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chimcess · 2 months

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Waterlog || pjm (2)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 11.5k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: PINING, sexual tension, sad backstory, parental issues, more than likely bad swimming terminology, probably some bad work out advice, i'm trying my best lol, tae is too much but i love him, talks of past drug use (not reader or jimin), strong language, mental health things, medication use, allusions to depression, did i say pining?, reader is horny and awkward 99% of the time, can we blame her?, mood swings, i think they are so cute together, i promise more romance is coming soon A/N: Howdy. I know we're having a pretty slow start, but I think it'll be worth it in the end. I enjoy a good slow burn, especially when there's so much awkward sexual tension involved. Thanks for reading!!!

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Waking up the next morning, I was greeted by a loud knocking on my door. Stumbling, I told whoever it was that I was on my way. The knocking stopped but was quickly followed by Violet’s loud voice. My things were here, and I needed to let the movers inside.

“Christian and Kook are here already,” She added. “Managed to get an extra pair of hands, too.”

I changed into a pair of jeans and threw on a pull over. It was not supposed to be as cold today, but I did not think a short-sleeved shirt would be enough to keep me warm. Sliding into my boots, I opened the front door.

Violet was there, her hair in a braid again, wearing a blue plaid shirt and bootcut jeans. Beside her was Jimin, a large smile already on his face. Two other men were here. I was certain I had seen one of them before. He was very handsome with a heart shaped face and soft chin, large, asymmetrical brown eyes, and downturned lips. His hair was very obviously dyed, the blue so bright when the sun hit it my eyes hurt.

The other man was less familiar. His hair was black, styled into a trendy wolf cut, with his bangs pulled out of his face into a ponytail. He had a pure, youthful, and elegant look about him, and a few piercings. There was one on his eyebrow, one on his bottom lip, and so many on each ear I could not count them all. If I could describe him in a single word, it would be cartoonish. His eyes took up most of his face, large and doe-like, with all of his other features soft and small. Like the blue haired man, he was very handsome.

This upset me more than it should have, because despite how wonderful they both looked, all I could think about was how much I preferred Jimin. It was incomparable, actually. While they were certainly my type, I could only see how not Jimin-like their features were.

“Good morning,” I greeted them awkwardly, my voice scratchy. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you both.”

“It’s such an honor to meet you,” The blue haired man’s enthusiasm caught me off guard. Despite me never making the move to shake either one of their hands, he reached for mine anyway. He reminded me of a labrador retriever, and I could imagine a tail wagging in time with his vigorous handshake. “I’m Taehyung Kim. I used to watch you, like, all the time back in the day.”

I knew that name. Studying his face a little more, it hit me. Taehyung Kim, a.k.a., The Seal of Michigan, a.k.a, V. I never understood why he had been given that last one, but it must have some sort of meaning to him because the guy lights up when anyone uses it. He was a famous snowboarder and had been to the 2020 winter Olympics. He was just a few months younger than Jimin.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” I gripped his hand back a bit more now. “I watched you at the last Olympics. You did great.”

He blushed and let go of my hand, “I didn’t win anything, but I had a lot of fun.”

That was true. The kid was brand new on the scene and let some of his nerves get to him. I had learned the hard way that hesitation could ruin a great performance, but I was sure he would do better in January. The Winter Olympics were always a few months ahead of summer, and I would surely be watching Taehyung this year. If I was going to spend time with Jimin then I would need to get along with his friends.

“It’s not always about winning,” I tried to comfort him. “I didn’t win every time either.”

That placated him. Jimin quickly introduced me to Jungkook after. He was an NHL player for the Red Wings. I admitted that I had no idea who he was and never really watched hockey before, but that only made Jungkook swear to make me an avid fan before I left Michigan. For some reason, I believed him.

It did not take long for the movers to get all of my furniture and boxes into the house. With the boys’ help, I was tipping the two men much earlier than I anticipated. All three of them insisted on helping me unpack despite me telling them I could do it on my own. The place was entirely too small for the four of us, but we managed to make it work.

I had told them my bedroom was off limits. I unpacked my clothes and put my underwear away. My room was the largest in the house. With enough space for my full-sized bed, nightstands, and dresser, I was pleased. The only downside was not having a closet, but I did not bring anything nice enough for it to really matter. It was inconvenient but not the end of the world.

I was, however, happy to see more color. My blanket was dark orange, pillowcases covered in baby pink cow print, and the otter plushie Namjoon’s mom made me was resting right in between them. I installed some simple shelving above my bed, warmly lit Christmas lights wrapped around the bars, where I displayed my books and a few of my plants. The rest were lined up on the windowsill beside the bed.

Brightly colored art now hung on the walls, a large mirror above my dresser, and a peg board for my earrings made the space feel lived in. Whatever books could not fit on my shelves got stacked and put on the nightstand. I still wanted to buy a rug and curtains, but that was on the bottom of my list of priorities.

The boys were all talking and laughing as they worked which helped me relax. I hated being trapped in quiet spaces. Finished with my room, I went to check in with them and move things around. I doubted any of them would get the knick-knacks just right.

“Don’t worry about the decorations,” I said, announcing my presence. Taehyung was staring at two of my paintings with mild panic. “I’ll take that.”

Snatching the photos, I smiled at him. The living room was coming together nicely. Jungkook pushed the dark green loveseat against the wall and all of my throws were on top of it. My largest potted plant was beside it and I decided then I would keep it there. Moving the throw pillows to the floor, I started to put my wall art up. Hoseok complained that I was going to become a hoarder if I bought any more shit. Andrea, however, said that I had great taste, so I listened to her instead.

“You’re a big face of Earthy colors,” Jungkook said, looking around the house. “Lots of plants, too.”

I shrugged, “My fiancé had a lot of succulents and stuff, so I guess it rubbed off on me after a while.”

In truth, Namjoon not only had succulents and cacti, but an entire apartment filled with plants. He had a small garden in the back, vegetables and herbs growing in despite the weather in Colorado making it difficult. The man had a green thumb and loved taking care of things. I had been in charge of them once we moved in together and learned to love it. Even after he died, I couldn’t imagine not having at least five plants in the house.

I noticed the room had gone eerily quiet. I realized then what I had said. It was the first time I had spoken about Namjoon with any of them. Knowing I had made the atmosphere awkward, I tried to break up the tension.

“What colors do you like, Jungkook?”

I could physically feel the mood lighten.

“Black,” His reply was quick. I groaned. He laughed. “What? I like the clean look.”

“It’s not clean,” I argued. “It’s depressing.”

Taehyung took my side, “My house isn’t as decorated as yours, but I have more going on than either one of them. I’m a huge fan of video games and photography so I have a lot of stuff hanging up.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Jimin chimed in from the bathroom. He placed himself in charge of getting that room squared away. “His place isn’t as nice as yours. It’s all cluttered and disorganized."

“Nu uh,” Taehyung argued childishly.

“Dude, you have stuff everywhere,” Jungkook shot back, handing me another picture frame.

“They’re lying,” Taehyung told me.

“You’re so full of shit, Tae,” Jungkook sighed.

“Literally the dumbest thing to lie about,” Jimin snarkily threw in from the bathroom.

“Bullies,” Taehyung was addressing me again and this time I could not help my chuckles. “They always gang up on me.”

As the boys continued to bicker, I worked. I finished hanging up the art above the sofa and got to organizing the throws. Taehyung had already pulled out my rug, and I started figuring out how I wanted to place all of the floor pillows. Namjoon never used the couch, no one in his family did, and I had become so conscious of their comfort that I always had a large array of pillows on the floor for them to use. After a few years, I had joined them, and I kept up the trend once I moved to the Springs. The sofa was little more than decoration.

“Damn, these are nice.”

Looking over my shoulder, I was surprised to see Jungkook holding up one of my medals. I was positive I had not packed it and the box he was hunched over was completely unfamiliar as well. Embarrassment and anger swelled up in my chest. I had placed Minho and Tilly in charge of coordinating with the movers so I could focus on work and training Hoseok before I left. If I had to guess, Tilly had thought it wise to ship over a large package of my most prized possessions for some God forsaken reason.

“I don’t know why those are here,” I hoped my voice sounded playful and carefree. I did not want another tense moment. “One of my friends must have packed them.”

“Holy shit,” Taehyung was now holding the medal. “These are heavy. You have so many.”

Walking over to the box, I took out the rest of the medals. Tilly had only packed four of the eight Olympic medals I owned, probably running out of room. Framed photos of me swimming, with the rest of my team, and my coach were also in the box. My swimsuit from the last Olympics I competed at was folded at the very bottom of the box, my goggles and cap wrapped up in the fabric, and underneath it was something I had not been expecting. A framed photograph.

I remembered that night as if it were yesterday. I was eighteen coming off the back of two major wins and making my mark in the athletic community. I had just moved to Denver; Victor had gotten divorced the year prior and his ex-wife moved to Colorful Colorado taking his daughter with her. My coach demanded he was close enough to see her every weekend. It really did not matter to me where I lived, so it was one of the easier decisions I had to make.

I knew Hoseok lived in the area, and we had always been friendly at the meets we had in common. I ended up getting his number from Ozzie and after getting coffee I knew we would be friends for life. The picture was taken at his New Year’s Eve Party. I needed to get laid, he had said, and he knew a few guys he thought I might hit it off with. That was where I met Namjoon.

He was a college student, fresh faced and stumbling over his words. I was charmed by him almost instantly, even if Hoseok was positive the two of us were too different to last. I could recall the smell of fireworks in the air, the way his voice cracked whenever another one would go off, and how excited his eyes looked whenever I asked him about his major. Namjoon spoke for hours about Philosophy, all of his favorite poets, and the way he believed the universe worked. He was so clumsy it was practically a disability, and the loud sounds were so nerve wracking, he flinched whenever the fireworks boomed.

Picking up the small picture, I smiled. It was taken right after midnight. Hoseok’s sister said we looked so sweet that she could not help herself. I had all but ripped Namjoon’s hair out when the countdown began, kissing him before midnight ever came. His hands rested gently on my hips, and he huffed like he had run a marathon when we finally pulled apart. His breath was hot when he went back in for more, panting into my mouth as I clung to him like an addict. It was a beautiful moment. It was a moment I would never forget.

Suddenly, I was no longer mad at Matilda. I was sure it had been her who did this. Minho would not go through so much trouble if he thought it would upset me. Either way, I was happy to have the picture. While I was no longer in love with Namjoon, my heart slowly healing itself and making space for someone new, I would never forget our time together. It was too perfect, too magical; too loving to forget.

“Is that him?” Taehyung asked. The way he said it told me that he knew what had happened. I doubted there was a person in our world who didn't know. “The guy who died?”

I nodded, “His name was Namjoon.”

“Damn, that’s rough,” Jungkook’s voice was very gentle, and I could hear the compassion in it. “Sorry to hear that. Hope you’re doing okay.”

I smiled at him and nodded, “It was a few years ago.”

Taehyung was the one who broke the moment this time and I was grateful for the reprieve.

“These aren’t all of them, right?” He pointed at the medals still in the box. "Olympic medals, I mean."

I shook my head, “No but I guess she just grabbed the ones I had at my house. The other four I keep at my school. They’re in a case in my office.”

The ones Tilly had packed away were from 2012. Andrea had been the one to convince me to bring my other medals to school. Before that I had them all stored in a box in the deepest corner of my basement. I hated looking at them. Hated everything that they represented. The only reason these had been hanging up was because I could not be bothered taking them down.

“Where should we put them?” Jungkook asked.

I shrugged, “No idea. Just keep them in the box for now.”

Truthfully, I had no intention of putting them anywhere. While happy to have the photo of Namjoon and I, my feelings on dragging these things around had not changed. I would be very upset if I lost or damaged any of this stuff. Putting everything away, save the picture, I closed the box back up and placed the photo on my coffee table. I would find a better place for it later.

Like all of the times I had been around him, Jimin bled into the background. I listened for his voice, waited for him to add something to the conversation, but he kept to himself. Even when he left the bathroom and joined the three of us, he only answered in one-word sentences and made sound effects to show he was listening. Taehyung and Jungkook seemed used to it, so I had to believe this was just how Jimin normally was.

“You should come and grab some drinks with us,” Jungkook smiled at me.

The boys were going out for a late lunch since we finished a little later than we had thought we would. I was appreciative that they had invited me out but declined the offer. All of them were disappointed.

“Why not?” Taehyung wiggled a large set of keys at me. I could not imagine what all of them could be for and the sound they made when they moved bothered me. “You worried the food’s going to suck or something?”

I shook my head, laughing, “No, it’s nothing like that. I just don’t feel comfortable going to a bar.”

Jimin smiled at me, a small, tight-lipped smile, and I almost laughed at myself when I realized I was holding my breath. I was being ridiculous. I would call Hoseok tonight to get my head screwed back on.

“It’s not a bar,” It was heavenly to hear his voice again. “Taehyung and I don’t drink. Jungkook just likes to sit at the bar so he can watch the games.”

“Oh,” I replied dumbly. “I guess I can come along then.”

Jimin offered to give me a ride while Jungkook and Taehyung rode in the hockey player's beat up Jeep. He was just as quiet on the ride to the restaurant as he was back at the house, and while I wanted to break him out of whatever shell he had put around himself, I had no idea how. We were supposed to work together and barely spoke. Ozzie was not going to be happy about this.

“What time are we getting your car?”

I jumped, not prepared for the question. His eyes were still on the road, and it looked like he was forcing himself to not look my way. It hurt my feelings, but I knew I would have to get over it. Whatever his problem was, it had nothing to do with me and I would not let it get in between our working relationship.

“Whenever you want to go,” I replied, going back to looking out of the window.

“We’ll pick it up after we eat. My mom invited you over for dinner. by the way. If you're up for it.”

This had been the most he had said all day, but his voice was off. It was embarrassing how quickly I had become attuned to his little mannerisms, but I was so sure that something was wrong with him it was eerie. His tone was flat and disinterested, and I knew I had done nothing to upset him. Something was obviously bothering him, and I would have to silently support him in my own way. I was not comfortable being more upfront and something told me that Jimin would not like my overstepping.

“I might,” I purposely kept my tone light, hoping he did not realize I could see the darkness in his eyes. Looking at him, I asked, “What is she making?”

“Beef and radish stew,” The mundane topic seemed to ease his frown. “She got a yellow corvina from the Asian market yesterday so she’s going to roast it. Do you like fish?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “It sounds nice. I’ll go.”

A ghost of a smile graced his pretty face and I felt like I had won the lottery. Carefully composed, I looked back out of the window, hiding my little smile behind my hand. He was quiet again, the only sounds in the car being our breathing, but it felt lighter. Finally, I let myself admire the scenery.

Taehyung and Jungkook were already at the bar when we arrived and as soon as we sat down, the snowboarder was quick to hog all of my attention. While Jungkook watched a baseball game on the big screens, Taehyung talked animatedly about his family. Jimin was quietly sipping on a Coke in the seat next to me. It was strange to see how easily his friends ignored him. Like they knew he did not feel like talking.

“My sisters are both in college,” Taehyung continued to ramble. “Twins. It was a nightmare being the baby brother.”

I nodded along and tried my best to keep up with him. I kept getting distracted by Jimin. He barely moved and seemed to be mindlessly watching the tv. He looked so sad it broke my heart. Still, no one else said anything so I kept my thoughts to myself.

“Oh!” Taehyung gasped, noticing a few people who walked in. “I’m going to go say ‘hi.’ It was so great meeting you.”

With a bright smile, Taehyung told the boys about the group and Jungkook decided to join him. Jimin did not even acknowledge he had said anything. Leaving us alone, the restaurant was loud and filled with their chattering.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, trying to make conversation. Picking up the menu the bartender had left with Taehyung when we first arrived, I gave it a quick once over. “We can split an appetizer.”

Jimin looked tired and sad, but I did not know what to say or do for him. We were not lovers, not even friends. We were a pair of strangers who were expected to work together. This seemed much easier over the phone. I took a nervous sip of my drink.

“What are you thinking?” Just the sound of him talking eased my anxiety.

“Uh,” I had barely looked at their menu and pointed to a random item. “Fried pickles?”

Jimin smiled lazily and looked at me, his eyes amused.

“You don’t sound very sure of yourself.”

I shrugged, embarrassed. “I just said the first thing I saw.”

Putting his cup down, Jimin grabbed the menu from my hands and laid it flat on the bar. We leaned over the small paper, our knees touching. I could smell his cologne now and my mouth watered. He smelled so good I struggled to focus.

“Most of the shit here is awful,” His voice had more life in it now and I was glad to see the corners of his mouth pulled up. “Only things worth getting are the chips and salsa, fried cheese, and pasties. The pizza is fine, too, but not worth the money.”

Talking distracted him from whatever had been on his mind, and it made Jungkook and Taehyung’s behavior odd. They were obviously very close, but if I could see how much happier he looked when he was shooting the shit, how couldn’t they? They probably knew something I didn’t, but it did nothing but rub me the wrong way. My friends would annoy me until I had no choice but to talk back.

“Chips are usually pretty safe,” We both agreed on it. “Do you just want chips? I don’t mind getting you a burger or something.”

He shook his head, “Like I said, most of the shit here is awful. Don’t waste your money.”

I ordered the chips for us, and the bartender was happy to help us out. This place was pathetically empty save us and the group Jungkook and Taehyung ditched us for. They were very loud and rowdy, something Jimin said was completely normal. Apparently, they all knew one another but he hadn’t felt like spending time with any of them.

“Are you feeling alright?” I asked, heart pounding. My anxiety over the question was ridiculous, but I felt like this was a good moment to ask. We were both comfortable and the tightness around his eyes was finally eased.

“Just one of those days,” He replied, voice soft.

I sighed, “I get them, too. They’re the fucking worst.”

He chuckled darkly, “It’s like you wake up and that’s already taken all of the energy you had for the day.”

“Why’d you come to the house?” I asked, flagging the bartender for a refill. “I wouldn’t have been upset if you bailed.”

Jimin flushed, “I said I was coming so I came.”

No, I thought, you thought I was going to be mad if you hadn’t shown up. Hamilton had this poor kid so fucked up and scared it pissed me off. As long as I knew Matt, he had always been an ass, but to think he had his trainee putting shit before his mental health and wellbeing made whatever sliver of respect I had for him vanish.

I took a long sip of my drink, “We can’t work together if you don’t talk to me. That will piss me off way more than you canceling on me.”

“Okay,” He let out a very large breath. “I’ll let you know next time.”

As we ate our chips, we moved into safer waters. Jimin was still less talkative in person, but nowhere near as tense as he had been all morning. I found that music was one of his favorite things, and I discussed my own interests in more depth and detail than I ever had before. Jimin’s taste was varied but stuck mostly in 90s R&B and soft Indie artists I had never heard of. At some point I ordered spicy wings and had to admit Jimin was right- they really were awful.

We left the other two behind to go and pick up my car. Jungkook and Taehyung seemed more than happy to watch us leave and the large table barely acknowledged my presence. Jimin accepted their happy shouts when he approached, hugging the ones who stood up to greet him, and forced one of his small, pitiful smiles at a particular brunette who kept batting her eyelashes at him. He introduced me but none of them seemed to really care. Especially the brunette.

“Let me get your number,” Taehyung said to me, holding out a hand for my phone. “We need to hang out again.”

I was nervous about giving him a way to contact me. He reminded me of Tilly, though ten times more energetic, and she always found a way to get on my nerves (the box being one of many examples). Taehyung had yet to overstep the imaginary boundaries I had, but his complete lack of personal space etiquette was astounding. He touched me more in one day than any of my friends in an entire year. He seemed like the type of person to text every day and send a million pictures of himself doing random shit. Even with that in mind, I handed my phone over. He was too nice to say no to.

“Do you like sushi?” Taehyung asked, handing me my phone. “There’s a great place in Detroit we can go to.”

The idea of being trapped in a car with the snowboarder for 45 minutes was not appealing. I could only imagine how much he could talk when he was really excited about something. I would entertain the idea if Jungkook or Jimin came as a buffer, especially if one of them could sit up front. Taehyung yapping away in my ear would give me the biggest migraine I had ever had, and my anxiety over not being entirely focused on the road would make me snippy and rude.

“Only if I can come,” Jungkook piped up. “You’re not going to Bash without me, dude.”

“Well yeah,” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Y/N has to meet Milo and Darcy,” He looked at me, grinning happily. “I think you would really get along.”

I had no idea who either of those people were, but I did not want to ask any questions. Jimin was inching back towards me and telling the others goodbye, and I did not want to hold him up. Taehyung started making plans that I did not pay any attention to. He could always text me when he figured out what he wanted.

“We have to get going,” Jimin was back beside me. “Y/N’s car is sitting at the dealership. It was good seeing everyone.”

I waved at the table and started walking away before Taehyung could touch me. He was definitely a hugger. Jimin was quick to catch up with me, giggling about my “escape.” It had started to snow again, gentle flurries twisting and turning in the wind, and I had forgotten my heavy jacket at home. The long sleeve I was wearing would do nothing to keep me warm.

“Here,” Jimin taking off his jacket. “You need this more than me.”

Draping it over my shoulders, Jimin told me to zip it up. Stunned, I moved on autopilot and shoved my arms through the sleeves. Everything smelled like him, oranges and spice, and his warmth was still clinging to the thick fleece. I could not remember the last time someone had given me their jacket. Dazed, I followed Jimin out to the parking lot, eyes locked on his back. He was in nothing but a thin, black and white striped shirt.

“Thanks,” I said once we were both in the truck, already shrugging out of the light beige jacket. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He held up a hand, “Keep it. The heater is out.”

I shook my head, “What about you?”

He reached into the back and held up a purple hoodie.

“I’ll be alright.”

I put the jacket back on and buckled in. Jimin slipped into the sweatshirt and started the truck. After buckling up, he backed out of the parking lot. I caught sight of the brunette as we left. She was red faced, shouting into her phone. I looked away. Whoever she was angry with was definitely getting an earful.

“Wonder what Tom did this time,” Jimin mumbled.

“Hm?”

“Tom’s Annie’s boyfriend,” He supplied. “They’re always arguing. Worse than Jungkook and Darcy, they break up every other week, but Tom and Annie are at each other's throats every other day.”

I grimaced, “Sounds like my friends. They finally called it quits last year, but they were insufferable.”

Jimin chuckled, “So, what’s Colorado like?”

I talked to him about Andrea and Seokjin first, how we met and how much I loved their daughter. Hoseok and I’s friendship got quite a few laughs out of him, but those quickly died off when I brought up Namjoon. I told him about the day we met and the coffee date that happened a few days later, and that seemed to brighten up the mood again. Namjoon stories were bittersweet but took up such a large chunk of my life it was impossible to gloss over.

“When’s the toxic couple coming up?” He joked.

“I’m getting there,” I replied.

Hoseok and Matilda had known one another longer than the rest of us. Growing up together, no one was surprised when they finally hooked up in high school. It was, however, short lived bliss. Matilda got caught up in the wrong crowd and began doing drugs. Hoseok had tried to help her get through it, but they could never see eye-to-eye. That started their toxic cycle of getting back together, Tilly going to rehab, her relapsing, and them falling out again. It was not until she went two years ago that it managed to stick, but their relationship was too tumultuous to make it very far. They decided to stay friends and she became a constant member in our group.

“That’s crazy,” Jimin shook his head. “Happy she’s doing better now.”

“Me too.”

The rest of the drive was spent talking about Colorado and how beautiful it was. He stayed away from swimming, mostly wanting to hear about the school I worked at and the places I went to in my free time. He kept me talking for the entire 45-minute car ride, question after question keeping me on my toes. He did not like talking about himself, whenever I tried to switch the conversation to his own interests he barely responded before going back to his interrogation. Before I knew it, we were pulled into the dealership and getting down.

“You can leave,” I told him.

“I want to make sure you’re good before I go,” He replied.

The cashier was lovely, her voice bubbly and sweet as she helped me out. Jimin lingered longer than he needed to, helping me fill out my paperwork and making small talk with the dealer. I took my keys and went for a quick test drive before I was finally able to convince Jimin to leave.

The drive back was quiet. I was used to the silence when I drove, but Jimin’s voice had been soothing. Frankly, I was a bit bored without him around. I decided to call Matila and ask about my medals. She apologized but I doubted how sincere she actually was. After catching up with her, hearing all about the guy she went on a date with, and a five-minute rant about Hoseok spending way too much money on Minho’s birthday present, I hung up before she could give me a migraine. As much as I liked Tilly, she was someone I had very little patience for and her voice, high pitched and loud, was like nails on a chalkboard.

I got back in town a little after 3. Violet and Calvin were both home and watching some black and white Western. Calvin offered to make me lunch, but I was quick to decline. I just wanted some space.

As soon as I got in my apartment, I curled up in bed to take a nap. I was overwhelmed after talking so much and desperately needed to recharge. I set an alarm for 5 so I could make it over to the Park house in time for dinner. Quickly sending a quick text to Hoseok, I turned on thunderstorm sounds and closed my eyes.

Na-Yeon and James were both excited to see me, talking about their days and asking how I was settling in. Eloise was there as well, the twins in the back room playing again. Jimin was going to be late. He had gone for a last-minute swim with Milo. When I asked them who that was, it was Eloise who answered.

“That’s Vincent’s fiancé.”

“Who?” I was even more confused.

“Taehyung,” Na-Yeon answered. “You know he hates that name as much as Jimin hates his, Lou."

Eloise blushed, her entire face turning a bright shade of red.

“Sorry,” She scratched behind her ear. Looking back at me, she sighed, “We went to school together. Old habit.”

Now V made sense. It never occurred to me that Jungkook and Taehyung could have their own American names, and neither one introduced themselves that way either. James came to take the seat beside mine, the dining table more crowded then was reasonably necessary.

“Does Jungkook have a second name?” I asked.

“Ian,” Eloise replied. “He goes by both, so I don’t think he cares as much as Tae and Jimin. I know his girlfriend uses both.”

I assumed that was Darcy. Why else would Taehyung assume she would go with us on a day trip to Detroit?

“They call him Ian on the team, too,” James chimed in. “His name is too hard.”

Namjoon never had an American name, at least, not one I had ever heard. The only person I could think of was Hoseok. A lot of his friends called him Jay, something about an old nickname from school, but that was it. Seokjin just went by Jin, Namjoon went by Joon, and Minho went by…well, Minho. None of their parents used American-Friendly names, and Seokjin’s father’s English was still poor even after living here for so long.

