#namjoon x reader
House of Serpents 
Summary: Straight-A student by day, Kim Namjoon’s personal toy by night, you didn’t live a terrible life. At least not until you met his six equally depraved “friends.”
Pairing: OT7 x reader
Genre: Mafia AU, porn with (little) plot
Warnings: dub-con, violence, yandere!jungkook, dead dove: do not eat
Word count: 7.5 k
[Part 7] [Part 9]
The first time Jungkook met you, he was seventeen, and he was about to die.
Uncle’s gang found him at a club downtown. Well, Jungkook didn’t make it hard for them. He’d bled all the way there, left a thick red trail up to the attic where they cornered him. The fat one nailed him in the stomach, hard enough to throw him through the window. But Jungkook didn't die just then. Wheezing for breath, glass cutting into his belly, Jungkook crawled on his elbows and pulled himself through the first open window he could find.
And there you were. You had a navy blue dress on. You were pretty, the prettiest girl Jungkook had ever seen. With the vanity light glowing behind you, you looked like you came from a different universe.
Maybe in that universe, Jungkook could ask you out on a date.
Not in this one, though. In this universe, he was dying.
“That’s pretty,” Jungkook said, about your dress.
Then he blacked out.
He didn’t think he’d wake again. Frankly, he didn’t care to. If he did, he’d just wake up strung up on a meat hook. Uncle would show up. Break his fingers. Then his limbs. Make a real example out of him. That’s what you get for killing your dad, you little psycho, he would say, as he bled Jungkook to death. That’s what you get for being a bastard. What would be the point of that?
Jungkook woke up anyway.
He blinked his eyes open under a creaky ceiling fan. The bed beneath him felt lumpy. There were sheets pulled up to his nose. A dull pain dug into his side. When he shoved the sheets away and tried to crawl up, his arm gave out.
He rolled onto the floor, which made the pain sharper, near electric. Every inch of his body screamed.
And he must have groaned aloud, because the next thing, you were at the doorway.
“You OK?” You asked. You were still in that navy dress. Still pretty. There were dark spots mottled over it. Blood, probably. Jungkook’s blood.
Jungkook grunted against the rug, scrabbled to push himself up. Except his body refused and sent him crashing face-first again.
“I’m not going home,” He tried to say, “I won’t go home,” but his tongue was thick and swollen and the floor was tilting beneath him and then he was out again.
When he came to, he was back on the bed. The pain was duller. There was something cold and wet and heavy on his forehead. When Jungkook turned, it slid off.
“Don’t move,” you said, from beside him. Then you put the thing--a towel--back on his forehead. “You have a fever.”
“I’m not going home,” Jungkook croaked out.
You laughed, incredulous. “OK, and?”
Jungkook stared at you. His vision was hazy, but you didn’t look like one of Uncle’s. Didn’t look like one of Dad’s, either. He’d never seen you before.
But that didn’t mean you couldn’t kill him.
Everyone wanted to kill him.
“If you touch me,” he said. “I’ll cut your hands off.”
“Ooh,” you waggled your eyebrows. “Scary. What are you, a middle schooler?”
Jungkook wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
“Go back to sleep, asshole,” you told him, with a sneer. It was odd, but you almost sounded kind.
You turned the lights off. The door shut with a gentle click.
The next time Jungkook woke up, he was strong enough to get out of bed. There was no glass in his belly. Just stitches. His left arm and right leg had been bandaged in soft casts. For the first time, his head was clear. Quietly, slowly, he inched out of bed. Snapped open his switchblade.
Outside, you had your back turned to him and were busy rifling through the kitchen cabinetry. Your headphones were in, so it was easy for Jungkook to shove his knife against your neck.
“Who are you?” he asked, as he pulled your headphones off.
“OK, first of all,” you put your hands up into the air. “Relax, asshole.”
“Where are we?” Jungkook asked, more urgently. The blade grazed against your skin as you turned to look at him. “Where have you taken me?”
“My home,” you said. There was no fear in your voice. “But listen, if you prefer those homicidal maniacs, let me know.”
Jungkook frowned. Pressed the blade a bit deeper. “What maniacs?”
“The ones looking for you. They had your picture and everything,” you said, as Jungkook backed you up against the counter. He could slit your throat right there. And for a moment, he contemplated it.
Instead, he asked, “You know those maniacs?”
You shook your head. A thin seam of blood appeared where your skin met metal. Jungkook narrowed his eyes.
“You talked to them?”
“They asked me if I saw you.”
“I said yes, and then I said you left.”
“They believed you?”
“Not at first,” you shrugged. “But I stuffed you in my suitcase, and they couldn’t find you. So they left.”
Jungkook relaxed the knife from your throat, and watched you exhale, slow and shaky. “You gave me these stitches?”
“I took you to the vet,” you explained. Jungkook let you inch away further. “Figured you probably didn’t want to go to a hospital.”
None of it made any sense. Jungkook wanted to think, but then the dizziness caught up to him. He stumbled, managed to catch himself against the counter. “Why did you lie for me?”
“Because, asshole,” you said, “you looked like you needed help.”
The floor was starting to tilt again, and Jungkook wasn’t sure if you’d jump or strangle him. He gripped onto the counter; his head was spinning out of his skull. “I don’t need your help.”
“Sure you don’t,” you said, then caught him. You felt warm and soft and then Jungkook was out.
When Jungkook woke up again, he was on the bed. His knife was beside him, which was stupid, because he could kill you. Or maybe you were prepared for that.
He wouldn’t know, because when you showed up, all you gave him were painkillers and porridge.
The next morning, you shook him awake.
“I have to go to class,” you told him. Jungkook jumped up, but his hands didn’t quite close around your neck. You just batted him off, as if he were nothing.
“Don’t break anything,” you warned, and then you were gone.
When you came back, and you didn’t bring anyone back with you.
Later, as you helped him into the bathroom, Jungkook waited for you to bash his head open against the sink, but you only held his wild stuttering hands under the sink, washed them until they smelled like lavender. Still, a part of him was convinced you were planning to kill him. Other than Jimin, the whole world had been plotting to kill him. His dad, his uncle. Everyone back home.
Gradually, that part wore away.
The first time he slept -- really slept -- you laughed at him when he woke up. You said he snored like a freight train. You laughed and laughed at the look on Jungkook’s face, until Jungkook laughed along, too.
He’d never laughed like that before.
He didn’t know he could.
It took a week for Jungkook to finally understand that, in your apartment, he would always wake up. And he would always be fine.
“Why did you help me?” Jungkook asked, one day, as he watched you do your homework.
You were a student. A good one, it seemed. A smart one. Jungkook liked that about you.
“Because,” you said, without looking up. “You looked like a rabbit.”
Jungkook stared at you, confused.
“I like bunnies,” you shrugged, and kept writing.
“I like bunnies too,” Jungkook said, after a while.
You finally looked up, and this time you tossed him a calculator. Jungkook found himself staring at your mouth. “If you’re just going to sit there, help me do some math.”
Dutifully, Jungkook punched in the numbers you called out. As he turned the calculator back to you, there was a heady sort of warmth stirring in the pit of his stomach, burning at his face. Like he was drunk. It felt nice.
“What are you studying?” he asked.
“Linear algebra,” you said.
“What’s that?” he asked.
You looked surprised, like you weren’t sure if he was joking. “Do you know what matrices are?”
Jungkook shook his head. “I dropped out of high school.”
“Well look,” you cleared your throat. Fixed your eyes on something far past him, then disappeared into your bedroom. A few moments later, you returned with a new notebook.
“Education’s important,” you told him. Your voice was softer. “People like us… that’s our ticket out.”
And so, on Tuesday nights, you began teaching him math.
It went on for months like that. You went to school in the mornings, to work at night. By spring, Jungkook’s wounds scabbed and peeled. He made himself useful around the apartment. Fixed the ceiling fan and the leaking kitchen drain. On the first day of summer, you trimmed his bangs over the bathroom sink.
It was the first time Jungkook had let anyone but Jimin cut his hair, and he thought he might hurt you on reflex. But he didn’t. He watched you, felt the metal scissors glide over his forehead, and didn’t move a muscle.
When you were gone, Jungkook would go over the math problems you showed him and think about the sound of your laughter, the way you always smelled like earth and flowers.
You liked to call him Bun. Jungkook liked it too.
There were a lot of things he liked about you.
He liked it when he found you barefoot by the table, in nothing but an oversized t-shirt, shadows lining your collarbones, long lashes, legs folded to your chest. Or when you made coffee on the weekends, he liked that too. How you leaned against the teak countertop, in his hoodie, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, sunlight in your hair, a hardback textbook in one hand and a mug in the other.
Sometimes, he wondered how it would feel to touch you. Never for too long, because just the thought always made his heart ache.
If there was one thing he didn’t like, it was watching you climb into those shiny cars with black-out windows. It always made him sick to his stomach. He knew what men liked to do. Men like his dad, his uncle.
Once or twice, he thought about going after you. Slit their throats open, sink his fingers into the sockets of their eyes, mash their faces against the hood of their fancy cars, again and again. You could watch, if you wanted to. Or you could sit in the car and listen to music.
Then he’d hold your hand all the way home and make you laugh with jokes he’d heard from the radio.
But before he could get to it, Jimin came back.
“It’s over,” Jimin texted him, one Wednesday afternoon. “Uncle’s dead.”
Jungkook stared at the words for a while. He wondered how Jimin did it. But then again, Jimin could do anything he put his mind to.
“Really?” Jungkook wrote.
“Yep. Sawed him in six pieces.” After a moment, Jimin added, “Just for you.”
“Is it time to go home?”
Jungkook gnawed on his lip. He wondered whether you’d come with him, if he asked. If you’d like Jimin. But of course you’d like Jimin. Everyone liked Jimin. Jimin was handsome and kind and funny and good at everything. Hopefully you won't forget Jungkook, after meeting Jimin.
“Actually… go to Japan for a while. Need your help there.”
Jungkook blinked. “How long?”
“A year. Maybe three. Maybe five. There’s a lot to do, Koo. A big opportunity with Yamaguchi-gumi.”
“You’ll go, right? For hyung.”
There was a throb in his chest, like he’d swallowed a rock.
“OK,” Jungkook wrote, and the rock in his chest became hollow, like a big black hole that ripped right through him. And god, it hurt. It hurt like hell.
That night, Jungkook went out and found a pair of bunnies at a park nearby. One white, one brown. You liked to take care of small things, he knew. That’s why you took care of him.
And Jungkook, he only wanted to make you happy.
So he took them home, broke their legs in the bathtub. Smashed the bones flat with a rock. They’d squealed and kicked. The blood ruined the shirt you bought him. He washed it out, together with the tub.
“I found them on the curb,” was what he said, when you got home. “They must’ve been run over by a car.”
You didn’t question him. You just cried for them. Jungkook put his hand on your cheek, stroked your hair as you sobbed. Your body was warm and soft when you curled against his chest, and it took everything out of Jungkook not to hold you. You were so small and the way your shoulders couldn’t seem to stop trembling, it made Jungkook so... pleased.
“We’ll be foster parents together, Bun,” you said, eventually. “I’ll send you pictures of our kids.”
That would make you family, Jungkook figured. Make you his blood. That meant he’d have to show you to Jimin, once things were safer.
The three of you would be so great together. You could even spend Christmas huddled up on the couch like they did on TV. Jimin would have to teach you how to sing the family caroles. And with your temper, you’d shut him right up.
The thought of it made Jungkook jittery.
In Japan, the izakayas liked to play love songs. Everytime he heard them, Jungkook always wondered what love was. He’d never seen it before, not in real life. But if he tried to imagine it, the first thing that came to mind was always your silhouette in the kitchen, the sun in your hair.
You’d turn to look at him, your eyes wrinkled with laughter, and you’d reach out to pull him closer. And Jungkook, he would crawl through fire to hold onto that.
“He won't hurt me,” Jungkook explains, carefully. “Jimin’s my brother. We grew up together, in this house.”
That glimmer of recognition snuffs out of your eyes.
And slowly, your features smooth over.
“Huh,” you say.
“The bunnies,” Jungkook starts again.
You shake your head. The glimmer doesn’t come back.
This is supposed to be what he always wanted. You, Jimin, Jungkook, all together under the same house. Playing cards together. Watching TV together. Taking walks around the courtyard together. Jimin and you on the piano, while Jungkook sings along.
But there is something wrong.
It’s something to do with your arm, Jungkook thinks. That patchwork of needle scars, the skin that seems to have been torn open too many times to heal. The black and yellow bruises. The way the staff leers at you, sometimes, when they think Jungkook’s not paying attention. He knows what it means. He knows.
But Jungkook can’t figure it out.
“Koo,” Jimin says. “Stop spacing out.”
The three of you are in the study today, twenty minutes into a game of chess. Jimin’s helping you play, his arm wrapped around your waist. He leans in to whisper something in your ear, and you giggle and rock into him as you laugh. Jimin’s hand is on your thigh, draws up your thigh, and you don’t even jump. Instead, you back your King into the corner of the board. It almost doesn’t make sense.
Still, Jungkook moves his Queen forward a step.
“Checkmate,” he says.
“Oh!” you gasp, delighted. “Looks like you got me, Bun.”
Jimin kisses you on the cheek, then glances over at Jungkook. He’s smiling, gentle and kind, that same smile Jungkook grew up with. He pushes his fingers between yours, curls them over until he’s got your hand. “He’s got us both, hasn’t he?”
“Yeah,” you chirp, and then you lean over. You kiss Jungkook on the cheek, cute.
It should make Jungkook happy, all of this.
But it makes Jungkook so fucking mad.
He doesn’t know how to ask, so he just grabs your hand and says, as soon as he has a moment alone with you, “Let’s go home.”
It’s that same afternoon. Jimin’s in the next room answering the phone. Something urgent from work.
You look at him like you can’t understand what he means. “Go home?”
Jungkook knows he’s hurting you with how hard he’s holding onto your shoulders but he doesn’t know how to take his hands away. He can’t. He’s convinced you’ll float away, if he lets go, and he’d never get you back again.
You don’t react to the pain. You don’t seem to feel it at all. You smile, you take Jungkook’s hand off your shoulder and you ask, rubbing your thumb soothingly over his knuckles, “Why?”
“You’re not happy here,” Jungkook says. “You’re hurt.”
“But Bun,” you tell him, sounding so endeared, “I am happy.”
And from afar, Jungkook can hear the sound of Jimin’s laughter.
Then it happens.
Without warning, without preamble.
Jungkook’s returning from an errand when he hears your voice coming from your bedroom. It sounds like a purr. Then it comes back, more pitched.
He stops dead in his tracks. The door’s already cracked open. He hears you again. Hears Jimin’s voice too, low and throaty. He swallows, heart hammering into his head. He knows.
He pushes it open and there you are on the bed. Under Jimin. He’s pressed you down into the bed, nibbling and biting down your neck, your shoulder. Your wrists are bound together by a leather belt, and Jimin keeps them pinned down over your head as he snaps his hips into you, so hard Jungkook can hear it from meters away.
“Hey, slut,” Jimin pants out, half laughing. “Feeling good?”
You don’t respond.
You probably can’t respond.
Jimin’s got you bent nearly in half beneath him, your feet pushed beside your face, your whole body contorted like you’re nothing but a hole for Jimin to fuck into. And Jimin treats you just like that, fucks you vigorously, cock slamming into you like he wants to break you. He palms and squeezes at your breast until you cry out.
“Please,” you gasp, “please, Jimin.”
“Please what?” Jimin laughs again, and Jungkook’s stomach twists. “Hurts, does it? You like that? Hm?”
Even in the crappy lighting, Jungkook can see how bright red your ass is from the impact of Jimin’s hips against your skin. Your ass looks fucked open, wet and messy from the lube and the come. Jungkook takes a step closer and can see the come dried on your thighs, the way it pushes out of your hole every time Jimin fucks into you.
“Please,” you mutter, and then your gaze falls on him.
Your voice shakes each time Jimin slams into you, and you tell Jungkook, looking him straight in the eye, “want more.”
He freezes. He doesn’t remember how to breathe.
“She likes it,” Jimin says, and looks at Jungkook, too. “I told you, didn’t I?”
And god, Jungkook doesn’t--
“I like it,” You tell Jungkook. Your cheek’s red, like it’s been slapped. Jimin grabs a fistful of your hair, kisses you with tongue as he keeps fucking you and fucking you. And when he lets go, spittle shiny on your chin, your head lolls to one side, as if you can’t keep it upright yourself. “I want Bun, too.”
“Come on,” Jimin says, and pulls out of you. His cock snaps up, heavy and rock hard. You whine instinctively, and god, the way you’re looking at Jungkook--
“Bun,” you plead, sweet, eyes wet and glazed over as you look at him.
And Jungkook, the truth is, he wants this. He hasn’t fucked a single girl, hasn’t jerked off once over the past few years without thinking of you. He wants you. He’s always wanted you. But.
“You’re going to make her beg?” Jimin climbs off the bed. He grabs Jungkook by his arm, tugs him closer. “That’s so impolite, Koo.”
Jungkook stumbles after Jimin. He feels his heart thudding in his chest. He’s hard. He’s hard and he knows that he shouldn’t be but you look so--you look just the way he imagined you to, you look even better, you--
“Watch,” Jimin tells him, then tilts your head back. Your mouth opens for him and he slips his cock past your wet, swollen lips. God, they look as if you’ve been mouthfucked for ages.
Jungkook swallows. He wants to stop this, except you’re grabbing at the loop of his belt, grinding your hips up helplessly into your air, that low purr in your throat like a spell, making Jungkook’s head spin, and he can’t.
He’s so hard it hurts.
“See?” Jimin says, slapping at your chest. Your breast bounces at the impact and you let out a loud, delirious whine, “She loves it.”
Jungkook doesn’t know what he’s doing. He reaches out and touches it, your skin, the taut hardened nub of your nipple. He rolls it under his finger. And fuck, the way you react to it. How your whole body shivers from the touch, like you can’t take it. Like you’ve waited so long for this too.
Jungkook flicks his tongue across his lower lip and sucks a breath in. He climbs onto the bed, between your legs, and his cock throbs, heavy and hot. It happens in a blur. He doesn’t know when he unbuckled his belt or pushed his pants down. And your pussy looks so good. Jungkook’s played this out so many times in his head, his body moves on autopilot.
You moan, with a mouthful of Jimin’s cock, as Jungkook presses a kiss to your knee. He takes your leg, kisses up your calf. He’s always knew your skin would feel soft and supple like this, but he didn’t know you’d smell so amazing, didn't know you'd let out that sound when he kisses your foot--
And he’s fucked into you. Your other leg, splayed beside him, jerks up helplessly, like you can’t take him.
Suddenly Jungkook can’t think about anything other than how much he wants to see that again, see the way you respond to him. So he does it again. Your pussy’s wet and hot and incredible around him. It feels so so good, like nothing he’s ever felt before. You don’t move at all, just moan as you’re fucked from both ends, body rocking up between Jungkook and Jimin as if you can’t decide which one you want more.
Jungkook watches you, dazed, revelling in the sounds pouring out of your mouth.
“You like it?” Jimin asks.
Jungkook doesn’t realize the question was for him until he glances up and finds Jimin staring. His eyes are dark and clouded with arousal and when he grins, it’s only one side of his mouth that tugs up.
Jimin pulls out of your mouth with a pop, then starts lifting you up into his arms.
“You know what she likes?” Jimin asks, with a low chuckle. He pushes you into Jungkook, then further, until Jungkook’s on his back and you’re stretched out on top of him. His cock’s still buried inside of you, but then he can feel Jimin fucking into your ass.
You jolt, pussy squeezing down tight on Jungkook’s cock, so fucking tight Jungkook bites into his lip. As Jimin pushes further into you, you whimper into Jungkook’s shoulder like you can't do anything but take it, take both of them.
“She’s a good fuck, isn’t she?” Jimin hisses, punctuating each syllable with a snap of his hips.
You writhe against Jungkook, as if you can’t handle it. Then you say, eyes fluttering open, “Want you to feel good, Bun.”
Jungkook can’t look away from you. He touches your face, pushes away the hair matted to your forehead and kisses you. Just lips to lips. Somehow, this riles Jimin up, makes Jimin thrust into you so hard he bounces you off Jungkook’s cock too.
And Jungkook, he wants to… he wants to make you feel good, too. Make you feel like how Jimin’s making you feel. So he pushes into you, a bit deeper. You moan, spine arching, and Jungkook does it again. And again. He can feel Jimin fucking into you too, can feel you tensing each time the two of them rub past each other as they fuck you together, one in one out, completely in sync.
The pace builds without Jungkook meaning to. Only you’re taking both of them so well, Jungkook can’t help fucking into you harder. And faster. And then he's slamming into you furiously enough that he doesn't hear your voice anymore. As he comes, he pulls you down, captures your mouth, licking into it. Jimin rubs at your clit and then, just like that, you’re coming with him, tensing into Jungkook’s arms. Jungkook can feel you squeezing at his cock, so hard he can hardly move. The way Jimin’s jaws lock, from behind you, Jungkook can tell that he’s coming too.
There’s a second when Jungkook lets you go. You slump down into him, arms lax and eyes closed. Jungkook closes his eyes too, but then Jimin says, “Keep up, slut.”
Jimin slaps your ass, hard, then drags you off of Jungkook. You let him carry you, sagging without a move into his arms.
“Come on,” Jimin says, as he settles you into his lap. “Wake the fuck up. We’re just getting started.”
He pumps three fingers into you, all at once, and you flinch. You whimper and hiss, scrabbling against Jimin, but then Jimin starts jamming his fingers into you faster, pace brutal. You come instantly in a protracted, broken shout. As you come, you jerk your hips away, like you’re afraid of more, but Jimin drags you back, does it again. There’s a growing pool of come and lube leaking out of your cunt and ass and Jungkook just watches, mesmerized.
“Wanna try?” Jimin offers, his eyes dark. He lays you out on the bed, your legs spread wide open. “It’s fun.”
