost lift your hand. At his words, he leans in to kiss your forehead and with enormous effort, you use the same moment to lift and swipe your bloody hand, still gripping the jagged glass from the window, at him. The glass catches Jimin right in the neck and he gasps and sputters, pressing a hand to his throat as bright red blood gushes from the wound, spattering you and staining the bed. Meanwhile, you collapse, your strength entirely spent.
Jimin staggers upright, hand outstretched towards you. When he tries to speak, his voice is a mere gurgle.
“Y/n- you… no…” with that, he falls to the floor. You see him try and fail to rise again before Jimin sighs and is still at last.
How did you wind up here?
As you slump back into your bed, with him lying on the floor next to you, a hazy thought informs you that it must look like a scene straight out of Romeo and Juliet.
Although,you think ruefully, glancing down at the sharp shard of glass clenched in your fits, I don’t think Juliet would have done this.