“Y/N,” Na-Yeon brought me back to the conversation. “What banchan do you like?”

“My eomeo-nim made these delicious, braised potatoes,” I answered, thinking back on our dinners together. “Kimchi, of course. My ex made the best braised lotus roots. They were always yummy.”

Na-Yeon seemed pleased by my answer. James and Eloise started rambling about their own favorites. Unlike Namjoon, Mr.Park was a big fan of seafood. He grew up in Busan near the Jagalchi Market, which, according to him, was the largest seafood market in South Korea. Eloise talked a little about her favorite Korean dishes before jumping into what she grew up eating. Her father was Scottish and her mother French, so one night she was eating Scottish Pie and daube niçoise the next. It was fun hearing more about Eloise. I would have never guessed she was a first generation American.

“It’s something Tony and I had in common,” She added. “He learned quite a bit of French before he died. Unfortunately, my Korean is taking much longer.”

“Mine isn’t that great either,” I admitted. “Namjoon’s family spoke English and never liked to make me feel awkward. I can follow a conversation fairly well, but only if you speak slowly.”

James laughed, “I will remember that.”

The front door opened, and I could hear loud talking. Eloise sighed. Whoever was with Jimin did not pass her inspection it would seem. She and James seemed to have a small conversation with their eyes. The men were still at the front of the house. Finally, Eloise looked away and scowled.

“Must have brought Milo and Tae over,” She muttered. “I’m going to go check on the twins.”

Eloise left the table. James told me to ignore her. She and Milo did not get along for whatever reason and she chose to ignore him. It was not my business, so I accepted that explanation.

I prepared myself for a bad interaction. So far, Eloise was such a quiet and sweet person I could not imagine anyone actively disliking her. Then again, this was Taehyung’s fiancé, and he was the nicest, most bubbly person I had ever met. It did not seem likely that he would hang around bad company. It could just be a case of personalities clashing.

“Annyeong,” Taehyung greeted us brightly, immediately finding me. “Babe, come say hi.”

A massive, pale man followed in behind him. Milo was a good-looking guy, bright blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, with a solid build. He reminded me of the male swimmers I worked with, his huge size and bulging muscles intimidating. His fashion sense was not as good as Taehyung’s. Ill-fitting black bottoms and a Rick and Morty t-shirt that made me want to roll my eyes. I was definitely biased, my loyalties already in Eloise’s corner. I did not need to know a backstory to be weary. The dude looked enough like Matthew Hamilton to make me dislike him just off principal.

“Milo, Y/N,” Taehyung introduced, gesturing between the two of us. Behind him, Jimin snuck into the kitchen and gave his mom a kiss on the cheek as a greeting. He looked nice in his gray tracksuit. “Y/N, this is my fiancé, Milo.”

I managed a disingenuous smile, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” He replied. His voice was smokey.

“Where’s Lou?” Jimin asked, coming around to greet his father.

“Checking on Harper and Cam,” James told him.

There was not enough room for all of us to sit at the table and I ended up giving up my seat to Na-Yeon. Jimin helped her set the table while I was put in charge of gathering Eloise and the kids. Walking down the hallway, I found the kids’ playroom and knocked.

“Dinner’s ready,” I announced, poking my head inside.

The room was bigger than I thought it would be. Each side was decorated in stereotypical boy and girl colors, Cameron’s bed and wall art a wide variety of blues and teals with dinosaur decals on the walls, while Harper’s was a mix up of baby pink and white. Her bed had more stuffed animals on it than I could count and all of them seem well loved. Their toys split the room in half, a large, circle rug in the middle of it all. Most of the toys were thrown on the floor and Eloise was telling them it was time for them to clean it up.

The children looked so cute in their little matching outfits. Harper’s black hair was braided down her back and the ribbon tied at the end of it matched her cream-colored overalls. Cam’s hair was on the longer side as well, falling to his shoulders with a slight wave. His bright red converse stuck out against the rather plain outfit he was wearing, and I had to assume he put up a fight behind them. Harper started to sing the Barney song as they cleaned.

“Feeling, okay?” I asked their mother. She was sitting in the chair on Harper’s side. “You ran off pretty quickly.”

She shook her head, “It’s nothing. We’ve never gotten along.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Do you want to eat here? I’ll sit with you.”

She smiled, “We can play nice, don’t worry. Thanks, though. I appreciate you asking.”

Dinner was as uneventful as Eloise said it would be. She and Milo greeted one another and then acted as if the other did not exist. I stood up to eat, Taehyung, Milo, and Jimin with me while the others sat down. Cam was excited to talk about school and Harper rambled on and on about her imaginary friend Butter Squash. They were both very sweet and it made me miss Dani. The last time I saw her was when we went skating the weekend before I left.

Taehyung was as talkative as ever. His touches also become bolder. By the time I left, he had an arm around my shoulders and his body pressed against my side. Milo was unbothered by our closeness. He and Jimin spoke the most and again the guy I knew when no one else was around seemingly vanished. This one was too put together, too closed off, and no one, and I mean no one, seemed to care. Every time he laughed half-heartedly or nodded along with whatever Milo was talking about, I felt more confused. Why was he so hot and cold all of the time?

During my drive back home, I tentatively attempted to listen to the radio. I only lasted around a minute or so before I switched it off. I needed silence. The Parks were such a lovely family, but tonight was too much. Between unpacking and Taehyung, I was drained. Hoseok had asked me to call him when I got home but I was going to wait. If it was important enough, he would call me himself.

I fell asleep as soon as my face hit the pillow, my medication making it a dreamless night.

The rest of the week was quiet. I called my friends back home to check in Thursday morning and was happy about Hoseok’s progress. The kids were really liking him, and he thought he may have a permanent job for next year if I decided to keep working with Jimin. I told him not to get his hopes up.

Jimin and I spoke through text daily. He was still going about his normal routine while I brainstormed training and scheduling. By Saturday I was ready to start testing out different ideas. We both seemed eager to get started, actually. Sunday, like I expected, was very quiet. That was his mom’s day, so I tried not to bother him. Violet and Calvin kept me company.

The Andersons were nice people. Violet was always coming to the back and inviting me to join them for breakfast, and her husband enjoyed asking me about my life. Calvin was far more personable than his wife was, but they managed to balance one another out. Sunday evening was the first time I noticed Calvin’s memory issues. He had no idea who I was. I came inside and Violet had to tell him I was their daughter Nancy’s babysitter. He was under the assumption that she was still 10. I left them alone when Violet asked me to pick her up from school. She came out back a few hours later to thank me for going along with everything, and I made sure that she had my phone number in case she needed me to help out if things got out of hand.

It was still dark outside when I left Monday morning. Jimin and I agreed to meet up at 6 am to start our day, but I wanted to get to the gym early. Time to set up and get myself in the right headspace was important to me.

The location he had sent me was more remote than I had originally anticipated. Jimin owned the little gym. It had been a swim school in the past and the place he had first learned he loved the water. He and his mom went to classes together when he was young. The place had been too expensive for the previous owners to keep up with and they were planning on selling it, but Jimin bought it off of them and converted it into a public gym/pool.

In our text exchanges he called it his retirement plan, but I was sure the place meant more to him than that. He had no interest in it until after the cancer diagnosis. If I was to over analyze it, I would say he was trying to hold onto a happy memory. This was their place before sickness and death ran through his family. I would imagine anyone would want to keep something that held so much sentimental value if they could.

Pulling into the parking lot, I was first struck by two things. One, it was open and there were people inside, and two, it was huge. Most of the building was nothing but windows giving me a great view of the muscled men inside. Bright fluorescent lights made my sensitive eyes hurt, and I could hear the faint sound of music coming from somewhere near the gym. The small group of men were together, all of them lifting and spotting each other while talking, and a sense of dread filled my belly.

I was always anxious when I went to a new place, but a new gym was a nightmare. I had bad experiences in the past. Overly friendly creeps who liked to stand around and watch me while I worked out. None of the guys inside gave off bad vibes, but I was still in my car and none of them laid their eyes on me. A woman in a gym was like a drop of blood in water. I had to hope they were not sharks.

Gathering courage, I grabbed my duffle and made my way inside. A pretty, dark-skinned, young woman was sitting at the receptionist desk, and I felt more at ease. If they left her alone then maybe they would not cause me too much trouble either. The music was louder inside, and I recognized the Ciara song. It was a great one for cardio. Fighting the urge to dance, I greeted the receptionist. She put down her magazine and gave me an award-winning grin. She had a nice, dimpled smile.

“Hi there,” She had a thick, Southern accent and I could not tell you where she might be from. I was awful at telling them apart. “Do you have your membership card?”

I laughed nervously, my grip on my bag tightening. “No. I’m here to train with Jimin Park. He said I should have something on file.”

She nodded, her smile unwavering as she looked at her computer and asked for my name.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” I replied, foot tapping along to the Lil Wayne song that came on. I had this one on my own workout playlist back in 2008. I could not help mumbling the words under my breath, “She-she-she lick me like a lollipop.”

“Found you,” The girl grabbed a few sheets of paper from a pile on her side of the desk. “Just fill these out for me and we’ll get your card printed. Your fees have been paid already so no need to worry about that.”

I nodded, half listening. This song was great. Why has it been so long since I last heard it? I went to the gym all the time. I needed to put it back on my playlist. Honestly, the entire Carter III needed to find its way back into my rotation.

“My name’s Giselle if you need anything,” The receptionist pointed to a cluster of chairs right at the front entrance. “You’re super early so Christian isn’t here yet, but I’ll give you the key to the pool room so you can do whatever you need before the boss gets in.”

I smiled at her, “Thank you, Giselle.”

“Anytime, ma’am.”

It took me a few minutes to fill the paperwork out and scan my ID, but Giselle made everything as quick as she could. One of the men working out had come by to ask for some wipes to clean off a few of the machines but left without anything more than a ‘good morning’ thrown in my direction. When we passed by the rest of them on the way to the pool house, we were completely ignored, so it was safe for me to say that they would not be a problem for me in the future. Creeps were never subtle about their creepiness.

“I have to double check with Christian, but I think I’m supposed to give you a spare key,” Giselle said, unlocking the pool. “I’m just going to be sure before I promise you anything. Don’t want to get fired.”

I could tell she was joking. Jimin did not strike me as the type of guy to fire anyone over something like that. It only made sense for me to have a spare key since we would be coming around so much, and I would feel bad about disrupting the staff whenever I needed to get inside. They did not get paid enough to deal with that on top of all of the rest of their duties.

“We keep it locked until 9,” Giselle continued, leading the way inside. “Then we close it back up at 5. Maintenance comes in every Tuesday to treat the water, so you’ll have to be out of here no later than 7. Boss man knows this already so you shouldn’t have any problems with that.”

The pool room was very bland and bare bones. The smell of chlorine hung heavily in the air while the lights around the pool walls illuminated the dark room. It was very big, and I itched to go for a quick dip. The coolness of the water would be nice against my skin. I had grown hot with nerves and gotten a little sweaty.

“We have a few other staff members that will be in around the same time the boss man comes in,” Giselle continued to give me the rundown. “I’m sure he’ll introduce you to everyone just in case you need anything. I’d say make nice with Yoongi first. He’s our in-house massage therapist.”

Pointing to a door on the far-left wall, Giselle let me know that was the pool locker room and the door right next to it was a shortcut to the back offices. Management, marketing, and facility supervisors were usually all back there and I would more than likely never see them. They were not the most social people and worked from home a lot. I could tell by Giselle’s voice that she did not particularly care for management.

“Drew should be here by now,” She checked her smart watch. “She’s the general manager. I’m going to go and grab her and see about that key. She might come back to say ‘hi’ but don’t hold your breath.”

I chuckled, “That bad?”

Giselle rolled her eyes, “Drew’s fine, but Dominic is usually following her around everywhere and he’s annoying. You’ll get what I mean if you ever see them together.”

I laughed, “I’ve had my fair share of weirdos. Thanks again. I appreciate you showing me around.”

She beamed, “It wasn’t a problem. You gave me a reason to get up from the desk, so I’d say it’s a win.”

We spoke for a few more minutes until a very large, bulky man popped his head in looking for her. His black t-shirt clung to him tightly and his shorts were a hideous neon pink color. He did have a nice smile, one that took up most of his face and teeth so white they looked fake. Giselle introduced me very quickly, and the man, Sam, turned out to be one of the personal trainers on staff.

“You’re the Olympian, right?” Sam asked. Jimin must really like people who talked a lot, because I had never met more outgoing people in my life before moving here. Everyone he surrounded himself with was just full of energy, and I wondered if it was purposeful. Jimin himself was a rather quiet and sad person. “Jimin talks about you all the time.”

I laughed awkwardly, face heating, “That’s me.”

“Sick,” Suddenly an image of Sam surfing in California flashed through my mind. He just seemed like the type. “Well, I have to go and help out a client, but it was nice meeting you. Gigi, can you go back up front before Drew pitches a fit?”

Giselle sighed heavily, “Tell her I’m coming,” Looking at me she asked if I was okay on my own. “Come and get me if you need anything, okay?”

After assuring her that I was fine, Giselle left behind Sam. The two of them bickered like an old married couple, and I wondered about their relationship. He did call her a little nickname. I shook my head. Regardless, I had other things I needed to take care of before I could get lost in thought about two strangers.

Unpacking my duffle, I threw on my whistle and stopwatch before getting to work on my schedule. I had brought a lot of my personal swimming gear with me like training bands, coach communicator, and forearm fulcrum. Back in the day, I was the brand ambassador for Finis, so I had a lot of their products. The tracksuit I was wearing was from Speedo, and I had so much of their stuff for the same reason. Being a famous swimmer had its perks.

I had planned on doing a lot of drill and some short-burst efforts with Jimin. He had been without a PT for a few weeks now, and while I trusted him to stay in shape, it was no secret someone would be performing less on their own than with guidance. I did not want to over work him when he was, for all intents and purposes, been on a vacation. So, while I wanted to rush head-first into training, I would try to ease into things a bit before going full asshole on the kid. Like Victor would say, “Three times a week for three weeks.” After that, he was going to be at my mercy.

It was just past 6 when Jimin walked into the pool room. I was flipping through my training plan for the day and humming along to the music blasting through the speakers, echoing off the walls. Whoever was in charge of the playlist had a thing for the early 2000s.

“Morning,” His soft voice brought a smile to my face. He sounded tired. “What do you think about the place?”

Stealing a look at him, I had to hold back the gasp that I wanted to let out. He was wearing a black tank top and shorts giving me a great look at his skin. Embarrassed by my reaction, I internally scolded myself. I needed to get over this crush already. I was about to see a lot more of his body once he went to the back to change. I bit my lip. I had no idea how I was going to deal with him in a speedo.

“It’s very nice,” I was happy with how nonchalant I sounded. “Wasn’t expecting it to be so big.”

I wonder what else is big… I nibbled on the inside of my cheek. I really needed to get my mind out of the gutter. Scratch that- I should have dealt with this problem the second I realized it was there. I was going to force myself to call Hoseok today. He would know what to do, and if not, at least I could vent a little.

“Sleep okay?”

I jumped out of my ever-degrading thoughts.

“Yeah,” I sniffed. “Had fun with your mom? I wanted to give you two some space, so I stayed to myself.”

He smiled and I melted. Yeah, this needed to stop. I was too grown to be acting like this around a man.

“I appreciate it. We missed you at dinner, though. My dad kept complaining that things were quiet now.”

I chuckled, “Eloise and the kids not loud enough?”

He shook his head, “She didn’t come over.”

He tossed his sports bag next to mine and pulled out his swim gear. I caught a flash of his speedo and quickly looked away. The visuals going through my mind were distracting enough.

“Do you want to go over everything before I get changed?” Asked Jimin.

I shook my head, “No, go ahead. It’s going to be a chill day.”

“You got it, coach.”

I did not breathe until I heard the locker room door slam shut. Tossing my clipboard onto my bag, I roughly rubbed my face. I needed to pull myself together.

My attraction was easy to ignore and forget about when he was not in my face, but the second I got my eyes on him it was all I could focus on. I was awkward and fumbling all over the place whenever he was around. I focused on him far too much, far more than I should be due to our relationship, and it was driving me insane. I needed to take a breather, but I did not have enough time and I did not want to make him worried. Jimin seemed like the type of person who would become consumed by anxiety if he thought I was upset with him in any way. No, I would have to suck it up and get through this training session like an adult.

The locker room door opened. Jimin’s bare feet were loud against the gray, stone floor. I refused to look at him. I wasn’t ready yet. Bending over, I grabbed the clipboard and cleared my throat. I was hoping to get him in the water first, and then I could safely conduct myself in a professional way. The less skin I had to see at a time the better. I pointed at the pool.

“Like I said, it’s going to be an easy day,” He was walking away from me, and I felt the tightness in my chest lighten. “You’ve been without a trainer for a bit, and I’m not sure how intense your workouts have been since. Your warmup is just 10 minutes of easy swimming, and then we’ll go over our main set.”

I heard him get into the water with a splash and relaxed. I could handle him in the water. No one looked good with those stupid goggles on. I walked to the edge of the pool, clipboard in my hand, and stole a quick look.

As suspected, he did not look as potent like this. His hair was hidden beneath a red and white cap, and blue goggles obstructed most of his face. It was impossible to make out most of his body as he glided through the water, but I got a great look at his arms. He was more muscular than I gave him credit for. He was smaller and more lean than other swimmers, but I could see why he was able to dominate.

He was very fast, but I could already tell he was pushing harder than I wanted him to. Blowing my whistle, I let him know I only wanted him swimming at 80% effort. Jimin pulled a face and lifted his goggles up. Now that he was stagnant, I got a clear look at his chest and swallowed thickly. He needed to start moving or else I might have a heart attack.

“Why?” He was incredulous.

“Like I said, I don’t want you to overwork yourself. You’ve been on a vacation for four weeks now and we need to work our way back up to more intensive sets. It’ll only be for a couple of weeks.”

He pushed back again, “I’ve been coming here every day for hours. I think I’m fine.”

I shook my head, “I’m not trying to be a dick, and I’m not calling you a liar, but I am skeptical of the quality of the training.”

“But-”

“I haven’t been here to see your routine,” I cut him off before whatever smart ass comment he was planning to say could even come out. Jimin’s annoyance was plain as day, and I was not about to put up with a tantrum. “I’m known for being a hard ass, and I’m going to push you harder than you’ve ever been pushed before. You can ask Coach Bunch about me if you want. I will make sure you’re in the best shape of your life this year, but not at the expense of getting you injured.”

He took a deep breath before responding, “With all due respect, I’ve been putting in a lot of work by myself. I don’t think I need kid gloves.”

I smirked, cocking my head to the side. “Is that what you think this is?”

“Isn’t it?” He shrugged, pouting.

He was cute when he was mad.

“Humor me,” I replied. “We do things my way for the week and if I think you’re good to go by Friday then we’ll get back to normal training. How does that sound?”

Jimin thought for a moment before smiling at me.

“I can live with that.”

I chuckled, “Good to know. Now, put your goggles back on and finish your warmup. We’re wasting time arguing.”

As I suspected, once we started our drills, he did not perform up to the standards I had for him. Even at 75% what he was capable of, I could already see the areas he needed to work on. His butterflies were beautiful, but I could pick apart his breast and back strokes. I was happy with his free swim at the end, and I was going to start there the next session. I was hoping by starting off with compliments that we could become more comfortable with one another before I had to get serious. Those breast strokes would drive me insane until he could execute them perfectly every time.

“How am I doing?” Jimin asked during a cool down, doing a few laps before we started our drills again. “I know my breast strokes aren’t that great. I’ve always struggled with them.”

At least he was self-aware, I thought.

“We definitely have stuff to work on,” I replied. “Don’t worry too much about that right now. We can start talking about it more next week.”

He sighed, annoyed, and I laughed. He was very grumpy when it came to his swimming. Not wanting to upset him again, I decided to give him something.

“I would like to watch you swim a bit more and make a plan before giving you my opinion. My coach used to do that with me, and I found it helpful.”

We trained until eight-thirty, and I looked over my notes while Jimin cooled down. We did not talk as much as I would have liked, but it was probably for the best. His body was distracting, and I did not think I was doing a very good job at hiding my reactions to him. He did not seem to notice, or he was simply sparing my feelings, either way he was happy to keep relatively quiet. We only talked about training while he was in the water, and I was grateful he was maintaining his professionalism.

“When will we be back again?” Jimin asked, his last few minutes running down on the timer. “You said Wednesday, right?”

I nodded absentmindedly, in my own little world as I flipped through my notes. I had more than I thought I would have, all of them having to do with fixing his form and how we could go about it. New exercises, grueling training days, and a few new tools that I was not sure he had ever used before, would mold him into a swimmer I would glow with pride over. Park had always been a talented man, but I wanted to see if we could reach for something more. Something bigger and better than he could have imagined. I wanted to make Matthew fucking Hamilton look like the incompetent bastard I knew him to be.

“We’re done for the day,” I sighed, clicking the alarm off. “Do you want me to come for your night swim?”

Jimin ripped the goggles off, rubbing his eyes and already going to release his cap. I bit down on the inside of my mouth. He was so pretty and soft, and the way his muscles flexed as he swam to the edge of the pool made my stomach flutter. I looked away before he hoisted himself out of the water. I did not need that image floating around in my already depraved head.

“You can come if you want,” He replied casually. “I’m mostly hitting the gym when I’m here in the evenings. I only take a dip for thirty minutes and leave.”

I hummed, fighting the urge to look at his body. I focused instead on my breathing and writing down what he had just said. I did not want to forget that. It might be useful for me in the future. If we could exercise together, it would give me an opportunity to guide him through some of my favorite tricks to help with swimming.

“Will someone else be with you?”

“Probably Jungkook and Darcy. They’re my usual gym buddies when Milo is working.”

“Darcy’s his girlfriend, right?” I wanted to see if my hunch from the other night was right.

“Yeah. They’ve been going out for a couple of years now. She’s alright. Not as shy as you.”

I snorted, “You think I’m shy?”

Then I made a critical mistake. Looking over at Jimin, I nearly choked on my own spit. His skin was perfectly smooth, not a blemish in sight, and cream-colored. His body was just as pretty as his face, smooth abs and a tiny waist that led to toned and thick thighs. The tiny scrap of red fabric covering his private area did not stop my eyes from glancing. I looked away before I started to stare.

Hoseok was going to have a field day with this.

“I know you are,” He teased, his voice so soft and sweet. I briefly wondered what he would sound like in bed. I fought desperately to rid myself of that imagery. This could not be happening right now. “You’re so shy you can’t even look at me right now.”

His cocky attitude should have annoyed me, but instead it only further fueled my lust. Every time I had seen this man, he gave me such tonal whiplash it was beginning to drive me insane. First it was this innocent little angel facade that quickly became sarcastic and witty when he decided he could play around without me getting angry. Then it was the whole sad puppy thing he had going on for the last week. Now here he was, practically naked and getting riled up over me telling him what to do, and puffing his chest with confidence I never thought he was capable of. It would have pissed me off if I did not find him ridiculously attractive.

“Go get dressed, Park,” My voice was clipped and too harsh. I winced and quickly worked to soften the blow. Getting defensive only made me look worse. “We can get breakfast if you’re not busy. My treat.”

“Sure, coach.”

When I heard the locker room close, I let out a deep sigh. My sexual frustration was getting in the way of my work, and I hated it. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I sent Hoseok a text.

Me: I think I’m crushing on Park

Me: Help me get rid of it

The reply did not come until I was done packing up my things. The workout stuff I had brought with me had been useless today, but I was afraid of forgetting where they were the next time I might need them, so they never left the bag. My phone vibrated just as I was done zipping up my bag. I could hear the shower in the locker room and clenched my thighs together. I was still thinking of how pretty his belly was, the tattoo on his ribs pitch-black against his pale skin, and how solid his calves looked. I unlocked my phone and nearly cried laughing when I saw the response.

Hobi: HAHAHAHA

Hobi: Sex is always the answer

Hobi: Never thought I’d see the day you became a cougar

I have no idea why I thought he would be any help. So, I licked my wounds and messaged Andy (like I should have done in the first place) and knew whatever she had to say would be far more helpful than my stupid best friend’s word of “advice.” I just had to hope it would be enough to make all of these feelings stop.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio @tae-with-some-suga

155 notes · View notes

kxxkiecxre · 1 year

Text

𓅪 THE BIRDS 𓅪 J.J.K

PAIRING: Jungkook x Reader

SUMMARY: Jungkook doesn’t know what this is, but it all leads him to only one thing, her.

WARNINGS: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, no seriously don’t be dumb) y/n is a submissive little bitch (but we love it), Jungkook loves her pussy, oral f & m receiving, tears???, overly jealous kook!!

GENRE: best friends brother Au

Wrote this on a whim while I was on the bus 🫶🏼 this can be read as a stand alone!!

WC: 2.0K

previously… next

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

TOXIC, that is all this has become. You tell him you need to stop, and then end up tangled in your sheets with him. He tells you this is getting out of hand, and then he’s buried so deep inside you, you can feel him in your throat. This has become everything but reasonable.

He brought you here, with the intention of loosening up, of having fun like you did before, but in all fairness, going back to the way it was with him would be harder than anything in your life. Not when you know how he tastes, not when he’s ruined you for any other man.

You went to fetch some drinks as he stayed at the booth with his friends. You watched him with intent as you sipped on your martini, watching the way his skin glows, the way he radiates dominance. He’s insane. Insanely hot, and insanely jealous, you know that, fuck you know that more than anything, yet here you are. Sat in your pretty little black dress, the glitter contrasting your eyes. You smiled to whatever the stranger said, batting your eyelashes and knew you knew he was watching.

Fuck he knew.

The way you seemed so soft and flirty, so gentle when he knows just how hard you like it, just as rough as he does. He knows the little game you’re playing, and he’s got to give it you, you’re brave. Brave enough to so much as touch the guys arm, and Jungkook had to excuse himself from his friends, strutting his way to you. You could feel the sheer power of him as he reached you, arm snaking around your waist.

“You flirt with everyone’s girl or just mine?” He asked the guy, sipping your martini from your straw.