Jungkook does. He doesn’t know if you like it--but you must, he thinks, when he fucks into you with a finger. Then two. Three. He can see your brows pressing together, your hips twitching for him. Your cunt is blazing hot and soft and it squeezes and squeezes around his fingers, like it’s begging for more, and Jungkook doesn’t even think.
He fucks into you, again. Hears your breath hitching, and fuck, it makes his heartrate spike.
Jimin says something too quietly for Jungkook to hear. He ruts up into you, kisses you, kisses your neck, your shoulder, your breasts, flicks his tongue around your nipple. He can feel you melting into him, your whole body fever hot and sticky. You smell so good, and he’s going to fuck you so full of his come, going to press so close to you that you’ll smell like him , when you’re done.
Beside him, Jimin rakes his fingers through your hair, stroking gently at your temple, “God, Koo, slow down. Don’t break her.”
The second time Jungkook comes, he can feel your nails scratching against his back, your leg trembling against him. Then Jimin nudges Jungkook aside. Strokes himself hard. Flips you to your back and cants your ass up. He fucks into you, into the hole Jungkook had just pulled out of, fucks all of his come back inside of you.
“You wanna feel full, don’t you?” Jimin asks, mid-way through.
Your nod, or move in some semblance of one. Or maybe you didn’t, maybe it’s just Jimin bouncing you off his cock. Your movements are slower, sluggish. Jimin picks you up, an arm holding each of your legs. He waves Jungkook over with a curl of the finger. And then Jungkook fucks into your pussy too, right along Jimin’s cock. You cry out as he nudges his tip in, stretching your entrance wide open, then your voice breaks, then your head tilts onto Jungkook’s shoulder.
“You can take it,” Jimin reassures you, starting to move without concern. Then your cries get weaker.
He freezes. Looks down at you.
You’re either too fucked out or just unconscious, but your eyes are closed. Jungkook taps you on your cheek, but you don’t move.
“Wait,” Jungkook says, frowning. “Hyung--”
“She likes it,” Jimin says. There is a hard edge to his voice. “She’s a whore, Koo. This is what whores do--”
“She’s not a whore,” Jungkook snaps. He pulls out of you, nearly rips you out of Jimin’s arms.
You don’t move.
Jungkook puts you down on the bed and shakes you, gently, panic sinking into his guts.
Then he sees it, that little red and purple dot on your forearm.
He feels sick.
Jungkook can’t look at you.
He just can’t.
He can hardly think about you without wanting to throw up. Can hardly imagine what you think of him.
He should go back to Japan, he thinks.
But he can’t leave you here.
Not with Jimin.
It’s not intentional, it’s not like he planned it, but Jungkook can’t seem to eat.
So he stops eating.
It doesn’t take more than a few days for Jimin to notice. He finds Jungkook late at night in the courtyard.
“She doesn’t remember a thing,” Jimin says, leaning over the railing over Jungkook. His arms are folded across his chest. Jungkook can’t see his expression from the garden. “She wouldn’t mind, even if she did.”
Jungkook stares into the pond. The surface breaks as a fish nips at the edge of a lotus leaf. “Don’t lie to me.”
Then Jimin leans back, pinches at the bridge of his nose. He starts laughing, out of the blue. His whole body shakes. “Really? You calling hyung a liar?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says.
There’s a pause. Jungkook can feel Jimin staring at him. “Do you think I’m a bad person, Koo?”
Jungkook doesn’t know what to say.
“Fine. Maybe I am,” Jimin shrugs. He straightens, dusts off his trousers. As he leaves, he looks at Jungkook like he has something to add.
But he doesn’t say another word.
Jungkook likes sitting behind the rock in the courtyard. There, he can catch a glimpse of you in the library. He can also see the cars that pull up into the driveway. There aren't many. Unlike their dad, Jimin doesn’t entertain at home.
But today, there are eight, maybe nine boys striding in through the front door, dressed up in suit and tie. They’re kids. Lackeys. Jungkook doesn't pay them attention, but then one of them says, “That ass is so fucking sweet.”
“When hyungnim shoots her up though? Fuck me,” another one says. Jungkook looks up, slowly.
They don't see him. “But she never says to stop, does she?”
Jungkook doesn’t think.
He doesn’t need to think.
He simply walks over. Cuts them up.
Slices those filthy mouths right open.
They scramble, of course they do, shouting frantically. Most of them trip. Easy. Jungkook skewer those two at a time. A few slip on their own blood. Jungkook steps right over their dying, blubbering bodies. Two make it away. Jungkook follows their footprints. He takes his time.
The first one he yanks out of a linen closet by the hair. The kid's trembling, pupils blown wide open. He tries to grapple. Jungkook cuts off the arm he's grappling with. Tries to run. Jungkook cuts off that foot. Tries to shriek. So Jungkook impales him into the tree in the courtyard, where he can shriek to his heart's content.
“I’m so sorry, hyungnim,” the last one begs, on his knees, hands over his head. He’s sweating and crying, snot running into his mouth. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I did, Jungkook hyungnim. Please forgive me. Please, I have kids at home.”
Jungkook doesn’t care.
He slants his blade and drags it down, watching the blood squirt out of his--
“Enough,” comes Jimin’s voice.
Jungkook doesn’t stop. He slices his stomach open, slices off the fingers in his way. Next, he's going to cut off that tongue--
And the kid jerks backwards, a clean bullet hole in his head. Suddenly he’s not screaming anymore.
“Enough, Jeon Jungkook,” Jimin repeats. Jungkook can feel a hand on his shoulder. It’s Jimin’s, he knows. It’s too steady not to be.
Jungkook pauses, turns.
Behind him, Jimin’s rubbing the blood off his nose with a thumb. It doesn’t come off. Just gets smeared, like some kind of war mask. He’s got a gun with a silencer in hand, still smoking.
Jungkook grips onto the handle of his katana. It’s slippery with blood.
“It’s noisy,” Jimin says, then lifts his hand from Jungkook’s shoulder.
Jungkook wonders, briefly, if Jimin would bleed, if he cuts him too. He wonders if Jimin knows how to bleed.
“Look at this mess you made,” Jimin sighs. His finger brushes against Jungkook’s cheek.
On the 12th of September, four weeks after you were kidnapped, you stir awake to Jimin’s fingers carding through your hair.
“Hi,” he says, in the darkness. “Awake?”
You shift slightly. Jungkook’s curled up at the foot of your bed.
“Koo, would it make you happy if I let her go?” Jimin asks.
Without lifting his head up, Jungkook says, “Yes.”
So Jimin bends down and presses a kiss to the side of your head. He whispers, as if this were all a game, “Remember what you promised me.”
There are only two things Namjoon doesn’t tolerate. Being betrayed, and being interrupted.
Ergo it must be a big fucking deal that has Soobin inching into his office in the middle of a closed-door meeting.
By way of greeting, Namjoon arches a brow at him. The boy jumps a foot into the air and shrinks into the nearest corner, as if he plans to disappear into it.
“Hyungnim,” he mouths, desperate. Points at his phone.
So it is a big fucking deal.
“Gentlemen, excuse me,” Namjoon says, to the dozen or so attorneys sitting before him. Namjoon flew them in the dead of the night. Most of them nod in acknowledgement, the rest too engrossed with redlining their notes to respond.
It’s 5:30 in the morning, September 12th. Not Namjoon’s worst birthday, but certainly not the best. The prosecutors had just finished ransacking his house a few hours ago. Turned every drawer inside out. Presently, there are half-empty coffee cups littered over the table, the floors, piles and piles of papers stacked over every available inch of real estate. Namjoon straightens, slides into his slippers and pulls Soobin out of the room.
He ambles down the corridor, then down an empty stairwell. The house is quiet in the morning, maids and staff just starting to file in. The ones who see him bow and scurry away in the opposite direction. Namjoon watches them for a bit, then looks back at Soobin.
The kid’s face has drained nearly entirely of blood. He fidgets with his phone, eyes darting all over the place.
“What’s the issue?” Namjoon asks.
“Hyungnim, the boys found a body down the road,” Soobin mumbles to the floor.
Namjoon crosses his arms and waits.
“A woman,” Soobin clarifies. “On 5th street.”
Namjoon’s about to interrupt when Soobin clears his throat. “Your woman, hyungnim.”
Namjoon stills. “And?”
“I got the boys to take some photos,” Soobin says quickly, as if he’s terrified of whatever look is on Namjoon’s face. “She’s alive but we’re thinkin’ she might have OD’d on something. And she’s a little… she seems a bit... someone’s worked her over, hyungnim.”
Namjoon exhales. Scraps his teeth over his bottom lip.
It takes every ounce of strength he has not to hurl Soobin against the wall. He leans back. “Show me.”
It feels like a whole hour’s passed before the picture loads, and then Namjoon feels his organs turning inside out.
“Shit,” Namjoon mutters, lungs filling with battery acid.
Soobin starts, “Hyungnim--”
“Where’s the ambulance?” Namjoon demands. His voice is faint, and the way it trembles makes him feel insane.
Panic crawls over Soobin’s face.
Namjoon knows what it means.
He shoves Soobin out of his way, hard. Shoves everyone, everything out of his way. Maids, guards, coffee carts, the upturned boxes the prosecutors had left in the corridors, why are there so many fucking things in his way today--
“Hyungnim,” Soobin shouts behind him, scrambling to keep up as he tears across the lawn. It’s raining, this fine mist that seems to have been around forever. Soobin trips, picks himself up again, “Wait, hyungnim, I can handle this--”
“CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE,” is all Namjoon says, before he slams the gates wide open. Then he’s out bolting through the streets, shirt soaked, feet barely touching the ground.
Yoongi’s been thinking about it the whole damned night.
“It seems,” Namjoon told him, “I have a rat problem.”
Which means, unless Yoongi’s a shit-eating idiot, “You have a rat problem.”
It’s nearly dawn by the time Yoongi makes it home. Outside, the rain is drumming against his window. The kind of rain that has been going on for days and days. Cold, weary, and real fucking annoying.
At his office, he finds a half-used notepad. Draws a line down the center of the paper.
He starts writing. His schoolmates, his relatives, his men, his allies, his enemies, his girls. You. He fills the page. There are a hundred or so names on the left. Only five on the right.
Yoongi digs out a packet of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and taps one out. He strikes a match, cups the flame with both hands. Takes a long fucking drag.
When Yoongi exhales, he can see the smoke drifting over the names he’s written. All these damned bodies he might need to bury.
He’s got to work fast. Work quiet. Yoongi fishes his phone out of his pocket.
Yeonjun answers on the first ring, voice deep with sleep. “Min Yoongi-ssi?”
Yoongi picks the cigarette from his lips. He says, squinting into the distance, “I have a job for you.”
A beat. “Now?”
“Hey, boy scout, did I fucking stutter?” Yoongi says. He stubs out his cigarette against the side of a vase.
Yeonjun hesitates. Grade A fucking dipshit.
“Yeah, now,” Yoongi spits out.
“Hang on,” Yeonjun says. There’s the sound of his bed creaking from behind him. Fabric shuffling, zippers, mouse clicking. Yoongi waits. “OK. What can I do for you?”
“I have five names,” Yoongi says. “Need to know they’re clean.”
“Want to check all assets?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “Physical, digital, phone records, email logs, travel history, the whole nine yards. Just be discreet. Not one single fucking peep, to anyone.”
“Discreet.” Yeonjun says. “Got it. Do you have the names?”
Yoongi scrubs his face. God, he’s so fucking tired of this dogshit.
“Yeah. You ready?”
“Yes sir,” Yeonjun says.
Yoongi gives him three names.
And then he says, “Kim Taehyung.”
“Kim Taehyung,” Yeonjun confirms, keyboard clacking.
Then, Yoongi hesitates. It can’t be, of course not. This clownery is all precautionary anyway. Just Yoongi being a fucking cunt about it. And the rat--it’s one of the new hires. It’s got to be. One of those ass-licking little shits, who knows fuck all about--
“That’s four.” Yeonjun asks, “Is there one more?”
The streets are just starting to light up. The sky’s a nasty, bruised shade of violet. Yoongi stares at it, face blank.
And then he says, “(Y/N).”
Jimin says: When he sees you, Namjoon’s going to panic.
There is no pain.
Just pressure, and an incessant ringing in your left ear. From the corner of your eye, you can make out Namjoon bolting towards you. It makes you want to laugh, how he’s dashing straight into traffic, leaping and skipping right over the hood of a car. He’s half-dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe. He doesn’t even have shoes on, you realize. Not even socks. Just one slipper.
From afar, you can tell that he sees where you are. He works his mouth open and shut, but nothing seems to come out. Then he has this look about him, like he’s been hit by a train.
You want to tell him to slow down, watch for cars because the light’s turning yellow—
But that’s when the world turns to black.
And the next thing you know, you’re in Namjoon’s arms. Though you can’t see him, you can smell his cologne, can hear him shouting out your name.
“Stay with me,” Namjoon says. His voice is broken, which is so unlike him. It’s not raining anymore, but somehow you can feel something wet hitting your neck, your chin. “Don’t you leave me, baby, don’t you dare...”
Then, he’s going to be furious.
When you open your eyes again, you’re in a hospital room. It’s dark and quiet, nothing save for the sound of your monitor beeping. Before you, Namjoon has fallen asleep on a plastic fold-up chair, resting on the side of your bed. His head is buried in his arms, and the only thing you can see is a sliver of the moon on his neck. His shoulder gleams in the darkness.
He’d like it if you touched him, you think, but you can’t think of why you’d want to do such a thing.
The next morning, there is a terse exchange outside the hospital room. The part of the bed where Namjoon has been is cold. There’s a crack left in the door. Outside, you can hear someone crying out.
“I can’t let you see her charts, sir, that is against--”
Namjoon’s words are terse and sharp. “Do not test me, doctor.”
Then, they drop lower. “This line. What does it mean?”
“It means that before she was drugged, she was…um.”
“She was what?” Namjoon asks. “Tell me.”
Then something slams into the wall. Footsteps clatter over the linoleum tiles.
“She was WHAT,” someone yells, hysterical. The voice sounds oddly like Namjoon’s, except Namjoon never sounds like that. “SAY IT. SAY IT. SHE WAS WHAT. SAY IT.”
The first voice comes back in a pained cry, “She was assaulted…,” another cry, “o-over a prolonged period of time,” another cry, “b-b-by m-multiple people and objects… repeated blunt force trauma...”
The door slams open, so hard you can hear one of the hinges ripping off. Namjoon’s there, face so dark and twisted--
But then his gaze lands on you.
And he snaps around. Without a word, he shuts the door. Pushes a hand through his hair. You can see his chest rise and fall. Once, twice.
When he turns back towards you again, he’s perfectly composed. Like nothing ever happened. Like he’s just coming to pick you up at your apartment, take you out for a drive by the beach.
“Baby,” he says, coming to sit beside you. He takes your hand in his, brings it up to his mouth. There’s blood speckled over his chin, on his white starched collar. His hair is disheveled. He brushes your knuckles against his lips, says, gently, voice hoarse. “You’re OK now. I’ve got you, baby. You’re OK.”
He’s going to ask…
“Who was it?”
It’s later in the morning, near noon. They’ve moved you to a room that looks like a hotel suite. Fruit baskets line the corner table. Teddy bears, orchids, cakes. Namjoon hasn’t left your side even once. He’s sent all his calls to voicemail.
Namjoon’s nothing but patient. He just tilts his head, looks at you with so much warmth in his eyes you almost can’t bear it. “I won’t hurt him, if you don’t want me to.”
You know he’s lying.
“I promise,” he tries again. “I just want to protect you.”
It’s not right. You don’t want to.
You shake your head.
The same thing happens, a few hours later. Namjoon’s less patient now, or just less good at hiding it.
“Who did this to you?” He asks. His grip tightens around your wrists, until you can feel it squeezing your bones.
You stare at your feet, the way the sheet tents around them. You can't focus. Can't think. “No one.”
“No one?” he repeats, voice cold, eyes cold. “Right. No one.”
But Jimin’s depending on you. Jimin, who could be so kind, who made you feel so loved, so needed. Jimin, who has no one in this world, no one other than you.
And you’re going to tell him…
“Yoongi,” you mumble.
Namjoon doesn’t react. You swallow. Your throat’s parched. Part of you feels dirty. This hollow kind of pain echoes inside of you like a cave
Then he drops your wrist.
His expression blanks. Darkens.
This distinct, off-kilter rage clouds over his face.
“Say it again,” he grits out.
He looks like he might crush the next living thing he sees. Might crush every living thing he sees.
“Min Yoongi,” you repeat, and you can’t recognize your own words. “He did this.”
Because you’re my friend, aren’t you?
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Eunoia // Ch. 19
eunoia (noun): beautiful thinking, the possession of a well-balanced mind, which exhibits goodwill and kindness
Pairings: Hybrid! BTS x reader
Summary: You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job.You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognision, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness ins’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?
Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, eventual smut
Word Count: 7.5k+
Warnings: past abuse, past sexual abuse, cursing
Chapter 1, Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 chapter 18
The taglist is now closed
One thing you hadn’t considered before going undercover for the police was the sneaking around to reach your hotel room. A tiger hybrid that hadn’t been there for the rest of your stay was returning with you and John’s jacket was the only garment that was covering anything. You had to take the back door to avoid being seen by any too curious eyes and bribe someone from the hotel staff to let you use the staff’s elevator. As an excuse, you told him you were afraid someone was following you, paparazzi or some stalker. John and Taehyung stayed hidden until the staff member left after asking you at least three times if you wanted him to accompany you to your room.
You were lucky the corridors of the top floor were empty and the three of you made it to your room undetected. The reason you were staying at that specific hotel was that it was advertised as valuing their guests’ privacy and you had been trying to avoid the press. Now, you were thankful for that choice because there were no cameras in the hallways. If videos of you returning to the hotel with a mostly naked hybrid got out, your career would be over.
The door to your hotel room closed behind you and your shoulders sagged. The silk dress stifled you, pushing your chest more and more until there was nothing left but the impression of all the air you couldn’t take.
You collapsed on the couch and undid the straps on your high heels. When your feet were bare you felt lighter. The first piece of your costume was off.
“I have to go change,” John said. “I feel like the suit is going to eat me up.”
You rolled your neck, hearing tiny cracks. “Believe me, I get it.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, I need to change into something more comfortable,” John said, opening the door. “You should do the same. It’ll be a long night.”
Yujin was supposed to call you to update you after the raid. You would have to go back to the police station and officially recount all the events that took place at the auction and point out the ones who organized it. They would need your testimony to strengthen the case and guarantee Hyungjoon wouldn’t escape a prison sentence.
It was two hours past midnight and your flight was leaving Seoul at eight in the morning.
You cleared your head of police protocol and eleven-hour-long flights. Taehyung had stopped by the coffee table in front of the couch, John’s jacket draped over his shoulders. His expression was carefully blank, a statue sculpted to be still and perfect for the viewer’s enjoyment. Some statues displayed more life than he did.
“It’s late,” you said. “You should go to the bedroom and get some rest. Would you like that?”
He nodded and headed to your room without question. He deserved to sleep in a comfortable bed. He deserved everything the world had to offer after being through that monstrous night. And you didn’t know anything else about how it had been before or how many years he had been treated like a slave. Trained.
You took off the gold necklace and your earrings. You couldn’t look at your dress without getting the urge to rip it to pieces, listen to the green silk being torn apart. It was a reminder of a night you already wanted to forget, of a role you never wanted to play again. It was scary. Because you saw people you knew in the faces of those enjoying the show of hybrids being auctioned off. You saw your parents parading around wearing the most famous of designers in large ballrooms. You saw a version of yourself that didn’t exist but could have. And could haves were dangerous.
John returned. He had gotten rid of the suit and he was sporting gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt tight around his biceps.
“Are you going to stay in that?” he asked, looking pointedly at your dress.
“God, no,” you said. “I can’t wait to throw it in the trash.”
John sat down in an armchair facing you. “Are you going to throw a dress worth twenty thousand dollars in the trash?”
“I want to,” you said stubbornly. You weren’t going to throw it in the trash, as tempting as it was. You would donate it somewhere and they could sell it. You would be satisfied if you never saw it again. “You don’t have to be here, you know. You can go to your room and sleep. I will wake you up when Yujin calls.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Taehyung isn’t going to hurt me. Did you see how thin he is?” you asked. “Besides, I don’t think he would try.”
“He wouldn’t,” John said. Both of you were aware that he was probably too scared to do anything but obey you. “But it isn’t Taehyung that I’m worried about. Speaking of Taehyung, where is he?”
You laid back against the arm of the couch and rubbed the sore muscles of your feet. “I sent him to sleep in my room, he must be exhausted. And terrified. I don’t know what else to do.”
“You should sleep too. It will be a few hours until Yujin calls. Breaking up the auction and arresting everyone will take some time. Then they have to take everyone to the station and do whatever work they have to do there before she can call you.”
Yujin had promised to call you as soon as she could. She had been confident about wrapping up everything long before your flight. But John was right, you could fall asleep for a few hours.
“I’m not sure I can sleep,” you said honestly.
The orange bottle was hidden inside a pocket in your suitcase, you packed it for every trip out of habit. During demanding schedules, you had no choice but to swallow one of the pills and fall into a heavy dreamless sleep. You couldn’t afford to be sleepwalking at interviews and red carpets.
“You can try,” John said. “I will be right here.”
He made himself comfortable on the chair, crossing his arms and stretching his legs.
“I could fall asleep like this.”
You chuckled quietly. “Go ahead. Your back will be killing you tomorrow.”
His face scrunched up in distaste. “For the sake of my back, I’m not going to. I’ll be waiting for Yujin’s call. You should go change into your pajamas. The couch looks much more comfortable than my armchair.”
The couch was very comfortable and a few hours of sleeping on it wouldn’t be too bad. It had plenty of space to roll around and you could grab one of the pillows from the bedroom. As far as nightly accommodations went, it could be worse.
“I can try,” you said. “But I have another call to make before that.”
John offered you a bemused smile. “I’m surprised you waited so long. I thought you would have called them the moment we came back.”
You fiddled with your dress. “I was going to. But there was Taehyung… I can’t bear to look at him like that. He’s so… lifeless. Like a robot programmed to execute orders. Is that what they turned them into? Shells of themselves?”
“Their goal was a perfect servant. A well-mannered pet. This is exactly what they were aiming for.”
Hate was a strong word, to be used sparingly. When you were younger you used to throw the word around without meaning or rhyme. You hated your parents and you hated your aunt and you hated your friend who pushed you into the sand once. It was all quickly forgotten. Because it was never hate. Growing older you realized that throwing the word around diminished its meaning. You reserved it for the ones who would make your skin crawl and your blood boil.
And after years you found those people. Jimin and Yoongi’s past owner, the organizers of the hybrid fighting ring. Hyungjoon was the only one with both a face and a name. You hated them all.
“How can people be so cruel to them?” you asked bitterly. “They are breaking their souls. And for what? There were children in there. Do they have no conscience? Can they not see that hybrids are the same as us? All of them, every single one of them is sick.”
“They are,” John agreed. He glanced at the door leading to the bedroom. “You will need to wake him up when Yujin calls. They will probably take him in for questioning before returning him to a hybrid center.”
Being in a hybrid center wouldn’t help Taehyung. You couldn’t imagine him getting better there. He needed love and someone to care for him. He should have the freedom he had been denied all these years and anything else he would ever want. But who would adopt a broken hybrid? Because that’s what they would label him as at the adoption center. Not fit to play the happy and cute part. The people who would want to adopt him would have all the wrong reasons.
They couldn’t return him to the adoption center like this. But you could see that there weren’t any other options. Where else would he go?
“It doesn’t feel right,” you said. “He won’t ever be adopted. Not by someone who doesn’t want a slave. He will either spend all his life between adoption centers and shelters or with someone who won’t treat him any better than those people at the auction.”
“But that’s where our job ends. We did everything we could. There is nothing more we can do, we can’t micro-manage who each hybrid will be adopted by. You already saved him. Taehyung isn’t your responsibility.”
The plan had been clear since the beginning. You were supposed to get a hybrid, the second or third that would be auctioned off and make it believable that you genuinely wanted them. And then when the police had arrested everyone you would give them back to the police and they would attempt to hack the auctions servers and get all the money back, including yours. How could you have predicted that you would grow strangely attached to the hybrid?
John leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs and clasping his hands together. “You can’t always play savior. Taehyung needs a lot of help and you’re right, as it is he won’t get it at an adoption center. But you are entitled to making a few demands of the police like asking them to offer counseling to the hybrids. You helped enough already.”
Resigned, you wrapped your arms around your legs, laying your cheek on your knees. “You’re right. I just can’t help but feel like I should be doing more for him.”
“What more do you want to do?” John asked in a way that showed he was willing to listen to you. To discuss the matter with you instead of dismissing it. You remained silent. “Are you thinking of adopting him?”
You opened your mouth to reply but closed it again. Were you? There was something tugging at the back of your mind but you hadn’t looked deeper into it. You were avoiding looking deeper into it.
“I shouldn’t be.”
“The police will ask to take him back,” John stated.
Taehyung was part of the case, you couldn’t grab him and leave before it closed. And you couldn’t make the decision by yourself. There were six hybrids back home waiting for you. Things were finally looking up. Yoongi was getting used to the other hybrids, he stopped hiding away and he was talking more. The pack was getting used to having two more hybrids in the house. You couldn’t throw another one at them.
“You should call them,” John interrupted your thoughts. He looked at your discarded purse on the coffee table. “They must be worried sick.”
You reached for your bag and pulled out your phone. John was right, it was about time you called them. You should have called the moment you arrived at the hotel. You blamed the adrenaline of the night and the anxiety that hadn’t yet dissipated. You went to your favorite contacts -the list of your contacts was too long to scroll through- and pressed on Namjoon’s icon.
It was a photo you had taken of him in Virginia. Namjoon was sitting on the grass out in the garden reading a book bound in red leather. He had discovered it in a thrift store on one of your trips to the city, his eyes lighting up at the little treasure. It was an old classic and it once belonged to someone who loved it dearly, evident by the little notes in the margins on every page. Namjoon adored it, keeping it in his room and carefully wrapping it in cloth before packing it for your trip back to Los Angeles.
The phone rang exactly once before he picked up.
You were greeted by shouts of your name and questions about your well-being. All the hybrids must be gathered around Namjoon’s phone. You realized they had been waiting for you to call and you felt more guilty for not calling them sooner.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you reassured them. “John and I are back at the hotel.”
You heard mutters and sighs of relief.
“Thank god,” Namjoon said. “Don’t ever do something like that again. I nearly lost my mind.”
You giggled quietly. “Never. I’m not putting myself through that again.”
You went on to tell them everything from when you arrived at the hotel to the car ride back. It was the exact same story you had told Yujin but now you didn’t focus on the details but the feelings. On the anxiety about revealing yourself and your disgust at the event as a whole. You summarized your experience as best as you could. It was for the best if they didn’t have to live it even if it was through a retelling. You would have refrained from telling them anything if they hadn’t pleaded.
After some hesitation, you mentioned Taehyung. You hadn’t shared with them the police’s plan, it had been too late to call them by then.
“Where is he now?” Jimin asked in a small voice.
“In the bedroom. Sleeping.” You glanced at the door. You couldn’t hear any sounds coming from inside. “I’m not sure he speaks English. He can mostly understand what I’m saying but… He doesn’t speak, keeps his eyes on the floor. I haven’t heard him utter a single word.”
“Maybe he only knows specific words,” Hoseok offered. “They must have taught him what he needed to know to understand commands.”
Whatever training they had put him through served one purpose; to make him a slave that would do anything for his owners. They had predicted that a lot of the potential buyers would be foreigners since the auction itself had been in English.
Yoongi surprised you by speaking up. “What will happen to him now?”
“I’ll take him to the police station with me, they need to ask him questions about the auction. But I don’t know if he will be of any help to them.”
“After that?” Yoongi asked.
“An adoption center or a shelter,” you said. The wrong feeling hadn’t left you, abandoning Taehyung at an adoption center made you feel unreasonably guilty. “They will take care of him.”
Yoongi made a scornful sound. “Right.”
You rose from the couch, your bare feet touching the cool tiles and your dress sweeping the floor. You shivered. In one hand, you gathered your dress to avoid stepping on it and falling on your face—its length was designed to be worn with high heels. John lifted his head from his phone.
“I don’t want him to be thrown at an adoption center either. Where else are they supposed to take him? I will make sure he will have access to therapy and anything else he needs. I’ll talk to Yujin, she can do something.”
Yoongi didn’t reply. You looked through the glass wall at the city’s millions of multicolored lights, the tall buildings, and the few cars speeding through the streets. Above, the sky was pitch black, the moon invisible and not a star in sight. You missed the clear night sky in Virginia, away from the pollution and the artificial lights. The moon and the stars were bright enough to lead your way.
“Will you come home today?” Jungkook asked timidly.
Your heart swelled at the bunny’s hesitancy. “I will. I’m not missing my flight. Yujin promised I will have more than enough time after giving my statement to go to the airport. We’ll be flying back on the private jet the company rented, they will wait for me if I’m late by a few minutes.”
“You better be here today,” Seokjin said shakily. “You’ve been gone long enough.”
New York, London, Paris, Berlin, Tokyo, Seoul. Private jets and red carpets and camera flashes. It was two weeks you were gone now and as much as you used to adore traveling you couldn’t wait to go home.
“I will be there, I promise.”
Your finger traced the largest building in your view as you said goodbye. The call ended and you placed your hand on the glass dividing you from the outside. An invisible barrier like the lines you couldn’t see anymore. You turned around and laid your back against the glass.
“You should go to sleep,” John said. “I will wake you up when Yujin calls.”
“Okay,” you said, too tired to argue.
You stayed there for a minute before pushing yourself forward and heading to your room. You would take your pajamas from your suitcase and go to the bathroom to put them on. You had to be quiet to not wake up Taehyung and alarm him. You hadn’t even thought to offer him some pajamas before sending him to sleep. Before you went to the police station you would have to give him some clothes to wear. The silks could be evidence so you would have to put them in your bag and hand them over.
You eased the door open and slipped inside through the crack. Your monster of a suitcase was laying on the floor next to the closet. You hadn’t opened the closet once, there was no reason when you were staying for only two days. You looked to the side to make sure Taehyung hadn’t roused and you almost screamed when your eyes fell on him.
Taehyung was kneeling on the bed, head lowered and hands behind his back. The light of the lamps on the nightstand cast shadows on his bare golden skin, his collarbones, and his ribs. You slapped your hand over your eyes so hard it stung and turned your back to him. The image burned itself behind your eyelids, pulsing in an incandescent glow.
For the umpteenth time that night, your stomach churned aggressively in disgust. This was what they had trained him for. You had known but it was much more horrifying seeing it up close. If you hadn’t been there that balding man would have been in your place. Hands touching his golden skin, trailing lower and lower- You clenched your hands into fists at the revolting images your mind conjured up.
You stayed frozen with your back to him, asking yourself what you should do. It was all proving to be too hard and you were lacking severely. You should say something, anything, but Taehyung might not understand you. He hadn’t understood when you asked him to rest, there was no guarantee that he would understand now.
In every hotel, there were spare sheets and blankets in the closet. You pulled out a white blanket that was more fitted for winter than summer and keeping your eyes down, you threw it over Taehyung. Bundling him up in it, you sat down on the bed keeping some distance between you.
His lips parted in surprise, the first sign of anything other than passiveness on his face.
“Sleep now,” you said, connecting your palms and laying your cheek on your hands, using body language to show him what you meant. He didn’t move, his grip tight on the blanket. “Look at me.” He raised his head, his yellow eyes staring at you under his long lashes. “Lay down and sleep. I won’t touch you.”
You held up your hands, palms open. He glanced at the bed confused, looking almost cute. You patted the bed to encourage him. Cautiously, looking between you and the pillows he lowered his body to the bed.
“Close your eyes now. Sleep,” you said.
He did but he remained tense. Like he was waiting for you to do something. You were progressively getting angrier and angrier. At Hyunjoon and the bastards working at the auction, the ones attending, the ones wgo knew about it and did nothing. The world.
You got up from the bed and although Taehyung kept his eyes closed his eyebrows jumped in surprise. You went to your suitcase and opened it, your pajamas were folded on top of the mess that was the rest of your clothes. They were a peach-colored silk set with branches of orange blossoms all over them, a sleeveless top and pants by an Italian brand.
After you changed and came back into the room, Taehyung was in the same position you had left him in. What you had told him could have been interpreted as an order he was obeying. Or he was still waiting for something that wouldn’t come.
Leaving, you made sure to close the door behind you.
♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩
The ringing of your phone pulled you out of your slumber. In your blurry vision, you saw John picking it up from the coffee table. Yawning, you rubbed your eyes. You hadn’t gotten a restful sleep. The dream you couldn’t remember had filled you with anxiety and your body was so heavy you couldn’t move.
You pushed through the invisible mist, blinking quickly.
John ended the call before you could ask to take it. “It was Yujin.”
“What did she say?” you croaked, your voice scratchy.
A satisfied smile appeared on his face. “They caught them and they believe they found all the hybrids.”
Your shoulders slumped in relief, your whole body lighter than it had been in days. “That might be the best thing I’ve heard in my life.”
“Right after ‘the Oscar goes to…’?”
“Right after ‘the hybrid fighting ring has been dismantled’,” you corrected him.
“Fair,” John said.
In the past few months, your life had turned upside down. Once you had considered the Oscar ceremonies the most important nights of your life. That had changed without you taking notice. They were nothing more than a red carpet, expensive dresses, and little statues.
John slid his phone in his back pocket and reached for his shoes. “Yujin is waiting for us at the police station. She said they will ask you to identify the organizer.”
You rolled your neck, it was stiff from sleeping on the couch without a proper pillow. “That’s easy. I can’t wait for that bastard to be locked up behind bars. And to think that I believed he was nice two days ago. If I had any less composure I would have punched him in the face while he talked about how well-trained their hybrids are.”
“Be glad you didn’t,” John said. “You wouldn’t get to see him behind bars.”
“You’re right. That’s much more satisfying.”
“And way less dangerous,” John added pointedly. "Go wake Taehyung up. The earlier we go the earlier we can leave. We have a flight to catch in four hours and although it’s a private jet they won’t wait long for us.”
Your back cracked as you got to your feet and by John’s wide-eyed stare the loud sounds were mildly concerning. You told yourself that after this was over you would keep your head down and stick to less dangerous activities. You would take fighting with the producers and filming the same scenes over and over again any time over risking your life.
You knocked on the door leading to your room, determined to do this right. There was no response. You knocked again, waited, and pushed the door open.
Taehyung was sitting on the bed wrapped up in the blanket you had thrown over him. His eyeliner was smudged and the golden chains had fallen down his chest and tangled around his waist and arms. Sleep muddled his eyes.
“Did you sleep well?” you asked him, going to your suitcase to pick out an outfit that would be fit for both the police station and the airport.
Taehyung nodded slowly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t let you sleep for long but we have to go to the police station.” You didn’t know how much he could understand—most likely not a lot—but chattering away was your way of making the atmosphere lighter. “I have to find some clothes for you as well. Let’s see if I have anything that fits you.”
You rummaged through your suitcase for anything he could wear. Your clothes were already messed up, messing them up more wasn’t an issue. But it did make your task rather more troublesome.
“There!” You pulled out a white hoodie you had packed for the airport in London. It was one of the most comfortable articles of clothing you owned and it would be just about the right size for Taehyung. “Now for pants…”
That was going to be much harder. You could ask John but his pants would be way too large on him.
“These will do,” you said holding a pair of black sweatpants. If they didn’t fit, you would try something else. You got up —there were a couple of cracks from your legs— and laid the clothes out on the bed. You gestured to the clothes and then to him. “Put these on.”
You went back to your suitcase to find some clothes for yourself. Taehyung inched towards the clothes and let the blanket fall from his shoulders. He got up from the bed and pulled off the first chain.
You cleared your throat. “You can go to the bathroom.”
Taehyung tilted his head.
You turned your back to him and continued your search. The silks fell to the floor with a whisper. You picked up a pair of black jeans and the first shirt you came across.
Leaving the hotel undetected was easier than slipping inside because of the late hour—so late it was bordering on early. John had the keys to one of the SUVs the production company had rented for the schedules. You would be back before anyone noticed it was missing.
The lights were all on in the police station. A man with tired eyes led you to the second floor. Music was playing through the speakers, the kind that played in elevators. Officers wearing dark bags under their eyes were moving around the rooms, carrying folders and flipping through papers. Phones were ringing and doors buzzing. The bright lights were making you dizzy.
Yujin was talking to two officers when you walked inside a large office that smelled like sweat and old coffee. It was loud in the room, keyboards clinking and people talking into earpieces and walkie-talkies and to each other.
“There you are,” Yujin said with a smile. She told the officers something in Korean and they left with nods in your direction. “Everything went according to plan. I believe Mr. Mallory already told you our operation was completely successful.”
“He did. Some of the best news I’ve woken up to.” Yujin’s gaze fell somewhere behind you. John was standing almost protectively in front of Taehyung, the hybrid’s hair hiding his face. “That’s Taehyung.”
Yujin spoke to him in Korean but got no reaction. Taehyung remained perfectly still other than his tiger ear twitching.
“He hasn’t spoken yet,” you said. “I thought it was because he didn’t understand English but… He can understand orders.” You cringed at the word. “They were speaking English at the auction.”
“There were a lot of foreigners. Mostly foreigners,” Yujin said. “Everyone was taken to the station but have no worries, none of them will see you here. I just need you to give a statement and identify the organizer. He won’t be able to see you, we will be standing behind a two-way mirror.”
You were aware of the process. You had been through it once before with Hoseok, standing next to him while he pointed at the people that forced them to fight like animals.
“Okay, let’s get it over with.” A yawn escaped you, it was sudden and you couldn’t stop it. “Excuse me, I’m running on two hours of sleep.”
Yujin offered you a sympathetic look, one that said she had been in the same position many times. “I completely understand. We are grateful for everything you have done for the case. I know I have asked a lot of you.” Her expression changed, turning serious with a hint of what could have been guilt. “There’s something you must know.”
You braced yourself. Whatever started with that phrase wasn’t about to be good.
“We believe there are a couple of people involved in the auction who escaped.”
“Escaped? How?” you asked, cold sweat gathering at your forehead.
An officer appeared and spoke to Yujin in quick Korean. Meanwhile, you shoved your hands in your pockets.
During one of the interrogations, someone had cracked and told them that two people working at the auction had been on another floor while the police had ambushed them. They had their descriptions and would give them to airports and train stations and they would be found soon. But that didn’t change the fact that there were two people out there who could learn of your work with the police and inform others in their network.
John placed a hand on your shoulder, the solid weight anchoring something inside you.
Taehyung was taken away by a man in his mid-forties. He didn’t go with him until you gave him your permission or more accurately told him to follow him and do what he asked. You hated that part, ordering him to do something knowing he will do it without question. But you did what you had to do.
You gave your statement and pointed at Hyungjoon in a lineup of men, most of which you could recognize from the auction. Subconsciously you had memorized much more than just the way in and the way out. The police offered to give you back the money you had spent at the auction when they found a way to take over the auction’s accounts. You declined, asking them to give the money to organizations protecting hybrid rights.
After everything was said and done, Yujin asked to speak to you alone in her office. Puzzled, you told John to stay in the waiting room and you would be back shortly. In his face, you saw the split second he thought of protesting, of asking to come with you. He didn’t, only telling you he would be there if you needed anything.
“Take a seat,” Yujin said gesturing to the chairs in front of her desk.
You did, keeping your back straight. The posture of an A-list celebrity. “May I ask what you wanted to talk about?”
“Of course.” She took off her jacket and hung it over the back of her leather chair. “I don’t want to take up more of your time. But there is an important matter I wanted to discuss with you.” You nodded for her to go ahead. “It’s about Taehyung.”
Your body went stiff. You hadn’t stopped thinking about him since he had been taken away.
“Taehyung? Is there something wrong?”
“No, not exactly,” she said. “It’s about you as much as it is about Taehyung. That’s why I called you here. Two people escaped from the auction, who know you were there and they will expect to see you with Taehyung. You are one of the only four guests who left the auction before we got inside, they could be keeping an eye on you.”
A spike of ice pierced your stomach, it had been built piece by piece since you first heard they hadn’t caught everyone. Gathering until frost was spreading all around your body.
“We aren’t sure, it’s nothing but a speculation,” Yujin rushed to add but it didn’t make it any better. “The most possible scenario is that they are rushing to leave the country not caring about what happens to any of you. But we have to take into account every possibility. And the fact remains that they will expect to see you with the hybrid you paid millions of dollars to get. Not only them but also the ones who attended the auction and will be released later. We should have considered it before but we grabbed a lead and ran with it. We didn’t have enough time for proper planning.”
Someone was shouting outside. You rubbed your bare arms. The temperature was low in the offices.
“What am I supposed to do then?” you asked.
Yujin sighed. “I won’t force you to do anything. It’s your decision but- It would be better if Taehyung stayed with you for a while. A few months at most. Then you can take him to an adoption center and if anyone asks you can say you got bored of him, that he wasn’t what you had wanted.”
“That will be beyond traumatizing for him,” you said sharply. “Giving him a home only to take it away from him. You saw how he is. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t look anyone in the eye unless he is told to. He-” You almost told her of how you had walked into your room to find him kneeling on the bed naked, ready to do whatever was asked of him. You didn’t. Even thinking of it made you nauseous. “I can’t do that to him.”
You couldn’t welcome someone into your home, into your life, and kick them out after a few months. You had seen the show many times. You wouldn’t turn someone away, you could only let them go.
“He needs love and care. He has been through hell and back. I won’t do anything that will cause him harm.”
Yujin pinned you with a stare. “He isn’t going to receive any of that at an adoption center and that’s where he’s going if you don’t take him with you. I understand if you don’t want to. You already have six hybrids to take care of as well as a very hectic career. Regardless, I have to inform you of any dangers that you may face and any way to prevent them that we can come up with.”
You sank into the chair. “Are there no other ways?”
She shook her head. “Not any we have found.”
“I’m leaving for Los Angeles in a few hours. I can’t take him with me, all his papers are forged.”
“They had thought of that before auctioning them off. They have managed to trick the system. You will be free to travel with him anywhere you want. He is already registered under your name. Hyungjoon had lawyers and people in hybrid centers working with him, we have a few of their names. They have ensured that none of the buyers would face any problems that could be traced back to them.”
You scoffed. “For such a well-organized business, they went down quickly.”
“All thanks to you,” Yujin reminded you.
You checked the time on your phone. You had to make a decision and make it fast. You weren’t prepared to adopt another hybrid. Shouldn’t adopt another hybrid. But Taehyung was haunting your every thought. You felt responsible for him, you couldn’t deny it.
You sent a quick message to Namjoon hoping he had his phone close. The text bubble appeared, he was writing back. The first bubble appeared. And another.
“I have to book another flight.”
♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩
Amelia was a god-sent gift. You called her and the first thing you told her was; “Amelia, I don’t care how many strings you pull or how much it costs. I want a private jet to take me to Los Angeles this morning.” In twenty minutes, she had a private jet ready for you and every person in the crew signing an NDA.
John had frowned.
“Are you going to smuggle him out of the country?”
“I’m not smuggling him out of the country!”
You had explained to him what Yujin had told you, that the papers they had given you at the auction were enough to travel to Los Angeles without anyone asking questions. There, you would have to go to Amelia to tweak a few parts and make some changes. For now, they were good enough. He didn’t try to change your mind, you could tell that he had been thinking over the situation and how it would affect you long before Amelia had called you to her office.