You are not his, at least not couple wise.

“Sorry man, didn’t know she had a guy” the man apologises, putting his hands up in defence.

“Well now you do, so why are you still here?” Jungkook continued, the glare he give to the poor guy run a shiver down your own spine.

“No need to get pissy dude, just waiting for my drinks.

“Kook stop” you whispered to him, grabbing onto his black shirt, the glitter sticking to your hands.

He licked his lips before downing your drink and grabbing your arm gently, despite the jealousy within his bones. You followed him as fast as your feet allowed you, which wasn’t all too fast considering you’re wearing heels and stumbling.

He reached the male bathroom, looking behind his shoulder once before he dragged you inside, locking the door behind him. You smirked, as he stalked towards you the glint in his eyes the shade of charcoal, black dark and deep, like an animal watching its prey.

You were so ruined tonight.

“You must love getting me riled up baby,” he finally reached you, pressing you just a little more to the wall as he closed the distance between your bodies, “you look so beautiful tonight”.

You said nothing, anticipating every move his rough hands made as they traced your arm raising goosebumps as they followed, “so beautiful,” he repeats, his hand on your jaw, thumb playing with your lip, “you’re make up is even perfect huh”.

His thumb pulling on your lip gently, your hands stuck behind you pressed to the wall by your ass, “too bad I’m gonna ruin it” he smirked.

Without giving you time to catch your breath, he attached his lips to yours.

A kiss full of jealousy and so many unsaid words, a mouthful of sin and bliss as he practically sucked your soul out with only a kiss. It was wet, loud and so hot. His hands tangled in your hair as he held your face, your lips smothered with his own, hot bruised and swollen as he pulled away for a split second to admire his work. Barely catching your breath he leaned in again, this time gently biting down on your swollen lower lip.

Eyes never leaving your lips he mumbles, “be a good girl and bend over the counter yeah?”.

You nodded, heading to the counter with a gasp in your breaths, your reflection in the mirror represented a horny mess with swollen red lips, but god you looked so hot. He’s right, you did look beautiful.

“Pull your skirt up for me pretty, let me see your ass,” he says, his own lips red and swollen as he stood behind you, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

You followed his direction, pulling the already short dress up, revealing your black lacey thong, “fuck baby, always so ready for me hm?” He whispers huskily, palming your pussy as you whimper at the minimal contact.

He pulled the thong to the side, kneeling behind you he admired the way your cunt practically dripped with arousal, glistening under the low light of the bathroom. He kissed it gently, groaning lowly as he sucked onto the left lip. Biting down on your lip to suppress the moan that’s about to escape you, you push a little towards his face, but he couldn’t care what you wanted. He couldn’t care that he should be quick, instead he attached his mouth to the other lip, before running laps up your pussy, smearing his face with your essence but fuck, he couldn’t care. Matter of fact he wants everyone to literally smell it off him, he wants his own scent to smell of you. So that people know you belong to him, and maybe it was nasty, but god he couldn’t care.

Small kitten licks was all he gave you as you whimpered, your clit pulsing and he knew because he could feel it in the tip of his tongue. The pulse bouncing on his flesh, like it had its own heartbeat. Shit he loved your pussy, he loved everything about it. He could never get enough of it, and he might have ruined you for other men, but you’ve ruined him for any other woman.

“Please Jungkook” you begged, at this stage so close to releasing yet so far.

He ignored you, blissfully in his own world as he hooked his arms around your legs, continuing his torturous licks, swirling, sucking and flicking his tongue with the slightest of touches possible, basically ghosting your clit yet it was enough to have you cum, heaving as you let it out but he didn’t stop, no he went back in licking up your cum as if to get the last drop, and as sensitive as you were you didn’t care to stop him. You let him abuse your cunt as he intensified his touch, sucking with more force, flicking more vigorously and you held onto the counter as you moaned, unable to hold it in anymore, his tongue practically wrestling with your clit and you were done for when he sucked on it, the tip of his tongue simultaneously flicking it, and you orgasm again, this time moaning his name.

He admired your swollen cunt again, chuckling to himself before raising to his feet again, and just when you thought he was done, he unbuckles his belt, all while maintaining eye contact with you. Smirking lazily while pulling out his dick.

“On your knees pretty” he whispered in your ear.

And like the good girl you are, you did as he asked. Falling to your knees as you looked grabbed his cock, spitting on the already leaking tip, and spreading it around with your palm. Up and down slowly, from the top to base. Your lips attached to his tip, your tongue licking up the leaking precum, tasting the bitter saltiness, before you took more of him in. Bobbing your head up and down slowly while your hand stayed at the base of his dick, you never gave up eye contact, watching each other mesmerised within one another as you continued to take him into your throat further, eventually letting go of the base, bottoming out as your throat spasmed almost gagging around him as he sucked a sharp breath in, watching you slowly come up for a breath, before you took the tip back into your mouth, your tongue touching that one spot right under the head, he loved it moaning lowly as he threw his head back tangling his fingers in your hair, he looked down at you before slowly thrusting in to your mouth, dragging his dick in and out of your mouth as held onto his thighs, and he knew you were ready.

Picking up the pace he thrusted faster, and faster, reaching the back of your throat as your pussy clenched around nothing, your throat closing up for a split second before easing up, accommodating to his size but not for long as his tip abused the back of it, tears pooled around your eyes and a small gag was what did it for him.

“Fuck get up,” he said hurriedly, breathing heavily, “let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours”

And back into your old position, he eases into gently at first, before thrusting mercilessly, his dick kissing your cervix, you mewled moaned and gasped underneath him, tears streaming down your cheeks as he fucked you like a slut. It was hot and loud, you loved it.

He showed no mercy, thrusting relentlessly as you gasped a strangled and high pitched “fuck”, your hands balled into fists on the counter, your ass pushing back into him as the band in your lower belly threatening to break, his own hands coming to tangle with yours, and with one final stroke you burst, cumming down his dick with a loud shout of his name, “yes baby, let them hear you”.

He wasn’t far behind you, shooting his cum deep in your cervix.

Pulling out of you, he spun you around but not before adjusting your panties and pulling your dress down, kissing your lips gently he leaned his forehead into your own, “keep my cum inside you yeah?”

“Yes”

With another smothering kiss he adjusts your hair, ripping some towels out for you and patting down your cheeks, “you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you no?”.

“If you had hurt me at any stage I would have let you know,” you smirk, balling your fists around his hurt and pulling him in for another kiss, almost like both of you couldn’t get enough of each other despite breeding like bunnies every day, “I liked it”.

“I don’t fuck you for one day and you pull a stunt like that to rile me up hmm? Could have just asked me pretty bird” he tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Don’t ever call me a bird again, you sound like a grandpa”, you snorted, rolling your eyes and exiting the bathroom as he followed you closely.

“Okay birdie, what do you say to going home?” He smirks at you, watching as you return that same devilish smile.

“It’s always going to be a yes, birdy” you mock him, laughing as you follow him outside.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

A/N: Srsly wrote this while on the bus smh lol I hope y’all enjoyed this little smut filler chapter or whatever lol.

MASTERLIST

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR REWRITE MY STORIES IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM!!

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jjungkookislife · 23 days

Text

Since Day One: Teaser

♡ pairing: pre-k teacher!jimin x pre-k teacher! f. reader

♡ genre: single dad au, fluff, crack, enemies to lovers, 18+

♡ wc: tba

♡ summary: Being a Pre-K teacher is no easy feat, but Jimin is always up for the challenge. However, on his first day on the job, he makes an enemy in the parking lot before he even sets foot inside the building. Looks like this school year won’t be all sunshine and rainbows after all.

♡ warnings: cursing, snippy!Jimin, angry!reader, more warnings to come on release

♡ part of @btsfests "Daddy's Home Fest"

♡ teaser date: April 2, 2024

♡ date of release: April 6, 2024 *

“Harin, make sure you grab your backpack,” Jimin reminds her as he pulls up for his turn. A staff member opens the backdoor, unbuckling Harin’s seatbelt.

“Good morning,” they greet him as they take Harin’s backpack and help Harin onto the sidewalk.

“Bye, Daddy!” Harin waves as the staff member helps her put her backpack on.

“Bye, baby! I’ll be right down the hall, okay?” Jimin calls as he waves, and the back door shuts as his daughter is taken inside the school.

Relieved, Jimin checks his mirrors before pulling off the curb. All he had to do was park and haul ass to the office. He could do it. He had about five minutes to get it done and he hoped it would go smoothly.

Jimin pulls into the staff parking lot with ease. He sees one spot open and drives toward it, putting his signal as another car arrives in front of him with its blinker on.

However, Jimin arrives first and takes the spot. The car waits for a moment before driving away. Jimin doesn’t pay them attention as he gathers his belongings and coffee. He puts his blazer on as quickly as possible and pockets his car keys after he looks at the vehicle.

When he rounds the back of his car, he bumps into someone, spilling his warm coffee on their clothing.

“You did that on purpose!” The woman screams. “You took my spot and now you’re throwing coffee on my dress!”

Jimin is taken aback.

“It was an accident,” he explains as he pats his pocket for a handkerchief but must have forgotten it in his haste to leave home.

“Everyone knows I park right there every day! You took my spot!” The woman stomps her heel and Jimin rolls his eyes, which upsets the lady more.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?!” She asks, shocked.

“Yes,” Jimin shrugs. Normally he’d be an adult about the situation. Maybe he’d offer to get her dress dry-cleaned or buy her a new one. He did feel bad about it, but he was already having a bad morning and she was making him late with her screaming.

“I’m late,” Jimin states as he walks around her, ignoring her calls, insisting he move his vehicle.

“What a grouch,” Jimin utters as he walks toward the school's front office. Hopefully, he wouldn’t see her again any time soon. She must be one of the parents parking where she shouldn’t. Even if she claimed to park there daily, Jimin didn’t care. Not today.

tentative date

#jimin x reader #jimin x female reader #jimin fanfic #jimin fanfiction #jimin x you #jimin fluff #dilf!jimin #dad!jimin

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mggsv · 23 days

Text

GIVE ME A GOOD RIDE !

p. jimin x f!black reader || (18+) || reblogs would be appreciated! <3

warnings: slight spanking, overstimulation, dirty talk, whiney Jimin, squirting, drunken sex, creampie

He didn’t do “one night stands”, he said. He didn’t drink as much, he said. He wasn’t a lightweight, he said.

Everything Jimin told you before stuffing his cock into your pussy was a lie.

“Ride it..that’s it..that-that’s it..” He whines, head throw back onto your soft pillows. Your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into them as you took his cock to the hilt. “Good fucking girl..take it-“

Jimin wouldn’t even dare of having a one night stand, and yet here’s here..At your apartment, a whole celebrity. Hell, he even chuckled and helped put your bonnet on before you got..intimate. You felt yourself shudder, your cunt throbbing around his thick head while he slipped out of you, and back in. “J-Jimin..” You gasp, feeling his hand smack your ass. A quiet groan escaping past his lips when you tighten around him.

The lewd slapping sounds from your wet pussy milking his cock made his mind race. He didn’t care where he was. He didn’t care about how he’d explain himself not leaving with the rest of the group like planned. No, he was ready to be here in the moment with you- just you. “Tell me it’s mine-“Jimin groans, hands digging into your hips.

“It-it’s yours!”

“Such a good dick rider aren’t you? H-Huh? All for me.”

“All for you-“ You mewl out, Jimin lifting your hips slightly while he started fucking into you from below, hard. For a moment you saw white.

“Fuck!” you cry out, legs shaking. Your orgasm tore through you. Shuddering as you grind on him, riding out your orgasm. Your pussy spasming around his cock, gushing as his hit that spot inside of you. He kept going.

Black hair stuck to the sweat on his forehead, panting heavily, Jimin’s hand came down with another smack. You could barely function. Shaking hands soon found the comfort of your sheets. He had changed positions. When did he..

“Oh-!” Your whole body halted. A pillow had been underneath your head and stomach. Your body resting comfortably, Jimin’s cock barging back into your cunt..stuffing you so well. “M’so close..” His breath started to pick up. All he could think about was your face, your body- how you have his cock dripping, cum all between your legs. You were a mess, but so was he. Wet beneath the both of you, your cunt splashing against his hard thrusts.

His movements became sloppier. Kisses along your back, gentle hands touching the side of your body. Cum painted your walls. You moan softly into the pillow, Jimin’s lips finally finding your face. He kissed alongside your nose until he could finally plant one on your lips. Cock slowly fucking his cum into you. You felt it drip alongside everything else between you two.

“Let’s..let’s do this again soon.” He murmured. “..Please.”

#v chats 🐚#bts jimin #jimin #jiminie #jimin x reader #jimin x black reader #black reader #female reader #fem reader #jimin x f!black reader #jimin x female reader #bts x black reader #bts #army #bts jimin x black reader #bts jimim #bts jimin x reader

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linos-luna · 9 months

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Club ❣️

Jimin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: rough sex, implied drinking, cursing, groping, dom Jimin ?

————————————————————————

You and your friend Jimin were in a club. The loud and blaring music made it hard to hear anyone but it didn’t matter as the drinks kept coming. Soon you found yourself getting pulled into the bathroom with the door locking behind you.

It was Jimin. He was kissing you, forcing in tongue as he backed you into the wall. You moaned into the kiss and he reached under your top to grope your braless breasts.

You weren’t sure it was because of the alcohol but you kissed back and let him roughly manhandle you.

He was quick to unbuckle his pants and lower his boxers before messing with the waistband of your panties.

“Jimin-… w-what are you doing—?”

“Fuck baby, you’re just so hot…” he sighed while lowering your panties.

“Jimin-…” you moan as he suddenly rubbed his tip to your cunt. “Agh Jimin!”

Your back arched as he entered you and thrust hard.

“Let me fuck you, baby…” Jimin grunted as he thrusted again while kissing your neck.

“Ji-ji—…” you gasped, unable to form a sentence as he pounded you into the wall. “Ah fuck~”

“You like that?” He teased with a smirk, getting close to your ear. “You like me fucking your filthy pussy?”

“Mmm… mmhm…”

“I wanna hear it!” He snapped with a hard thrust.

“Yes!”

“Yes what?”

“I like it!” You moaned. “Fuck me Jimin! Fuck me harder~!”

Jimin chuckled as he sucked hickeys on your neck and pounded you harder. You arched your back away from the cold walls while whining and gasping, completely fucked out until you felt him hit his high. Which you did as well.

He let go of you and you realized that you a little raised off the ground.

You lowered you skirt and watched as he lifted this pants.

“Wow you’re so good.” He panted. “So fuckin sexy.”

“Jimin…? Are we…? Are we a thing now…?” You asked awkwardly.

“Hm… what do you think?”

#kpop #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #fanfic #kpop smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts jimin #jimin x reader #jimin x female reader #jimin smut #bts x poc reader #bts x fem!reader #bts park jimin #bts #bts x reader #jimin #jimin yandere #jimin x y/n

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jeonlicious · 1 year

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THE BACKSEAT | PJM

pairing: jimin x f!reader

synopsis: “Keep them open, be a good girl for me,”

genre: smut

warnings: pwp, fingering

word count: 256

author’s note: this the most random thing i have written. anyways enjoy jimin and his sexiness 💋 english is not my first language.

“Jimin, we shouldn’t”

“Shh baby, he doesn’t care”

The driver of the cab you two were in didn’t care, but you did. After all, the image of fucking in a car was always something not appealing to you. But Jimin didn’t seem to care. All he wanted was you. here. right now.

“Baby, please, I can’t wait anymore” He whined into your neck sucking on your soft skin. His fingers got lost under your dress playing with your now-soaked underwear. “O-Okay,” You moaned when his middle finger pressed against your clit, his fingers circled around your wet hole, teasing you.

Two digits entered you slowly, pumping in and out of you. You arched your back of the backseat closing your thighs. “Keep them open, be a good girl for me,” He said and kissed down your collarbone. His plush lips felt like heaven against your skin. Oh, how good would they feel against your pussy.

The familiar knot in your stomach got tighter and you grabbed his wrist pushing him deeper into you. He smirked and curled his fingers hitting the spot that made you see stars.

You quickly put a palm over your lips hushing your cries and moans of pleasure. Jimin helped you ride out your high and then pushed his fingers into his mouth. “Always so sweet for me, baby” He whispered in your ear.

Before you could take things further you heard the driver announce that you arrived at your apartment complex, what a nice ride.

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arafilez · 3 months

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☆ ⼂ MEDICINES AND KISSES ﹗

ꔫㅤㅤ ❜[ pjm x fem!reader ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤfluff, angst 𓏧 jimin feels if you can't solve his jealousy, food can. even if it is an old lasagna which can get him food poisoning. ㅤ warnings food poisoning, vomiting ㅤ﹢ㅤ1.5k wc

“For the last time Jimin he is my friend and co-worker, why do you overthink everything?” you spoke in a calm voice trying to hide the frustration in your voice. For the last half an hour Jimin had been continuously arguing with you about your male co-worker who had mildly flirted with you in front of Jimin.

You didn’t think about it much deeply and just smiled along and seeing that Jimin has been boiling in jealousy. As soon as you reached home Jimin took up that topic and you have been arguing since, neither of you backing down from it. “You did not stop him, that is what is triggering me,” he said sighing loudly.

“Why do you care so much anyways, you don’t have feelings for me, remember that?" You reason, hands on your hips.

"We are arranged, Jimin as both of us have signed a piece of paper, go on and sign another paper, we get divorced, there’s no in-between!” You said and put your hands up in defeat, not in the mood to argue any more with him.

Jimin’s head hurt remembering at your words, the phrase ‘a single piece of paper’ going over his mind repeatedly. “You know what, nether am I,” he gritted his teeth and you slumped back on the sofa frustrated by his behaviour. “See there you go again, we are arguing on a point that doesn’t even matter now.”

Jimin stayed quiet silently letting your words process in his mind as he saw you getting up from the corner of his eye. You got up the stairs, to your shared bedroom and took out your pillow and a duvet. Flapping your slippers you went to the kitchen to get some water as your throat has dried after all that fight.

“We are going to talk this out, okay? We are not going to just fight like some toxic couple in high school,” you said breathing out as you looked down turning towards him. “Yeah, I guess I just lost all my appetite after this too,” he chuckled softly as he got up to get up to the bedroom.

“Guess, you will be sleeping here, okay I can understand that!” he said as you internally felt relieved about him being such a gentleman. After your marriage four months ago Jimin was nothing but sweet and understanding to you, he was constantly taking care of your needs and listening to your stories.

You got comfortable with him too, as you felt yourself being relaxed in his presence. But that was not it, your feelings grew towards him, as you imagined fantasies of you together. He still high-fived you, and gave plain hugs, he was more of like a best friend to you.

And you hated it, you loved his sweet and caring nature, and hated how all was just at a best friend level when you were practically married and legally bound to each other for life. Yet, he still showed no signs of being into you and everything, every frustration, heat, love just bubbled inside you causing you to burst occasionally, like for example today.

You hated it, you hated how you lashed out at him, and you hated because you knew, or thought, you overreacted. You didn’t want to be a couple who fought every time some little thing happen and you wanted to be the couple who gets through it.

Setting your thoughts aside, you looked at the watch, which showed perfectly midnight. “Oh great, at this time Cinderella was running away from that prince, would it kill you to make that happen for me?”

You said this looking up as if you were talking to God and again spoke up, “you know the fall in love part, not the running away thingy,” and you pouted as you sat back. Taking one last look at your phone you set your head down on the couch slowly drifting away to sleep.

Meanwhile, Jimin came down sulking as he opened the refrigerator in the kitchen. Taking out a bowl of Lasagna, he picked it up and searched for a spoon in the kitchen. Finding it he murmured, “If she can’t touch my mind, this lasagna would help me refill myself, ugh!”

The next morning passed quietly, with only a quiet good morning from both of you to each other and a ‘bye’ as you left. The day was extremely slow, for the both of you and you just slumped back in the couch after having dinner as he went back in the bedroom.

Any other day, you two would have stayed up till like 2 a.m. chatting about your day and laughing and relaxing but today was all different. And surprisingly you didn’t fall asleep today, like you did yesterday and looking at the clock you found out it was 1.15 a.m.

Clutching your blanket you sat up, and suddenly you heard a thud in your bedroom. Without thinking anything you got up, and literally ran up the stairs as you clicked the door unlock when you heard a whisper, “please don’t go!”

“What the fuck is he saying?” you whispered as you opened the door, just to see a mess in the room. Pillows were thrown everywhere inside the room and the bedsheet was a mess, as Jimin tossed and turned murmuring to himself. You walked inside and climbed up the bed just for Jimin to get up in a jerk.

“Oh hey,” he couldn’t finish the sentence as he vomited all over your t-shirt making you gasp. You got concerned as you picked him up and carried him to the bathroom. You opened the tap water letting it flow as he vomited some more. You held back his long black hair as you caressed his back.

You tried to connect the dots, because you knew, Jimin didn’t drink and it was not that but food poisoning. Then you realized that you didn’t find the lasagna in the morning. That was when it hit you where it went, and what was coming out of Jimin.

As Jimin panted holding the bathroom walls and your hand. You hurriedly took off the shirt he was wearing and making him stand there you went inside to change. After coming out you gave Jimin a mouthwash and helped him come to the shared bedroom. You threw the dirty clothes inside the washing machine.

You made him sit and got up towards the door, only for him to speak up in a weak voice, “Don’t go please!” “I am just bringing my phone Jimin,” you spoke softly as you ran down the stairs. Throughout all this Jimin had watched you, how you were concerned for him, and how you didn’t get disgusted and left him alone but helped him instead.

You came back and closed the door and sat on the bed. Silence took cover between the two of you and you suddenly said, “You stupid, you ate that days old lasagna and look what happened to you.” Jimin smiled softly at your comment and scooted closer to you putting his arms around your waist.

You looked down, observing the flowered design the bed-sheet since the cover was taken off as Jimin vomited all over it. “Thanks for caring so much,” he whispered as he kissed you write below your earlobe. You sighed pushing him slightly and spoke with the slight anger in your voice.

“Why would you do that, huh? Eat that lasagna.” You said as you stared at him and then whispered, “What if something serious happened?” He loved the concern you were showing, knowing finally his feelings were not one-sided anymore. That would mean he can get to hug and kiss you any time without the hesitation he had before.

You punched his chest repeatedly saying, “You are a very stupid man,” and he laughed at your statement, his melodious laughter filling the room. “I would kiss you, only if I hadn’t vomited right about then,” he said and you replied, “I gave mouthwash to you, so you probably can,” and you couldn’t finish your sentence.

He placed his lips on your, his plump and soft ones, missing with you sweet, cherry ones. You traced your hand through his ‘Nevermind’ tattoo on his chest as you kissed him back. He pulled out smiling as he placed another soft peck on your lips as you two kept your foreheads together.

You caressed his bare back as he kissed your nose, you eyelids and placed a lingering kiss on your forehead. You kissed him across his jawline down to his neck. The kisses were not rushed, but slow, sensitive and sweet, the one that are given by your lover after a long day. The kisses felt like heaven to you, as this was the first intimacy you ever had with him and everything just felt all so natural and ecstatic, as if this was just made for the two of you.

“I am your stupid man,” he said smiling and you said, “You forgot cheesy, stupid and cheesy and a ball of jealous idiot,” you giggled as he shut you up kissing you again, and you smiled inside the kiss. Maybe one wrong fight was all that was needed to lead to some right times.

ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤidiots in love? lol tysm for reading and liking the fic. reblog if you feel like supporting ^^ ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ taglist ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤ@haneagerrㅤmain mlistㅤ misc mlistㅤ navi ㅤ add to taglist

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cas-skz · 1 year

Text

NEW TERRITORY

jimin x fem!reader

You wanted to spice up your sex life & your new boyfriend knew exactly how to do so.

Dom soft Jimin makes you squirt and squirm while having you tied up.

18+ please!! MDNI warnings: smut obvi, rope play, pinning, squirting, oral (m to f), possibly cockwarming, pet name (darling)

word count: 2k

I tired a different writing style with this one. I like it a lot, but would love some feedback on it! not read over by someone smarter than me. also please go find jimishi's note change in fire because yes. it's how I got here. Lots of love, xx Cas

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~BEEP BEEP

“You’re okay…” Jimin’s voice was soft as his hand gripped tightly at the rope tied around your wrists. An unfamiliar territory for you, but a very comfortable one for the older male.

His free hand wrapped around your neck as he pulled you closer to him, your bottom fitting perfectly in his lap. He was much bigger than your petite frame, strong arms that could maneuver you in anyway he pleased.

“Do you know your safety word?” His breath was hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“Ya…pi-pineapple” your words stutter as his hand moved from the ropes, trailing towards your clit where large fingers swirled slowly as soft moans escaped your lips.

It was a strange feeling, having no use of your arms, being in his control and allowing him to do as he pleases.

His body leans back slightly, his large member bucking against you as his digits increased speed, moans of pleasure fill the room.

In a swift movement, his body stands with you against him, one arm wrapped around your rib cage and the other still working on your clit as he brought you into the bedroom.

The ropes had been retied to the headboard, your arms now trapped above your head as Jimin worked on strapping your ankles down.

“Jimin—” you whine, feeling loss of all control as all four limbs are now locked in place. The male works his way towards you.

“You’re okay…” he reassures, moving your hair from your face to place a ever so gentle kiss on your lips. He let it linger for a moment, deeply kissing you as his hand trailed to the small of your back.

“I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you. Understand?” He said between kisses, hips rolling slowly against you. His demeanor went dark when you gave him a small nod to go on.

Jimin’s fingers slowly pumped your hole, his tongue matching the pace against your clit. His speed started to increase.

Your hips started to buckle as you felt yourself closer to orgasm, your hands trying to find some sort of grip. He didn’t let up.

“That’s it darling” he mused, body hovering over you as his fingers moved at top speed, your walls tightening around them as you felt pressure build.

“—I’m fucking cumming Jimin.” You pant, legs wanting to wrap around the male as he brought you to peak, ropes preventing you from having any access to him. Your body shook and clenched where it could as you screamed his name in pleasure.

His fingers didn’t stop. The dark eyed male switched their positions, curving slightly inside of you as he now moved them rapidly vertically, a loud wet slopping sound to go along with your screams as your juices squirted onto his hand, a feeling of pleasure and release you had never felt before.