Yujin had left after calling someone to bring the tiger hybrid to you. The case wasn’t closed yet and there was a myriad of things left to do. An officer accompanied Taehyung into the waiting area outside her office. There was a slight tremor in Taehyung’s hands.
Before the man could leave, you asked, “Do you speak English?”
He shifted from foot to foot, unprepared. “A little.”
“Could you translate a few things for me? I don’t think he understands English very well.”
The officer seemed nervous but he nodded. The hardest part about a foreign language was speaking it, understanding it came easier.
You turned to Taehyung, bending so you could look at his face. He looked as beautiful as he had when you had first seen him but the night had taken a toll on him. His makeup was melting, leaving his skin oily and shiny, and his hair was disheveled despite the products they must have used to style it before the auction.
You hoped they had explained everything to him, that you weren’t like the people who had held him captive.
“I’ll be leaving for Los Angeles soon. That’s where I live, where my house is.” You spoke slowly and waited for the officer to translate before you continued. “I would like it very much if you would come with me. But it’s your choice. If you don’t want to, you can go to a hybrid center. They will take care of you there.”
The man translated. Silence spread and you were almost sure Taehyung wouldn’t answer. He did. His low voice sent a shiver down your back.
“He said you are his owner and he will come with you,” the man said in a thick accent.
“If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t have to. I won't be mad. It's his decision.”
The officer stared at you for a few seconds before repeating your words in Korean. “He said he’ll come with you.”
“Oh. Okay. Uhmm, thanks for translating.”
The officer bowed his head and left.
Taehyung was officially in your care. As official as it could be taking into account the forged documents. But you had the okay from the police and that had to count for something.
You went back to the hotel to pick up your suitcases and check out. You sent a message to the showrunner of Paper Hearts to let her know that something had come up and you wouldn’t be flying back with them. On the way to the airport, you stopped at a bakery and bought some breakfast for the flight. It had become a tradition to get takeout before a flight despite the fact that they offered food on the plane.
You asked Taehyung what he wanted but all he said was; “What you want, mistress”.
“You can call me by my name,” you said, uncomfortable with the title. “I would prefer that.”
He looked at you like it was a test. You were too tired and the language barrier was too hard to navigate so you let it go.
You were terrified you had made a mistake. Taehyung was in a vulnerable position and you had taken advantage of that to cover yourself. He was following you because he believed he should be serving you. However, it wouldn’t be much better for him at an adoption center where he would be gawked at by people looking to get hybrids or locked away in his room because they couldn’t sell him.
The private jet was a little larger than what you were used to, definitely larger than what you needed. You guessed it was the only jet Amelia could rent and get ready for a flight last minute. A long black leather couch stretched on one side with a table in front of it looking ahead at a plasma TV. A vase full of white roses was decorating the table. There were also two leather armchairs on either side of the couch that could spin around. Six more seats were ahead, two on one side and four on the other leaving an empty aisle between them. They were facing each other with two tables between them
This trip would cost you a pretty penny. Normally, you wouldn’t entertain the idea of spending that much money on a flight but given the special circumstances, you weren’t regretting it.
The flight attendant welcomed you, informing you that the jet would be taking off soon. You collapsed on the seat by the window in the group of four, John taking the seat facing yours. You crossed your arms on the table and buried your face in them.
“Finally,” you said. “This trip was endless.”
“Tell me about it,” John agreed.
Promotional tours could range from a couple of weeks to a couple of months so you were on the short end. It still felt endless. Being away from home was getting harder and harder.
You surfaced from your self-made pillow and you noticed that Taehyung wasn’t sitting.
“Take a seat,” you told him realizing he was waiting for you to tell him what to do. You would have to work on that. “You can sit down.”
Wordlessly, Taehyung took the seat next to yours.
“Do you want to sleep?” you asked. Taehyung looked up at you. You guessed the faint expression on his face was confusion. “Wait, I should call Hobi. Maybe he doesn’t know what sleep means.”
You pulled your phone out of your bag but paused.
“What?” John asked. “What are you overthinking about?”
You grimaced. “I’m not…” You couldn’t bring yourself to lie, not after a whole night of lying. Not to John. “I should have called them at the police station. I texted Namjoon but… He must have told them by now. What if they are angry?”
“I don’t think they will be,” John said honestly. “It’s for your safety. They won’t hold this against you, they want you to be safe. And it isn’t like it’s the first time you’re showing up with spontaneously acquired hybrids.”
“It’s the first time for Hoseok and Yoongi.”
“May I remind you that Hoseok and Yoongi used to be those acquired hybrids?”
The day Jimin had run after Yoongi felt like ages away but also like it was last week. A lot had happened since then, many things had changed. Some things you hadn’t noticed at first. Yoongi and Hoseok were a part of your family now, it didn’t matter if the panther hybrid wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
It wasn’t so long ago you had run out in the middle of the night before the crack of dawn and Yoongi had disappeared leaving no traces behind. Two months. How little that seemed. How long it could be. Lives could change in two months.
“They are still adjusting. And Yoongi,” you trailed off. “I don’t think I can handle his anger now. Things have been going so well and this could ruin that.”
Through the speakers the captain announced that you would be soon taking off, asking you to fasten your seatbelts. You helped Taehyung with his, you guessed it was his first time wearing one.
“Yoongi may surprise you,” John said when the captain stopped speaking.
“There are many kinds of surprises.”
“You have to learn how to think positively instead of always expecting the worst.”
The jet ran smoothly down the runway, taking off without a hitch. If you hadn’t been looking out of the window, you wouldn’t have noticed that you had left the ground.
“Ten hours to Los Angeles,” John said.
“Ten hours to home.”
Please comment and reblog it motivates me to keep writing
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It always Rains Whenever We are Together - Kim Namjoon
Genre: horror / thriller / crime!au / angst
Pairing: professor!namjoon x bookstore owner!reader x officer!hoseok
Word Count: 11.4k
Plot Summary: She’s afraid of the rain, and he’s her umbrella. Everything is not like what it seems though. After all, umbrellas can have holes. The one over her head.. It’s a different colour from the one she knows ever so well. She has been deceived. By him..
Prompts: 6 of horror/thriller, 15 and 24 of angst - ‘The Seasonal Blues Event’ hosted by @houseofincantations
Warning: attempted murder / infidelity / deception / mentions of sex (no smut) / personallity disorders / amnesia / inaccurate depictions of the law / consumption of alcohol
A/N: Meow ha ha ha ha.. I’m so evil for this..
More than half of this was written at night and resulted in me freaking out for ten minutes straight after the chapter was written. Because I was scared. :).. And you are talking to a person who slept peacefully after watching a horror movie.
Thank you to @xcherrycosmos for beta-reading this for me. I appreciate the lovely feedback you gave. Thank you so much.. :] 💜💜
Taglist: @galaxtea-writes @jungcookiex @startrekfan @nikieskoo
Fluffy Dumpling’s Masterlist
article on DID
September 11th of 2012, the day we met.
I was walking back home from work when it started to rain. I forgot to bring an umbrella with me and was getting soaked with every inch of my skin. My bag had water dripping from its sides, and my hair had water flowing down its strands. I was shivering.. I looked as though I had been pushed off of a bridge, returning as an apparition to lurk for revenge.
If that had continued on, I was sure to shrivel up and die. For no person can handle the sheer magnitude of a dam cracking open on their heads. So vulnerable to the perpetual flow of raindrops that flutter down innocently. Its innocence a pretence to lure me in, for it has the power to swallow me alive. First, my lungs will fill up with water, then my feet will get weak, and then I will become one with the ground. Decomposing and becoming a fossil geologists a millennium from now will rely on to study.
‘You look cold,’ I flinched at the noise that permeated through the silence of the night.
The sun had set long ago, unsettling, for I am usually alone. Everyone is way too afraid to come out. Locked up in their rooms, as the radio blasts away. The music too loud for anything other than the singer to be heard. Even if it isn’t, and they hear someone scream or cry - they cover their eyes and indulge themselves in these few words: ‘Ignorance is Bliss.’ For isn’t it better to be ignorant than to be dead?
‘This town is known for its brutal cases of murder and assault. The perpetrators never found and the victims never given justice. The homicide cases have risen by 10% over the last decade,’ I had heard once on the radio, over a dinner meeting.
My mother begging me to move away. But, the child in me wanting nothing but to cling to what is familiar.
Sadly.. It didn't get to me until my mother didn't come home one day. Her body laying on the street, a white sheet the only thing that covers what remains of her dignity.
It's been two decades, the times have changed. Yet people still stick to the past.
Perhaps I should have done just as they did. I couldn't though. So here I am, a stranger behind my back. You were behind my back.
The streets were void of cars and the lights were dimmed. I didn't know if I could trust you..
‘Are you okay?’
Were those words of actual concern, or words of deception? I couldn't let my guard down just like that. My conscience told me to run.. However you see, I couldn't run.
I was frozen in place.
Fire tracing over my back, ascending to my neck and flushing my cheeks red. I was burning up.
When you are in pain, scared, anxious, happy, or empty, your body reacts. Your body knows you better than you know it.
‘Don’t come closer! Don’t come closer!’ I repeated over and over again, wrapping myself in a blanket of comfort.
Don’t hurt me! I’ll give you anything! I’ll give you everything! Don’t touch me! Don’t come near me! Don’t hurt me!.. I didn't have the courage to say that. I was scared it would provoke you more.
Please.. Don’t Don’t..
I broke down on the floor, trembling like a child on caffeine. If I was crying, I wouldn't have known. The rain and my tears were camouflaged as one.
Maybe my eyes were red, I wouldn’t have known. It could have been burning from the rain and not the blood of distress that bubbled in my veins - the same sangria red coursing through my body until it twitched.
You know what! Stab me! Stab me to the point I’m unrecognisable! Strip me off of my humanity! Drag me down to hell already! I’m so tired of this! I’m so tired of it all! My life was never right, to begin with anyway! So.. Stab me! Stab me and get over it!
I’d laugh at how bipolar I seemed to be if it weren’t for the fact that I couldn't speak. So shocked, my voice gave up on me.
‘Please get up.. The ground’s wet,’ yet instead of being punctured by the blade of a rusted knife, a pair of hands reached out to me.
Like the fool I was, I grabbed on to whatever I could. The sharp corners of my nails clawing at the base of your palms.
No one has ever reached their hands out for me. I couldn't resist. Even if it meant I would soon fall to my demise.
‘We need to bring you somewhere safe.’
I turned around and started to freak out yet again. My eyes widened in horror, and I tried crawling away. I expected you to yank my hair and drag me back. But.. you didn’t.. It was just my anxiety taking over.
‘Please stop.. I won’t hurt you,’ you pleaded..
And so I did. I stopped..
‘Aha! There we go,’ you draped your jacket over me, sheltering me from the rain - if only it could shelter me from you.
‘Huh?’ I peeked through the tiny hole next to the zipper, the world within the premises of the piece of clothing making me feel bigger than I ever did outside of it.
You didn't look scary nor monstrous at all.. You were beautiful.. Ethereal.. Majestical
Despite that, the thirty centimetres of fabric was what I was going to stick with. I will continue to scream at the world before me. The fact that you didn't look alarming wasn’t going to stop me.
When my mother didn't die like everyone else’s did, or when everyone else had a mother when I didn't.. I got ostracised. Whether it was group studies, birthday parties or campaigns. I was never invited. What makes me think you’re any different than them?
They were scared to stick next to me. ‘If the killer came for her mother, who knows when they will come for her?’
That didn't stop me from being the person I am today: fearless.. That's what I pretend to be..
The truth.. I have full-on panic attacks whenever someone is present behind me..
I try to pretend that those rumours never got to me. However.. You see, the moment I came to be aware of their existence, they became the truth installed in my head.
‘I know a clinic up ahead. We’ll get you treated there.’
I glanced down, blood seeping through my sneakers - the left pair. Trimming off every hint of innocence the strikingly white pair of shoes once consisted of. It hurts..
It stings.. I was running and I didn't even know it. Yet you chased after me?
‘Uhh..’ I groaned.. It felt like needles were jabbing at my ankle. The devil sweeping my dishevelled hair to the side, and whispering into my ears: ‘You’re going to die! You deserve it!’
The same voice that plagued the bedroom walls during those nights where lightning would strike across the sky.
‘Uhhh..’ my fingers roamed over to my ears, preventing myself from hearing every scream and laughter uttered out loud.
I didn't want to hear it! I was tired of it all!
I wasn't afraid of you, I was afraid of that rainy day when shit went wrong. When I was left an orphan, expected to fend for myself.
‘Ms.. Are you okay?’
‘Please help me..’ I plummeted to the ground, my chest flat on the floor. Like an umbrella opened and forgotten.
That's right! I wasn't afraid of you!
I felt something creeping up my waist, my existence levitated up into the air. I was being saved.
The rain wouldn’t harm me ever again. Mommy will be safe. I won’t die! We won’t die!
‘Wu-wat are you doing?’
I leaned into your warmth.. It felt nice.. So- nice..
‘Ms L/N Y/N.. Are you there?’ a turbulent hammering continued in my head, my eyes struggling to adjust to the lights emitted by the lamp situated on my bedside ta-
I don't own a lamp! Neither do I have a bedside table! realisation punched me awake.
‘Where am I?’ I sat up, the clock’s every tick and turn mocking my very existence.
September 12th, 2012.. The calendar displayed with big fat red letters hanged loosely on the wall.
Red! My foot.. I rustled the white covers off of me, bandages wrapped neatly over where I recall it hurting.
It wasn’t a dream after all.. If so, Where is he? I didn't get to thank him yet. I would have died yesterday if he hadn't found me.
‘You’re at the hospital, Ms L/N Y/N,’ the woman who appeared to be a doctor replied.
‘A professor by the name of Kim Namjoon brought you here. You were bleeding around your ankle, had a few bruises on your arm, and arrived unstable. You should be able to leave today afternoon.. 4 pm..’
Namjoon. So, that's his name. It's pretty..
A professor? Hehe.. And I thought he was some unemployed pervert that has nothing better to do than follow women around.
Hoseok? Oh shit!
‘Y/N.. Are you okay? Oh my goodness!! I should have picked you up yesterday!! Look!! You’re bleeding!! This Kim Namjoon, whoever he is, I’m grateful.. Oh my goodness!! Thank goodness you’re okay!!’ he’s frantic, refusing to let you go.
‘Are you sure this is good for your reputation, officer Jung?’ I tease, knowing how much that newly gained title means to him.
‘A kind officer who cares for his best friend.. Oh my, my reputation is ruined!’ he’s dramatic, dropping down to his knees and acting like a Shakespeare character that has been wronged.
‘Huh.. Silly little thing. You learned that from Seokjin, didn't you?’
‘Oh- Oh- How did you know?’ he moves back to sitting his ass down on my bed.
‘The guys’s a flirt.. He’s flirted with a fucking cat before. I’ve seen him.’
‘The pretty little kitty likes staying next to this handsome boy. Doesn’t she? Doesn't she?’
‘Aha ha ha ha,’ I can’t help but cackle at that.
‘Jin Hyung did that? I’ll have to bring that up one day.. Always nagging me to stop drinking so much caffeine. We’re officers.. How else do we survive?’
‘Seok-ah.. Maybe he is right. Too much caffeine isn’t good for you.’
‘You too, Y/N.. Fine, I’ll cut on the caffeine,’ he pouts.
It’s truly unbelievable that this man right here solves a good ten homicide cases every month..
‘I’m Kim Namjoon.. I’m here to visit, L/N.. Uhh- Y/N.. Yes- L/N Y/N.’
‘Oh.. I remember you, professor. Come this way. She is right over there.’
Damn.. You look fine in that suit of yours.
‘Y/N! Earth to Y/N?!’ a hand wavers over my face, you nearing closer and closer.
‘Who are you?’ Hoseok defends me with his own body, his hands wavering over to grab the knife in his pocket.
Your eyes linger over to it, yet fear didn't strike them.
‘He’s the one who brought me here, Seok.’
‘Oh! Namjoon!’ his serious face dissolves into a grin.
October 17th of 2012, the day we reunited.
‘Two martinis,’ I request, leaning on the table as I release a grunt, ‘Uhhhhh..’
The books didn't arrive today, leaving tons of customers distressed and disappointed. Some even going to the extent of canceling their orders.
It was my fault.. I forgot to confirm the date.. It’s always my fault.
I turn over to meet a familiar face.
Was I stunned or was I pleased? I didn't know..
‘Yeah,’ I remove the garnish and chug the drink down.
The freshness of my failure yet to be obliterated by the intoxication I was searching for. My thoughts overpowering even the rambunctious banging of music that never falters.
‘Slow down..’ you chuckle.
‘I don’t want to,’ I gnaw at my bottom lip, tracing my fingers along the hoop earrings I wore.
Why were you here? Were you having a bad day as well? No one comes alone to drink unless they’ve been through some shit. Like how I drank my liver away, the day my boyfriend from college dumped me. Like how I distracted myself from the fact that people will never come to accept me for who I am. Like how I had no one to spend Christmas with, therefore decided to chug down a whole bottle of vodka. My body in pain the next day instead of longing for a person to be with.
‘Let me have the other one,’ your fingers crawl over to grasp the glass.
‘Fine,’ I tilt it closer, allowing you to take possession of the drink.
‘One whiskey.. Neat,’ the gloss on my lips fade away.
‘On the rocks..’
‘No.. Neat,’ I argue with you, raising my eyebrows in irritation.
I need something to burn the roof of my mouth and make my throat feel like it's on fire. Not a drink that is mild and soon to be diluted due to the ice in it. The martinis weren’t enough. Especially considering how one is now yours, and not mine.
‘That’s for me,’ in one gulp the transparent drink disappears.
‘Do Elaborate,’ I couldn’t quite get what you said.
Actually.. I was never able to get what anyone said or meant. Not just you.
‘The whiskey on the rocks is my order.’
You didn't call me dumb or inattentive. That cheers me up a bit.
‘One neat and one on the rocks,’ I inform the bartender, that listens intently.
‘And now were ordering for each other,’ you act like a giddy teenager finally accepted by his crush.
I like how innocence looks on you.
‘What do you mean by - What happened?’
‘For you to need all of that alcohol?’ your breath fans over my neck.
‘Work..’ I sigh, looking down at the newly brought vessel of treacle-coloured liquid.
Regardless of how I might have needed a trash can to spill my feelings in, you looked as though you’ve been through a lot yourself. I didn’t need to bother you with my problems
‘Is that so? Do you want me to beat your boss up, sweetheart?’
What kind of offer is that? Feisty.. I like him.
Oh, Oh.. Sweetheart? I haven’t felt butterflies in such a long time.
‘I’m the boss over where I am. Are you going to beat me up?’
I could have sworn that I saw you smirk.
‘Do you want me to help you feel better?’ as expected the liquor scorches me.. So well, I almost feel better.
Wait a moment! Did you just offer to have sex with me? And why am I not opposed to this?
‘Depends on what you have to offer,’ I was playing a game I was bound to loose, yet I went along.
I’m still sober. Okay- Okay- Slightly drunk, but still sober. All those years of drinking does a thing or so to you. I’ve always had a high tolerance to alcohol anyway.
‘What do I not have to offer?’ you play around with your shirt’s buttons on purpose - your exposed skin waiting for me to explore with my tongue.
Oh how desperately I wanted to rip your shirt off and roam my fingers over every centimetre that there is to you.
Perhaps that's why I woke up the next day, undressed, intertwined and one with you. The memory of last night fresh in the throbbing pain of my head and the aching sensation between my thighs.
I was drunk on your voice more so than I was drunk last night. Is this what being hazy from sleep does to you? Because your husky and hoarse voice is good enough for me to accept the idea of dying in peace.
‘I planned a date for us,’ you traced circles over my back.
We didn't know each other well, but I was willing to get to know you. You’re so gentle and caring.. How do I not fall for you?
My heart might not have been sold completely, but a quarter of it is already yours.
‘The dress on the chair is yours,’ you get up from the bed, walking over to the bathroom - unashamed of how bare and exposed you are. Not bothering to wrap yourself up in a robe or walking in a way so you wouldn’t be disclosed.
Who am I blame you though? You’re beautiful..
So.. as you disappear, I admire your toned form one last time. The tattoo that marks your right leg, and the delicate curve of your hips.
‘Aren’t you going to join me?’
That night could have been two people so emerged in their own needs, so devasted to the point that they were willing to satisfy themselves in a heated lovemaking desolated of any kind of affection, tenderness, or fondness. However, it wasn’t. Nothing in the way your lips fell on mine or the way you touched me spoke so.
And as water befalls itself on us like the day we had met, our eyes locked. This time, my lips fell on yours first.. They felt perfect on mine, just as the rest of me did.
‘I prepared a picnic for us,’ you wrapped me up in a tight bundle, carrying me over to your bed.
I’ve never been handled this carefully before. A flower plucked from the ground, placed delicately in a bath of water.
‘You look beautiful,’ as you zipped the dress on, you placed kisses over my neck.
You were marking me as yours. A doll you could possess and call your own. Fucking her whenever you wanted, and convincing her to stay by murmuring the love confessions you never meant.
That day, I felt like a tree being pampered by its master. Your submission and will to do anything for me and to me, a reverse manipulation technique I never quite snagged onto. You made me think as though I was in control, when in reality it was always you who had the advantage of being the first player in a chess game.
I’ll play my moves without fear, knowing you are not trying to win at anything. Yet in the end, you’ll say checkmate. My king gone, and the truth out. My heart dropped out of my chest and my eyes bulged out in shock. A gun to my forehead, the game gone wrong.
My blood splatered on the floor, my soul all yours.
‘Sandwiches.. Sandwiches.. I tried to make my own, but that didn't end well. So.. I ordered them instead,’ you were embarrassed, stuttering between words.
This was a side of you I never got to see. A side that brought a smile to my face.
‘Have some,’ you push them over to my side.
Maybe that is how were are? Offering something to take, and giving in return. We’ve always wanted something from each other. Whether it was warmth or sweet words of petty lust.. We’ve always wanted something. You’ve never wanted me though.
‘Feed me,’ the strawberries and cream made my eyes crinkle. The soft bread melting away just as my worries did.
At that, red became raw on my lips.
There was something I missed then. The corruption in your eyes that awakened from how my lips looked as though it was dripping off blood.
I don't want to know what state you had imagined me in. Yet I can’t help but let my mind run miles down the road. Did you imagine a blade dragged across my back, or did you imagine a bullet up my throat?
‘Did the books arrive yet?’ you kissed the red off of my lips, fervent kitten licks that transferred it onto yours.
‘How- did you know?’ I was taken aback by how much you knew.
I should have ran away then..
‘You told me last night.’
A memory I didn't even know as mine hit me in the head like stones would.
‘I fucked up, Namjoon..’ I was on the brink of crying, my tears rooted so deep within me that they refused to fall.
The dog howled like a wolf, as though it saw something it didn’t want to.. The wind cascaded against the glass windows, a creaking to be heard..
‘What did you do, sweetheart?’ you rubbed my back, pretending to care.
That was good enough for tears to leak from my eyes. When was the last time someone cared? When was last time someone listened to what I have to say? When was the last time someone stayed this long?
‘Sweetheart? Why are you crying?’ you dabbed the tears out off my eyes.
So I told you everything. The intense rumbling of the sky and the splattering of water on the ground, a sign that the universe was shaking its head in disapproval to what I had just done. It was raining.
Never in my life have associated rain with anything pleasant. I hated how it smelled, how it sounded, how it looked, how it fell and everything that has to do with it.
‘Scared... I’m scared...’ I buried myself under the blanket and fainted into your arms.
‘I’m here for you sweetheart...’
I felt comforted at that - the endearment your words held.
In a tsunami, where houses are embedded from their roofs and debris flutters around in the air. I stand seven feet deep in water, your arms enclosed around me. I was drowning and on my last set of oxygen, yet because you were there. I wasn't afraid.
Next to you, I felt loved. More loved than I have ever been.
And like leaves streaming down the drain, a year passed by. We were closer than ever and my world became yours just as it did mine.
Your eyes were the ones I looked forward to every weekend, the times in which you were done with teaching.
I’d sit on your lap, as you’d correct one of the assignments your students had passed. I’d hear you grunt: ‘Such silly answers,’ once in a while. That's when I’d kiss the frown of your forehead away.
Whenever I’d see you get too distracted by me, I’d leave. Attempt to leave at least. For whenever I tried, you’d pull me back, begging me to stay.
I never knew I’d be this deep into someone. So deep to the point that anything that I laid eyes on reminded me of you. You make a fool of me?
A fool I truly was..
‘Seok-ah!’ I approached him, a cup of coffee in my hands.
The umber brown liquid oozing its fragrant scent everywhere. A scent closely bound to Hoseok's heart.
The way to a woman's heart is through her stomach, the way to Hoseok's heart is through coffee. Expresso with a shot of cream.
As Jin likes to say: ‘Expresso yourself..’
The caffeinated drink describes Hoseok well. Before Namjoon, he was my safe space. His exuberant and animated personality transforming even the darkest of days to ones with a dash of sunshine.
He always will be more than enough. But no one has time to listen to me go off about the bullshit I go through except for Namjoon. Hoseok's a busy man. Running around and solving cases every second that he were to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide.
‘Y/N-ahh!’ he collapsed into me, the cup now placed on the table nearby.
His hugs I have grown to love.. With how busy he was then, I recall missing them quite greatly..
‘Seok!’ I tried to wiggle him off of me.
‘Are you scared your boyfriend will see us like this? Does he work here? Do I know him? Oh my- Is it Ji-’ you silence him.
‘So it is-’
‘No Seok-ah.. It’s Namjoon,’ and for some reason a fire ignited in his eyes at the mention of your name.
'I don't like him, Y/N..'
'You know you can't stop me from seeing him, right? I am my own person.'
'I know.. Just be careful,' he kisses the top of my head.
Hoseok desperately wanted to tell me about how he was digging deep into your files and history. However, upon knowing who you were to me, he knew I'd snap at him for doing what he did.
'I've got to go now, Seok-ah! Take care!'
And what he found after I left.. It wasn't pretty..
‘What did you find?’ he towered over his junior.
He knows how this is a breach of the law, and he could possibly loose his badge from it. But.. He needed to know if you were as innocent as you claimed to be.
If he wanted to know before, he now needed to know. Especially since you were oftentimes by my side.
If you were to be anyone else, he would have smiled at me and congratulated me for the new partner I have found. But.. Ever since the day you had stepped foot in his life, he had no reason not to suspect you.
That day at the hospital, you didn't show any form of anxiety when he held on to his stunt knife. That's not normal. A regular and stable-minded person would have flinched away, fear in their eyes. He concluded that day, that you either had knowledge on knives or was sick in the head.
He decided to let that go, thinking that he was looking way to much into all of it. His usual role as a government worker in the department of crime blinding him from reality. On the other hand.. you’re the person who saved me from dying on the streets.
He should be thankful of you. You did save the most important person in his life.
The next time he had run into you was when he was going out for a coffee break. His night-shift preventing him from getting the sleep he needed.
You had a hoodie over your head, bleach reeking off of you. A hint of blood concealed underneath.
If it weren’t for the times Hoseok had to walk into a crime scene, the yellow tape doing him no mercy. Or the times he had to push reporters away from gaining way too much insight on a case, he wouldn't have spotted this right away. For the metallic taste of blood that lingered onto his tongue and the pungent smell that tickled at his nose haunted him for far too many nights for him to forget of its existence.
‘Kim Namjoon.. Whoever he is, Hyung.. The person you wanted me to gather information on.. He’s got a lot of shit on him,’ the dainty man before him informs.
‘Jimin.. What exactly did you find?’ Hoseok raised his eyebrows up in wonder.
‘He has two criminal records, one for gang violence and the other for theft..’
‘Are you sure you got the right Kim Namjoon? Because the one I know is a professor.’
He’s scratching the back of his head so hard, he is bound to have peeling and flakey skin.
‘Yes.. A professor at ‘Kim’s University of Seoul’..’
‘I had to dig hard for all of this to surface. His father is Kim f/N.. He’s the owner of Kim Corporation. A retired lawyer, who decided to go into politics. It didn't work out well for him, so he resigned. Hungry for wealth, he built an empire on his own. His brands are a success worldwide. Rose, Dawn, SV, and Berry Boo.. They are all under Kim Corporation.‘
‘The guys’s got connections, Hyung.. He probably paid his way through getting his son out of all that trouble. And if you didn't think it was messed up enough already. ‘Kim’s University of Seoul’ is owned by his uncle.’
‘They would look at his resume and be impressed. A doctorate in education, graduated from one of the best universities out there, and most of all - a master’s degree in child and adolescent psychology. And then they dig deeper, the criminal records surfacing up. Who would hire a person who was arrested for violence and theft? What those colleges and universities did is what I am doing.’
‘Do you have evidence?’ he didn't know what he was supposed to do with all of this information.
‘As expected of the hacker fairy..’ coos spill from his lips.
‘Stop teasing me, Hyung.. The only reason why I’m doing this is because you’re paying me,’ Jimin’s glasses don’t fall just as his facial expression remains stone cold.
‘Here,’ he clicks on a file, two mugshots coming into light.
August 4th 2010
June 7th of 2011
‘His name in the gang he was part of.. The date of birth is fake.’
Just how much does this Namjoon guy have to hide?, Hoseok had thought to himself.
Maybe he’d even come across a strange collection of books at the library one day. About gangs, RM mentioned somewhere between, above or under thousands of words printed on paper.
‘1984.. He’s the same age as you are.’
At that he wasn't surprised.. You looked around our age. The age where you stop believing in true love or fate, and just love for the sake of it. The age where you realise just how cruel human beings can be, and learn how to strive on your own. The age where you’re either running a bookstore or laying on the streets, waiting to die.
The age in which you realise just how close you are to living for another decade. Some might fear how that nine will get pushed aside and replaced with zero, while others can’t wait for their numbers to be even yet again.
And when you reach thirty, you soon realise pretty quickly that it isn’t anything as big as people make it out to be. You’re just one step away from joining those ahjummas or ahjussies. But.. That's pretty much it.
You either lose contact with friends or hang out with the same one. Your job is either the same, or you are without one.
‘Why did the police allow him to do so?’ instead of questioning what, he was questioning why.
‘His father’s a high profile. He could make or break their career. They had to arrest him, that was definite. But.. If he wins the case, then they are free of his father's power and wrath. That’s exactly what happened’
‘The law wasn’t as strict as it is now. And him being a minor would be an advantage on his side. Minors can’t be sentenced to jail. Even if he were to lose, he’ll just be shipped off to some correction centre or forced to do a month’s worth of community service.’
‘To his luck. Daddy’s got a lot of cash to spare. Wouldn't want his “teenage” son to wipe the floors up,’ resentment seemed to flow out of the hacker‘s lips.
Those pretty lips that would only spill flowers out of them, cussing ever so mercilessly at a supposed stranger.
‘Is there something I don't know about, Chim?’
Hoseok was right to be suspicious. This behaviour was so unlike of Jimin. The young chap has seen through countless of cases. Ones where the cruellest of cruel were taking place. Whether it was finger chopping or knife carving, he’s seen it all. And even amidst all of that, he’s never been anything but professional. Even if he probably uttered profanity in his head countless of times at those evil bastards he had to research on. He’s never been this straightforward with how he felt, to the point where he’d say it out loud.
The mouse has been caught in the trap. He was definitely hiding something.
‘Hyung, I told you about my sister.. Right?’ he swears that he sees Jimin’s eyes water.
‘Yeah.. The one who’s in a coma?’
Hoseok’s worried. The younger never blinks or flinches at anything, yet he was trembling right now.
‘What did I tell you about her?’
Jimin had snot all over his face and his eyes weren’t the one of intelligence that Hoseok has grown accustomed to.
‘That she got into a car accident,’ Hoseok only speaks of what he knows.
‘Well.. That's bullshit! Because walking out of school, she was attacked by a group of drunk men! One of which hit her harder than the others did! One of which- Huh.. damaged her internal organs! To the point! To-.. To.. The point.. Huhh.. Huhhh.. She had- had- to rely on a machine to li- live,’ the sweet voice that would joke around or recite information to him was never this scary.
He screamed so hard, Hoseok doesn't know whether the soundproof walls would be able to contain it all. His voice was hoarse as he muttered the last few words he had to say.
‘Who do you think.. Huhh.. Did that?’
‘Huhh.. Huhh.. Huhh,’ Jimin was out of breath.
‘Breathe Jimin.. Breathe..’
Hoseok had spotted a glass of water sitting on the table, therefore he walked over to fetch it for the blonde-haired man to drink. He was tired, and he felt like retching his guts out upon knowing of Namjoon’s true identity.
‘Here..’ the sides of the glass are pressed tightly to Jimin’s lips. Plump, pink and sugary..
If it were years ago, he would have started imagining something else out of this scene before him. Something rather obscene.
‘It’s vodka..’ his lips moved away as soon as it touched what was presumably the alcoholic spirit that begins with a v.
‘Fuck.. My bad,’ the glass is placed yet again where it came from.
Like a person unwanted by this world. Like me..
The edges so pretty, the outside clear of fingerprints, and the liquid within - one that some would treasure dearly. Yet at that day, they didn't want or need it.
That same cup could have been someone’s way of enduring the hardships of life. Whatever inside, gold that is meant to be savoured.
Alcohol doesn't solve all of your problems though. And as much as Jimin wanted to bring all the pain away. When he’s sober.. What is he to do?
‘Vodka will only make my throat dry,’ he starts cackling, yet misery is all that is present.
‘I don’t want it,’ his swivel chair allows him to turn over to the same table Hoseok travelled to, his fingers landing where it intends to land - the cup.
Like particular people are only appreciated by those who choose to do so. The cup was ignored.
‘I’m sorry Jimin..’
Hoseok fucked up.. He knows how much Jimin hated it when people pitied him, yet he said that one word Jimin hated the most: sorry.
‘Sorry won’t make my sister smile again. Sorry won’t put that bastard in jail. Sorry won’t make me smile again. Sorry won’t do anything, Hyung.. Plus, what are you sorry for?’
If he could buy a star and name it Jimin, he would. For whenever that star would sparkle, Jimin would smile.
‘Hyung, I think you should go..’
Jimin needed to be alone. He needed to hear how much his heart beat, and know how long he needed to cry for. All without the scrutiny of another person.
‘There’s one more thing you should know though..’
‘What is it, Jimin?’
Jimin was hesitant. He had a capsule filled with cyanide in it that he was about to feed to Hoseok. Hoseok would either swallow it dry or wet.. Either way, he knew that the elder would freak out at the information in his hands.
He was right. Hoseok was wide-eyed and shocked to the point if a fly were to enter through his mouth, he would digest the fly instead of shooing it away.
‘Why doesn't he wear a ring?’
‘Because he doesn't want anyone knowing that he is married?’
Y/N! That little shit head!!! What does he want from her?!!! What does he want from her?!!!!!
‘When does Namjoon work?’
‘Mondays to Fridays,’ a sigh of relief.
That means he isn’t with me right now. I’m safe.
‘Great job, Chim! I’ll have the cash ready by tomorrow afternoon. If I run away, you know where to find me. The police have all of my information in their database. All you have to say is: Jung Hoseok scammed me. They’ll show it to you,’ enthusiastic as ever, he had been.
‘I’m sure you can’t afford running away, Officer.’
‘You won’t let me have my fun,’ a pout sinks into him.
He looked pissed off, when really, a smirk was hiding behind it this whole time.
‘Catch you later, Chim..’
‘Sure.. Sure..’ his sarcastic self was kicking back in.
Maybe he didn't need to cry after all.
‘Kim Namjoon, you have been exposed.’
Hoseok felt like a farmer who spent weeks to months ploughing the ground, planting seeds, and watering them under the blazing heat. The wheat now ready to be harvested and sold.
Upon knowing this, he felt accomplished. He might have not done all the digging, and his fingers aren’t as sore as Jimin’s are. But.. It’s a success. He’s found out about what he wanted to know. What more does he want?
Now he can go warn you.. He can finally protect you, as he should have from the very beginning. Namjoon’s a dangerous man. How did he let it come this far?
I made your favourite that day.. Stir-fried kimchi and pork.
I couldn't help but smile as I carried the lunch I made to your workplace. You would be thrilled to see me here, I had thought.
A bookmark to your busy day I was going to be. For I knew just how hectic things can get. Students forgetting books, students not listening, students dozing off and students coming in late. The list is endless.
Yet even after all of that, another wave of work comes rushing in. Whether it was sitting down and reviewing books so the next lesson will run smoothly, or writing down an explanation in advance for a lesson - you had to do it all. And in all good integrity.. For what? So you could see a bunch of twenty-year-olds deem your effort as nothing? What a life! Really.. What a life you had...
‘Nam-’ cold pressed into my cheeks, as devastation took over my muscles and my heart reduced to a pool of concentrated blood. For a second, the world was too fast for me.
The train that coursed from Incheon to Busan was miles ahead of where I am, unable to move. The leaves that plummeted to the ground in fall, vacant of colour just I was.
My eyes were bleeding not with tears, but betrayal.
Your coarse hands that I knew so well pressed into the back of another. Your lips that I could navigate with my eyes closed grazing that of another. Your hips that once brought me warmth, clasped tight to that of another.
He was wearing an ash grey suit, his toned abs covered in a white blouse. You trailed your fingers all over him.
He had a towering flow of locks that reached his neck. Its length not comparable to the building from which my soul had fallen.
‘No,’ I chocked a sniffle, a frog living in my gullet.
Every few seconds, the creature threatened to croak. I squeezed my neck tight. I’d rather choke than get caught. The green amphibian can feed on me for as long as it wants. Maybe it’ll even get rid of the flies of betrayal swarming in my lungs.
As soon you had stopped eating his face out, I caught a glimpse of what he looked like. He was a beauty. Even through the rectangular glass opening saturated in fingerprints, I could tell he was beautiful.
I hated that he was beautiful! I hated that you were with him! But.. If he knew about me, wouldn’t he have hated me too?
Which one of us were you cheating on? Was it me, or was it him? I didn't want to know! I felt gross..
I felt as though a bullet had been lodged in my chest.. At first, it felt simply like a pebble was thrown at me, but then a burning sensation took over. It was painful! It was so painful!
I didn't have time to collect myself though. Not when I could feel the presence now looming over the door. The tingling smell of roses escaping through the tiny gap under the door.
If I were to get caught then, whose side would you have been on? Would you have claimed that I was a stranger that you’ve never even met once? Or would you have claimed that I was hallucinating? That you and this other professor were simply chatting over tea, and I was being an obsessive girlfriend who couldn't trust you properly.
‘Bye..’ at that I knew I had to run for it.
I took my shoes off and went for what I could - the lavatory. Who knew I’d end up hiding behind your bathroom door one day? Who knew I’d ever be stuck where I am now? I felt as though I was trapped in a crime show of some sort, running away from the upcoming danger ahead of me. Perhaps a crime show would have been better..
‘Thank goodness,’ a hand slammed across my mouth, as I listened.
Quietly sobbing, I couldn't open my eyes. The world was too bright for what I have become.
‘I’ll see you at home, Namjoon Hyung.’
Home? They live together? I’m the bitch here.. Aren't I? Why me! Why me! Fuck me! Fuck you Kim Namjoon!
My brain then was a mess. A dumpsite of confusion, anguish, trepidation, dismay, and heartbreak.
‘It’s been a great day,’ he walked past me, a smile on his face. The opposite of whatever frown or scowl on mine. I couldn't bear to look into the mirror, it would have only been a reminder of the battle taking place in my heart. The heart forcefully torn into shreds by the same vulture that repeatedly pecked at Prometheus’s flesh and ate his liver.
He didn't stay still and walked playfully forward. Therefore... at a specific turn of his body, his name became visible to me.
He was a professor just as you were, knowing how the reflective silver tag lies on your chest just as it did his. Even with my eyes blinded by tears, his name slowly plagued my mind like a virus infecting a computer. I thought I had lost the ability to remember, but then his name became permanently engraved in my mind. It was as though it was all I knew. It was as though it was all I was allowed to know.
Jeon Jungkook. That’s his name. Jeon Jungkook, who are you? And how did I become entangled in your life, despite having known you for two seconds?
I recall walking home that day, my feet red just as my eyes were.
After I met you, I thought the rain would never swallow me up ever again - for you’d protect me. But, I was wrong. For the ocean came up to my knees. I couldn't get up, and you were doing the opposite of what you had promised. You were pushing me into the waves, my breath no more.
Despite how much I wanted to hold onto our love and pretend that your feelings towards me were unadulterated and pure. I knew what I had to do. I had to confront you. I had to set things right.. I had to walk away.
‘Joonie.. Are you ready for our date?’
I was at your door, five pm.. September 11th of 2013.
It's funny how things come to be, isn’t it? How we end up separating on the day we met..
And as usual, the sky’s looking after me. It had soaked the ground with its blood, sweat, and tears. It either wanted me to slip on water or soak in water. I didn't slip, the bottom of my shoes were just absorbed in mud.
I was going to wear your favourite pair of red heels. However, you took all of me and gave me none of you. Who are you to deserve even a drop more of me? I won’t let you have me again! I won’t be yours ever again!
Because.. Kim Namjoon, there was once a thin thread of connection that attached us together. The one on my side thicker than the one on your side. It was about time I ended what was never supposed to happen.
‘Y/N.. Ah. Our anniversary is nearing soon. I’ve got a surprise for you,’ as you had kept your eyes on the road, I tried my best to not spit at your face.
The audacity you possessed, when in reality you had a husband to go home to - then again, assholes like you are the ones with the most inflated of egos and pride.
That's right, aside from the name tag, I managed to get a peek of the golden band plastered in gems on both of your fingers.
It is said that your ring finger connects to your heart. If your veins were to be visible, you’d see how it runs to nowhere. Cut off and unable to allow blood-flow. After all.. You don’t have a heart.
‘Oh.. Joonie. You don't have to get me anything.’
If I had to sugar-coat my way through it all and pretend to be the person that fell in love with you. So it be..
Today will be the last of it all. My lips will no longer spill sugar for you. For you have torched me with the fire you sneaked in behind my back, and now I am burnt. Wounded, sharp and acrid all in between.
Bitter lingers on the tip of my tongue. It swirls deep within the crevices of my soul, therefore, venom or nothing is all that I will cuss at you.
‘But.. I want to! Stubborn as always.. Huhh! Anyways, we’re at the restaurant. If you won’t let me get you a present, at least let me buy you a meal.’
You spoke three languages: lies, persuasion, and flattery.
First, the truth you spoon-fed to me and I swallowed ever so innocently. The truth that I only started choking on now, the poison finally getting to me.
The world is made up of stories and facts. A person can carry both, and you can’t tell which one is which. Just like I got tricked - a fish caught in your little net.
Second, those three words you told me every now and then. Those three words convinced me into thinking that you were enamoured of the person I was.
Don’t stay simply because someone says they love you.. Don’t believe them so easily.. You’ll fall that way, like I did. Because, at one point.. you become so heavy of love, the see-saw that you are both on sends you tumbling off its seat.
Third, those times you’d compliment how beautiful, flawless or wise I was. Deprived of love and attention my whole life, your words chained me to the bar you set up. Perhaps that brought me attached to you as well - no one has ever done what you did to me.
‘One serving of medium-rare beef.’
The last supper, in which we sat there facing each other. You were being your usual self. Attractive, charming and witty as a cherry on pie. I guess that's how I ended up falling in love with you. But, the person I’m seeing now, it’s not you. It's the person you want me to see you as. What more fiction have you fed me, Joonie? You’re not the man I fell in love with..