“Oh—oh my fuck” you cursed, the feeling of your orgasm controlling your movements.

Your body rocked slowly down from the high, his fingers sliding out and moving to your clit, rubbing in small circles.

“How was that darling?” He asked softly, his mouth finding your neck to place soft kisses, tiny bites every few seconds.

Your voice was shaky, it all felt so good. “So—fuck. So good.” you moan. He moves so your eyes met with his, Jimin placed another deep kiss on your lips. His fingers started to pick up speed on your already throbbing pussy.

Jimin quickly moved to untie one of your ankles, allowing him to have better access to you as his body lowered to your core, trailing kisses as his tongue started to work on your clit once more and his fingers pumping your tight entrance.

“Again.” He demanded, his free hand grabbing one of your breasts, a finger teasing at your nipple.

You weren’t sure it was possible, but you were at his will.

The ropes pulled tightly at your wrists as your body let out another wave of bliss, sending your juices shooting more powerful the second time around. Your moans rang throughout the house.

His body hovered over yours again, smirking as he eyed your convulsing body his wet fingers gently sliding into your mouth. You happily sucked your juices from them.

Your once vanilla sex life could never live up to how hot this experience was.

His lips worked with yours, passionate kisses being exchanged as his legs spread yours apart, his cock gently moving between your folds before pushing deeply inside you, bottoming out as you whined and squirmed under him.

“Darling” his breath was hot against your lips, but you couldn’t get a word out. His hips move slowly, your walls feeling every inch of his massive cock pull mostly out of you, the tip of his member simply teasing your entrance.

“I’m okay.” You panted, your body reacting as his hips started to thrust slowly, your one free leg now propped on his shoulder as his lips placed gently kisses upon it.

His body moved fluidly, looking like a work of art as he fucked you slowly, his eyes scanning you like a hawk.

Jimin suddenly freed your other leg, pinning them both down at your waist as his thrusts started to increase. Your walls contracting as pressure build inside you.

You felt his member slip out as an unexpected orgasm hit, making you squirt for the third time before continuing to pump your swollen pussy.

You wanted to yell the safety word so bad.

The ropes felt tight on your wrists as you gripped them with all your strength, an attempt to stop your body from jerking and losing hold of his cock. Jimin moved in closer, bottoming out on each thrust he made.

“You’re such a good girl darling.”

You couldn’t hold back from begging him to go faster, your feet digging into the bed as his body slapped against yours, pushing you to your peak once again.

His lips found their way to your neck again, loud groans escaping between his bites and tongue work as his thrusts marked top speed.

His hand roughly grabbed ripped the ropes from the headboard, pinning them above next to your head, interlocking fingers with yours.

“I’m gonna cum for you darling” he hissed, feeling your insides grip at his cock, hitting every spot perfectly.

Jimin’s cock twitched deeply inside you as he finished, his moans muffled against your lips. You felt every drop of him inside you, filling your pussy with a mixture of juices.

Your body shook under him as his hand now slowly stroked your face, head pressed against yours as your hips bucked into him uncontrollably. The aftershock felt like ecstasy.

His lips pressed deeply into yours once more as he swiftly moved you both, still connected with his cock shoved fully inside you. Now laying on his back as you straddling him, his cock already starting to grow hard inside you.

“You think you can make it darling?” Jimin questioned with a smirk, his hand slapping down firmly against your ass as your hips started to move slowly, pumping his cock once more.

Aiming for 5 rounds was going to be nearly impossible.

#jimins note change in fire from a ptd con had me wrecked #and this is the outcome #bts smut #kpop smut #bts x reader #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin #bts jimin #jimin x y/n #jimin x you #kpop fanficji #jimin x reader #bts x female reader #jimin x female reader

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sinning-on-a-sunday · 2 years

Text

otherworldly ~ coraline!au (pt.3)

PAIRING ~ jimin x reader

GENRE ~ horror/thriller

WORD COUNT ~ 20K

SUMMARY ~ when you discover a tiny door in your home that leads to a much better version of your own life, it seems too good to be true. little do you know, the man posing as your boyfriend may be a lot more dangerous than you care to admit. and he is not intent on letting you leave.

WARNINGS ~ profanity, ANGST, relationship struggles, kidnapping, general creepiness, guilt tripping, spiders, violence, mentions of starvation, minor body mutilation, insects, restraints, blood, rats, non-graphic body horror, slight gore, needles/impalement, referenced medical horror, slight injury, jimin is a creep, dub-con kiss.

A/N ~ thank you for your patience!! I hope you like it :)

PART 1 PART 2

The floorboards aren’t enough to ground you. Not when your heart is about to pound out of your rib cage, shaking hands scrabbling for purchase on something solid, something real.

How does one ground themselves after crawling out of hell?

Sucking in quick gulps of air, you struggle to give your lungs a little relief from the dry burn. You manage to calm your breathing after a few painful minutes, but it doesn’t ease the tight, clenched fist in your chest.

You look back at the little door. It stands silent, unmoving. The wood doesn’t rattle, the knob doesn’t jiggle. You grab the key with shaking fingers and shuffle to the other side of the room.

Calm down, you remind yourself when your pulse spikes again. It’s okay. You’re safe, you’re safe. He can’t follow you out here. He can’t leave.

A chill crawls up your spine. None of them can.

The realization is heart-wrenching, enough to make tears pool in your eyes, stomach bobbing into your throat.

You left them there. You abandoned them, left them to fend for themselves against that...that thing.

Guilt obstructs reason. It doesn’t matter that you know they couldn’t follow you, that they couldn’t leave even if they wanted to. All you can think of is the fact that they’re still trapped while you walk free.

You picture Taehyung curled up on that dirty mattress, tear-stained, clutching his stuffed Pomeranian until his fingers go numb. Numb enough to pretend it’s real. Would he ever get out of that room? Who’s to say he isn’t suffering a punishment far worse than a simple time out.

What will happen to Jungkook without you there to cushion the blow? Now that you’ve seen the extent of Other Jimin’s hot temper, there’s no telling what he wouldn’t do in a fit of rage. And now, without you there, he’s got nothing to lose.

The digital clock on the mantel distracts you before you can spiral into a full-blown anxiety attack.

6:37 P.M.

Your brows furrow. That can’t be right. You remember leaving the real world a little after 3 o’clock, surely it’s been more than just a few hours?

That’s not why it feels wrong, though. These late afternoon hours are Jimin’s most productive. Most nights he works straight through dinner, hunched over his desk until his eyelids are sagging and his brain is too sluggish to pump out a single sentence.

It’s about time for his ritual evening cup of coffee, shouldn’t the brewer be churning? The air should be alive with the sound of clicking keys, the shuffle of fabric as Jimin bounces his knee, the drumming of his fingernails on the tabletop.

But the house is quiet. You can’t even hear the creak of a chair.

At first, all you can manage is a whisper. A soft Jimin against the horrible silence that sounds more like a puff of air than a name.

You scramble to your feet. None of the lights are on, like no one’s home and hasn’t been since before the sun set.

The kitchen is empty. You spot the car keys on the counter, Jimin’s scarf discarded beside them. Now you’re calling for him, your voice an unpleasant echo over the sound of rapid footsteps.

Rumpled sheets greet you in the spare bedroom, glaring evidence of your fight and the fact that he spent last night alone. Another flood of anxiety ripples through your body.

You’re practically screaming his name by the time you kick open the bathroom door. Still nothing.

You fly down the hallway, barely sparing a glance into his office in your haste to get to the master bedroom, but a flash of light makes you skid to a stop.

It’s the soft glow of a computer screen, half obscured by an uncomfortably bent, sweater-clad back.

Your breathing is still strained when you step into the room.

Jimin is slumped over the table, head cradled in one folded arm, with his cheek squished and his lips pressed into a sleepy pout. His eyelids flutter ever so slightly behind his crooked glasses like he’s in the middle of a dream.

Instant relief. You release the sigh lodged in your throat and let some of the tension in your shoulders melt away.

He’s here. He’s safe and warm and real.

You reach forward to touch him, to feel his solid body under your fingertips. He doesn’t stir until you give him a gentle shake.

“Jimin,” you whisper, and the name feels so right coming out of your mouth now that it’s directed at the right person.

His eyes crack open, back muscles rippling under your hand as he moves to sit up.

“Hm?” A confused groan falls from his swollen lips.

“You fell asleep at your desk again,” you explain, massaging between his shoulder blades.

Jimin rubs his still bloodshot eyes with one hand while the other runs through his hair.

“I did? Ah, sorry. I know you hate it when I do that.”

He looks up at you sheepishly from under his lashes, and you can’t help the smile that breaks out across your face.

Those full, flushed cheeks, that golden skin, those warm brown eyes. Full of color, full of life.

This is Jimin. Your Jimin.

“Come on, workaholic. Let’s go to bed,” you say, slipping one arm around his waist as you lead him towards the hall.

A shy blush burns at the tips of his ears, but he still returns the smile and wraps his own arm around you, keeping you pressed against his side.

The two of you waddle over to the stairs, refusing to let each other go enough to walk properly.

No spare room for him tonight. You don’t think you’ll be able to get a wink of sleep unless Jimin is right by your side.

It’s barely seven o’clock, but Jimin’s movements are lethargic, like he’s drunk and can’t find his footing. You barely have time to slip his glasses off his nose before he face-plants on the bed.

“You’re more tired than usual. Burning the candle at both ends again, hm?”

Your affectionate scolding only causes him to smile more, enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle. Slipping under the covers, you lay facing him on your side, and to your surprise, he scoots closer until your faces are only inches apart.

“I didn’t get any sleep last night,” Jimin replies, his gaze flickering over your features now that he’s close enough to get an intimate look.

“Oh?” you reply with a yawn. You’re ready to knock out too, the trauma of today’s events taking their toll.

“I can’t sleep without you there,” he says, and your drooping eyelids snap back open.

That’s certainly not what you were expecting. A small smile creeps onto your face at his confession, pleased that he still wants you, still needs you.

No wonder he’s so tired. If he can’t seem to sleep without you, then last night in the guest room must’ve been torture.

Jimin’s eyes linger on the way your lashes flutter, fighting to stay open.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out suddenly.

You look up to find him guiltily averting his gaze.

“I’ve been a real asshole lately. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I let the stress of work get to me and took it out on you. I’m sorry. Work is just so...ugh, and I know I shouldn’t have made you deal with my bullshit but I just...I just thought you’d always be there. And then I got jealous because it dawned on me that maybe you’d had enough of my shit, but I swear I wasn’t trying to push you away I just—”

You stop his rambling with a finger against his lips. His breath catches in his throat, and you’re unsure if it’s because he’s anticipating what you’re about to say or because you haven’t touched him like this in a while.

“I appreciate your apology.”

It’s very carefully worded, and Jimin doesn’t miss that.

“So...are we good?” His voice betrays just how nervous he is, shaky and hitching with each inhale.

There’s a pause before you answer.

“I...don’t know yet. I don’t think you realize how much you hurt me, Jimin.”

You think you see his lip quiver ever so slightly, but it’s trapped between his teeth before you can be sure.

“I understand. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I know I don’t deserve a second chance. I really fucked everything up this time—”

“Jimin,” you interrupt him sternly.

He clamps his mouth shut and curls in on himself like a frightened turtle.

“No more talk like that. No more self-destruction.”

You reach up to card a hand through his bleach-fried hair, and he noticeably relaxes.

You don’t know it, but he’s missed being this close to you. Sleeping curled up against your body, snuggled into your warmth. It seems like a luxury he doesn’t deserve. It’s something he’s been denying himself every night for the past few months. He hasn’t been making as much progress with work as he’d like, so he’s been holding himself back from cuddling with you until he feels he’s worthy of affectionate touch.

He knows he still doesn’t deserve it, but it feels too good to pull away.

“Forgiveness can always be earned, and I’m still willing to give it, if you’re willing to change.”

“Yes,” Jimin blurts out with startling enthusiasm. “Yes, yes, I want to. I want to be better for you.”

The corner of your mouth tugs up. There’s that affinity for praise you know and love.

“Things are going to be different from now on,” you say, calm enough to soothe his nerves, quiet enough to let him know you’re serious.

“I think we both need to work on our communication.”

Jimin ducks his head again, another shameful blush flaring on the apples of his cheeks.

“I know, I understand. I’m...”

Something gets caught in his throat. He gulps down the lump, licks his lips nervously.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. Really,” he finally chokes out.

“I know, baby. I know. We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?”

You both know this conversation isn’t over. There’s still a lot more to discuss, inner thoughts laid out, compromises to be made, but it’s for another time. Right now all you want to do is fall asleep next to your real partner and revel in the fact that things will get better.

Right now, it’s so easy to believe that things will get better.

“Can I have a goodnight kiss?” you ask playfully, and he knows it’s not really a question, but rather you giving him permission, judging by the way he’s been eyeing your lips for the past five minutes.

Jimin’s whole face twists into a near-blinding smile, before he jumps at the chance and smashes his mouth against yours. His grip around your body tightens, like he can keep you from disappearing if he holds you tight enough. Fingers curling at the edge of your jaw, he doesn’t break away until his lungs are burning, letting out a soft, barely-audible whine at the fact that he needs to pull away to get a proper breath.

A dozen frantic pecks follow. They don’t stop until your whole face has been stamped with his lips and you’re giggling uncontrollably.

“What am I going to do with you?” you sigh into his chest.

Jimin slides his fingers up your spine, sweeping deftly over the spot where your hair meets the nape of your neck until he gets the response he’s looking for. He always used to tease you about your catlike reaction, how it’s so easy for him to draw the shivers out of your body with a single touch.

“You’re gonna whip me into shape, that’s what you’re gonna do,” he replies, now petting the back of your head with slow, gentle strokes.

You let out a content hum as exhaustion sinks its claws deeper into your body. It’s really starting to set in, the realization that you’re safe, you’re okay, nothing bad can happen anymore.

How stupid you were to believe that.

Jimin whispers one last “I love you,” but you’ve already slipped away.

Sleep doesn’t bring comfort, not when you’re tormented by dreams of spiderwebs and ink black eyes, of cold, cramped rooms behind mirrors and needles piercing through flesh. That night, little dark shapes skitter behind your eyelids. Someone’s—something’s—low voice breathes in your ear, meaningless words that sound more like growls than decipherable speech.

You only sleep for a few hours. A particularly bad nightmare jolts you awake, but Jimin, being the heavy sleeper that he is, lays undisturbed. Sitting up in bed, panting and sweat-slick, you grip the sheets in tight fists.

Something unpleasant prickles under your skin, and it takes you a few seconds to realize it’s the itch that comes with being watched. It takes you even longer to realize that there’s just something not right about the room you’re in.

The window is bolted, good. The closet door is closed, good. Jimin is still sleeping peacefully by your side, excellent. What is it that’s just not—?

A twitch of movement out of the corner of your eye. It’s barely anything, but it’s enough to catch your attention.

Your heart is in your throat by the time you gather enough courage to turn your head.

Sitting in the chair next to the bed, the chair you’re positive was empty when you went to sleep, is that infernal doll.

The button eyes are too shiny, so shiny they look almost wet. Wide, unblinking, and definitely watching you.

The urge to scream is very tempting, but you can’t risk waking Jimin. Pretending to be calm and collected is even harder, especially with that thing’s glassy-eyed stare trained on your every move.

A horrible, bitter taste burns the back of your throat. With the way your stomach ripples and your breathing shakes in your own ears, you feel like you could puke all over the sheets at any second.

But you hold your own, leisurely swinging your legs over the mattress, softly placing your feet on the floor, standing up slowly like the doll isn’t even there.

Because you can’t let it see your fear. You can’t let him know you’re scared.

Jimin is so blissfully unaware, lying there curled up on his side with his cheek cradled in his hands.

A smile tugs itself onto your lips at the sight of him, and you take a moment to bend down, brush his bangs back, and plant a kiss on his forehead. He hums softly, snuggling deeper into the blankets.

The doll just sits there silently.

You’ve made up your mind. You’re not about to tolerate spies in your house.

Stomping over to the occupied chair, you grab the doll by the neck and race down the stairs two at a time. You shove your feet into your rain boots and shrug on your coat, slamming the front door on your way out.

The ground is soggy from the recent rain and the cold bites, but the fresh air does wonders for your nausea. It’s an ungodly hour of the morning, so the sky is still pitch dark and the air is eerily quiet. You’re thankful for the full moon and the light it sheds on the winding dirt path.

The only sound in your ears is the slosh of mud under your boots and the crunch of gravel. It grounds you, eventually syncing with the rhythm of your breathing, your heartbeat dwindling down to a dull thrum.

It’s a longer walk than you thought. By the time you reach the crest of the hill, your toes are numb from the cold and your nose feels like it could snap off. Your grip on the doll, however, has only tightened with each step.

The clearing is just as bare as you remember it. Stripped tree branches, brown grass, and at the center of it all, a ring of toadstools.

You don’t waste any time, dropping to your knees despite the mud and clawing at the dirt until your fingers hit solid wood. Dragging the heavy cover aside, you peer down the wide, black opening of the well until you feel as if the darkness is about to reach out and grab you. You can’t see the bottom, just the moss climbing up the stone walls.

With one last shaky inhale, you let the doll slip through your fingers and tumble down the dark tunnel. The sound of it meeting the water never comes.

When you return, the clock reads 3:28 AM in bright, electric green. You tell yourself that’s why it feels so strange, because of the odd hour. You’re supposed to be asleep, that’s why the house feels so achingly empty.

When you drag your tired limbs up the stairs, down the hall, through the doorway, and find an empty bed, you think nothing of it.

Jimin’s probably in the bathroom or getting a glass of water, maybe working in his office after a bout of late night inspiration.

You slip back under the covers, draw your knees up to your chest, and close your eyes.

Ten minutes pass. Fifteen. He’s probably just piddling around the house.

Twenty. Thirty. He probably just can’t sleep. He’s probably downstairs watching TV. With every passing second, your fidgeting grows a little more restless.

Everything is fine, you tell yourself over and over. And you want to believe it so bad, but it’s been over half an hour and Jimin still hasn’t come back yet. Heat prickles under your skin, sweat collects at the back of your neck. Reaching over, you find that Jimin’s side of the bed has gone cold.

For the umpteenth time that night, you know that something is wrong.

Calling out his name only makes the silence ring louder, echoing mockingly against the thin walls. It’s broken only by the sound of the blankets being ripped off your body and the pound of your feet on the floorboards.

The master bathroom is empty, so is the spare bedroom and the storage closet. Downstairs, you find nothing but darkness and disappointment. The kitchen is barren, the dining room is deserted, the office is vacant.

You’re not prepared for what you find in the living room. It’s uninhabited like everywhere else, though definitely not the same as you left it.

Scuff marks on the wood near the little door’s threshold, faint but definitely there. Jimin’s glasses lay open and discarded on the floor.

Then there’s the little door itself, open a crack with the key sticking out of the lock. There’s no light seeping through the opening, no glowing blue tunnel beckoning you forward. Just a sliver of darkness so thick it looks like a tear in the fabric of reality. If light can shine, then this darkness bleeds.

You can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t even shiver in fear with how tight your muscles are. All you can do is stand there in your cement-filled shoes, plunging, sinking deeper into the icy waters of dread and helplessness.

There’s no doubt in your mind that something is watching just behind the crack in the door.

The thought of approaching it leaves an ugly squirming feeling in the pit of your stomach, but the thought of it sitting there open and unlocked is much, much worse.

So, with trembling hands, you snatch the metal poker from beside the fireplace, and take the first hesitant step forward. You grip the handle tight as the space between you and the little door grows smaller and smaller.

You’re fully expecting something to reach out and grab you when you lunge forward and kick the wood hard, weapon poised and ready to strike, but the door closes without a struggle. Using your knee as a barricade, you twist the key until the lock clicks into place with a satisfying thunk.

Panting and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, you fall back on your elbows with a jerk, scrambling along the floor until your shoulder hits the opposite wall.

Then come the tears. Bitter, frustrated tears.

How naive you were to think that the nightmare was over. How stupid you were to let Jimin get involved in this mess. The mess you caused by indulging in your own fantasies.

You couldn’t save Jungkook, you couldn’t save Taehyung, you couldn’t even save your true boyfriend.

Vision blurred and watery, you crawl over to Jimin’s fallen glasses and clutch them to your chest.

There’s a noise from the window, a soft pitter pattering of small feet. The last fat drops of moisture roll down your cheeks as you look up.

Two shiny yellow eyes stare back at you. They’re surrounded by a dark shape, fluffy around the edges, elegantly silhouetted against the few wisps of moonlight.

It’s the cat, you realize when it paws at the glass and exposes four pink toe beans. The feline waits impatiently as you push yourself off the floor and slide open the window.

“Hello,” you say, unsure if he will reply this time.

The cat hops off the window sill, collar jingling with every graceful movement. He bows his head in your direction, a silent greeting.

“What brings you here?” Your voice noticeably wavers, you can feel yourself choking on a sob.

The cat looks at the little door, at Jimin’s glasses gripped in your hands, then back up at you.

“Do you know what happened to him?”

He blinks and tips his head down. You take that as a yes.

Before you can ask anything else, he turns and saunters out of the room. You follow his swishing black tail, the metal poker still in your left hand, trying and failing to swallow down the lump in your throat.

He leads you to the end of the hall, stopping just in front of the full-length mirror, and sits down with a twitch of his ears.

Obviously, you’re a little confused. Your focus flickers between the cat and where his intense gaze is pointed. He just stares straight ahead, stoic as ever.

Then the glass starts to fog up, though it looks like it’s coming from the opposite side. A cloudy film seeps frost-like over the surface until your reflection is completely shrouded.

A shape, a white shadow, emerges from the milky blankness, moving closer until it’s pressed right up against the glass.

It’s a hand, you realize. It’s someone’s hand.

The hand becomes an arm, the arm becomes a torso, the torso becomes a person. A person with bleach blonde hair and tear-stained cheeks.

“Jimin?”

The image clears to reveal his trembling form, dressed only in pajamas. His eyes are red and glistening, beautiful plump lips bitten to shreds. There’s spider silk tangled in his hair.

“Jimin! Oh my fucking god, Jimin!”

He looks absolutely frantic, expression blown wide with panic as his eyes dart all over your face like it’s the last time he’ll ever see it. Both of his hands are flat against the mirror, sliding, pushing, pounding in their desperate attempt to get to you.

But it’s no use. Even as you line your own palms up against his and press as hard as you can, the cruel barrier won’t budge.

“Jimin! Please, what can I do? What do I do, Jimin!”

He shakes his head vigorously. His mouth is moving, but you can’t hear anything, just the sound of your heaving sobs.

Fresh tears fall over the already existing tracks on Jimin’s cheeks. Behind him, you can see mismatched furniture and blue wallpaper.

“Please, please, please...” You’re not sure what you’re begging for, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. He can’t answer you anyway.

Jimin leans forward to breathe on the glass, fogging it up even more, and uses the tip of his finger to write two gut-wrenching words:

ƎM ƎVAƎ⅃

You look up at him in horror. He wants you to leave him there, leave him with that fucking monster who will do God knows what to him.

Jimin’s lip quivers as he mouths something to you, and you don’t need to hear him to know what he’s saying.

I love you.

The mirror clears almost instantly. Jimin’s face melts away, leaving you to stare at your own pitiful reflection.

You scream his name until your throat is raw, slamming your fists against the mirror, blinking through the burning tears.

Grabbing the poker again, you cock your arm back and bring it down in one powerful swoop. Crack. Crack. Crack.

You swing the heavy metal rod until the glass shatters and falls over you like razor-sharp rain. The only thing behind the mirror is a slab of cardboard.

The cat watches you silently, wide-eyed. Tiptoeing between the jagged shards, he pads over to where you’re sat hugging your knees and rubs his head against your arm. You barely notice his attempt to comfort you. Your chest is heaving too much, blood pulsating in your veins, in your skull.

He sits with you while you cry, brushing your skin with his soft tail every so often. He sits with you even when the first slivers of daylight trail across the floor.

When day breaks, you’re numb. Dehydrated, trembling, aching all over. Your body is sore from sitting on the hard floor for too long, the morning chill seeping bone-deep and leaving your skin cold to the touch.

Apparently, the cat decides that enough is enough. He bumps his head against your arm to get your attention, but your red-rimmed eyes are stuck staring at the glass shards strewn about the floor.

He nudges you with his tail, tugs at your shirtsleeve with his teeth, even gently scratches your exposed ankles.

“Knock it off!” you snap, shooing him away, but he just struts right back to your side.

He’s looking at you expectantly, and you can practically hear the question in his eyes.

Well, what are you going to do now?

Your gaze trails off, glancing back at the broken mirror, at Jimin’s glasses in the palm of your hand.

This bad dream isn’t something you can just wake up from.

It’s clear that running solves nothing. You tried it once, and it only came back to bite you. All that did was hurt the people you care about.

The people I care about, you think bitterly. Now trapped in a nightmare, all because of me.

They didn’t deserve this. Not even Jimin, no matter how bad he’s treated you.

The cat sits on his hind legs and watches the different emotions play out across your face. Regret, pain, fear, doubt, and then, something ignites in your expression like a switch being flipped. A fire behind your eyes that could only be described as pure, unfiltered determination.

No, they won’t suffer any longer. I won’t allow it.

You grip Jimin’s glasses so tight it’s a miracle they don’t snap in half.

I’m going to fix this.

The presence of sunlight makes your task a whole lot less daunting. The cat’s company is a nice bonus too, with his calm yellow eyes and silent encouragement. Not that backing out is an option. You know what you have to do.

You change into comfortable yet practical clothes, lacing up a pair of sneakers. You tie a jacket around your waist in case you, or anyone you encounter, gets cold.

Taehyung lent you his sweater, hopefully you’ll get to return the favor.

Digging Jimin’s old leather messenger bag from the back of the closet, you start to go around the house collecting supplies. A flashlight and extra batteries, lighter, pocketknife, gardening shears, a roll of duct tape, water bottle, a few apples and granola bars.

You pick the sharpest knife out of the kitchen drawer, sheath it inside the plastic cover, and stash it with the rest of your provisions.

Jimin’s glasses are stowed in the bag’s inside pocket. He’s going to need them if—when you find him.