‘I’ll cut it up for you,’ you insisted, and I agreed.
You’ve always had a liking for cutting things up into pieces. The way the knife sliced through the steak that day satisfied you; it made your eyes sparkle. Even more so than the taste of the meal itself did.
‘I have something to tell you.’
It was now or never. I had the scissors ready to cut our string of connection away, yet regardless of what I wanted, you decided to push the scissors back into its case. I had no choice but to surrender.
‘When I walk you home. Tell me then.’
‘Walk me home? Didn't you drive me here, Joonie?’
What are you playing at, Namjoon?
‘A friend needed the car. He came to pick it up a while ago.’
Are you bullshiting me right now? Who am I kidding? You always are..
‘Oh.. Is that so..’ I wiped the stains away from the corner of my lips, ‘Let’s go now then. We’re both finished. Aren't we?’
I tried my best to act normal and almost snapped. I should have just shouted at you then, leaving you stranded and infuriated just as you deserve. It would have been better if I had. I wouldn’t have to feel the lava bubbling inside of me, nor the aching persistence of the real version of myself that was dying to frown.
‘Yeah.. We are.‘
Strolling along with the swarm of silence that swallowed the neighbourhood we both inhabited, just as we did on the day we met, I was scared. This time.. it wasn’t the rain, it was you that I was scared of.
The ground wasn’t coated in droplets or residue of the sky’s downpour, nor was it far as cold as it was that day. Yet, I shivered..
You were walking ahead of me, however, it felt like I was being watched. Watched by the shadow that roamed around you, watched by my own anxiety and fears, watched by the future I cannot see.
‘I’ll walk the rest of the way,’ despite how fearful I was, I couldn't let you know.
You would only take advantage of my vulnerability, slash me bare of my identity and abandon me with the person you have left me as. No name, no face or emotion to call as their own.
‘I wouldn’t want to bother you.’
Mistake number one.. Acting out of character and being obvious of your intentions.
‘Bother me of what?’
‘Your assignments,’ sweat rolled down my forehead. I lost..
Mistake number two.. Showing fear. You feed a killer’s narcissism that way. It just makes them more eager to get to you.
‘Not this,’ your eyes flashed from sweet ones I knew to the wicked ones I dreaded to meet. The symbol of marriage on your finger clear as the dull night light ahead of us could get.
There were no room for words. It would have been foolish of me to speak. For, if you think about it. Would that have changed you from being Kim Namjoon? No- Whether I spoke or not, you’d still be a dirty asshole of an unfaithful husband.
So.. as fast as I could, I ran.. I needed to get away somehow. You were dangerous, far more dangerous than I first thought of you as.
‘Oops,’ your passive-aggressiveness runs everywhere.
Perhaps I had gotten to know the real you after all. Excluding the bits you didn't want me to know of course - the ones I ended up knowing anyway.
I turned around, and locked eyes with you. I didn’t know you. I wanted to scream and go: ‘Bring the namjoon I know back!’ But, there is no Namjoon that I knew or know. You are Namjoon.
‘Huh..’ that was all I could get out.
I didn't understand what you meant until I felt the wetness bonding to my foot. Red, was all I saw.
There was a fucking knife piercing through my sneakers - history seems to love repeating itself. I didn't expect to be in a state of déjà vu, following up a situation of such. Nevertheless, you were able to make me feel that way.
You were a sorcerer of deception and emotions. You brought out the parts of me I didn't even know existed and made me feel in a way I didn't even know I could. Everything is a lie though. You are a lie.
I guess that's why they say - sometimes we fall in love with the wrong people.
I regret falling in love with you, yet at the same time, I don’t. You’ve taught me one important thing out of it all.. You’ve taught me, that being a good person is something I should aim for. (That I shouldn’t be you) Either than that, I hate you. With utter contempt.
‘Get away from me!’ I had to scream, in order to be heard.
Banshees tend to scream their lungs out when announcing a person’s death. I was one, just with a different purpose. I was screaming my lungs out so I wouldn’t succumb to death. I was announcing out loud: ‘I don't want to die!’
‘Get the fuck away from me!‘ I begged to be saved.
The houses.. I rushed for the closest one, limping as swiftly as I could. The black door painted with a big seven was my saviour. One that I never knew was coming but was there for me.
I knocked and knocked.. And knocked again. More desperate than goldy locks ever will be for survival. I was ready to make a dent in the door if I had to. I was knocking till my knuckles reddened and till it started bruising up. It was better to have tried than died in the hands of a killer like you.
‘Please... Help me,’ my voice was fading away, I wasn’t screaming anymore - I was crying. I was breaking down and pleading.
‘Please.. Save me.. Save me!!’ the pounding of the door, induced footsteps.
‘Get behind me,’ a grouchy voice demanded.
I was helpless.. I couldn't do anything else but follow.
‘Save me..’ a yelp escaped my throat, the world ahead of me blurry as I almost collapsed into an abyss of nothing.
‘The police is here..’
I was going to hit my head on the floor and bleed to death, yet despite that, a pair of hands glided over my waist. I wouldn’t die that day. I couldn't die. He, whom I didn't know the name of, wouldn’t let me die.
‘Hang in there.’
A part of me knew I wouldn't have regretted dying that day. Those words gave me hope, and somehow brought upon a smile on my face. The fact that someone wanted me alive was enough - more than enough.
You might call me a person who is easily attached and foolish for holding on to such a meaningless statement. And I admit. My tendency to believe and have hope in people, regardless of how humans are the reason to why my life is shit, brings me down more than once or twice. But, who are you to judge me for doing what I want? We are all foolish in a way.. Aren’t we? Maybe one day I’ll stop being that person. However.. For now, I’ll continue with who I am.
‘Isn’t she going to wake up soon?’ a rather familiar voice bolted at me like a whisper.
After that, everything was morphed into a variation of silence. My memories distorted, and my life similar to that of nothing. I was trapped in a black box with no curtains or lights to lend me even a sprinkle of hope.
‘She was stabbed twice,’ the doctor informed.
I might have not catched on to the conversation, but the irritation that surged up and down my back spoke to me through ripples of pain.
‘She arrived here mumbling about the knife a few inches close to her heel bone - that was when she passed out. She wasn’t aware of the other knife that was attached to her back - it was close to her spine. Thankfully, we were able to save her.’
‘She’s on pain medications right now. She’ll wake up in around a few days. We’ll be monitoring her closely both now and after she regains consciousness.’
‘She’s recommended to undergo physical therapy and cognitive behavioural therapy. It's to guarantee a proper recovery.’
Past - Jin and another Officer ↴
‘Kim Namjoon.. 1994.’
‘84.. It’s fake,’ she adds on, so sure of herself.
‘How do you know that?’
‘We worked on his case years ago. Rm.. You know him, officer. The one who never got held accountable for what he did. The ‘Kim’s’ son.’
‘That bastard?‘ profanity wasn’t short on Jin’s side.
‘Yep.. This time it's attempted murder. Will the Kim really be able to bail him out again?’ coffee is stirred, the languid swooshing of liquid opposite to that of the situation taking place.
‘Wasn’t the gang violence case just as bad as this?’
‘There are eyewitnesses this time. Video evidence even. It won’t be easy for him to manipulate his way out of-’
‘Hello.. I’m here to turn in evidence of the crime that occurred back in 2010.’
‘Ma’am, where are you calling from?’ Jin’s eyes are wide open and in shock.
‘I can’t reveal my identity..’ the woman behind the phone is consumed by sweat, her hands trembling as she holds her phone in place.
‘I was on my way home from buying groceries that day. When I saw a group of thugs.. Huhh.. beating up- beating up a young girl. I was so scared I left.. I saw the news. He’s the same guy isn’t he?..’
‘Yes.. Ma’am.. He is. The evidence you have could be the key to getting him convicted.’
‘My car’s camera was on that day. I have the footage stored on my computer,’ her feet shook palpably away as she picked at her nails.
‘We can arrange a place to meet..’
‘No- I will drop it off somewhere.. And.. And... And.. You- You can go pick it up.’
‘Jeon-ho marketplace. I’ll leave it near Beom’s fruit Stall,’ a sigh of relief is heard, as the line cuts.
‘Ma’am? Ma’am?.. Take your car there! We have to hurry.’
‘With all the evidence we have collected. Without a doubt, he’s not getting away this time.’
‘Don’t act like we’ve won already. We only win once he's behind bars.’
‘But.. Just look at all this evidence,’ she points at the device.
‘To get him punished for what he deserves, we have to dig much more deeper. Don’t be naive.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We got a psychologist to observe him. He’s psychopathic. Yet he allowed himself to get caught this easily?
Present - Jin and Taehyung ↴
‘Dun Dun Dun..’
‘Hyung... Continue on already,’ Taehyung ignores Jin’s dramatic sound effects.
‘He did it on purpose. They were on a date - the victim and him. The waiter who served them said that he ordered wine but never drank it.’
‘Did he drug her?’
‘The wine was for him. The victim doesn't drink..’
‘He’s smart.. Super smart. He could have drank the wine, and used the state of being under the influence of alcohol to reduce his sentence. He didn't though. Which means he wanted to get caught.’
‘Why? Why would he do that,’ the man in all of his youth was perplexed, wrinkles forming places it shouldn't be.
‘Why would he want to get caught?’ a rhetorical question paired with a scoff, his superior had let out.
‘He’s tired of the life he has. His father’s a scumbag, his mother’s dead, his husband cheated on him, and in the middle of it all he’s stuck teaching a bunch of hard-headed youngsters.’
‘People like him depend harshly on the people they surround themselves with. He clings onto familiar scenarios and bathes in normality.’
‘The victim’s mother is dead. He approached her knowing that. He got into the relationship with the victim to get back at his partner. He too is a scumbag, and he too is hard-headed as fuck.’
‘He’s like a child.. A child who is trying to fit in among a crowd of adults. That turned him into a monster.’
‘And he’s now tired of being that monster.’
‘Poor thing..’ he pouts, undeserved sympathy born from his pure soul.
‘You can pitty him for the life he had and the people he had to be among. But never excuse what he did. He’s a monster - that will never change.’
‘How do we know that his husband was having an affair on him?’
‘Photos and Videos..’
‘Can I view it?’ a pencil is twirling in the air, tracing random patterns that remain invisible to the human eye.
‘Are you sure, Tae?’
‘Jin Hyung.. Just show it to me- I can handle it.’
‘It was sent over by an anonymous person..’
‘They could simply be friends..’ Tae’s up and on his feet.
‘There are more photos that have been sent. I don't think you’d want to see them.’
‘Hoseok Hyung didn't know.. That’s the only possible explanation.’.
‘He knew..’ Jin’s boiling in a state of disappointment, ‘Hoseok was held in with Jungkook yesterday.’
‘Held.. They are out now?’ the young officer simply wanted the man he looked up to and held in high regard in terms of a being a role-model to be as innocent and rightful as he knew him as.
‘They what?!’ he was now pacing around in horror.
‘Hoseok provoked Namjoon a day before the incident.’
‘You have a footage of that too.. Don’t you?’
‘He told namjoon..’
‘Just the play the fucking footage,’ at this point, he was enraged.
‘Fine.. If you say so,’ mouse clicks was all they could hear.
Mouse clicks that gave a rise to the horridness of this case.
Hoseok: I’ll tell him everything..
Namjoon: No.. Don’t- I can’t loose him
Hoseok: Then get rid of Y/N..
Namjoon: Aren’t you her best friend?
Hoseok: I warned her. She should have stepped away when she had the chance to.
Namjoon: What do you want me to do?
Hoseok: Here... Have fun
He handed a black bag over to him, the outline of a peculiar item clear as daylight.
‘Knifes.. Isn’t it? That trash bag?’
‘What happened in the investigation room yesterday?’ he was more composed. Anger wouldn’t do him any good but pent up rage in his heart.
‘They had a plan. They were going to put Namjoon behind bars, and live happily ever after.’
‘If they got caught, they’d swallow pills.’
‘And that’s exactly what they did.’
‘Couldn’t divorce have solved it all?’
‘It’s not that simple. If those two got divorced, not only will their marriage tumble down - Jungkook’s father’s corporation will also fall with it.’
‘It was a marriage of convenience. Namjoon became obsessed with Jungkook, and Jungkook fell for Hoseok.’
‘The trial took place this afternoon.’
‘What?.. I- What more have you kept from me?
‘Tae? Don’t you remember anything?’
‘Hyung.. What in the world are you talking about?’
‘That day we caught you driving Namjoon’s car away. Hoseok asked you to do that. Didn't he?’
‘Hyung.. What do you mean?
‘You helped them.’
‘Hyung is sorry, Tae.. I should have gotten you the help you needed. Then this wouldn’t have happened.’
‘DID.. You have DID. It was a week after the incident. You kept on acting strange. Sometimes you were the Tae I knew, sometimes you weren't,’ his sanity crawled out of his head.
‘Why didn't you tell me?’
‘I was scared.’
‘Bullshit.. I could have learnt how to control my symptoms, and this wouldn’t have happened.’
‘It’s not that easy, tae bear..’
‘Isn’t it better to try than not? That’s what you told me Hyung - the day father and mother died. We could have given up and died on the streets. But you said it yourself Hyung: We should at least try. It's better than dying.’
‘I’m sorry.. I thought I could help you.’
‘Are you a psychiatrist, Hyung?’
‘Sometimes I wish it was me who ended up with..’
‘Don’t speak such nonsense.’
‘I’m not an actual officer. Aren't I?’ the past shined on his eyes. His parents buried in fire as he screamed and cried to be saved - the faded scar scratching his leg burning and fresh yet again. It made him squirm uncontrollably - guilty for having survived.
‘No.. You aren’t one. I just wanted you to be happy. So.. So... I- lied. All those cases I had discussed with you were fake.’
‘Is this one fake too?’
‘No.. This one’s real.’
‘Make it up to me by dropping me off at future counselling sessions to come. That’s all I need.’
‘How can you forgive me so easily?’
‘Because you’re my brother.’
‘That doesn't excuse my actions. I shouldn’t have done what I did. I should have stopped acting as though I knew what was best for you. You’re your own person. With your own judgement and perspective of life. I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Hyung.. I would have been mad at you, if only you weren’t like this.’
‘It’s not everyday I meet someone like Jin Hyung.’
‘There’s news reports and broadcasts on the tv and internet regarding the case. If you want to know more that is.’
‘You wouldn’t have told me all of this if it weren't for that. Isn’t it?’
‘I’m an officer Tae. I can’t disclose information just like that. Even if you’re my brother.’
‘Well then. Hyungiee.. Buy me some ice cream. It’s getting hotter and hotter these days.’
‘Aish.. After listening to me talk about people dying, you’re still hungry for ice cream? You little bastard,’ giggles pierce through the air, shattering away the dome of apprehension that once surrounded the two brothers.
‘Oh Hyungiee..Who do you think I am?’ he sticks his tongue out in a playful manner.
‘My little brother.’
‘Ms.. are you awake?’ at the movement of my fingers, the nurse had assumed that I was starting to regain consciousness.
‘Why am I here?’
Frankly, I didn't remember what happened. It felt as though my memories had been put into a washing machine, cleaned off of the dirt it once contained.
‘Jin.. Why am I here?’
‘You fainted from exhaustion.. Do you know how worried I was?’ he played along.
And if you are thinking that love somehow will blossom from all of that pretence, you are wrong. In this world my mind has created, Jin is my best friend.
One that if I haven't mentioned yet, is very much betrothed to the love of his life.
‘Yoongi,’ he called out.
And to the house labelled seven I entered.
‘Home?’ perhaps the comfort that doorway brought to me, led to this.
‘My love~~’ he’s still the same, flirty old Jin.
‘Ewwww.. Don’t! Ahhh.’
‘Y/Niee..’ he too was willing to sacrifice for me.
Home it truly would come to be. For I’d live there a good fifty years and more.
‘Y/nieeee,’ hugged by a human teddy bear I had been.
With grey hair and a barely functioning brain, Yoongi wasn’t the man he was years ago. Neither was I though.
‘I baked cookies for you,’ his smile is the same.
Taking the plate of cookies, warm against my fingers, I switched the television remote on with the other hand.
‘Kim Namjoon has been found dead this mor-’
‘Yoons..’ he had switched the tv off, a black screen staring right back at me.
‘He’s scary Y/Niee.. I don’t want to see him.’
Little did he know, I’ve regained my memories years ago - a few days after I moved in.
In the fictional version of this story. Kim Namjoon and Jung Hoseok were my two best friends who died in a car accident years ago. It was my way of coping with it all. Because to my brain, they were better remembered dead than having been scumbags who chugged a shovel at my back whilst smiling at me.
Perhaps the reason why I woke up seeing Jin as my best friend, is because those days where it was just me and Hoseok were the ones I longed for the most. Those days, before you came.
I’m happy with where I am now.
‘Fuck you,’ I cussed at your burial site, water running down my sides.
‘It always rains whenever we are together. Doesn’t it?’
It fooled me..
For a second it did.
146 notes · View notes
Nerve || KNJ
-> Picture Source - Pinterest
Nerve [Namjoon x Reader]
Prompt - @casnextdoor
Part 5.5 - Reflection
Part 6 || Worthy
Part 7 - coming soon
Genre: cheating; aftermath; husband au;
Summary - You would never expect it really. He's doting. He's sweet. He's hardworking. But he's forgotten his morals. Suspecting it is one thing, but when he confirms it, will you stay or walk away.
Warning - Cheating(Aftermath); Negative Thoughts; Confusion; Sadness; Pure Angst! Fluff (if you squint);
Word Count - 5.8k
🎶 - Natural - Imagine Dragons
Kim Ji-ho was the part of the 94’ line, as young as the band when he first started interning under his uncle. The president and Kim Ji-hun, long-time friends and business associates, formed something of a kinship.
So growing up with the band meant he knew things others didn't, he was trusted, and most importantly he had attachments involved.
Ji-ho knew he wanted to be a lawyer, he didn’t know he’d be a part of the legal team for such a big company, but here he was, twenty-something, direct access to the biggest boyband in the world and as of the past month -- Lee Jong-woo, a very new, very infuriating pain in his backside.
It was not only because Jong-woo had been given a position, Ji-ho thought he would get, or that their ages were a year apart, but the band, its members, they mattered, but to Jong-woo, they were a means to an end.
So Ji-ho stood a level above the reception, delaying his work, so he could run into Namjoon that morning; he made it his priority to drop a copy of the amended agreement.
It was later than usual, Namjoon's schedule started a bit after everyone else, but Ji-ho had waited.
It didn't take a genius to figure y/n out. Ji-ho knew, that there was no way she would have mentioned anything to Namjoon. If she were forced to sign she probably would have, but she handled the situation as only Kim Y/n would - - Jong-woo, his threats, his words and insinuations, it didn't interest her.
To be fair, Jong-woo interested no one. He worked in his own interest, he had good experience and a set of accolades to boot. But Jong-woo was self-centered. He lacked empathy and thought of himself as above others.
He thought he was on the same level as the band members, because of age, and he figured the younger ones would listen to him if not Jin because he was Yoongi's age.
But they had dismissed him at the meeting. The first damage control he had to handle. As such Jong-woo took it out on y/n.
But women like y/n were cut from a different cloth. She came from money, exposed to the world and it's reality early in life, but she was soft, putting friends above her needs, placing love above everyone else. She didn't let the world harden her heart, the things that did deserve the worst parts of herself, far and few.
Ofcourse, with time, you learned every woman's flaws and y/n and her need to face the world alone, it was a weakness. A survival instinct, sure, but she needed to let people in, trust them to take care of her, she had a long line of people doing it behind her back - - if only she knew.
Carefully, Ji-ho placed the agreement on top of the stack of files next to him, making sure y/n's name was visible on the cover page.
He watched Namjoon clear security with his card and push through the double glass doors and nod at the reception area, a classic Kim Namjoon smile, polite as ever.
Ji-ho liked Namjoon, he liked all of them actually, saw them less as celebrities and more human.
He knew the band respected him too and y/n, y/n was fun to talk to. She wasn't high and mighty. She remained humble, didn't ask for things out of turn or act entitled. Y/n greeted and respected and used her manners and she was very clear from the get go on what she wanted.
Ji-ho grabbed his files and walked down the stairs, a bit fast toward Namjoon as he hit the ground floor, as if rushing to be somewhere. Taking advantage of Namjoon taking out his phone, Ji-ho bumped him.
The files scattered around them, as Namjoon steadied himself against the wall, but considering Joon's sturdiness, Ji-ho went down from the impact.
'Dammit! Sorry, Joon.' Catching himself on his palms, as if disoriented he moved the files, pushing the one with y/n's name directly in front of Namjoon as the man came down next to him to help him restack the pile.
Ji-ho continued, as if preoccupied, side-eyeing Namjoon as the man, picked up the agreement slowly, bringing it toward him and read the title.
'Ji-ho, what is this?'
Turning to face Namjoon, Ji-ho knew it was time to let go of the act.
'This has my wife's name on it,' Namjoon added, accusingly. ‘What is it?’
Lowering his gaze, Ji-ho replied softly, ‘We should talk about this in private.’
Namjoon pierced Ji-ho with his gaze, gave himself a second to think, till he pursed his lips and nodded. They collected the rest of the files in a neat stack, before Namjoon motioned for Ji-ho to stand up and follow him.
They walked through the halls, Ji-ho following close behind as Namjoon made his way toward the Rkive.
Punching the code, Ji-ho noted it was a set of numbers he didn’t recognize - 23102018. It wasn’t Nmajoon’s birthday or his debut date or anniversary for that matter.
Namjoon held the door open for him, and closed it with a click. Entering the Rkive, the homely, grey and brown tones were reassuring, despite the nervousness Ji-ho felt.
Stopping at the table mainly used for discussions and meetings, Namjoon stood behind it and folded his arms. 'Now, tell me, what’s going on?’
Ji-ho laid his files down and stood opposite the leader, a hard look in his face.