The cat follows as you pace from room to room, hovering at your side as you finally make your way back to the little door.

There’s a thick, stifling moment of hesitation. Your heart is beating fast again, dread sinking it’s ugly teeth into your neck.

You throw a sideways glance at your companion. He looks up at you, nods towards the door, then moves his petite shoulders in what could be interpreted as a shrug.

He’s not coming back on his own, the gesture seems to say.

And he’s right, infuriatingly right. So with one last unsteady sigh, you grasp the cold black key and twist.

The door swings open by itself. A hot, musty-smelling wind brushes across your face, heavy and damp like someone’s breath.

It’s too dark to see anything, so you grab the flashlight from your bag and switch it on. Cobwebs cling to the tunnel walls, dust particles floating in the flashlight’s yellow beam. There’s an oh so enticing spec of light up ahead. Come back, it practically whispers in your ear, come back to me.

You grab the key from the lock, shove it safely inside your bag, and crawl forward. The ground is soft and startlingly warm against your fingers.

To your surprise, the cat follows you here too, albeit begrudgingly. His nose twitches in obvious discomfort, ears pressed flat.

“You don’t have to come with me,” you say, not really expecting a response. But, to your surprise again, he replies in that same deep voice:

“You need all the help you can get.”

Despite the situation, you let out a chuckle.

“You’re talking again,” you notice, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“How very observant of you.”

A few quiet seconds. The tunnel seems a lot longer than it was before, more suffocating.

“You know, you’re walking right into his trap,” the cat says, sounding slightly disinterested.

“I know what I’m doing.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

The air stirs impatiently around you, sucking you in as the light at the end of the passageway shines brighter and brighter.

“I can’t just leave him there,” you say to no one in particular.

The cat seems to understand, bowing his head in what looks like pity.

“Make it a game, then,” he says. “Believe it or not, he wants your respect. Give him a chance to earn it.”

You consider it for a moment. A game, a chance to even the score.

“Hmm. That could work.”

“No need to thank me,” the cat remarks with a proud quirk of his head. “But he won’t play fair, remember that. Even if you win, he won’t let you go so easy.”

His words send a shiver down the back of your neck, the weight of the situation finally setting in.

It’s then that you finally reach the end of the tunnel.

The parallel living room looks perfectly inviting, nothing at all like the last time you saw it. Instead of pulsing green walls and insects clinging to every solid surface, warm tones and softly glowing lamps decorate the space. Everything is plush and homey, from the comfortable furniture to the roaring flames burning in the fireplace.

Light seeps in through the kitchen door, along with the heavenly scent of cooking food. A sweet, male voice is singing quietly.

You look down to find that the cat has vanished. Guess I’m on my own then. Shoving the flashlight back in your bag, you square your shoulders and walk right into the belly of the beast.

The table in the center of the room is so loaded with food there’s barely any room left. Tendrils of steam rise from a tower of stacked pancakes; the eggs are cooked just how you like them, presented next to a platter of already-buttered, perfectly golden toast. You can hear the gurgling of the coffee pot.

Your throat constricts when you spot him.

The Other Jimin stands at the stove, spatula in one hand, leaning over a pan of sizzling bacon. His back is to you, and he doesn’t acknowledge your presence until you step onto the kitchen tiles.

“Oh, good morning sweetheart,” he says as if you’ve startled him. “Breakfast's almost done. Have a seat, won’t you?”

He’s too focused on the crackling pan to face you, merely gesturing towards the two empty chairs at the table.

You don’t move a muscle. Feet rooted to the floor, you just watch as he transfers the bacon to a plate. He unties the apron from around his waist, runs a hand through his hair, and turns around.

Your stomach flips, but it’s not out of disgust.

His tan skin is dewy and smooth, a healthy blush blooming across his cheeks. Your eyes drink in his velvet-soft lips, his sharp-cut jaw and the way his silken black locks fall over his forehead. He’s dressed in a t-shirt and star-patterned cardigan, tapering down to the tightest pair of black skinny jeans you’ve ever seen. They cling sinfully to his thighs and ridiculously thin waist.

He’s gorgeous and he fucking knows it, judging by the smirk on his plump, rose-pink mouth.

“Come on, let’s eat. I’m starving,” he says, moving to sit at the table.

You make no effort to join him.

He stares you down with those dark bottomless eyes, letting out an amused chuckle after a few seconds of silence.

“Stubborn,” he mutters under his breath, like he’s dealing with a petulant child. He scoots his chair back, approaching with a few strides of his long legs, and pushes you gently but firmly into the seat opposite to him.

Your stomach growls. Loudly. It’s hard to remember the last time you ate something, but you’re not about to give in to his temptations so quickly.

Jimin busies himself preparing a cup of coffee. He sets it down in front of you like an offering, loading your plate with a little bit of everything from the table.

Even though he said he was starving, he makes no attempt to eat anything, just sits there watching you.

You realize with an unpleasant sinking feeling that it’s not food he’s hungry for. He’s hungry for your reaction, your praise, your validation.

With this little detail in mind, you reach into your bag and grab one of the apples, biting into it with fake enthusiasm.

The corner of his eye twitches.

“Please don’t be difficult,” Jimin says, fingertips drumming against the tabletop.

“I want Jimin back. The real one,” you say with a stronger voice than you were anticipating.

He narrows his eyes, perfectly sculpted brows furrowing.

“Come on now, babe. It won’t do you any good getting such silly ideas.” His tone is chastising. Impatient.

But you’re determined to shatter the illusion he so desperately clings to.

“I. Want. Him. Back.”

The muscles in his jaw clench impossibly tight. His already-piercing gaze darkens.

“You know, I have half a mind to teach you a lesson after the stunt you pulled,” he grits out from between his teeth. “After you abandoned me and left us all to starve.”

You dig your fingernails into the flesh of the apple, skin sticky with juice, trying to suppress the shiver that threatens to give away just how terrified you are.

He must be able to tell, because a smug expression flits across his features.

“But no matter, I forgive you, baby. Love the sinner, hate the sin, as they say. I’m tired of giving punishments anyway.”

This time, you can’t hide the way your body trembles in fear.

“What did you do to them?”

Jimin smiles, teeth bared and eyes crinkling. He’s loving this. Having you here, so scared and helpless, clinging to his every word. He could say whatever he wanted, do whatever he wanted to you and there would be almost nothing you could do about it.

“They’re intact, don’t worry. I didn’t have to do much, they got their fair share of pain from just watching you leave them.”

You continue to munch on the apple, trying to distract yourself from his words and their poisonous influence.

“Kookie cried for hours. Poor kid, wouldn’t stop until I forced him.”

"What—” you start to say, choking halfway through the word. Never mind, you don’t want to know.

“And Tae was so disappointed. He was convinced that you’d stay for him, or at least try to take him with you.”

The Other Jimin sighs dramatically.

You know he’s lying, trying to manipulate you into feeling guilty for running away. You want to stay unaffected, but the mental image of Jungkook crying his eyes out, of the criss-crossing stitches over Taehyung’s chest...it gets to you a little bit.

Make it a game. The cat’s voice echoes in your head. Believe it or not, he wants your respect. Give him a chance to earn it.

This is your only shot. You have to get it just right.

“I don't love you.”

He bristles, hands clenching.

“Not if you force it,” you blurt out. “Love is meaningless if you force it. Wouldn’t you be happier if I loved you willingly?”

Despite his efforts to appear unfazed, there’s something undeniably eager dancing in the black of his eyes.

“Are you offering something?” he asks, tilting his head to the side like a curious puppy.

“A game, a test of willpower. The winner gets my freedom.”

The Other Jimin raises an eyebrow.

“You’ll never try to run again?”

Your throat has gone so tight that speech seems impossible, so you simply nod your head in response.

“You’ll stay here forever?”

Nausea curls in the pit of your stomach, but you manage another nod.

“Hmm,” he mutters, considering it. “And what happens if you win?”

If anything, he sounds amused, like the idea of you winning this game makes him want to laugh.

“Then you let us all go. Me, Jimin, Taehyung. And you promise to never hurt Jungkook again.”

Leaning back in his chair, the Other Jimin juts his lips into a pout.

“You’re forgetting one important thing, Y/N. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Fuck. You were really hoping he’d let that one little detail slide.

“Even if you lose, what’s to stop you from trying to leave me again?”

Shit shit shit. You can’t let him sew the buttons, you just can’t. Come on, think of something.

“I’m asking for a bit of mercy here,” you say, letting your voice drip with vulnerability and delicious weakness, praying that he takes the bait. “You already have an advantage.”

Another wicked smile spreads across his face.

“Alright, my love,” he purrs, slow and disgustingly sweet. “I can be lenient just this once, for you.”

You unclench your jaw.

“You’re right about one thing, though,” he says as he rises to a stand and approaches you with a few strides of his long legs. Hovering behind your chair, he slides his hands up to your shoulders and leans in uncomfortably close.

“I’d much rather win you fair and square.”

The heat of his breath tickles your ear. You fight the urge to flinch away.

“When you lose, when you finally give in, you’ll beg me to sew those buttons.”

One of his hands snakes down to rest over your sternum.

“After you learn to love me, you’ll want nothing more than to be connected to me in every way possible.”

You can only form one coherent thought in your head:

Fuck.

He seems reluctant as he pulls away, fingertips lingering a little too long. The fog in your brain clears a bit when he’s a safe distance away.

“I’ll give you three challenges. If you can get through all of them without breaking, I’ll let you all go,” he drawls almost lazily, walking around you in slow circles.

Without breaking? Your heart rate jumps a little at that.

“You’ll need to bring me something from each challenge, so I know you completed it.”

“How am I supposed to—” you begin, but he interrupts by reaching into his pocket and tossing something at you. Catching it by some miracle, you see that it’s a triangular stone with a hole in the middle, dark green like it was cut from jade.

“Look through the stone. You’re smart, you’ll figure it out,” he says with a grin. You can’t tell if the gesture is fond or condescending.

“Oh, and there will be a time limit, of course. You have until the moon is new.”

A scoff escapes your lips.

“Anything else?”

He only smiles again, eyes crinkling.

"One more thing.”

He closes the distance between you once more with a mischievous grin. Some of the juice leftover from the apple still lingers on the corner of your mouth, and he reaches towards you to swipe it away with his thumb.

Your stomach gives a little flip when he pops the digit in his mouth. And, judging from the dark look in his piercing, slitted eyes, he knows exactly what it does to you.

All this food on the table, and the only thing to pass his lips is the sweetness that has touched your own.

“I think that’s everything,” Jimin says nonchalantly, audibly sucking the last of it from his fingers.

“Do we have a deal?”

He extends his ringed hand with an expression that is downright ravenous. It’s unfair how attractive he is, with the faint yet sultry eyeshadow on his lids, the fluid lines of his neck and collarbone peeking out from his shirt.

You can’t help but agree with the cat’s words. You know, you’re walking right into his trap. But what other choice do you have? Jimin and Taehyung are here somewhere, and you’re the only one that can do anything to save them.

You shake his hand, and just like that, your deal with the devil is sealed.

“Good luck, sweetheart. I’ll be watching.”

The Other Jimin sidesteps you, skirting out of your field of vision, and when you turn around to keep him in your sights, you find that the room is empty. Except the feeling of eyes on your skin hasn’t disappeared with him.

Too long, you think bitterly. It’s been quiet for too long.

You’ve practically torn this house apart, kicked open every door, upturned every piece of furniture, scrutinized every nook and cranny for even the slightest trace of Jimin or Tae. And in that time, nothing’s jumped out at you, nothing even resembling a “challenge” has turned up.

The worst part is that you’re not sure if he’s toying with you or setting the stage for something truly horrifying.

The mirror at the end of the hall mocks you. It stays solid under your fingertips, leaving you glaring at a reflection you barely recognize. You have a feeling that the cold, dark room behind the glass is probably empty, anyway.

“You really are hopeless.” A voice, slick as oil, calls from behind you.

Whipping around, you’re met with the shape of the cat silhouetted in the kitchen doorway. There’s a moment of relief, then irritation as his words set in.

“It’s a big house, alright?” You bite back in frustration.

The cat rolls his eyes and musters a sigh.

“You won’t find anything in the house, stupid girl. Look at how much time you’ve already wasted,” he says, pointing his chin towards the window.

A sliver of darkness crawls across the full moon, covering nearly a quarter of its pale glow.

Shit. He wasn’t kidding about that time limit.

“I guess I’ll have to hold your hand through this one too,” the cat grumbles, sauntering towards the front door without checking to see if you’ll follow.

Of course, you hurry to catch up. His self-assured movements make you nervous, though. The slanted, almost bored look in those feline eyes, the slow sway of his tail. Why does it seem like he’s done this all before?

The cat leads you to the front yard, where the air prickles and hangs heavy with uncharacteristic humidity. His paws are silent on the dirt as he rounds the corner and stops at the basement stairs.

The entrance to the couple’s apartment is outlined in flashing marquee lights. You can hear the faint sound of music coming through the door.

“Your welcome,” the cat says, sounding very impressed with himself.

“Glad you don’t let it go to your head.” You don’t bother masking your annoyance this time.

He watches you venture down the stairs, tail twitching, and adds in a cool voice:

“Don’t forget to look through the stone.”

When you glance back over your shoulder, the cat is gone. A tiny bit relieved, but mostly terrified, you push open the door and step into the waiting darkness.

This definitely isn’t the grand theater you remember. The once vibrant, plush velvet curtain is faded and moth-eaten, its gold trim reduced to mere threads. Cobwebs and patches of damp mold cling to the rows of seats. The dimly glowing house lights reveal just how much dust floats in the air, you’re surprised you aren’t choking on it.

Something rustles from above. You look up at the arched ceiling just in time to see a dark shape crawl back into the shadows. Fishing your flashlight out of your bag, you flick it on and direct the beam.

They skitter to avoid the light. Dozens, hundreds of shiny black creatures with round bulbous bodies and too many long spindly legs to count. Each about the size of an overweight house cat, hanging upside down like bats.

You let out a startled yelp and point the flashlight back down at the ground.

Got it. Don’t look at the ceiling.

You don’t even have time to catch your breath before a blinding spotlight cuts through the dark room. The illuminated stage is occupied only by a gramophone seeping with crackling music, and two figures hunched back-to-back on the floor.

With one hand holding the flashlight and the other hovering over your bag, ready to grab a weapon, you begin your trek down the aisle.

The stench of rotting wood seems to thicken with each step towards the stage. Your footsteps are muffled by the filthy carpet, but you can still hear the creatures above your head shifting restlessly.

You’re only a few feet away from the stage when the two figures snap their necks to look at you.

Yoongi and Hoseok. They’re dressed in the same pink and green ensemble from the other night, but the colors seem...duller. Now that you look closer, you can see that they’re both covered in a thin layer of dust.

“Ahhh, our guest has finally arrived.”

Hoseok’s voice comes out garbled and distorted. If you hadn’t seen him open his mouth, you wouldn’t have believed it came from him at all.

“What took you so long, Y/N? We’ve been waiting for you.”

It’s Yoongi’s voice this time, but deeper and more croaky, like the inside of his throat has rusted.

Their bodies jolt into action, spines bending unnaturally backwards as they rise to a stand without the help of their arms. They seem unfazed by the sound of their joints cracking.

You take an involuntary step backwards, and their vacant stare follows you.

“We’re so glad you could join us tonight.” Hoseok's smile is a little too wide.

“Yes, we’ve been preparing for your visit. So that you’ll never think to leave us ever again,” Yoongi adds with a nonchalance that doesn’t match his words.

They’re still attempting to be theatrical despite their derelict surroundings. Even after the auditorium, and the fantasy along with it, has decayed beyond recognition.

When you don’t offer any kind of response, their expressions visibly wilt. They look at each other for a split second, and you can’t quite pin down what they’re feeling in that exact moment. Discouraged? Irritated? Anxious?

It dawns on you the next time they glance your way.

The almost frantic look in their eyes, the way their bodies fidget and tremble. They’re not just dejected, they’re scared.

“Won’t you have a seat and enjoy the show?”

The show. You’re reminded of the challenge. This is all meant to distract you from the game.

You reach into your bag and shuffle around until you find what you’re looking for. The smooth jade is warm to the touch.

The world is a flat black and white when you look through the stone, except for two flickering sparks of color. Their wedding bands, you realize. The ring on Yoongi’s left hand glows powdery pink, while Hoseok’s is a bright, taffy green.

The air seems to shift. Something in their black eyes sharpens with your realization.

The creatures clinging to the ceiling start to shuffle. Still keeping to the patches of darkness, their twitching legs scrape and tap against the wood.

“Don’t you want to stay with us?”

“We’re just trying to make you happy.”

At this point, you can’t tell who’s saying what. All you can focus on is the sound of the creature’s footfalls. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a mass of black shapes inching down the walls.

They’re coming towards you.

“You’d never be unhappy again. We’d make sure of it.”

“You’d never be uncomfortable, never feel unsatisfied ever again. We’d always take care of you.”

Yoongi and Hoseok walk slowly across the stage, circling each other. But their movements are jerky and awkward, like they aren’t in full control of their limbs.

“You could help us, Y/N. Won’t you help us?”

The sharp tapping suddenly turns muffled, and although the sound is less unpleasant, a chill runs down the back of your neck. That means the creatures have reached the carpeted floor.

I need to get those rings.

It can’t be just that easy, though. There must be some sort of riddle or clever solution.

“We’re so lonely, Y/N. You’d really leave us all alone to starve? We’ll all die without you.”

You've heard those same words so many times, but somehow they hurt more coming from different voices.

Something thin and slightly sticky brushes against your leg. Flinching away, you realize that the creatures have gotten close enough to surround you.

“Shit shit shit.” You sweep the flashlight beam back and forth, keeping them at bay.

The only other source of illumination in the room is the bright white pool from the single spotlight. You hoist yourself onto the stage just as another gangly leg snags on the material of your pants.

Yoongi and Hoseok lurch forward as you dig in your bag for a weapon. They reach out to—you’re not sure. To attack? To subdue? It doesn’t matter, because your fingers have already found the handle of the knife.

Fight overpowers flight, and you swing without a second thought.

There’s no cry of pain, no gasp for air. Hoseok doesn’t even blink when the blade slices across his forearm.

You never thought the absence of blood would bother you so much.

It doesn’t deter them in the slightest. They continue their advances, pulling, grabbing, dragging you despite the frenzied slashing of your knife. Bodies covered in deep, ugly gashes, yet not a drop of blood.

How can you win this fight? How are you supposed to beat this impossible challenge?

There must be something you’re missing, some sort of clue, the last piece of the puzzle that will make it all connect.

Scrambling back and swinging your weapon with everything you’ve got, they push you to the edge of the stage where the creatures are waiting ever so patiently.

“We don’t want to hurt you.” Yoongi’s voice sags with guilt.

“But you know we have to do this,” Hoseok finishes, reaching to grab your ankle.

Just as you’re kicking away their outstretched arms, your attention catches on the shadows cast by the spotlight. Three silhouettes, one crumpled and small, two standing tall. The silhouette on the ground, your silhouette, has nothing unusual about it. Yoongi’s and Hoseok’s silhouettes, though, don’t match up with their owners.

Several long, thin lines rise from the tops of their heads to the rafters above. They move when they move, one connected to each of their limbs.

Two seconds, three seconds, then it clicks.

You don’t second-guess your revelation or dwell on the cruel joke. In the time it takes Hoseok to pin down your flailing legs, the knife has been switched out with the shears.

All it takes is one sweep of your arm, this time aimed just above his head, to take Hoseok down. You feel a tension against the shears, something invisible but still tangible.

Snip.

Hoseok falls like a sack of potatoes. Nothing but dead weight, his body hits the wood with a heavy thump.

You expected Yoongi to be angry, to attack you with renewed ferocity, but the only emotion to flash across his face is fear. A pained cry that sounds like Hoseok’s name is torn from his chest. He reaches for the fallen man without a second glance your way.

That’s when you slice at the air above his head and send him tumbling to the ground as well.

The theater is silent. The music from the gramophone screeches to a halt, the creatures retreat from the edge of the stage and settle back against the walls. Eventually, the thrumming of your heartbeat quiets too.

Yoongi and Hoseok are motionless on the floor. At first, you think they’re unconscious, then you’re met with the sound of sniffling.

“Hobi? Hobi!” Yoongi calls desperately.

“I’m here, Yoon,” Hoseok responds, trying to keep his voice steady, but you can hear the sobs bubbling in his throat.

They’re facing away from each other, bent uncomfortably on their sides. They can’t even move to wipe the tears that drip down their noses.

The rings, get the rings.

You drop to your knees by Hoseok’s body and slip it off his finger.

“Please...please don’t, Y/N,” he begs, but he’s helpless to stop you.

Yoongi is next. Doing your best to ignore his soft weeping, you grab the ring and let it disappear inside your bag.

“Don’t leave us like this, please! He’ll hurt us, he’ll separate us.”

As much as you might wish it, Yoongi’s pleas don’t fall on deaf ears.

Your feet freeze on the edge of the stage. Maybe it’s a mistake, but you take one last pitying glance back over your shoulder.

Poor things, you can’t help thinking. Puppets with their strings cut, blindly following orders. Beings motivated by fear.

Not you, though. You won’t be motivated by fear.

Yoongi is hyperventilating, now. Hoseok’s voice is shaky as he tries to talk him through it with sugary-sweet, comforting words that Yoongi clings to.

The sight makes your heart ache a little bit, but you can’t afford to stay any longer. The spotlight dims with each step down the aisle, so does the sound of their sobs.

You tell yourself that you have to keep going. You have to do this, for Jimin and Tae. If you can win this challenge then you can win the next two.

You can keep going. You can beat him.

Out of all the things you expected to see waiting for you at the top of the basement stairs, the cat in his human form is certainly not one of them.

Namjoon is wearing a path in the dirt, pacing back and forth with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his pressed slacks. His appearance is as polished as you would expect, but even with his neatly groomed hair and crisp black clothes, you’ve never seen him look so disheveled.

His head whips around when your foot meets the first step.

“What took you so long!” Namjoon snaps. There’s panic laced in his normally smooth voice.

That sends another chill through your body. It means something’s finally cracked his aloof demeanor. It means you’re in trouble.

Apparently, you’re not moving fast enough, because Namjoon rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath.

“You’re beginning to worry me, you know.”

The clearly exasperated man grabs your arm and drags you up the final steps. He starts to pull you through the garden, towards the line of trees that surround the property.

“Why are you worried? I completed the challenge, didn’t I?” You struggle to match the strides of his long legs.

“Oh, don’t be naive. This isn’t about the challenges, this is about distracting you. Look at the moon!”

You can’t, too afraid of what you’ll find. If Namjoon’s voice is any indication, it can’t be good.

“He wants you to run out of time, he wants you to feel guilty,” Namjoon says, dragging you along with renewed urgency. The garden seems darker than it was before. You realize with a swell of nausea that it’s because the moon is no longer full. Half of its pale glow has been swallowed by darkness. Half of your time, gone.

“You’re getting emotional.” He digs the stone out of your bag and shoves it in your hands.

“Don’t. That’s exactly how he wants you.”

With that, he shoves you to where the garden’s manicured lawn meets the forest’s dirt floor.

Of course, you scoff to yourself. Of fucking course the next challenge is in the deep dark woods.

You dig out your flashlight and shine it on the overgrown path, through the twisted, reaching branches ready to snag on your clothing. After one more impatient push from Namjoon, your feet are moving and your gaze is cutting through the tangle of vines and shadowy trees.

These woods are dense, so dense that the reach of your flashlight beam only stretches a few feet in front of you. All you can see is gnarled roots and the occasional spiderweb, the dew drops on its delicate strings illuminated by a few wispy curtains of moonlight.

You reach for the stone and hold it up to your eye. It’s much warmer than you remember, a dull heat thrumming against your fingers. You can’t see much, just darkness and the texture of foliage.

Something glints up ahead. A speck of light, a candle flame trembling in the gentle, chilly wind. Pale yellow, it flickers like a dying firefly.

Dead leaves crunch under your feet as you approach the only beacon of light to guide you. With this newfound target, it’s easy to ignore the sound of rustling and scattered footsteps that come from inside the woods.

You follow it deeper and deeper into the forest’s beating heart, fighting the urge to hesitate or even turn back altogether. The image of Taehyung’s tear-stained cheeks and stitched-up chest, of Jimin’s eye smile behind his crooked glasses, reminds you that you can’t.

You have to see that smile again. Even if it’s just once.

The light is much closer now, though you still can’t see its source. You swear you can hear several sets of footsteps instead of just one, and it’s unclear if they are faraway or right next to you.

Your foot knocks into a dark shape, a fallen branch or stray rock. You don’t fall, regaining your balance just before your palms hit the dirt. The flashlight beam catches something.

The bottom of a shoe, the bottom of a leather boot.

Breath shaky in your ears, you sweep the beam higher. Ripped black jeans. Higher. A torso engulfed by an oversized coat. Higher. Matted black hair, silver earrings.

“Jungkook.”

His body is propped up against a moss-eaten tree trunk, head lolled to the side at an uncomfortable angle. Several days worth of fallen leaves are scattered over his clothes.

You drop to your knees and grab his arms. Shaking his shoulders doesn’t make him stir, neither does calling out his name. He’s still alive, according to the weak rise and fall of his chest, even if his skin has lost all traces of it’s youthful glow.

The stitches over his lips has been cut, letting his jaw go slack. When you lean closer, a green six-legged insect skitters out of his open mouth.

Grabbing one of your water bottles, you tip some of its contents past his cracked lips, then over the top of his head to try to wake him. It drips down the curtain of hair covering his eyes, down the slope of his nose, but Jungkook doesn’t so much as twitch.

“Come on, kid,” you mutter, gently slapping his cold cheek.

No movement. Tilting the bottle until water overflows down the sides of his mouth, he finally jerks awake, sputtering and coughing.

A groan rumbles from his throat.

“Master?” It comes out as a dry rasp.

“Jungkook, it’s me. It’s Y/N,” you say, soothing your hands up and down his arms in an attempt to generate some heat.

“No...no, no,” he mumbles, sighing your name like it hurts his lungs.

He won’t look at you. Head hanging low, bangs covering his face, his gaze fixed to the ground.

With a thick feeling welling up in your throat, you grip his chin and force him to look up.