Doing his best to not avoid eye contact, Ji-ho answered Namjoon in the best summary he could come up with. 'That piece of paper, is an agreement that basically states that she has no right over you or your production, your assets, your property or any materials within it. She owns nothing and can claim nothing if she divorces you.'
'Hoseok mentioned something along those lines. I didn't pay attention to it earlier. What the hell Ji-ho, why couldn't you tell me about this?'
'It's been six years since she signed it, Namjoon. My uncle did the first one. I considered it fair at the time, I mean look at who you are, you have to protect your assets.'
'I've said it multiple times, she is entitled to everything I own and more. Who even gave your uncle the order for this thing.' He picked up the agreement and threw it back on the table, motioning to it, as if it would dirty his hands to hold it.
'Fuck.' Namjoon bit out, the severity of the situation dawning on him. His hands found the backs of the chairs pushed in front of him, he leaned on it, for good measure, supporting him as he made sense of the situation.
'But that's not the issue here.' His gaze found Ji-ho, through his eyelashes.
'No, that was the original version, the one that made sense. This document is a second agreement and was done by Jong-woo,' Ji-ho opened the document to the page with the clause highlighted specifically for it to be seen and read. 'It's better if you read it.'
Too impatient to be gentle, Namjoon grabbed the document, and tore the page above it, but for once, he couldn't be bothered about his clumsiness, he would rather do worse to it.
As Namjoon read, Ji-ho watched his face darken, his fingers growing tighter around the file, disbelief clouding his every feature.
'We will no longer take responsibility for your safety, bear any legal responsibility for fans, violence or medical - this is absolute bullshit!'
Ji-ho didn't reply, to do so now would not be in anyone's best interest. The man in front of him was a loving, protective husband, incited by the very idea that his wife's responsibility was not his, that she would be shown such little consideration.
'Did she sign this?'
'No. She said she'd sighed the first one already. And since there was no divorce on the table right now. There was no need for her to sign the second one, yet.'
'Yet.' Namjoon repeated, shaking his head ruefully, unable to let this sink in. He clouded the room in his discomfort. Ji-ho couldn't imagine how Namjoon could be feeling. That his wife, his chosen life partner, would be disregarded, that she would be spoken to like a child and shown as little concern, as that of someone of the street.
'He asked her to keep it from you, and name her price.' It didn't do well to incite a fire breathing dragon, but everything should be out of way at once.
'Her price! He thinks he can buy my wife?' Namjoon pointed to himself. 'My wife, that handles more people than he could in a lifetime, that matters more, that's been around longer than he could even hope to be!'
'She had a quieter reaction. You should be proud of her, your y/n.'
'Ji-ho don't make nice with me right now.'
'I'm not. You know I don't have any loopholes right now, Namjoon. Why am I in the reception area at 9am when I'm usually at work by 7. Why now when I've known about the original for six years?'
Namjoon caught himself, finally seeing something without the blurriness of his emotions surrounding him. 'I, appreciate this. I do. You have to understand that, but…'
'I get it, Joon, I do. But he's going to spin a story and get her to sign this somehow. He's not a fan of y/n, because she talked down to him.'
'Yeah,' Ji-ho's lips curved on one side, 'something about being Kim Namjoon's wife, and demanding class and decorum, and that he would have way bigger problems on his hand, especially if she told you.'
Namjoon couldn't help basking in the pride that crept into him. That was his wife. She was Kim y/n, no one would take that away from her.
'Where did you find her?' Ji-ho asked sincerely.
'The universe sent her to me.' Namjoon whispered, as if saying it too loud would give said reason, the opportunity to take her back.
'Namjoon I have to go. This is a copy of the new one, but there's a digitized soft copy of the one originally signed and this has a date above the new clause, with her signature needed directly below it.'
'Ji-ho, how were you so sure she wouldn't have told me.'
'She wouldn't,' Ji-ho's eyes bore into him, no sugar coating necessary, 'not when it comes to your career. Kim Namjoon comes first in Kim Y/n's life.'
It hit Namjoon like a battering ram, that the world could see how she felt for him, that they could attest to her love. He couldn't deny Ji-ho's words, no one who knew the couple could deny it; his wife was one of a kind and she loved him with every ounce of her being.
Instead he thought of his next step. 'I didn't get this from you did I? I won't keep quiet, you know this.'
'Actually, I'm the only one handling y/n's predicament at the moment. Jong-woo knows what he's trying to do isn't very... nice. This building, its staff, puts the band first. It won't take long to tie it back to me, but I'm fine with that. I'm actually counting on you doing something before he gets to me.'
Namjoon regarded the man he'd known for as many years as he'd had a career. 'Why risk it, especially now?'
Ji-ho looked down for a moment, contemplating his next words, 'I'm one of those staff, I'm one of those people.'
Namjoon didn't have anything to say, no words could match the loyalty Ji-ho was showing, so he did the only thing he could to show his appreciation, he bowed to him in respect.
Ji-ho returned it, and with his stack of files and a head nod, he was gone.
Sending a text to the rapline, Namjoon knew Hoseok was going to be pissed, but he couldn't get into the studio right now - - the session they were supposed to have, already past its time. Then he messaged Seokjin individually.
He knew he needed his older brothers for the Jong-woo problem.
The contract however...resisting the urge to tear it in half and shove it in the deepest crevice he could find, he turned the first page over to read.
🎶 - Bleeding Out - Imagine Dragons
Seokjin sat in the band's personal lounge.
He had early morning vocal sessions and had every intention of leaving for a lunch run to make sure his dongsaengs ate and grab a bite for himself when Namjoon's text showed up.
Need to meet with you all ASAP. Band lounge.
Looking at his phone, the text was sent twenty minutes ago.
Tapping his feet in impatience he waited, spinning theories on what this could be about.
Yoongi walked in a minute later, eyes droopy, looking too tired for midday, let alone a family meeting.
'Did you get any sleep at all?'
Yoongi averted his eyes, not wanting to lie, and most definitely not wanting to be scolded.
'I was on my way out,' he mumbled, 'when I got the text.'
Seokjin decided against scolding him. Even if he said anything, it's nothing Yoongi hadn't heard before. 'Me too. You're joining me for lunch after this.'
Yoongi didn't argue. No one argued with Seokjin and food.
Hoseok walked through the double doors on the left, hair slick with sweat, and a sweat soaked shirt.
'Dance practice this early? I thought you were in recording with Namjoon today?'
Hoseok sounded mad. 'He ditched, Jin hyung, I'd be surprised if he showed up here, whatever this is about.'
Yoongi and Seokjin shared a look.
Seokjin hadn't seen Namjoon and Hoseok fight like this. They were different people, with different opinions, they even expressed themselves differently, but there was always compromise. Hoseok, caring and understanding, Namjoon logically inclined, compromise was easy, until now.
There was also the fact that no one had ever seen this side of Hobi, he'd never thrown anyone's mistakes back at them, he hadn't incited violence and he definitely hadn't kept a grudge this long.
Seokjin and Yoongi, usually were able to figure out an approach, some way to get things to work again, but not this time.
They sat for another ten minutes in silence, Hoseok scrolling through his phone, Seokjin uncrossing and crossing his legs, and Yoongi nodding off, before lightly jerking awake and repeating the process. Then Hobi jumped to his feet.
'Okay this is wasting my ti-,'
Namjoon burst through the double doors on the right.
'Sorry, sorry, I know I made you guys wait, I'm sorry.'
'Oh now you show up.'
'Hobi, not today, not now, please.'
'You ditched me. I saw you walk straight past my studio. This is work, Namjoon, it affects all of us.'
'Because it was important! That's why I need to explain.'
'What could be more important than working with me, and keeping to your schedule!'
'Hey!' Seokjin shouted. 'In your own time, not ours.' He looked between the 94' line, having reached his limit with them. When they both stayed quiet, he prompted Namjoon.
Namjoon placed the agreement on the coffee table in front of them.
'What's this?' Seokjin leaned to turn the page in his direction. Everyone else leaned in.
'Remember the agreement you mentioned that y/n signed before marriage,' Namjoon didn't address Hoseok as he spoke, 'well Jong-woo just amended it and has already asked her to sign. This is it.'
'Amended it how?' Yoongi asked, all signs of tiredness gone.
'Last page, where her new signature is required, it's highlighted.'
Seokjin turned to the last page and read aloud, Hobi and Yoongi following his voice with their eyes on the paper. Namjoon folded his arms, waiting for them to finish.
'What the fu-,'
'Yoongi.' Seokjin reprimanded.
'Hyung, this is a special occasion.'
'No responsibility of protection from fans? Do they know how some of them can be extreme with girlfriends or friends, let alone wives.' Hoseok read, and whispered to himself. 'What the hell.'
It took a lot to get Hoseok to curse at all.
'How did you get this, did y/n tell you?' Yoongi turned to Namjoon.
'No way,' Hoseok answered for him. 'I'm surprised she hasn't signed it. You have a wife that puts you first, always.' Hoseok side-eyed Namjoon in disdain, making it seem like the worst thing in the world. It probably was.
Choosing not to start another argument, Namjoon replied to his hyungs. 'Ji-ho bumped into me this morning. He dropped it on his way to wherever he was going.'
Seokjin raised his eyebrow, 'Purposely?'
'I didn't say that.'
'No. No, you didn't.'
They all looked at each other, tensions aside, they knew when to agree on something. It was an accident.
'Well, you're fortunate you found it before she actually signed this thing.' Seokjin turned to peruse the other pages. 'Y/n.' He shook his head, a grimace on his face.
'It's ridiculous. She deserves safety and protection, always. And if you guys separate, you can't act like you never knew her.' Yoongi pursed his lips. 'This really makes me not want to get a partner. Why go through all this shit on top of everything else.'
Namjoon agreed. He thought the exact same thing as he read it. He understood, no doubt, that because of who he was, there were risks involved. But to take it to this extent, was he worth a partner at all. Breaking out of his thoughts, he focused on what he came to do. 'I want to know what to do next.'
Hoseok turned to him, eyebrows scrunched, as if asking 'what do you mean?'
Namjoon eyed him cautiously. 'Management isn't on my side at the moment. But this is important. And there's no way they came up with this. This would make the whole company look bad.'
Hoseok turned away, as a notification came up on his phone.
'It makes it look like empathy is overrated.' Yoongi commented
'You said Jong-woo drafted this?' Seokjin sat down, the cogs in his brain turning. He was the oldest and too long in this to not have the most expertise in paperwork, and in finding loopholes.
'Why redo a document that was done six years ago?'
Rejoining the circle, Hoseok looked at the document again at Yoongi's question. 'Look at the date,' he pointed out with his finger. 'He probably did it after we dismissed him at the meeting.'
'Who even hired this ass?'
Soekjin rolled his eyes, not even bothering to call Yoongi out this time. 'We'll find out. We don't take our careers for granted and we have a say here.
If I got married tomorrow and my wife had to sign something like this, it would be a slap in my face for all the years I've given to this place.'
'Management first or asshole first?' Yoongi asked.
'President.' Seokjin replied. He was not in the mood for play. This was serious. 'This piece of paper is not in anyone's best interest. They should know that their name is slapped on something like this.'
'Alright then, Namjoon, you and I will go see the asshole.' Yoongi took off his hoodie, a plain black long sleeve underneath, too riled up to keep it all on.
Seokjin closed the document. 'I'll see manager hyung and the president, we’ll meet you up there.'
'And I need a shower,' Hoseok said, as he pulled his shirt up to his nose and sniffed.
They all turned to him, expecting him to join a team.
'I have another commitment after,' Hoseok shrugged. 'Plus, you know how to fire someone.'
'Oh yeah, because it's just that easy,' Namjoon mocked.
This was about y/n, not about him, Hoseok could be a bit more proactive about the situation.
Namjoon would go as far as to say he was feeling hurt, that Hoseok would rather do something else, than help his best friend defend his wife. He so readily did it the last time.
Seokjin broke the tension before Hoseok could reply. 'I'm taking this, plus it can't be left lying around anywhere. If the maknaes get a hold of this…'
'I'd be right there with them,' Yoongi muttered
'Okay, let's make hanging him upside down by his toes above a shark tank Plan B.'
They all nodded in unison. The funny part was, none of them were actually joking.
'That's very descriptive hyung,' Hoseok said as he dispersed with Seokjin towards the left, exiting through the doors he entered.
Namjoon and Yoongi took to the right, towards the elevators.
'Why do you need to come with me, hyung? You could have easily backed Jin hyung up with management?'
Namjoon was curious. Was Yoongi trying to make up for Hoseok's absence, just wanting to confront the lawyer or… ?
Namjoon resigned that he would not get a reply when Yoongi stayed quiet even after they'd got in the elevator and pressed the button of the floor they needed to get to.
But Yoongi replied and it was easily something y/n would have told him. 'To save you from yourself.'
🎶 - Starboy - The Weeknd, Daft Punk
Namjoon was aware that he was not himself. His rare control, his limit of tolerance, his very state of calm, was being exercised.
But he could not blow up at the male he was about to address, not yet.
Entering the legal department, he made his way through the floor to the office furthest down the hall.
Door slightly ajar, the male in question leaned back in his chair, his feet crossed on his desk; some sort of waterfall sound playing from his screen, a contradiction to the unrest he caused.
Namjoon regarded Jong-woo as he stood up and popped the collar of his suit. The man clearly thought he owned the world, that people should bow at his feet and that he was it - his band was inclined to prove him wrong.
Yoongi stood behind Namjoon, but Joon could feel his hyung's cold temper. Yoongi was usually deadpan, his ‘the world would go on’ mantra, getting him through life unbothered as he did his own thing on his own terms. It was rare to phase Min Yoongi, it was the bad luck of the person on the receiving end if he was pissed and Yoongi was pissed.
'Namjoon, Yoongi, what brings you to my neck of the woods?' His smile was sickly sweet, the temptation to smack it right off his face, almost too much to resist.
'Cut the crap. We saw the agreement.'
'I have no idea what you're talking about, Namjoon.'
'We're not playing with you, Jong-woo.' Yoongi was at the end of his patience.
Jong-woo shook his head, averting his eyes, moving the stapler on his desk randomly. 'I don't know what you mean.'
'This,' Yoongi threw on the desk, 'this piece of shit agreement that you amended, that you asked y/n to sign.'
'You're my lawyer, Jong-woo, my lawyer,' Namjoon reminded him. 'Don't I have a right to know?'
'Y/n is a Kim. She's my wife. She does not work for this company. She is not associated with anything in this company, except for my name which you're trying your hardest to make damn sure, it isn't anymore!'
'Now, now,' his palms raised, in an attempt for calm, 'there's no need for such strong emotion Namjoon. Take a seat and we can discuss this. We both know y/n is no longer going to be a Kim, and so we felt it would be prudent to remove any further obstacles. A quick fix, we can call it.'
Namjoon took a threatening step towards the older male, narrowed eyes, 'Did I mention divorce? Did y/n mention divorce?'
'She's obviously going through a tough phase considering your mess Namjoon, we know where this is headed, she thinks differently.' Nonchalantly, fiddling with the sleeve of his suit, he continued. 'She told me there's a chance she won't stand by you.'
Namjoon laughed, the sound chilling to even Yoongi's ear. 'You're going to feed me lies about my wife, really.'
'Ji-ho was there. He can back me up.'
'I don't need anyone to back you up.'
Holding up a finger to silence Namjoon, Jong-woo moved his hand toward his landline and pushed one of the buttons.
'Ji-ho a moment, please.'
The line went dead and a second later, Ji-ho walked in. He took his place across from Jong-woo's desk, his left hand clasping his right wrist in a respectful stance.
'Tell Namjoon that his wife stated she would sign the agreement. That there's a chance she will not be a Kim anymore.'
Namjoon squinted, deep in thought. What did y/n signing the damned thing have to do with anything? Now it looked like he had no ground to stand on because he was arguing about an agreement that she would sign anyway. This asshole was good at twisting words.
Ji-ho considered the order, contemplating for a moment before turning to Jong-woo and answering sincerely. 'Yes, she stated if Mr. Kim wanted a divorce, she saw no reason to complicate matters by not signing the agreement. And Mrs. Kim stated that whether she stood by her husband or not, she would be above choosing you, because you are the bottom of the barrel, Sir.'
Jong-woo's lips tightened, a venomous promise in his eye at the very accurate and excessive information. He stared Ji-ho down, the other man considerably unaffected.' Well, what matters is that y/n agreed to sign the document. So this whole thing’ Jong-woo motioned with his hand, ‘is baseless -- your temper tantrum is as unnecessary as finding a new side squeeze without keeping it under wraps.'
'You sonofa -,' Namjoon moved in front of him Yoongi, holding back his hyung.
'Hyung, don't get your hands dirty.' It was a good thing disrespect didn't phase Namjoon; he was too sure of himself to even consider Jong-woo's words about his actions or his character. He appreciated Yoongi, he did, but this was Namjoon's fight.
Taking his time, Namjoon poked his cheek with his tongue, nodding absently as he considered the lawyer. He took slow deliberate steps to move around Jong-woo's desk. 'Did you make a pass at my wife?' Namjoon stared daggers as he spoke, doing his best to refrain from reaching out to strangle the man in front of him.
At Namjoon's menacing tone, Jong-woo discarded his niceties and defended himself, clearly believing whatever idea he had spinning in his head. 'You are not interested in your wife any more. I was doing you a favour. Wash your hands off her and have a new life, one an idol like you deserves.'
'Do you have no sense of self-preservation?'
Namjoon was way past respect. Y/n would never turn on him, not even if her life depended on it. Pride speared through him, that she spoke as she did, putting this asshole in his place, as well as keeping his best interests at heart.
'Come on, Namjoon,' Jong-woo tried to reason, 'you cheated, wanted someone else, is that not enough to say that there's issues going on?'
Namjoon said nothing. He was by no means backing down, just calculating his next move. Y/n was no ordinary woman. He didn’t find her under normal circumstances. She was her own person, but only he would experience life with her.
The morning started off with his protective instincts rearing its head, but now, his male ego, his arrogance, meshed with one very black emotion coating his veins -- possessiveness.
'Why do you think that you know us?' Yoongi asked, infuriated Jong-woo’s mindset, his cheap way of thinking, but he was trying for logic, for reason, because he was also fully aware that he was no longer the most dangerous male in the room. His dongsaeng's reaction, the menacing way he crowded Jong-woo, his nostrils flaring, Namjoon was one wrong word away from exploding.
'What's between y/n and I, is between y/n and I. Not you.’ Namjoon made himself clear. Jong-woo or any other, would never be an option. ‘I love my wife with every part of me, my mistakes don't take away from that,' Namjoon clenched his fists, speaking through gritted teeth, 'despite my biggest mistake, on my worst day, I'm more worthy for her than you.'
'Why are you making this personal, Namjoon? Listen,' Jong-woo curved around Namjoon, as if he wasn't trying to tame a feral panther that watched its prey, waiting for the right moment to strike. 'It would be better for you to be done with this before a scandal takes place. We all know no matter how many NDA's get signed, it only helps after the damage is done. You should smooth this over before it escalates.'
Yoongi moved to stand next to Ji-ho, getting closer to Namjoon should the need arise, his face filled with disbelief. 'Are you actually trying to convince him to divorce his wife, right now? And that you tried to get with her, to get her off his hands. Is that what you call having our best interests at heart? Are you absolutely fucked up in your head?'
'It's better than choosing to cheat, Yoongi. Namjoon, take me like a big brother, let me think about your safety and future. This is your career. I promise with a fair amount of money, y/n will be fine. A woman like her, she won't have any more reason to complain.'
Grabbing Jong-woo by his lapels, Namjoon pushed him up against the glass, uncaring that numerous staff stopped to watch. He had had enough.
'Joon-ah,' Yoongi cautioned as he and Ji-ho moved around the desk. Ji-ho played his part well, standing on Jong-woo's side, but putting zero force behind his grip on Namjoon's shoulder.
'Don't talk about my wife, ever.' Namjoon seethed. 'Talking down to her, threatening her, name her price, as if!' He pulled Jong-woo forward and pushed him against the glass again, for good measure. 'You don't ever try to go behind my back in the name of my best interest!'
Leaning further into his personal space, his breath practically fanning Jong-woo, Namjoon continued. 'Who are you Jong-woo? An experienced small time lawyer thrown in with the big leagues, managing a big band. You don't know me. You don't know my band members. Don't you dare act like you do!'
'I'm older than you Kim Namjoon!' Jong-woo pushed against the younger male, no sign of his dark humor and sick goading
'Then you should have had more sense!' Namjoon roared at him.
'This piece of paper,' Namjoon motioned with his head, 'is nothing! it will not stop me from protecting my wife. It definitely won't stop me from squeezing the life out of you for ever thinking you could go over my head.'
Jong-woo's face turned into a mask of fury, struggling against Namjoon's hold, the man's grip, vice-like and unrelenting. 'I was doing you a favour. I was thinking of you and this company. Your mess doesn't have to become more. But clearly you think too much of yourself.'
Namjoon stilled, a slow smile creeping onto his face. It didn't quite reach his eyes, just made him look even more terrifying.
'You had such a bright future ahead of you Jong woo, but…' He shook his head, as if discarding any concern he could have. 'I don't know why you went after my wife, I really don't care either.'
Namjoon adopted a mask of calm, everyone could tell he was anything but. 'You listen to me very carefully. My wife can't be bought. Y/n will be Mrs. Kim for as long as I live. You ever put my wife at risk, financially, physically, mentally, or ever threaten her ever again, let alone this company, you won't work at all.'
Namjoon's face was cloudy, every bit the dominant male, every bit the leader of the biggest boyband in the world, every single cell in his body thrumming with awareness that he was the husband of Kim Y/n.
'Management is on their way, the president will likely see you. Whatever deal they give you, take it,' his tone leaving no room for argument.
His fists curled, tighter, raising Jong-woo off his feet, so he would listen, so he would focus on Namjoon's next words specifically as the rage-filled male manhandled him.