Again, painfully again, you make out the shape of criss-crossing lines, dried blood and scabbed-over puncture marks.

This time they’re over his eyelids.

The sparse moonlight falls on the dark lashes now permanently stuck fanning against his cheek.

He wouldn’t stop crying until I forced him.

“Shit,” you gasp, tearing your hand away like you’re the one who’s been tortured, but Jungkook reaches for it again the second it leaves him.

He mutters something unintelligible, so you lean in to catch it better.

“Hungry, please.”

Hungry, hungry, he’s hungry. How long has he been out here?

You reach for a granola bar, crumbling off a piece and pressing it to his mouth. Tentatively, he parts his lips and lets you feed him. He chews once, twice, then spits it out with a gag.

“No, no, hungry. I’m hungry, please.”

Your brows furrow in confusion.

“‘M hungry,” he begs, pulling you closer by the wrist.

It’s only then that you remember what you’re here for. Shuffling a little closer to his huddled form, since he seemed to tense if you strayed too far, you bring the stone up to your eye with the hand that isn’t trapped in his iron grip.

The source of the yellow light is his charm bracelet. It glows more vibrant now that he’s conscious. The stone, too, burns hot in your palm.

“Jungkook, listen to me,” you begin, as if he could do anything else but listen with his eyes sewn shut.

“I need this.” Your fingers brush against the bracelet’s chain.

A jolt pulses through his body, stiffening immediately.

“What?” he blurts out. “Why?”

If he could look at you, you have no doubt that it’d be with those begging, watery eyes.

“You know why, Jungkook,” you reply solemnly.

His breath is quickening, limbs restlessly twitching. The hand around your wrist tightens.

“You’ll leave again,” he mutters, lip trembling. You wonder if he’s aware, or maybe it’s intentional, of the way your chest seizes with guilt.

“I need this to help you!” Slowly, you reach for the bracelet. “I’m trying to help you.”

He seems to anticipate it even without his sight. Ripping his hand away, he scrambles back until his back is pressed against the tree trunk.

“You need it?” His voice sags. “You already have everything you need. It’s all right here!”

Your face falls. He’s much too far gone to reason with. This isn’t the same boy that helped you escape. This is Other Jimin’s poison, this is fear and desperation and blind survival instinct.

The worst part is that you can’t decide if you resent him or feel sorry for him.

“You don’t want to help, you want to leave!” he snaps, eyebrows creasing like he would glare if it was possible.

“All you do is try to leave! You want us to all starve!”

You grit your teeth. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to do this the hard way.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook.”

As quick as you can, you grab his hand and slip the bracelet off his wrist.

An awful betrayed sound leaves his throat, and for a moment he’s shocked still, still reeling from the realization that you’d leave them all again. The next second, he’s lurched into action.

He reaches for you with both hands as you move to stow your prize in your bag. Catching you by the shoulders, he tries to pull you down to the ground.

You’re knocked down to your elbows. Curling up on your side, you deflect his advances for a brief second, which you use to stash the bracelet in your bag along with a handful of dirt.

There’s that sound again. The sound of footsteps.

You feel Jungkook frantically grabbing at your limbs, anything he can reach. Without thinking, you deliver a powerful kick behind you.

An audible crunch, then a groan and broken sob. Foolishly, you sneak a glance over your shoulder.

Black fluid flows from the hand cupped around his nose, muffling his pained whimpers.

Even though your throat feels clogged, you use the moment of precious distraction to haul yourself to your feet. You manage to get a few feeble steps in before a hand wraps around your ankle and you’re yanked back down to the ground.

Both hands gripping your ankles now, Jungkook uses all the strength he can muster to drag you backwards.

You feel the sharp bite of scattered rocks and fallen branches against your body, mud caked under your fingernails as you scramble to crawl away.

There are faces peeking out of the woods.

Pale, misshapen faces with too-long necks and dull, marble-like eyes. Some have gaunt frames with sinewy limbs, some have bloated bodies that resemble rising bread dough. They look as if they’ve been molded from lumpy clay or melted wax.

It’s hard to tell if Jungkook is crying or simply heaving with the effort of holding onto you. Whichever it is, you know that he’s not letting you get away without dragging it out first. And with one look at the moon overhead, you know you don’t have time for a dragged out escape.

So you do something he doesn’t expect. You turn and attack.

It’s clear from the way he gasps and flails that his only concern was keeping you from running away, and it seems he burned most of his energy doing just that. Blind, starving, broken, his attempts to defend himself are pathetically weak.

He’s so taken aback, so terribly dismayed by your assault. It only makes you feel that much more guilty at the fact that he never expected you to go on the offensive.

Decisive and deliberate, the grotesque forest creatures react to the rustling. Jerking towards you, they start to make their way through the brush. They seem to be drawn towards sound, much like how the creatures in the theater were repelled by light.

You wonder how long you have until they reach you. Then, a horrible idea flickers in your head. A cruel, effective idea.

There’s a few moments of struggling before you manage to pin Jungkook down and wrestle his arms behind his back. Fumbling for the roll of duct tape in your bag, you hear the slow approach of the deformed creatures through the overgrown thickets.

You’ve got both legs straddled on either side of his body, using your weight to keep him still. Or rather, as still as possible.

He’s struggling considerably, using every bit of strength left in his body to fight you off.

It’s no use, though. In just a handful of seconds, you’ve got his wrists bound. Then his ankles after switching your body around to face his legs.

There’s no fight left in him now, only sobbing and begging.

You look back to the way you came. The bracelet is lightweight, but your bag feels heavy enough to drag on the ground.

Don’t look back. Don’t. It’s Namjoon’s voice.

The creature’s footsteps are hurried, then suddenly cease. The same time that Jungkook’s sobs turn to screams.

You’re getting emotional.

Rustling, the sound of boots frantically kicking. Pained grunts and hitches of breath.

Don’t. That’s exactly how he wants you.

With the creatures distracted, you make your escape.

Namjoon is not waiting for you when you emerge from the woods. The pristine lawn is empty, not even an insect can be found. There are just the vines slowly slithering over the garden wall, the swollen flower buds pulsing like beating hearts, looking like they’re ready to burst with pus.

When your eyes shift over your surroundings, a distant light catches your attention.

It’s the door to the attic apartment. Swung wide, a deep orange glow emits from the opening, shedding light onto the metal staircase below. The light seems to cast more shadows than actual illumination.

You don’t have to hunt for this challenge, and you have a feeling that that’s not a good thing. It's practically beckoning you.

You can’t help but approach it hesitantly. A quick look at the moon proves to be a good motivator. A waning crescent.

You’re almost out of time.

Taking the stairs two at a time now, you reach the landing out of breath. Peering into the room, all you can see is the miniature circus tent. It glows bright red and yellow, while the rest of the room is shrouded in complete darkness.

You take the first tentative step forward, then the next, then the next, until your next step is met with a stomach-churning squeal and a squirming mass against your shoe.

Yanking your foot back, you realize with the sounds of skittering little paws that you stepped on a rat’s tail.

“Shit fucking shit fuck,” you blurt out almost involuntarily.

Small, scattered footsteps echo around the room.

“Rats. Lovely,” you mutter, mentally brushing yourself off before trekking deeper.

You pause at the shrunken entrance of the tent. Then the nauseating realization hits you. This is the last challenge. It all comes down to this.

You shove down the sudden wave of fear that wells up inside you.

Only one more to go. You’ve come this far.

You know that pretending to be brave sometimes helps. So, with squared shoulders and a clenched jaw, you bend down and brush past the tent curtains.

Once again, the inside of the tent defies all physics. It’s the size of a real amphitheater, only now it is covered in cobwebs and scraps of fallen, rotting fabric.

A hanging sign across the theater reads Hall of Human Curiosities.

In the center of the arena is a crumpled shape. It twitches every time you move, like it can feel you shift in the air. You can vaguely make out the outline of a coat and top hat.

With each step forward, the shape rises and elongates, growing taller and taller until you’re at its feet as if it’s being pulled taught by an invisible string. Even though it’s too tall to be considered human, you recognize it as Mr. Kim. Top hat draped with spiderwebs, golden tassels frayed, the rich royal blue of his jacket faded and dull.

His mouth is stretched in a wide, teeth-baring smile that his eyes don’t match. You wouldn’t be surprised if it was forced to stay that way with wire or string.

“Finally.”

His voice is so deep and distorted that it almost makes you shiver, sounding more like it’s coming from an animal through an old radio. Despite his too-wide grin, the tone of his voice is devoid of emotion.

“It was cruel of you to keep us waiting for so long.” Mr. Kim says, eerily slow. “You know how hungry we are. I can’t...hold them...much longer.”

You feel frozen under his intense gaze and unflinching smile. Not to mention that he’s several feet taller than you, looming over your form enough to cast a shadow. You have to crane your neck to look at his face.

“I-uh...Whe-Where is it...?” you manage to get out.

He just stands there staring down at you, unblinking.

You start to take a step backward, but he grabs your arm with startling force. His long, thin fingers are big enough to wrap around your whole bicep.

“Come now. We’ve waited long enough,” he snarls, pulling back the curtain to reveal a hallway lined with doors. He roughly drags you along, lifting you by the arm so your toes barely touch the floor. His eyes are fixed on you the entire time, not once glancing ahead to see where he’s going.

He stops by one of the doors and pushes it open, smile impossibly growing.

“Behold, the Two-Headed Monster.”

You really shouldn’t have looked.

The sight alone is enough to make you gag, not even considering the pitiful sounds coming from the unfortunate creature in the center of the room.

Barely even human, more like a sick deviation of humanity gone wrong. A creature with one head of pink hair and one head of white. Crudely stitched together, it’s nearly impossible to discern where one begins and the other ends.

You slap a hand over your mouth.

Remnants of the sparkling pink and green suits, now patches of fabric, are littered across the floor. Now you can scarcely make out the shape of the two of them.

They’re a mass of flesh now. Some body parts are stretched and engorged, with others severed and reattached somewhere else. Stripped, tormented, ripped apart, and sewn back completely wrong.

They wanted so badly to be together.

You close your eyes and stumble back into the hall, feeling Mr. Kim’s towering shadow behind you.

“Shocked?” he asks blankly.

When you look up at him, hand still over your mouth, there is something darker in his eyes.

“Why should you be? You’re the one who condemned them to this fate.”

His voice is colder, sharper.

Mr. Kim grips your arm again and hauls you further down the long corridor. He stops at the next door down, opening it with his gaze still stuck to you.

“The Human Pin Cushion,” he announces proudly.

You don’t look. At least, not at first. But you can hear Jungkook's screams.

Somehow they're worse than the screams that rang through the woods. Those were panicked and scared, still tinged with the possibility of attracting help.

These are utterly hopeless. Jungkook's tortured cries don't ring with any semblance of hope. Broken sobs rip through his lungs. Sniffling whimpers and hitched breaths, all uttered with the knowledge that no sympathy will follow.

Your face is decidedly turned away, eyes squeezed shut.

Mr. Kim grabs your jaw, pinches hard on your cheeks, and wrenches your head to face the poor boy in the middle of the room.

"Look! Look at what you've done!" he snaps, voice so deep and rumbling that it seems to make your bones vibrate.

Oh god. Oh my fucking god.

It takes a moment to recognize that the figure in front of you is a person. No one's spine is supposed to curve back like that. The joints in the elbows and knees are supposed to bend in the opposite direction.

Jungkook is a crumpled shape, stripped down to his barest form and cruelly contorted to fit the name of the exhibit, his arched torso as the "cushion."

And just as the name suggests, every inch of his flesh is pierced with needles. Small, syringe-sized needles, needles the length of your hand, giant needles big enough to stab through his chest and come out of his back.

Thick, strong needles pin his hands and feet to the floor. They’re plunged deep into his ear canals, twin rivers of blood flowing down his neck. They’re in his eyes and through his tongue.

Then a truly horrible thought enters your mind. With so much bending in the wrong direction, kneecaps shattered and spine broken, along with the lethal stab wounds, he should be dead by now.

But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

Jimin doesn’t want them dead. He wants them to suffer. He wants you to watch them suffer.

You can’t think of a worse state to be in. Never dying, only the pain of dying.

It’s too much. You wrench yourself free from Mr. Kim’s grasp and turn away, a sob getting stuck in your throat.

“Had enough yet?” he asks, patronizing.

Slowly, you pivot to face him. Then you spit in his face.

A growl rumbles in his gut as he wipes his cheeks. That infernal smile doesn’t so much as budge as his brows furrow and his eyes zero in on you.

"Fucking bitch," he hisses.

The next moment, he has your hair in his fist, dragging you back into the hallway. You scream and struggle, but all he does is give another cruel yank.

You only break free when you throw your elbow back and hit a particularly soft spot in his abdomen. A shrill, squeaking cry immediately follows, and you feel a chunk of your hair being ripped from your skull as you jerk away from him.

Panting, you stumble backward.

Mr. Kim is clutching his stomach with hunched shoulders, looking like he's ready to lunge at you. Small, restless lumps shift under his clothes.

Something lights up in those sinister eyes, as if he's been given permission after all this time holding back. That fleeting light turns to something darker.

You were right to take a step back when Mr. Kim unbuttoned his jacket, because clinging to his dull, greying flesh is over a dozen oversized rats.

They've chewed most of him down to exposed tissue and sinewy muscle, down to the bone. Elongated, yellowed front teeth gnawing away at him bit by bit.

He doesn't even seem to notice. All he does is stare you down with those sharp eyes and stomach-churning smile. He doesn't even flinch when one of the rats bursts an artery and sends blood spurting from his rib cage.

Mr. Kim's eyes roll to the back of his head.

"Didn't I tell you? We're hungry."

Then the rats turn their red-eyed sights on you.

Falling from Mr. Kim's body, they close the distance with startling speed. They crawl up your legs, jump up onto your torso, skitter up your sleeves and down the back of your shirt.

You scream and flail when they bite into your flesh and make deep gashes with their claws. The sensation of foreign paws all over your body makes shivers creep up your spine.

You can hear Mr. Kim's cackling laughter as you grab each small, wriggling body and toss it to the ground. Just as you're sure the last one is off of you, Mr. Kim opens his jacket more and a fresh surge of rats pours out.

They scurry across the floor, but you resort to frantically stomping to keep them at bay.

There are too many. They keep multiplying out of thin air, their squeals and pattering feet worming into your ears.

You don't realize that you're retreating until your back hits the wall. In a panic, you reach back and yank on the first door handle you find, slipping inside and slamming the door behind you.

There are a few seconds to catch your breath before a fuse fizzles and the popping sound of illuminating light bulbs fills the room.

You whip around, grimacing in the harsh light. By the time your eyes adjust, you can hear the sound of soft breathing.

You don't know if you could even define this space as a room, there are no discernible walls or ceiling. It's just a darkness. A darkness broken only by the presence of several fluorescent lamps and a narrow table.

You hesitate, pressing yourself as close to the door as possible, but you can still hear that quiet breathing. It shakes a little, then steadies itself as if the person it belongs to is trying to calm themselves.

Taking a slow step forward, you see the rise and fall of someone's chest from atop the table. Another step, and you can see the person's legs, then their arms, then the top of their head.

You can see that their limbs are pinned down with thin straps. You can see that their torso is bare. You can see that it's Taehyung.

A stream of muttered expletives fall from your mouth. Lunging forward, you stand over the table that he's sprawled across and yank on the straps.

They're made of hard, strong material, serrated on the side against the skin so the more he struggles, the more it cuts. Each strap is secured by a silver padlock.

"Fuck!" you shout, the sound echoing in the nothingness.

"It's okay," Taehyung says gently, reaching to place two fingers on the back of your hand in comfort.

His wrists are covered in shallow gashes and dried blood.

You finally bring yourself to look at his face. Curly hair matted and sweat-pasted to his forehead. Red, watery eyes that look like they've been crying for hours. Face drained of color, drained of hope.

Yet he still finds it in himself to give you a small, sad smile.

"It's okay, let's just get it over with," he says, looking away.

You furrow your brows in confusion. Taehyung doesn't meet your eyes.

"What?"

He still doesn't look at you, only nods his head to his left.

You have to lean to see the other side of the table over his body. It's lined with gleaming tools, oversized tweezers, odd-looking scissors, saws of all different sizes. Then you look to the left a little more, to the row of scalpels.

It's then that you realize what you're really looking at. Surgical lights, an operating table, medical tools.

"I don't understand," you say as a squirming knot forms in your stomach. It's a bit of a lie. You're beginning to, but it's too horrible to admit.

You glance back at the door you came through. The sign reads LIVE Open-heart Surgery!

Taehyung gulps, eyes going shiny.

"Look through the stone," he says.

Reluctantly, you pull it out of your bag and raise it to your eye. You scan the edges of the "room," finding nothing with your gray-tinted vision.

"Look down," Taehyung encourages.

You don't move, something cold and paralyzing has taken hold of you.

"Y/N, look down."

The urgency in his voice forces you to comply. The surrounding area of his chest is gray, but in the center, right over his heart, are two glowing circles.

The thing you need to complete the last challenge.

The stone clatters to the floor.

"Oh...fuck," you exhale as the strength vanishes from your legs. You brace yourself on the edge of the table, eyes stuck to the spot on Taehyung's chest where the stitches lie.

"Not that. Please not that," you mutter.

Taehyung's tears have escaped his eyes despite his best efforts.

"It's okay, it's okay," he says, though his voice sounds broken.

"It's not okay! That sick bastard!" you scream, slamming a fist down on the surface of the table. Frantically, you grab one of the tools and try to cut through his straps.

"Y/N..." Taehyung sighs.

The material won't even fray, the blade seems to slide off like it's coated in oil. You abandon it and grab the scissors.

"Y/N, please..."

It's the same story, not even a scratch. Tossing it away, you grab the sharpest-looking saw.

"You know that's not how this works," Taehyung says, almost too quiet for you to hear.

"Screw how it works."

The saw's teeth refuse to catch, pressing harder, harder, harder until it slips from your hand completely.

Two sounds ring in your ears, the clang of metal on the floor, and the faraway reverb of laughter.

His laughter.

"You don't have much of a choice," Taehyung whispers.

It's beginning to set in. Another cruel joke to stomach. You'd hoped and prayed for Tae to be free somehow. Obviously not like this.

"Please," Taehyung murmurs. "Please...do it."

By now the tears have pooled enough to blur your vision. Your hands shake with the thought of holding one of those scalpels.

"Can't," you barely manage to get out.

"Yes you can," he continues gently. "Do it for me. Do it for you."

"It would kill you!"

He tries to blink away the water in his own eyes.

"It's okay, I want you to do it."

You turn away from the table in frustration, pacing back and forth.

You can barely begin to wrap your head around how you could manage it. Just cutting into his chest with no anesthesia...

The blood. The smell.

You’d have to saw through his ribs, reach between his lungs. There are no clamps or tools that could be used to prevent hemorrhaging. You have no idea how to avoid major arteries. He’d bleed out in minutes.

You could hardly bear hearing Jungkook’s tortured screams, you don’t know if you could handle Taehyung’s too.

Something cracks underneath you.

You look down and find a fracture along the ground a few feet away.

Taehyung hears it. His eyes widen, breath quickening.

“You have to! Please, Y/N!” he pleads. “You have to get out!”

You hover over the table and try to console him, but he only jerks against his restraints.

Another crack sounds, louder and longer.

“Take it!” he says frantically, nodding to one of the scalpels.

You pick it up because of the panic in his voice, hand trembling.

"You just have to cut the stitches," he rambles on. "You just have to...just..."

His eyes dart back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of the floor. You barely hear it or care to look, too focused on the spot over Taehyung's chest.

"Come here! Y/N, come here," he orders, and you comply hesitantly.

"Just listen to my voice, okay?"

You don't feel yourself nod, even though you know you told your brain to.

"Okay, good. Now, take the blade and cut the first stitch."

The breath clogs up in your lungs, a distressed wheeze escaping your throat.

"It's okay! It's okay, don't freak out! We'll take it one step at a time."

He brushes your other hand with his fingertips. It makes you look at him and his leveled stare.

"You can do it. Just the first stitch, okay?"

The certainty in his voice guides your hand since your brain has checked out. The blade hovers over the black string.

"Do it," he says sharply, and you bring it down to snip it away.

Taehyung can't hide his flinch.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" you blurt out.

He clenches his teeth and controls his expression.

"It's okay, you're okay. Now the next one."

You stare down at it, limbs frozen.

"Come on, you can do it," he encourages.

You shake your head.

"I don't think I can."

Another crack rings in your ears.

"Just do it, Y/N!" Taehyung shouts, frantic now.

Panicking, you reach over and cut the next stitch. Your hand is shaking so bad that it jerks and slices through the scar tissue, blooming red.

Taehyung exclaims in pain, his whole body arching in a painful grimace.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" you shout like it's being ripped from you.

Taehyung tries so hard to hide it all, tries so hard to look brave.

"It's...okay. I'm fine."

He sniffles and takes a few sharp breaths.

"Keep going," he urges.

Again, you shake your head.

"Come on, Y/N. You can do it," he continues. "Just cut the rest of them, and then...then make the incision."

His breath catches at that, the incision. As if the weight of what he's begging for finally sets in. He's begging you to kill him.

"Just get it over with! Please!"

He's beginning to hyperventilate, arching against the cool surface of the operating table.

“Please, please,” he sniffles, deflating in resignation.

“I can’t let you be trapped here.”

Something about that statement takes the air right from your lungs.

Because it's you who's supposed to be saying that. You were the one who made that promise to him. It's one of the reasons why you came back.

Why you came back.

You came back to free them. Jimin, the real Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook if you could manage it.

But it's clear now that you can't do both. You can't free yourself and the rest of them. Jungkook would still be stuck here, and Tae...

If there was a pool of nausea at the bottom of your stomach, then a stone of dread just plopped down into it.

Because you just realized. You can't do it.

Somehow you were able to face Yoongi and Hoseok, cut their ties and leave them severed. And somehow you were able to resist Jungkook's desperate pleas, then leave him behind for who knows what to feed on.

But you can't do this. You can't torture Taehyung with your own hands. You can't throw his life away just so you can walk away from the mess you caused.

You were a fucking fool. You were a fool to believe that he would let you walk away so easily, without losing something.

How naive of you. In the end, you didn't prevent any suffering, you just prolonged it. And now he's throwing it back in your face.

If you want to save yourself, the rest of them must suffer.

Part of you wishes that you didn't care about their fate so much. Most of them aren't even human, technically. Just puppets in his game.

But then you think of how Jungkook helped you escape despite his fears, how Hoseok and Yoongi love each other so desperately. Beings with free will.

And Taehyung. Taehyung with his sweater and stuffed Pomeranian. Kept and punished like a pet, just because he wanted to be loved. Now willing to give himself up so you can escape his same fate.

In the end, Namjoon was right. You walked right into his trap.

But you suppose you were right too. After all, when you came crawling back, you said you knew what you were doing. You knew what you were willing to give up.

The cracks crawl towards your feet, intersecting at their jagged edges as they go.

You can't do it, and Taehyung knows it when you let your limp wrist hit the edge of the table.

His eyes follow the motion, widening in horror. When they look back up at you, they're filled with pitying disbelief.

"What are you doing?" he whispers.

You try to hide the way your mouth and chin contorts when you're about to cry.

Wiping your slippery cheeks, you take Taehyung’s hand.

“It’s going to be okay," you begin, pinning his gaze with your own.

His eyes are wider and glossier than ever, and when he tightens his hand around yours you see his lip give a slight quiver.

"It's all going to be okay.”

The floor is a web of intertwining fractures. You swear you feel it moving under your feet, swelling and deflating slowly, breathing in anticipation.

Your throat constricts in a tight swallow.

“I promised that I’d get you out of here, didn’t I?” you whisper with a defeated smile.

Tae’s eyes lock on your face. You think you hear him mutter your name tearfully, pityingly.

The scalpel slips from your other hand.

It hits the floor.

The ground caves in.

You have no idea how far the fall is. Whether it's a few feet or few floors, all you know is that your body stings sharp all over.

Maybe you lost consciousness, because the first thing you register is squeezing your eyes shut, then wrenching them open to see your surroundings better.

You're not surprised to find that it's extremely dim, too dark to see the top of the ceiling, if there is one. Shards of glass litter the ground, a floor of rotten wood slats. Upon looking down at yourself, you find that you're covered in cuts and gashes, in addition to the numerous rat bites.

Peeling wallpaper, once white, now a faded and stained beige, lines the four walls. It bulges and swells in some places, as if the room is bursting at the seams.

One shadowy corner is flooded with piles of old books, scraps of fabric, pieces of broken furniture, all spilling out from a split in the wallpaper like pus from an infected wound.

Another corner is occupied by an ancient-looking grand piano. A few rats linger atop the yellowing keys, occasionally setting off one out-of-tune note.

But more than anything else, the room is filled with strands and strands of thread-like silk. Clinging to the walls, creating webbed hammocks over your head, rising from the piano's lid in a spiraling tower.

In some places, it's sparsely woven, like a net for catching big game. In other places, it's knit thick and tight like a finely crocheted blanket. They reach from wall to wall, from floor to unseen ceiling, all creating a massive web that barely lets you move around the room without touching one of the delicate fibers. A hoard of miscellaneous things are tangled up in it. Scraps of paper, silverware, old keys, knickknacks and trinkets.

Hot breath hits the nape of your neck.

You flinch with a short gasp, whipping around.

There is no one behind you. Nothing but silence and your own shadow.

Then a pair of hands comes to rest on your shoulders. That same wisp of breath fans against the back of your head. Breathing you in, inhaling the scent of you.

"Fucking finally."

Everything freezes, everything but the pound of your heart in your ears. You don't think you could move if you tried, all your limbs feel foreign and solid as lead. Your skin is crawling, hyperaware of the way his fingertips graze down the slope of your neck, across the curve of your collarbones. The way his cold hand wraps softly around your throat.

"Waiting, waiting, waiting, and now...finally."

His hand tightens with the word. The patience of a predator worn thin.

Helpless defeat. You feel like you're shrinking, deflating with the pressure of his hands on you. As if he could mold you like clay, press you down until you're small enough to squirm in the grip of his fist.

"Aww. Scared, love?"

You didn't realize that you were shaking. You hear him chuckle, clearly amused.

"Poor thing," he drawls tauntingly, squishing your cheeks and gently moving your head side to side.

"So kind, so selfless, so naive."

His right hand doesn't leave your face, holding your chin, while his other hand wraps around your waist from behind.

"So lovely. Trying so hard to save everyone. I couldn't have asked for anyone better."

His fingers trace down your spine, earning another shiver.

"And you tried sooo hard, didn't you?"

His patronizing tone makes your eyes burn, threatening tears. But you don't want to give him the satisfaction.

"Tried so hard to resist, to deny me, to be stubborn. Tried to save your precious Taehyung and that fucking parasite you call a boyfriend. And just look at you now."

His hands slip away from your body so he can walk around you in a slow circle.

"A sweet little thing who bit off more than they could chew."

Something in your brain says that you should be angry. But all you are is numb.

"After all the things you've done...Your actions deserve to be punished, really. But there will be time for that."

"All that I've done?" you blurt out, but it comes out as more of a whisper.

You feel his eyes lock onto your form, but you still refuse to look at him.

"You think laying this place to ruin is a simple offense? Don't forget, you tried to kill us."

You glare at the floor, clenching your fists at your side.

He scoffs.

"You still don't get it, do you?"

He crowds your space, nose brushing your cheek, chest pressed up against your side.

"This is my world you're in, and I make the rules here."

Your eyes are shut tight, jaw clenched to avoid saying something that will add to your long list of regrets.

"Look at me," he commands.

The stubborn thing that you are, you only turn your head away a fraction more.

"I said, look at me." His voice has gone deeper, a perfect imitation of Jimin's accent when speaking his native dialect. He puts two fingers on the cheek turned away from him and guides your head to face him.

Reluctantly, you obey.

He's dressed in black. A jacket thrown over broad shoulders, sleeves a sheer black lace to reveal the toned muscle underneath. Unbuttoned, it shows the smooth expanse of his chest, down to the cut V below his thin waist.

Below that, black pants that cling tight to his thick thighs. Silver jewelry glints all about him, dangling from his ears, from his wrist, rings on nearly every finger, a body chain draping tantalizing down his torso.

He moves his fingers to your chin and tilts it up.

His hair is long and wavy, dark curtains hanging over his eyes. Those eyes, hooded and black as pitch, are fixed on you intently. And again, you're stuck staring at the sharp line of his jaw, the dewy skin on his cheeks, those lips, now quirked in a smug grin.

"Just look at me. You know I’m beautiful.”

Clenching your teeth, you hate the fact that he’s right. As much as you wish you were sickened by the sight of him, you can’t deny that his face is the most stunning thing you’ve ever seen.

“Look at what’s yours," he says, letting his fingertips trail down the column of your neck. He pinches the front of your shirt and tugs you closer when you subconsciously try to step away.

"Look at what you fell in love with," he says sharply, gripping the hair at the back of your head and forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Here, I'm a god."

It's that statement that finally triggers your rage.

A god, he says. Yes, a cruel, cunning, manipulative, deceitful, sadistic god. Playing with all of your lives like they're as meaningless as chess pieces. Taunting you just because he can.

Now you're clenching your teeth and digging your nails into the meat of your palms.

"You're not a god. You're a monster."

He stiffens.

"You still don't get it. Nothing you do or say will ever make a difference to me. I don't love you, I never will."

He takes a step back like you've punched him, the confidence draining from his face.

Good. All you have are your words, and you want to use them to make him crumble. You want to gut him.

"You're fucking disgusting. You're sick and twisted and unworthy of love. You're right, I did try to kill you. And I would do it again in a fucking heartbeat. I would leave you here to rot and starve for the rest of your miserable existence and not even bat an eye."

He backs away from you like that will protect him from your venomous words, one hand moving to clench his chest.

"You're ugly inside and out. You make me sick! I hate you! You hear me! I HATE YOU!"

It looks as though his whole face quivers. For a moment, he looks like a little boy playing dress up, pretending to be something pretty only for reality to crush his fantasies.

Cradling his stomach, he hunches over and lets out a guttural groan. His breath hitches, gagging and retching until he vomits up something thick and black.

When he looks up again, dark liquid stains his lips, dripping down his chin. And his eyes, they've gone completely black again. And just like two wells of ink, they leak twin streams of black tears.

The center of his chest, right over his heart, is bleeding.

"Spoiled brat," he spits. Even though his eyes are a bottomless black, you can see the fury inside them.

"You want me to be the bad guy so badly."

His voice is different. Something in it is unhinged, eerily calm.

"All I've done is give you exactly what you asked for. Better house, better companions, better food, better sex..."

That makes a shameful blush flare on your face.

"And yet all you want is to make me the villain. Well fine. I'll be your villain. Maybe then you'll be happy."

He doubles over again, but this time it's from laughter. It builds and builds until he's practically cackling.

"Or maybe you don't want to be happy. You say I'm sadistic, but I think you're just a masochist."

His shoulders are hunched unnaturally, slowly growing under the material of his jacket.

"Is that it, babe? You need me to be the bad guy so you won't feel guilty about being with me?"

Something is falling from his shirtsleeves, from his pant legs. When you look closer you see it's handfuls of beetles and maggots, skittering and wriggling out of his clothes. A dank, musty smell fills the air.

"Need me to snatch you up so it's all out of your control?"

His limbs are stretching, legs turning lanky, too-long arms hanging down in front of him.

"Ahh, that's it, isn't it? My little glutton for punishment."

You're backing away, now. As his skin drains of color and his cheeks become sunken, a dark mass begins to grow from his back. The skin of his right hand peels and rots away, leaving behind a skeletal hand of metal, fingers long and sharp as needles. His other hand looks like the hand of a corpse, with graying skin and knuckles held together with string like a doll. It's wet with that same black liquid, which leaks from the stitches littering his skin and drips down his fingers.

Another look at his torso, and you can see his ribs pressing against his flesh. His stomach and waist are shriveled like a starving man's.

"You know, all I would dream of is stealing you away, taking you for myself, spoiling you, filling you to the brim with my love, stuffing you so full of me that you're bursting. Turns out that's what you wanted all along too."

"No!" you protest, trying to distance yourself from him as much as you can.

"Deny it all you want, sweetheart. But I know you. I know you in ways that you don't even realize."

"You're fucking delusional," you say, not sure whether to laugh or cry at the realization.

He just laughs again.

"I'm the delusional one? Don't forget that it was you who asked for a different life, for a partner that actually wanted you. And trust me, I want you."

A wicked smile appears on his blackened lips.

"I see now that I've been too soft on you, love. If you want me to be a monster, then I better start acting like one."

The mass on his back swells and squirms. It grows and grows until it looks like the abdomen of some giant spider. His eyes close, head leaning back as the veins in his neck strain. A deep, inhuman growl rumbles from his chest.

It's as your back hits the wall that eight black, gangly legs burst from the bulbous mass.

A scream for no one to hear rips through you.

They keep stretching and growing until they nearly reach the walls on either side of him. His body is lifted off the ground and hangs limp, now towering over you.

You're sliding along the wall, desperately trying to get away as he slowly advances.

"Do I disgust you? Am I as ugly as you say? Are you proud of the monster you created?!"

"Get the fuck away from me!"

"All I wanted was to show you how much I love you. Is it really so hard to love me back?! I was everything you wanted, now look at me!"

Those misshapen legs, pointed at the bottom, click on the ground as he edges closer. You stumble over the littered debris, dodging the silk strands. Every step he takes makes your heartbeat quicken. You can feel the sweat running down your back, dripping down your face.

"Look at me! Look at me like you're afraid!"

You don't have to pretend to be afraid of him. Looking into his dark-rimmed eyes sends a wave of nausea through your gut. You're practically choking on your own breath as the panic builds.

Scrambling back, you duck under a curtain of webbed silk, nearly tripping over a broken chair.

"Where do you think you're going? Do you really think you can get away from me now?"

The distance between the two of you is shrinking, enough to make your limbs feel like jelly and your lungs to burn. His eyes never leave you, pinned to your body from under his dark hair.

"Stupid girl. You were mine the moment you came crawling back."

One of his black limbs reaches towards you, snagging on your pants and pulling your legs out from under you. You hit the ground with a grunt, hands scraping against the broken glass. You feel like your breath is getting clogged in your throat, almost hyperventilating.

"Aw, look at that," he drawls. "You're scared now, aren't you? How cute."

A spark of anger still flickers through the fear. You reach into your bag and feel around for the knife. Finally finding it, you unsheathe and point it right at him.

"Oh? Still got some fight left in you?" he quips with a chuckle. "Fine. We can play dirty if you want."

He lunges forward, truly looming over you now, and grabs your ankle. With a yank, he drags you towards him across the floor, the scattered glass and splintery wood cutting into your skin.

You let out a yelp, struggling in his grip.

"Let go of me!"

He clicks his tongue in disappointment.

"I don't think so. You've done enough running."

He keeps dragging you back until you reach the center of the room. Your hand tightens around the blade's handle. With a determined huff, you swing with all the strength you can muster.

He dodges it easily, laughably.

"Come now, babe. Let's not pretend you're getting out of this one. You've already lost the game."

He bats the knife away like it's a feather, sending it flying across the room and out of your reach.

"I'm tired of humoring you. This game of ours is getting old."

You feel the tip of his legs brush against you, resulting in a violent flinch.

"Don't touch me!"

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want to you! You belong to me now!"

You move to shuffle away, but several of his legs pin you down. They're deceptively strong considering how thin they are, keeping you pressed to the floor no matter how hard you thrash and fight.

Jimin leans over your struggling form, looking amused.

"Such a stubborn thing. If you insist that this place is a prison, then I think you need to be restrained a little."

Another flood of nausea ripples through you.

"What?!" you blurt out as he roughly flips you over. He wrenches your arms behind you and you feel a strange material being wrapped around your wrists. It's soft yet oddly strong, and in a matter of moments your arms are tightly secured behind you. He grabs your legs and pins them together.

"Wait! Stop! Stop it!" you plead, desperation growing.

"Oh hush," he scolds. You feel him lean down closer, his mouth almost touching your ear.

"We both know you like being tied up," he murmurs, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

Your face burns, an unknown feeling blooming in your stomach.

"Fuck you," you try to snap, but it comes out weak and quiet.

His hand grips your face and tilts it up to meet his eyes.

"Watch your mouth before I gag you too," he snaps, setting you with a glare.

Jimin wraps your ankles in the same strange substance, then your knees. Then he bends your legs back and connects your wrists to your ankles so you're trussed up like a prize pig. When you look down at yourself, you realize that you're bound in that same webbed silk.

You continue to squirm and writhe in your bonds, growing in distress until you've exhausted yourself. You're not getting out of this anytime soon.

Helpless and overpowered, you hang your head as the fatigue sets in your limbs.

"Look at that," Jimin says as you're hoisted into the air, hanging from a silken strand like all the other objects in the room.

"Look how calm you are now that you're all wrapped up."

Swinging in the air, you're now at his eye level. But you can't meet his gaze. Your head hangs heavy with failure. The next second, your eyes are burning and welling up, hot tears rolling down your cheeks with no way to hide or wipe them away.

"Aww, poor baby," Jimin coos, patting your cheek. "Cry if you want. Get it out of your system."

And you do. You let the tears flow freely, let the sobs erupt from your chest. Because you've lost. You've lost everything.

Jimin steps closer to you, his face inches from yours, and licks up the wet stream on your cheek.

He lets out a deep sigh, almost a moan.

"Tears of defeat are always sweeter," he whispers.

Bitterness builds up in your throat.

"I hate you," you spit.

"No you don't," Jimin replies calmly. "You think you do, but I know you don't. Just you wait, baby. You're going to love it here."

"No I won't. You're crazy if you think I'll just forget everything you've done."

"You might fight it at first, but not for long," he says as he circles around you, admiring his new plaything.

"You're wrong. I might be trapped here, but I'll never give in."

He meets your glare with a knowing smile.

"Never is almost as long as forever," he says, tilting his head to the side innocently.

"The human spirit can always be broken. With love."

He trails his fingers along your body, along the silk binding you.

"I'll enjoy breaking you. It'll be easy. People aren't meant to fight what feels good."

As if to prove his point, he ghosts his fingers up the back of your neck and massages the growing knot there, and you can't help but melt a little.

"Ah, so many things I want to do to you. And you're going to take all of it."

You try to swallow the lump in your throat as the tears keep falling.

"You'll give in soon enough."

"No," you mutter weakly, sniffling.

"Oh? Not even to save them?"

Muffled cries.

You whip your head up. Against the wall, in the wall, are two writhing bodies. They're pinned underneath the wallpaper, stuck like insects behind glass. You recognize the real Jimin's face even as it twists and strains under the film, as he screams fruitlessly. Next to him, Taehyung's taller form struggles to move his limbs, but to no avail.

Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach. You shout their names, thrashing with renewed urgency.

"They can't hear you," Jimin says, watching you closely.

Your gaze flickers between the wall and Jimin's smug face, feeling the panic well back up inside you.

"Don't you fucking dare," you hiss with as much venom as possible.

He raises one eyebrow. Taking his sweet time, he slowly saunters over to where the two men are stuck to the wall.

"You should know by now not to tempt me," Jimin replies, raising his metal hand and bringing his sharp fingertips down across the real Jimin's cheek.

Screaming louder now, he squirms desperately as blood stains the wallpaper pressed against his face.

"No! Stop!"

He doesn't respond, digging his needle-like fingers into the real Jimin's side.

"Stop it! Please!"

He cuts cruelly into his chest, into his stomach. Red drips from his metal hands. He keeps looking back at you, almost expectantly.

Fresh tears wet your face as your cries are ignored. The real Jimin can do nothing but writhe as he's cut into again and again.

The next time you meet Jimin's dark, awaiting eyes it clicks. You get it now. It's not an easy pill to swallow, but you get it now.

"Alright! Alright, Jimin! I'm sorry!" you cry out.

His hand freezes a mere inch away from the real Jimin's face.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry..." your voice falls, out of breath.

Turning to look back at you, his eyes spark with some unknown emotion.

You're still struggling to catch your breath, buzzing off the panic.

"That's enough now," you mutter. "You win."

A slight smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Are you done?" he asks with a raise of his eyebrows.

You sag in your bonds, all the fight leaving your body. You're tired. So fucking tired. It's all catching up to you, body and mind heavy with fatigue.

It's an odd relief. To give in.

"Yes. I'm done. I'll...be good."

A smile stretches across his face. His hand falls back down to his side, all interest in the real Jimin lost as he steps towards you.

"I'll do anything you want. Just please let him go." Your voice stutters around a sob.

Something snaps inside you. With one last swell of emotion and adrenaline, the floodgates burst open and let loose all the tears that you have left. Your vision blurs with them as you empty your lungs and let the tension drain from your muscles. Not caring that your face is mess and that you sound pathetic, you let the reality finally sink in.

Jimin strokes your face and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"It's okay, love. It'll be okay," he murmurs, soothing. "I know it's hard, but you'll get used to it. I'll take care of you."

"Please," you squeak out. "Please just let them go. I'll do anything you want. Please, please..."

There's a pause. He continues to wipe your cheeks, contemplating.

"Anything, hm?"

You look up and meet his eyes. His face is content and calm, patiently watching as he gets everything he wants.

You manage to nod your head.

"Beg."

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"What?"

His eyes are full of hunger.

"I told you that you'd beg me to sew the buttons. So go ahead. Beg."

You're numb at this point, so the realization barely stings. It only makes the lump in your throat grow.

The next moment, one of his legs reaches out to snip the strand of silk that you're hanging from. Catching you before you can hit the ground, he loosens the strands binding you so you can move freely again.

"Beg properly, now," he instructs, nodding towards the ground.

You grit your teeth as you sink to your knees, craning your neck to look up at him.

"Please..." you begin in a voice he can't resist. "Please, Jimin. I want you to sew buttons into my heart. Please."

His smile grows with each word, looking like he wants to consume you. In a way, he already has.

"How badly do you want me?"

What you want is for all this to end.

"I want you so fucking bad, Jimin. I want to be yours."

His eyes narrow slightly, cutting deep into you.

"Say it. Say it and mean it," he orders.

You close your eyes and imagine the real Jimin's face. The warm brown eyes, the faint freckles, the acne scars, the crooked glasses. You hear his scratchy morning voice, feel the brush of his hair on your skin.

"I love you, Jimin."

A sharp inhale.

You open your eyes, and the man standing in front of you nearly makes your heart stop.

He's standing there on his own two legs, no monstrous growths or oversized limbs. His skin is bright and healthy, glowing with sun-kissed color and a soft blush. Hair full and downy, it flows with a golden sheen.

But it's his eyes that pierce you. Because they're his eyes. Not dull and lifeless like glass marbles, but the eyes of the man you met years ago. The eyes so wide and full of expression, the eyes that crinkle shut when he laughs. Eyes that can barely contain all the love stored for you.

Jimin blinks, scanning you up and down, drinking you in.

"Kiss me," he whispers.

You close the distance with rapid steps, crashing into him. Warmth, his body radiates with it. His lips press soft and sensual over yours, arms wrapping tight around your body.

He is solid and alive. The only thing left to lean on.

You suppose you should be afraid. Now that the steel table is underneath your back, arms and legs held down with padded straps, most people would be afraid.

But somehow you're not. It might have something to do with the cloudy liquid that Jimin had you drink earlier, saying something about helping you relax.

You were afraid then. You were afraid when he lead you to his workshop and showed you where it would happen.

The space was cluttered with rolls of fabric, hoards of swatches and spools of thread, mannequins of all shapes and sizes. He led you past the cobweb-draped sewing machine, past the large desk that was covered in oddly shaped tools and instruments.

You were afraid when you saw Taehyung already spread out on the table. Sedated, secured just like you are now, he looked peaceful there.

You remember struggling to contain the contents of your stomach when Jimin made the first incision. You forced yourself to watch, to make sure he delivered his promise. You watched as the two bloody buttons dropped into the silver tray with a clink. You watched Jimin stitch up the wound, clean it and dress it.

Then you watched as he slid the black key into the dusty lock hole. The little door, looking as if it hadn't been touched in decades, swung open to reveal the cobweb-lined tunnel. He laid the two men's unconscious bodies few feet inside, then closed the door and locked it for the last time.

You watched through the keyhole as they stirred. Jimin awoke first, frantic and confused. He tried to shake Taehyung awake, but he was still drugged. Slowly yet desperately, he dragged him through the tunnel until they disappeared through the other side.

You were afraid then, but not now. Jimin told you over and over again that you wouldn't feel a thing. He had the two buttons picked out and waiting there, next to the spool of black thread and a clean needle.

He assured you that it wouldn't hurt. You'd wake up foggy and be sore for a few days, but other than that there was nothing to worry about.

He said that the hardest part was behind you now, that only good things were ahead.

The last thing you remember after he put the mask over your nose, other than the smell of vanilla, is hearing him singing softly. The same song you'd heard him sing before.

Just let me love you.

~~~

a/n: 👉👈. thank you so much for reading!! if you enjoyed the story I would be so extremely grateful if you shared your thoughts!! :)

#yandere jimin #jimin x reader #park jimin #yandere bts #bts fanfction #coraline!au #jimin x female reader #yandere au #bts fanfic #bts angst

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demonshauntingthedoves · 7 months

Text

The Keychain [spooktober]

Pairing : Ghost!jimin x female reader

Genre : Horror Au

Summary : You had tried to take your keychain back from Jimin, only for you to push him in the process and him falling back in the lake along with it. He was never found and nor was the keychain. So imagine the horror when you find it lying on your desk, twenty years after.

Warnings : horror, angst, childhood mistake, difficulty to sleep.

WordCount : 1986

Your fingers sauntered over the keyboard as you typed away on your laptop. With a final emphasised click, you leaned back and sighed in relief that you had finally finished the part of the novel you'd been writing.

Your ears picked at the distant sound. Coming back and forth. The swing. It became clearer and more loud.

You smiled thinking that the children might be playing on the swing. It was normal because you lived on the second floor of your complex and often heard the kids playing.

You lifted yourself up from the warmed chair but halted when you glanced at the clock.

It was way past midnight.

No kids played at this hour.

The sibilant sound of swing was still heard.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. Curiosity got the better of you and you made your way towards the apartment balcony which directly faced the playground.

There was no moon. You peered your eyes around in the dark bleak midnight and to your horror you saw the swing.

But there was no one there. No kids.

And the swing continued to move back and forth. Back and forth.

You were familiar with such scenarios. You'd always feel the adrenaline rush to write out such a horror scene. It was your favourite genre. But to experience one in real life was not something you'd ever imagined.

You felt your guts pool up with bile as the swing kept moving without needing any force to push it. Your eyes darted around thinking someone was playing a prank. Your breathing became erratic when you found no one there.

The air left your lungs when you caught the glimpse of a silhouette sitting on the swing. You didn't see anyone moving. The person appeared out of nowhere.

You tried to pretend, tried to calm your frightened self. With the little lighting around the playground, you made out that the shadow was of a man. You kept looking at him until he turned his face slightly revealing his side face.

You had no owl eyes but the fact you could see him in so much dark was unnerving. As if the person wanted you to see them even through the shadows.

With your squinted eyes, you studied the outline of his face. His long hair was draped on his eyes, you could only see his nose and lips.

His plump lips.

The pouty curve of his lips.

Your heart fell, the flashes of the plump lipped boy coming back. Your fear and anxiety soared at the return of those needling instances from childhood.

You scrambled back in your room and into the bathroom and locked it. You splashed the harsh cold water on your face to reawaken yourself. Reawake from the nightmare if it was. You had to stop this.

You inhaled and exhaled feeling the sensation of pearly drops of ice cold water and tears falling from your face.

You stared at the reflection in the mirror. No, you couldn't let the dark tendril creep in your head again. No.

You had to stop thinking of him.

You had to stop thinking of Jimin.

Yet you hear it.

You hear the ringing.

The jinglings of the little bells that adorned your little keychain.

Your keychain.

It had a black cat with crosses on both eyes and little red beads along with tiny sonorous bells.

You had begged your mother to buy it for you on Halloween eve.

Your eyes had brightened and your mouth widened in awe as your liitle self played and dangled it in your hand.

You would carry it everywhere with you.

You loved the keychain.

Until Jimin took it.

------------

Jimin went to the same preschool as you.

He was a cute boy and wanted to be friends with you.

But because he was a cute boy, your teacher had dodged your rose and took his on teacher's day.

He was a cute boy but you didn't like him.

While making the sandfort, he would come to sit beside you but you would puff your cheeks in annoyance and move away from him.

You even swatted his tiny hands off when he'd tried to touch your fort or your drawings.

"Y/N, why don't you want to be my friend?"

"Because I don't like you."

"But I like you." He murmured on the verge of criying. Doe eyes welling up with tears and his trembling pouty lips.

He'd always be behind you and try to join you in activities but you would huff-puff and turn your back to him.

Once the teacher had instructed you all to make ornaments using little beads. You were engrossed in making a bracelet when someone lightly patted your shoulder.

You looked up to see Jimin holding a pink ring in his hand. He held it out for you.

"Y/N, I made a ring for you. Will you take it and be my friend." He said in a baby voice, his cherubic cheeks going pink.

"No!" Your plush face had morphed into anger. "Now, go away!"

His face saddened. With his head hung low, he went back.

Jimin had placed the ring on your desk before going. You couldn't control and took the ring in your hand just to inspect it with furrowed eyes and tight lips.

You actually liked it.

You hid your hands under your desk and wore it in your finger, liking how it adorned your finger.

Jimin didn't need to know that you took this ring because you still didn't want to be his friend.

----------------

Your school had gone on a trip to a village and the children had lined up near the lake.

You were kept standing for long whilst your teacher gave instructions.

You heard the jingling sound and turned your head to notice Jimin playing with your precious keychain hanging on your zipper.

You spinned around only to be agitated seeing Jimin hold your unhooked keychain.

His plump lips stretched into a smile as he dangled the little cat.

"Give it back!"

You said and stomped your foot while Jimin just blinked at you with his wide eyes.

"Give it back to me!"

You tried to take it back from him but he dodged you moving aside.

"If I give it, will you be my friend?" He asked you, holding your keychain firmly in his hand.

Your nose flared as you latched at him to get your keychain back but he wouldn't let go.

You heard his little chuckles.

"Y/N, it tickles there!" Your prying hands had unknowingky tickled his stomach. His eyes turned into smiling slits.

But he didn't give it to you. Getting overly annoyed, you hands jerked him back, making him accidentally lose his balance and fall in the lake along with your keychain.

Kids screamed and teachers shouted, gathering around you and the villagers were soon sent to heed and rescue Jimin if he sank down in the water.

But they didn't find him.

After that, a barrage of shouts and slaps came your way from yours and Jimin's weeping mother. Shaken and trembling, you stood frozen.They didn't lodge a case against you because you were just four and innocent.

Your innocent mind had not completely gripped on what had happened. But as the years went, you realised you had unintentionally caused an unthinkable tragedy.

Your childhood memories soared.

The fact that you had taken away a life just for a insignificant keychain made you nauseous and loathe yourself.

You regretted not befriending Jimin. The poor boy just wanted your friendship.

You would curl up in your bed at night, fed up with the condescending voices in your head. You would even hear the sweet whispers of Jimin as if he was right beside you. And that would scare you to no end.

Your cries and screams had become consistent during the nights.

You were sent to your aunt and attended regular therapy sessions for a couple of years. That had helped you to seek redemption and unwrap yourself from the dark veils of childhood that had binded you. The whispers had gone.

You started to write. Finding nothing more interesting than horror genre. Because you could relate and revel in it. You could wallow in it to forget your ugly past.

And now that everything had been resolved, the memory of him returned back.

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You couldn't conclude whether your mind was playing tricks or you had actually seen a ghost. His ghost.

The ringing sound came again and you turned toward the door contemplating whether to open it or not.

This was the part you hated where the characters; despite knowing the danger was waiting for them; gave themselves away out of sheer and stupid curiosity, thrill and bravery.

And you were exactly doing that.

You unlocked the door and slowly walked to your room, the faint blue light spread in the room from your laptop screen. It was eerily quiet here.

With brisky steps, you walked to the switches to turn on the lights. But you stopped when you heard a beep from your laptop as it lit up brightly. You dumbly ran to it to check if you got any emails from publishers.

You sat down and opened your mail. But you hadn't received any. You proceeded to shut down the desktop and that was when your eyes caught the thing that sat beside your laptop on the table.

Your keychain

The same one you had lost.

The screen went black and your body paralysed with terror in the darkness of the room.

Your frozen eyes pooled with tears when you felt the husky voice near your ear.

"Y/N, I know you accepted my ring. Now you are my friend, right?"

The whispers had returned back.

Main Masterlist

A/N : Happy Jimin Day!!!!! I've written this little fic for spooktober as well as for jimintober. Idk, this idea came up when I too heard the sound of swing ( but the children were really playing) and since then the scary scenario was pooping in my brain so I had to write it. Idk if the childhood perspective makes sense. Lol.

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badbtssmut · 2 months

Note

hiee can u do where jimin keeps on thrusting even he’s came a lot of times while whining

“Minnie, you came already, you can’t anymore.” You whispered, caressing his face. “I’m so full baby,” You tried to convince your boyfriend, who kept pounding into your pussy endlessly, with no sign of stopping.

He just shook his head, not letting go of your waist and continued to fuck you with a force. He had you on his lap, his back on the wall as he used you. His head tilted back as he whined, feeling his seed spill out. You thought he’d be satisfied now, but he continued.

You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t be able to convince him, so instead, you leaned in and kissed him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and bouncing on his cock. You both moaned into each other as he started to meet you halfway, eager for his next high.

Jimin came again, whining as he did, and like that you spent another hour more of fucking before he was finally satisfied.

#queued post #bts smut #bts requests #bts x reader #bts smut requests #bts fanfic #bts smut fanfic #jimin smut #Jimin x female reader

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chimcess · 3 months

Text

— Waterlog: the masterlist

“After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin.”

01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10

Extras: the playlist

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kxxkiecxre · 1 year

Text

ʚ✟⃛ɞ LANGUAGE || J.J.K ʚ✟⃛ɞ

PAIRING: Jungkook X reader.

SUMMARY: forgive and forget… with a little dick on the side of course to make up for it.

WARNINGS: smut, unprotected sex, a lot of titty talk, a lot of hickeys, Jungkook has a big dick 🫣, so much kissing, Yeji is literally in the other room???, overstimulation cause purrrr, biting… I think that’s it? Lol

GENRE: best friends brother au.

Unedited because I bitch couldn’t be bothered… tbf tho I did edit a small bit but I hate editing so 🤭

WC: 5.3k

PREVIOUSLY… NEXT…

JUST LIKE many other people that surrounded you at the shop, you were tired, aching and internally screaming as you approached the lengthy queue, hoping to god another till opens up so you can get out of here as fast as possible and get home take a shower and sleep.

It’s been quite in the recent five months that you’ve last spoken to Jungkook, and like any good friends you and Yeji still hang out and talk. Which proved to be a little harder at first then you expected, but to your luck Jungkook has left for a match in America a couple days ago, so you and Yeji get to finally have a much needed sleepover at her place.

Rolling your neck around and trying your best to not fall asleep in the middle of the shop. As if to wake you up, a shopping cart bumps into you, and you whip around to look at the culprit, only to find two tiny hands holding onto the bar.

“Oh sorry!” The kid mumbles cutely, a floppy mess of hair on top of his head.

“Where’s your dad handsome?” You questioned, finally meeting the babies eyes, warm gentle and sweet.

“He said he’ll be back in two seconds” he smiled cutely, “and I’m five today!”

“Oh wow you’re five? Well happy birthday buddy” you smile just as you see his dad, a drop dead gorgeous man, approach.

“Thank you” he chuckles happily.

“I’m sorry, I hope he didn’t cause too much trouble” his dad, a tall beautiful Angel apologies.

Almost like you’re in a trance you softly say, “he’s a sweet kid, I don’t think you have to worry about him causing trouble”.

“Dad, can I ask her name?” The kid asks as his dad lifts him up in his arms.

“Well that depends if the lady will tell you her name.” He shrugs chuckling.

“I’m Y/N, what about you?”

“My name is roowon and this is my dad Seokjin!” He announces proudly.

“Nice to meet you guys!” You coo at him as he gives the sweetest smile to you.

Within small talk you exchanged numbers with Seokjin, promising to have dinner together as soon as both of your schedules clear up. And however much you may like about Seokjin, whose divorced from his wife for a year now, you can’t seem to stop thinking about someone who wasn’t even yours in the first place or the pain that comes with it.

Finding comfort in the warmth of your house did very little, and as much as you like the taste of your favourite wine, you know it won’t suffice the emptiness within you. Not even in a million years, but it does the job of keeping you calm.

However it doesn’t stop you from calling Jimin, and don’t get it wrong the sex is amazing, and Jimin is great. He’s apologised for what went down, and choosing pleasure over pain was too good to let go. You’re not one to hold grudges anyway, you’d rather forgive and forget.

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what you needed, what you craved for. It wasn’t what you knew would settle the pain. And you felt awful about it, because Jimin was more than understanding as he laid beside you. Any woman would be lucky to have him, he’s a great person. The perfect guy even. The thing about you though, is you don’t fancy perfect. You like the waves that come with life, you adapted to that life. It’s all you know, since forever.

And life is just that, wavy, rocky and unsettled. But it’s comforting, it’s home. And Jimin… Jimin deserves better than that, he deserved someone as loving and perfect like him. He’s an Angel, an Angel you haven’t yet grown to appreciate. Which is ridiculous. Laughable. Stupid, even. Because any other sensible woman would ground him, marry him in a heart beat, and perhaps in another life you could see yourself with him. Having a family and a loving home, but at this moment? I’m this life? You don’t even know what the true meaning of a loving home is. You just don’t.

You’ve never had the comfort of your mothers embrace, or the comfort of your fathers protection. You’ve only ever had yourself. When you were little you’d cry yourself to sleep, you’d hug your own little body and comfort yourself the way your parents couldn’t. You didn’t have anyone to care for you, to worry about your late returns home on a night out. Your parents didn’t even have your number saved in their phone. They just didn’t care.

From a young age, you learned to fend for yourself. Cook, clean, and eventually make money to afford the things you needed, the things your own parents couldn’t provide.

The only thing you do remember, is the beatings, the way your skin would burn with every slap, whip and hit. The way you eventually stopped crying for them to stop, or the way your teenage self would wash away the blood or cover up the bruises. You knew all about that. You knew all too well how the rage in your fathers eyes was the only sense of comfort or attention you’ve ever gotten from him, the way your mother would grab onto your skin and dig her nails in, the way she’d scream and insult you and wish upon your death, that was the only touch of ‘love’ you’ve ever expected from her, the only attention you’ve ever received from them was just that, abuse. Neglect and pain.

Feeling loved, cared about and needed was more than welcome, but it was also more than strange. So maybe it wasn’t understandable, why you’d get slightly uncomfortable when someone would show you love, or kindness, and why you pushed away the people closest to you when they cared and worried about you because you never actually knew what it was before, so you weren’t used to it, so you pushed them away.

It’s bizarre how you want to love someone, to care and worry about them, yet don’t know how to feel about that being returned to you. You don’t know.

You carry the scars well though, they’re fairly easy to cover up and pretend like you’ve had the most general upbringing known to humanity. It’s, amazing.

Tiredness takes over you, and you finally fall asleep. Jimin watched the calmness on your face, covering you with the blanket more and exhaling. He knew about everything, he knew. He’s seen it too, maybe that’s why he knows you so well, he kisses your forehead before leaving your apartment and leaving a note.

The difficulty of waking up in the morning never gets easier, especially when you expected a warm body next to you, except to find it empty and cold. Confusion taking over your face as you roll out of bed, throwing on whatever first lands in your hands.

Your concern gets even worse when you notice the small letter on your kitchen counter, labelled Jimin.

You know better than to continue wasting time, I know you can never love me the way I’ve loved you for years, but within these years, I’ve learned that our souls are intertwined anyway, because I know exactly what you need, what you crave and what hurts you. I know it all in an instant. It’s almost like my body needs it too, and right the second I met him, I knew. I knew you were madly in love with him, I knew then, I had no chance. So within my frustration, I drank, far too much and let my mouth run. I am sorry. I know I apologised already, but I truly am sorry. You didn’t deserve it. I’ll move on eventually, I’ll learn to love someone else, like I’ve learned to keep your eyes staring into mine somewhere In the back of my mind, like I’ve learned to desensitise the scent of your hair away from my senses, or the need to feel your soft skin against my fingers. I’ve learned to love you from a distance, to care and appreciate you as much as I can because I knew that eventually, you’d fell in love with someone, that someone not being me was hard to accept at first, but it got easier. But stop the pettiness, fix the mess and go to him, you deserve love. You deserve to be happy, so be just that.

Happy,

Jimin.

That was absolutely not what you expected first thing in the morning, or the tears in your eyes. Or the guilt your body felt knowing you were unintentionally hurting Jimin. You wish it was easier. Easier to learn to love someone you don’t crave in that way. Easier to make yourself fall in love with someone who deserves you. You wish it was easy.

But nothing in life comes easy.

No, every step and breathe you take comes with effort. With every take want and need, you have to give. For the basic essentials and human life, you have to work. All day, all night, all life. Eternally. Everything has to be earned, because nothing. Absolutely nothing, comes free.

Work. Most of the time you hate it, but recently, it’s become your favourite place. You can take your mind off of everything going on in your life, invoke your mind with something else other than him. The person who so cruelly cut a hole in your heart and stole it, put it in his pocket and let it rot. How inhumane.

The bustle of the busy streets of Seoul always comforted you in some type of way. The many lights and many different people, styles and aesthetics made you feel alive, safe and not alone in this big city. It was easy to lose yourself once you were in it, but living here for half your life proved to help you out in some way.

“Mr. Kim wants you in his office.. pronto” Hoseok hands you your coffee, clicking number 9 on the elevator and you roll your eyes.

“I swear to almighty Jesus if he just wants to stare at me for five minutes and then ask me to order him lunch I will literally murder him with my hands” you grumble, obviously not amused.

“I don’t think that’s it…” he mumbles.

Sighing you walk out in a rush once the elevator dings, nodding a thank you to Hobi for getting you the much needed coffee. Preparing yourself for anything and everything outside of Kim’s office you finally enter the door, where he stands in almighty glory, looking good as ever.

“Y/N, please take a seat” he says, and you do, sitting in front of his desk and reading the name tag ‘CEO Kim Taehyung’ in pure awkwardness as he stares at you and then a letter.

“You need a break,” he takes a sip of his coffee as if the words he just said hurt him deeply, “take it and go before I throw a fit”

Shocked and taken a back you begin to protest, “hold on, Taehyung, no”.

“It’s Mr.Kim at work dumbass, now go before I literally slap you”

“But-“

“No but’s, unless we are talking about the other type of butts” he smirks chuckling.

“Tae are you pulling a prank on me?”

“Y/NNNAAAH, be professional and call me Mr.Kim” he whines dramatically.

“Shut up before I kick you in the balls,” you grumble, “why?”

“Because you’ve worked hard and as your only other male best friend aside from Hoseok, I am adamant on you getting a break before the bags under your eyes sue me”

“Oh don’t be dramatic,” you stand from your chair scoffing, “I’m fine, now let me get back to work”

“No can do workacholic,” he sets his mug on the table, “it’s home or the security guard will kick you out… or I’ll fire you.”

Shocked and gasping quite dramatically you say, “you would never.”

“Wanna find out?” He continues threatening.

“Kim Taehyung wait till I tell your father how manipulative you are” you practically growl at him as he pushes you other the door, and before he can take his hand away from your shoulder you bite him as hard as you can.

Flinching and gasping he looks flabbergasted as you straighten your back and sway your hips on the way out, “you are insane Y/N, INSANE” he yells after you.

At the elevator, once again, you ponder what to do now. Work was like your best distraction every since everything went down, Tae did a good job helping you mould yourself together and not to mention how considerate and sweet he was during that time. Taehyung’s wife was just a replica of him, except even better because she was a woman, and understood certain matters better than him.

Regardless, you sighed, opening your messages app and clicking onto Seokjin’s contact, messaging him a short “hey, off work for a couple days, want to have dinner soon?” And locked your phone again when the elevator reached third floor.

“Jung Hoseok, you dirty little cheating work husband, I will grab your balls and tie them in a knot the next time you choose to lie to me” you squint your eyes at him as you sit at the edge of his desk, watching as he gulps a little.

“I can explain,” he offers.

“No need, tell Yoongs to leave me a free space in a couple days hmm?”

“Can’t you ring him yourself-“

“He’s your roommate Jung, please he’ll listen to you more because you’re like number one best friends brothers thingy” you sigh rolling your neck around to release the gas that’s stuck.

“You’re so sly sometimes babe” he kissed his teeth as he leaned back into his chair.

“Mmm wonder where I got that from huh?”

Rolling his eyes with a small chuckle, he runs a hand through his dark hair, “you’re lucky I love you”

“On the contrary, you’re lucky I love you” you smiled.

“Besides, why do you need yoongi?”

Silence, dead silence fell into the atmosphere and Hobi figured you out in less than three seconds, “really?”

You nodded, biting your lip “a tattoo? I mean are you sure? Like that’s permanent?”

“Hoseok I know what a tattoo is” you dead pan, “I’ve been thinking of getting one for awhile anyway…”

His eyes turn worried for a minute, as he very gently speaks, “and you’re not just acting out because of you know….. Jungkook?”

Blinking you scoff, “you’re threading on thin ice Jung,” you get off his desk, leaning over him as you stare him dead in the eyes, face too close for comfort, “no man could make me do anything.”

Once you’re a safe distance from him, he lets out a breath shuddering a little, “do you forget I am a man sometimes?”

“No,” you smile sweetly, “I love watching you squirm because of me babe”

“I’m gonna divorce you”

“Awe too bad love, work couples can’t divorce.”

“Aren’t you suppose to be going home? Should I get Taehyung?”

Mouth falling open your eyes turn into slits and Hoseok prepares himself for the mouth full he’s about to get, “I will bite you and him. I won’t hesitate Jung Hoseok, besides keep messing with me and I’ll quit, no more seeing me no more free coffee and homemade lunch bitch” you walk away with a scoff.

Hoseok rushes towards you, desperately trying to catch up, “please not the homemade lunch,”

“Pfft, good luck sucker, he’s given me a week off” you stick your tongue out like a child once the elevator dings and the doors close.

“I’ve got both because I didn’t know what to choose” you mutter cutely as you set the wine and grocery bag on the counter.

Yeji stands beside you, eyes big and bright and expression that of a mellow kitten, like a child whose sipped on the most heavenly hot chocolate, “I missed you.”

Your heart skips a beat, internally beating yourself up for neglecting her during this whole thing. You awe as you hug her tightly, the smell of her strawberry shampoo never changing, “I’ve missed you too Ji.”

“I’m sorry, he can be an asshole sometimes but he shouldn’t be able to get between us” she mutters into your hair.

Your chest tightens as you hear her sniffle, she didn’t deserve this. You shouldn’t of done this to her, made her suffer with you. You’ve been a bad friend and you can recognise that, and you feel like utter shit about it because Yeji is priceless, she’s a diamond in disguise.

“I am so so sorry Yeji, I shouldn’t have let him get between us.”

The rest of the night was spent eating junk food and consuming an unhealthy amount of wine. As SpongeBob plays in the background and you apply the tiger sheet face mask on Yejis face you begin to tell her about Seokjin and Roowon.

“Was he good looking?”

“Oh ‘Ji,” you sigh heavily, “if you’ve only seen him, he’s like an Angel. God he’s gorgeous”

“Yah thats not fair! I wanna see him now”

“I’ll try sneak a picture of him when I’ll see him for dinner?”

Just as you say that, the sound of the hallway door dinging interrupts you, and both you and Yeji exchange looks of concern.

“Ji? I’m home, I hope you have no guy over because I’ll kick him out” the sound of his voice shakes everything inside of you. Everything becomes unstable like a poorly structured building during an earthquake.

Yeji looks at you sorrowfully, “yeah im here”

“The match got rescheduled so I thought I’d surprise you,” his voice faded it out as you didn’t dare to look his way, instead choosing to look at the wooden floor as your knees raised more inward towards to your chest, as if to protect your heart.

The silence was deafening, excruciating as all three of you didn’t know what to say, and you closed your eyes briefly as you cleared your throat, “I, Um, I can go?”

“No” Yeji immediately calls out, her voice, although not loud, seemed to echo off the walls as if even the furniture in the apartment froze in place, speechless.

“I’ll stay out the way don’t worry Ji” he mutters, pecking her head quickly before disappearing into the bathroom.

Yeji looked at you full of guilt, beginning to apologise but you stopped her, “it’s not your fault, plus we’re adults Ji, we can stay in the same room without hurting each other I promise. You’ve nothing to worry about, I’m okay.”

“I didn’t know he was going to be back” she continues, full of guilt.

“Don’t be dramatic, it’s okay. He’s your brother, besides, it’s not like I hate him. I still love him Ji, he was my best friend, that’ll never go away”.

For the rest of Jungkooks evening, all he had heard was your laughter. It rang through his body like an electric shock and he regretted everything. He hated himself for letting this drag on for this long, he hated that he couldn’t be there with you, laughing and sharing jokes like usually.

He drowned himself in everything possible to avoid hearing the conversation about a guy you met and how amazing he was, he worked, listened to music, texted his friends. But nothing worked.

And as the night died down and the house was consumed with silence. He laid on his bed, reminiscing the moments were he was your best friend. He remembered the time you went strawberry picking, you were dressed in the cutest outfit imaginable, a faded pink and white checkered dress, with pink wellies. Hair tied back in a bun with a strawberry claw clip.

He remembered how you shared the entire summer together, how he thought you to swim and how excited you were to be able to go to the depths of the ocean with him. How in love he was with you in the moment, the way your big surprised eyes stared into his as he dived underneath the water and came back up behind you, the way you’d call him Kookie in the times you needed him the most.

He remembers how you hate thunderstorms. How he spent the entire night with you on your couch, letting you cuddle into him and falling asleep in his lap.

It exactly that he regrets.

He regrets that he ruined the way you felt comfortable and safe around him and now he fears you’ll never be like that again.

For what seems like hours, Jungkook tosses and turns in his bed. Huffing in slight annoyance that his brain won’t shut off. Leaving his room in a haste he enters the kitchen, stilling for a moment as he sees you sat on the kitchen island, legs kicking back and forth as if you’re in deep thought.

He felt creepy standing there watching you eat your favourite cherry chocolates, the ones that had liquor inside. He remembers how much you love them.

He couldn’t go back to his room now, that’d be too awkward, especially since you’ve locked eyes with him for a mere second through the glass of the cupboards. He cleared his throat gently, going to the fridge to get his favourite whiskey, he could feel your presence behind him and he knew you were looking but you were stubborn.

You would not be the first one to say a word, he knows that, which is why he reaches for a second glass and fills both of them, turning to you with sad eyes, his hand extends toward you, holding the glass of whiskey outward, not thinking much you take it from him, throwing the liquid to the back of your throat and sighing. He does the same.

“I’m,” he clears his tight voice, “I’m sorry”.

You say nothing, biting your lip as he continues on, “I was out of line for the things I said. I’m aware, but I couldn’t help but feel protective. I’m sorry.”

“I was only angry because I have begged you to not get disqualified because of me, but you did that despite all of my begging” you whispered, barely audible and staring ahead as he looked at the side of your face.

“I’m sorry,” he swallows the lump in his throat, “I really am”.

“I know” is all you say. Not really giving him much aside from pushing the box of chocolate towards him.

“I miss you,” he mutters, “I miss having you in my life”.

Finally, as if your heart couldn’t take it, you look right into his eyes and he swears his knees buckle a little, despite your eyes looking a little sad, you smile gently at him, “I miss you too”.

“I never meant to say all those things, god Y/N, if I could go back in time” he closes his eyes. You pull on his shirt, pulling him between your legs as you hug him.

“Well you can’t,” you muffle in his chest as his arms tighten around you, “but, you can make it up to me?”.

You feel him nod as he not so sneakily sniffs your scent, “you can take Yeji out tomorrow, spend some quality time with her. She’s worried about you Kook, she needs her brother, she needs just a little bit of your time”.

He hugs you tighter, kissing your head, “I promise I will”.

You pull away, smiling gently at him as you peck his cheek, “good”.

You don’t know wether it was the buzz from the whiskey and alcohol infused chocolates, but whatever it was, it made your eyes drop to his lips. God he looked so good, hair messy and his sleeve on display. Fuck was he beautiful.

Almost like he could smell your slightly horny phase, he leans in deeper, eyes darkened a deep shade and his hand innocently laid on your waist, “you ok?” He asks.

Asshole, “yeah” your voice came out a little breathy within your whisper, and your entire aura soaked Jungkook in shudders. The way you were sat, legs spread to accommodate him between them, white shirt doing absolutely nothing to cover your perky pierced nipples.

He couldn’t take it anymore, and neither could you.

Looking into his eyes, your lips separated, inviting him in as your noses ever so gently brushed against each other, his hooded gaze solemnly fixated on your lips, and yours on his eyes, “what are you doing to me y/n” his voice husky, whispering in your ear.

“Kiss me Jungkook” your breathing got heavier and so has his, and he shook his head gently, scoffing in denial as your lips brushed past each other.

“Are you sure?”

“Fuck,” you gasped, as he licked your earlobe, what a fucking tease, “yes Jungkook”.

Not wasting anymore time he attached his lips on yours, moving them in rhythm as he basically abused the flesh, barely giving you any time to catch your breath as he switched his head from side to side, grabbing the back of your neck to pull you in closer, you could feel yourself growing wet, soaking your panties as you grabbed onto his shirt, nails digging into his skin as your hands travelled to his back, within pulling each other closer neither of you realised how close you have gotten, too immersed in the smacking of your lips as your core rubbed against his, hard and poking through his tracksuits.

You moaned right into his mouth and he swallowed it up, fuck he’d do anything for you. He’s dreamt of feeling your lips on his for years. His mouth travelled from your swollen lips to your neck, “fuck take my shirt of Kook”.

He could nut right there as you gave him all these orders, but he listened, slipping your shirt off to find your perky tits so ready for his mouth, he laid you back against the cool counter his mouth never giving up his abuse on your skin, marking nipping anywhere possible but the neck, he couldn’t be bothered to explain to his sister. He sucked bruises onto your boobs, hearing your quiet moans as he took one nipple into his mouth, twirling the pink nub with his tongue, before moving onto the other, but not before biting each nipple gently, the cold that was left on your nipples after his warm mouth worked you up even more as he trailed his kisses down your stomach, to your hips, once again sucking biting and bruising, fuck he loved your skin.

“Take your shirt of” you mumble quietly, taking your tits in your hands and rubbing the nipples in small circles, fuck he did not expect to ever see you like this. Sprawled out on his kitchen island, hands on your boobs and your panties sporting a wet patch on your clothed pussy telling him just how turned on your are right now. Shit.

His mouth latched onto your thighs before moving onto your clothes pussy, smothering his face in the warmth of it as you gasped quite loudly, smacking your hand on your mouth to keep quiet. Fuck. His tongue ran a strip from the bottom to the top, the fact that the only material keeping his tongue from touching you directly was your underwear was driving you insane.

“Kook fuck me already”

“I don’t have a condom” he said against you.

“Fuck im clean and on the pill”

“I’m clean too”

Without any more words, he helped you up, taking your panties to the side and taking his grey sweats down his legs. Fuck. His dick was hot, long and thick, tip red and oozing precum.

Fucking hell.

He ran his tip up and down your pussy, collecting your arousal before he eased gently inside you. Letting you adjust to him. You could feel him everywhere, his throbbing tip kissing your cervix as he bottomed out. And fuck were you so full, so deliciously full of him. With the way you relaxed he knew you were ready, slowly and carefully moving in and out, his hand found purchase on your shoulder, pushing you down gently as he watched the way your tits bounced slowly.

The way you moaned so quietly and the way your chest heaved, fuck you were absolutely ravishing to watch. Your skin was marked by his lips everywhere, stomach littered in bruises, hips and tits too, everywhere but your neck and it looked so inviting right now, begging for him to give it the same attention, and before he could think straight, he went for it, nipping at the skin of your neck as his body leaned fully into yours, before you could even take a breath he picked up the pace, smacking his hips lewdly into yours, his balls slapping of your ass as the noise bounced around the room. The sound your lips made as your lips connected once again adding to the mix.

It was hot, it was wet and it was loud. But it felt amazing, it felt too good to stop. The way he ramming into, hitting all the right spots as you mewled underneath him, the knot in your stomach tightening at the feel of his tip abusing your cervix, but before you could release he sat you up, edging your ass to almost be off the counter before he gripped onto it and hammered himself into you, the only rational part of you hid your face in his neck, moaning as he fucked right into you, he tugged onto your hair as he leaned his forehead into yours, both of you watching the way his dick disappeared into your swollen cunt, and then it hit you, like a ton of bricks, you clenched around him, your legs twitching slightly as you came around him, your orgasm hurting in all the right ways like if you were electrocuted, you could feel it from your toes to your head.

He was close behind, his hips stilling as his dick throbbed, twitching the slightest bit before he coated your walls white. Leaning against your palms on the counter you tried catching your breath again, and before you could say anything, he was on his knees, his mouth latching onto your clit as you yelped, sensitive from your previous orgasm.

“Kook I can’t”

“Yes you can baby,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by your pussy, “for me”

Groaning you gasped as he sucked onto your clit, twirling your sensitive nub with his tongue as he eased his finger into you, hooking it up and fucking you slowly.

The mix of mouth and finger was intoxicating the way he was making out with your pussy was sinful but you couldn’t get enough, especially not when your legs shook, your eyes teared up and his hands soothed your legs, he switched his finger and tongue, fucking you slowly with his warm tongue and drawing figure eights onto your clit and fuck you couldn’t take it.

Slapping down your hand on the counter you moaned his name as you came for the second time this night, legs shaking and chest heaving as he stood up, kissing your lower belly before he grinned above you.

“What do you say for round three in the bathroom?”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

A/N: part three? I mean they haven’t resolved much except for some steamy sex? 🤭

MASTERLIST

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733 notes · View notes