'If you stay in this position, near me, near us,' Namjoon's voice, barely above a whisper, 'we will make your life a living hell. You are an ant, barely that, your existence, insignificant. I'm not violent, Jong-woo. I'm all nature, and greenery and zen, so when I say you fucked up, you. fucked. up.
Don't ever contact my wife again. Don't think about my wife ever again. Don't bother about revenge, Jong-woo, because if I see you outside these walls, outside a respectful capacity -- you don't want to know what I'm capable of doing to you.'
Setting him on his feet, Namjoon smoothed Jong-woo's collar. Painting a picture of respect they all knew was a mockery on its own, Namjoon's fingers found Jong-woo’s tie, then he used his forearm and pushed, enough force to crowd the man back against the glass, Namjoon's arm big enough to cover his chest, inches from Jong-woo's neck. Forcing eye contact with the lesser male, Namjoon growled, 'Do you understand?'
A ping of a cell phone broke through the air, but Namjoon's piercing gaze didn't waver. He dared the sleazy lawyer, at a loss for words for the first time since meeting him, to say anything more, to try anything else -- Namjoon promised he would have hell to pay.
And since being given his new position, Jong-woo did one thing correctly, he nodded his assent.
Breaking the tension of the atmosphere, Ji-ho pushed his phone toward Namjoon.
'Namjoon, you need to see this.'
Namjoon turned his attention to the screen, a new article published, mere seconds ago.
'BREAKING NEWS. Pictures from a bar in Kornerstreet. Hazey's bar, a popular idol hang out has pictures surfacing of idol rapper Kim Namjoon walking away from a female figure after getting out of a car with her. The male reportedly doesn't have a driver's license so it is safe to say it's not his car. Where is Kim Y/n, who is this woman and is there trouble in paradise?'
Yoongi, who was leaning around Namjoon, to get a read asked, 'Is y/n at work right now?'
Namjoon's blood ran cold. For once, he could admit, he was the biggest idiot in the world. If they were still talking, if there wasn't so much distance, if they communicated each other's schedules the way they usually would, like the couple did before he cheated on her, he might know where his wife was right then. Because the truth was, y/n could be anywhere and he wasn't sure where to even start looking for her.
Taglist - @casnextdoor @jaysdimples @belliebell @pinkcherrybombs @sweetjellyfishland @blushingatyou @jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue @somewhereinthestarss @k-brownsugar @namsona17 @taejinxkoya @notsooperfect @zae007live @its-hopes-world @shina913 @bri-mal @piecesofapril11 [open]
Part 5.5 - Reflection
Part 6 || Worthy
Part 7 - coming soon
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↳ kim namjoon x reader → ❝this is how you fall in love❞
summary: when you go to get your usual coffee and do some writing the last thing you expect is to share your table with kim namjoon.
word count: 1.2k+
tags/warnings: meet cute, fluff
a/n: i made my own meet cute for myself so this one is for my bestie @moon-write
It was a cold rainy day, the clouds had rolled in last night and showed no sign of leaving any time soon. You didn’t mind though, the gloomy weather only served as inspiration.
That’s how you ended up here, at your favorite coffee shop. They had your favorite coffee and even better the atmosphere was perfect for you to set up and write. It was busy today but your favorite corner, secluded but with a perfect view of the cozy weather, was open. You put your stuff down before going to order your drink.
Once you got your drink you settled down and opened up your laptop. The coffee shop got a rush of people, some staying, others leaving with their coffee.
“Excuse me,” You heard a deep voice bring you out of your concentration on your laptop. Looking up you saw a tall man wearing a hat, glasses, and a mask. “Do you mind if I sit here? I just wanted to read for a bit, I won’t bother you. There’s no other seats.”
Looking around you realized just how packed it had gotten. Your gaze returned to the man looking him over. You couldn’t see his face but there was something about him that was familiar. Realizing you were being quiet you spoke up finally.
“No, I don’t mind.” You said waving your hand to the open seat across from you.
“This is a good spot.” He said glancing out the window. “Sorry, I’ll let you focus.” He apologized.
“It’s okay,” You said smiling at him. He was very polite. Your gaze returned to your laptop as he pulled his book out. It was hard to focus, not because he was bothering you or anything but you wondered why he was so covered up. A mask, hat, or glasses wasn’t unusual but all together it seemed a bit much. Maybe he was shy. He was quite talkative for being shy. Maybe he was avoiding an ex-girlfriend. You laughed at the thought.
“I’m going to grab a dessert, did you want anything?” He asked. “It’s the least I can do for you sharing your spot with me.”
“Oh, no I’m fine.” You said. It was hardly a hardship having him sit across from you. Even if your thoughts kept distracting you. He nodded but you didn’t miss him glance at your nearly empty drink.
After a few minutes he returned with a muffin on a plate and a drink.
“I know you said you didn’t want anything but,” He glanced at your empty cup before setting it down.
“Thank you, you’re too sweet.” You smiled at him. You took a drink from the cup showing your appreciation.
Silence fell over the two of you for a moment. You glanced up at him looking at the book he was reading. You couldn’t help but try and make small talk. There was something about him that interested you. Maybe it was just how attractive his voice sounded or maybe it was a natural charisma he had even through the few words you exchanged. You told yourself it was the latter.
“What are you reading?” You asked. His head turned up to you. You hoped you weren’t bothering him but when he took his glasses off revealing pretty brown eyes you figured he wasn’t too bothered.
“It’s a book on art,” He started, he happily explained everything about it. You could see the way his eyes lit up and it made you smile as you listened. A lot of it sounded above your head, it was clear how smart he was.
“I’m sorry, I said too much-” He said stopping himself.
“No, not at all.” You said waving your hand. “I asked and I’m more happy to listen.”
It didn’t take long for his talking to turn into a conversation, it was really nice talking to him. He was clearly intelligent and very considerate asking you questions about yourself or what you thought of something.
At some point you noticed how the coffee shop had emptied but neither of you moved to separate tables. More time passed it was just the two of you and the staff that had disappeared to the backrooms.
He was laughing about something when he pulled his face mask off. It took you a moment, for a second you thought you might be imagining things. He glanced up at you realizing what he had done.
“Do you have any pets?” You asked trying to sound casual as if you hadn’t just realized Kim Namjoon was sitting across from you. “I have cats, they’re really cute-”
He watched you curiously he had noticed the look of recognition in your face but you kept talking as if nothing had happened.
“My name’s Namjoon.” He said ignoring your question about pets.
“Oh,” You said. “I know. It just felt rude to point it out.”
Namjoon laughed before asking your name. You told him. The two of you kept on talking, the revelation not changing your chemistry.
It was only when his phone started ringing that your conversation came to a pause. It had an urgent tone to it, Namjoon sighing after the person on the other line said something.
“So much for a day off.” He sighed after hanging up. “Would it be rude to ask for your number?”
“Oh,” That was the last thing you had expected. “No. It wouldn’t.”
The smile he gave you nearly stopped your heart. It had to be illegal to be that good looking. Not that you were going to complain. He handed you his phone and you put in your number.
“I’d like to take you to dinner,” He said, an almost shy tone to his voice. Maybe you were imagining it. You hardly would think a man so confident on stage could really be shy about asking you to dinner. “To thank you for sharing your table.”
“It’s okay, honestly it made my day a lot better.” You said and he smiled. “But I wouldn’t say no to seeing you again.” You almost shocked yourself with the burst of confidence. His smile got even bigger.
“Okay,” He said standing up gathering his stuff. “I wish I could talk longer but I have to go. It was nice meeting you.”
Namjoon reached out taking your hand in his, it was warm and slightly rough but comforting.
“It was nice talking to you.” You said. “I look forward to it again.”
“Good-bye,” He said letting go of your hand with a hesitation that said he didn’t want to let go.
“Bye,” You said almost breathless.
Kim Namjoon. You had been talking to him all morning and hadn’t even realized. You turned your attention back to your laptop not that you could focus much anymore.
Not more than ten minutes later your phone buzzed and you looked down to the notification from an unknown number.
Dinner tomorrow night? rm
You couldn’t hold back the smile on your lips as you text him back not concerned about seeming to eager.
Your phone buzzed again before you could put it down.
Can’t wait. I’ll pick you up. rm
You had a date with Kim Namjoon. You didn’t contain the small happy dance you did in the empty coffee shop. You had a date with Kim Namjoon. Anxiety hit you for a moment. You needed to go get an outfit. You quickly gathered your stuff and left.
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best friends tell secrets.
summary: it’s been a year since namjoon moved overseas, someone who has unexpectedly became your best friend. what better way to celebrate then to share a fun secret or two with each other?
pairing: kim namjoon x reader
genre: f2l, fluff
word count: 1.6k
important note: dialogue in italicized font indicates Korean is being spoken, while regular font means they are speaking English.
a/n: this has been collecting dust in my drafts for like a month & i need it out~ i got this idea from an episode of grey’s anatomy @btsroyalwilds and i watched, it was too good and fluffy not to write an inspired drabble after! rightfully, i gotta dedicate this to jordan until i can write her a proper jk fic 😎 make sure you read the important note or this will make absolutely no sense lol.
Since the dawn of time, well since you met him anyway, you knew Kim Namjoon would be a constant in your life. Maybe it was the goofiness of your meeting, you walking down the concrete path that followed the river going one way, him riding his bicycle heading the other way. But distracted by the reflection of the sun on the water, as you would find out in the years following about your clumsy friend, he veered a little too far left and nearly crashed into you if not for the shriek that leaped from your throat-watch out!
He wobbled to the right until he and his bike safely ran into the fence, his sneakered feet clamoring for a steady footing, looking behind his broad shoulder in search of you. He had to be sure you were okay, which you were. After a flurry of apologies, the two of you started a conversation that never ended.
He was your best friend. The one you turned to when nothing made sense and you were hanging onto that last shred of hope, threatening to let it go. Namjoon was always there to remind you that even at the end of your rope, you could still find happiness.
And you did, every single time. Of course, he contributed to your joy. He knew that. You were the very best of friends.
The last traces of summer linger in the evening air, the sky painted an array of colors that reflect in Namjoon’s coke-bottle glasses every time he looks at you to say something. Even when he keeps his gaze ahead, you can’t help but sit forward a little bit just to see it. The sight tickled your insides, and you needed it to keep that joy in you. He was used to this habit of yours by now, sometimes turning his head so you could get a better view.
You laugh, sitting back against the tree, both of your legs stretched out in front of you, and his bicycle resting next to him. He shuts his eyes, somehow still bashful after a year of you doing it, pinching his lips together with a snorted laugh falling out of him.
In turn, Namjoon was restless, unsure if he could ever repay you for your friendship. Born and raised in Korea, moving overseas was a culture shock. He was sure there wasn’t another friend like you (except for his friends back home in Korea.) He didn’t care that his glasses made you giggle, or that you scolded his clumsiness. You had become his best friend, you became a safe space.
You wiggle your foot and successfully tap his shoe, “happy 1 year,” you twist your head, the bark beneath the tree coming loose and likely tangling in your hair, “how do you feel about it?”
He sighs, the heavy breath sounding content, free. He doesn’t look at you, too wrapped up in the sun that was sinking lower, golden streaks running across the rippling water, “good, a little less scared.”
“Mm,” you chuckle, leaning your head on his shoulder, “I’m proud of you Joonie.”
“Yeah?” He asks, watching as you sit upright and nod, lips perched with confidence.
“Does this city feel a little more like home now?” You push his shoulder, making him look at you this time.
A deep hum bellows in his chest, his short, fluffy strands catching in the breeze. He looks at you a little bit longer this time, usually, eye contact with him was, well, awkward. He couldn’t hold your gaze, much less anyone else’s, for more than a few seconds before his onyx eyes were darting for another area to look at, either that or he was clamming them shut. His honey skin took on a blushed color that had you snickering behind your hand.
You blink and he inhales, effectively coming back to life though the small smile on his perfect lips never disappeared while he stared at you. How long was that-15 seconds maybe?
“It does,” he finally says.
He notices your eyebrows lift, the whites of your eyes becoming more visible. It makes him laugh, “what, surprised?”
“Honestly, yeah,” you suddenly need to look at your wrist, place your fingers around it to squeeze because he won’t stop looking at you now, “I thought you’d be ready to go back to your real home now.”
But you, you became his home. Everything began and ended with you the moment you two met.
“If I ever go back, I have to complete my quest first,” he tips his head to look at you, you respond with an arched brow; “I can’t leave without successfully teaching you Korean.”
You smack your hand against your face, face flushed with embarrassment, “I’m a terrible student, aren’t I?”
He falls apart while you do, giggling and hiding your face from him, rambling on about how you need to be more disciplined before repeating certain phrases in Korean that you do remember.
“It’s a good thing I’m a patient teacher,” the way he speaks his native tongue makes your insides melt in ways you’ve never felt before.
“Best student,” you say brokenly and the two of you become lost in a fit of laughter and teases.
“Ah, well, how should we celebrate my year anniversary?” He muses, noticing that your hand is still around your wrist, moving it away. He never minded this other habit of yours, he found it cute. But he also didn’t want you to form a ring around your skin that would only grow more irritated with time.
You sniffle a laugh, “hmm…oh!” Your head springs up, eyes full of light and shining directly into his, “tell me something I don’t know, that’s a fun thing, right?”
His shoulders start to move as he bounces with laughter when he realizes how serious you are, “like a secret?” You nod at him for confirmation.
“Yeah, come on,” you chide, playfully smacking his knee, “best friends tell each other secrets, right?” He looks forward again but you watch as his lips spread into a wide grin, “ooh, Joonies’ got a good one.”
“Ok ok, I’ll tell you a secret-”
You squeal like a little girl before settling further into the grassy floor beneath you. Butterflies swarm his insides.
“Meeting you has been the greatest thing about moving here,” he says in one swift breath.
You instantly pout and he snorts, covering his laugh with his hand; “you’re so funny, Joon.”
“Sorry, okay-sorry,” he says between giggles.
“Seriously this time!” You whine, pushing his arm. He catches your hand before you can swat him, your hands staying together when they drop to the ground but neither of you notices.
“I want my heart to belong to you and I want to hold onto yours,” his expression is playful but you notice how his voice drops an octave. It makes your mouth twitch.
“Joon!” You cry, unable to keep from laughing. He pulls onto your hand that’s still held in his, lilted laughter falling out of him. His eyes dart all over your face, cheeks glowing pink.
“You know I can just translate that right,” your fingers curl around his palm, “I have an app!”
He shakes his head, squeezing your hand back but the moment becomes lost to the teasing nature of this conversation.
“No, come on,” he rests back onto the tree, head turned and eyes on you, “you’re a better student than you think, figure it out.” He gulps, smiling. You bunch your lips together, eyes slitting and looking back at him.
“Okay,” you clear your throat, fingers gliding across the soft skin of his knuckles, “you already have my heart.”
His mouth instantly rounds, eyes popping open. You can feel his palm grow sweaty while he uses the other to grab onto the back of his neck. Your heart batters inside of your chest, mouth twitching.
You link your fingers between his, “I’ve been learning with a private tutor for the last year, and I wanted to surprise you-”
His eyes shape into half-moons while a closed smile spreads his cheeks, “sneaky.”
You grow timid, skin growing warm beneath his stuck gaze, “still needs a lot of work but-” you shrug with a tipped smile.
He shakes his head, “you sound perfect.”
The thing is, this city was always missing something. You traipsed it as a child with your parents, as you got older with your friends, but there was a lack as you walked the uneven pavement. Until you met him, Kim Namjoon, best friend of one year.
Home never felt like home until he came stumbling into your life. Literally.
He tightens his fingers around yours, bringing your hand up to his lips and brushing a kiss across your palm. He follows the lines of your skin with ghostly kisses leaving you in a heap before he’s looking at you, pulling you forward in all his clumsiness making your noses bump. His breath tickles your lips.
“Kiss me?” You soothe. He’s not smooth, he’s not slow. His lips push against yours in the only way you expect Namjoon to do it. You chuckle against his lips before molding them together. His lips move hastily, but it’s all you want as he moves to press them against your cheek, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you close. He moves again and settles his lips against your temple, chuckling after a moment.
“You know that you can only speak to me in Korean now, right?” He muffles against your skin. You drop your face against his shoulder, moving your head back and forth.
He rubs your back with slow strokes, “it’s cute,” he smiles. You sit back up, hands resting on top of his shoulders. His eyes don’t shake this time while he looks at you, using his hand to pinch your chin.
“You’re cute,” he whispers, voice vibrating between the two of you.
You can’t help but smile, “I like telling secrets.”
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Food Wars | KNJ - Teaser
Pairing: Swimmer!Namjoon x reader (college!au, e2l)
Genre: fluff, romance, smut
Warnings: teaser has none | fic: language, consensual drunk sex, food play, mentions of alcohol (and more)
Summary: You’re not the best of cooks if you were to admit it to yourself, but you prided in being a great baker. What your bechamel lacked in consistency, your chocolate ganache made up for it. Taking extra credits this year was a must to fulfill your graduation requirements, so you naturally picked the easiest of courses - cooking. What was meant to be an easy mark turns into an episode of Hell’s Kitchen when you get paired with the worst possible student in the class for your final project.
Word count: 995 (teaser) | fic: ~ 12k?
rating : 18+
Coming soon: 25th of October!
A/N: This is for @btshoneyhive collab College Enemies 101 , check out the masterlist here! Thank you @hobipaint for looking over this for me. If you want to be notified when the fic is out please let me know.
Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for both the work and the banner
As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3
Sᴏɴɢ: Uɴᴅᴏɴᴇ - Tᴀʏʟᴏʀ Oᴄᴀɴᴏ
“Namjoon, no!” You watched in slow motion how he picked up the container of salt and dumped it in your batter. The batter you spent hours perfecting, the batter that only needed a pinch of salt and a spoonful of sugar. The sugar which you specifically placed next to him, even pointed at it telling him to add it in after he’s finished mixing the contents in the bowl. Yet, he still reached for the salt placed far away at the other end of the counter. You didn’t know whether it was because he really hated you or if he was that bad at cooking, all you knew was that the hours you spent creating this recipe have all been for nothing.
Your incredulous look at the now ruined batter, created a comical resemblance to a fish and Namjoon couldn’t help but laugh. “You look like Nemo.” He pointed at you snickering under his breath. His commentary did nothing to amuse you, instead the rage that was slowly bubbling up inside threatened to explode as you fixed your glare onto him.
“Do not even go there! How can you be so-” Arms raised in frustration you were seconds away from pulling out your own hair. “Ugh!” Before you could say something else and before the spatula you were carrying in your hand could become a handy weapon you stalked angrily toward the bowl on the counter and picked it up.
“Ok Y/N, calm down, it’s just a batch! It’s fixable!” He raised his hands in front of himself in an attempt to protect himself from your wrath and maybe even pacify you. “You don’t need to get your panties in a twist.” He scoffed you and you prayed to all the cooking Gods there were out there that he stopped talking before you attacked him with the bread mixer.
“I am not getting my panties in any twist Namjoon! You had a job to do!” Pointing your finger at him, you approached him menacingly, your nostrils flaring. “I specifically pointed at the sugar!”
If Namjoon were to admit, he should’ve recognised the tell-tale signs of an argument brewing in between the two of you. However, the need to retaliate and protect what little was left of his pride and cooking skills made him act. “How is it my fault, they look the same! And if you weren’t so anal about these things, you wouldn’t have decided to put them both in the same type of bowl!” Despite his exasperation he didn’t raise his voice, the neutral tone with which he responded to you putting fuel on the fire. Ready to strike back with another comment at how his lack of skills matched his lack of perception you made your way towards him, the spatula still firmly gripped in your hand as you waved it around like a sword.
“This is not Master Chef Y/N, you’re not the best cook out there nor do we need to make this a cooking show! It’s just a stupid class we need to pass!” The hurt that flashed in your eyes at his statement made him pause and his heart clenched, the verbal diarrhoea he was about to unleash completely stuck in his throat.
Namjoon realised he needed to put an end to this before things got out of hand and what was said in between the two of you left your relationship irreparable. What he didn’t realise was that his spatial awareness was as bad as his cooking skills. For the second time in the span of ten minutes you watched horrified as your efforts have been egged with a swipe of the giant man’s hand. Pun intended.
Namjoon knew he’d fucked up the moment his elbow hit the container of eggs. He had a split of a second to determine whether or not he was going to run and hide or face the consequences of his actions. His fate already decided when his feet refused to move, he closed his eyes as your voice pierced through his eardrums. Despite the commotion, there was no big explosion nor was there a significant sound other than the splatter of the eggs. He wasn’t sure if you’d carried on shouting or if the sound of your voice reverberating through his skull was a result of the silence that settled over the both of you, but it only made him more anxious to open his eyes. When a few seconds had passed and he hadn’t been attacked with a spatula he decided it was safe to open his eyes.
“Y/N?” His voice sounded unsure, your hunched up form was a sight he was not expecting to see. “Are- are you ok?” He approached you cautiously, in case you decided to strike with the kitchen utensils at him. The closer he got to you, the clearer it was to him that your quivering form wasn’t a sign of anger. Instead your soft whimpers triggered his instincts immediately. Recognition dawned on his face and his face scrunched up in remorse. What had he done?
“Y/N, I’m sorry I-” He crouched down next to you, his hand hesitatingly reaching out for yours. He did sound apologetic, his face dropping at the sight of your red and blotchy one. In that moment you didn’t care how bad he felt, or how the butterflies you’ve harboured in our stomach reacted to him. You hated him.
“You’ve managed to single-handedly ruin not only my effort and the hours I’ve spent trying to come up with this recipe.” If looks could kill, Namjoon was certain he would be buried under 6 feet of dough by now. “But you’ve also destroyed any chance we may have had at passing this class!” You could feel the frustration and anger bubbling deep in you and before you could stop the words they tumbled out of your mouth so effortlessly it scared you.
“I hate you Kim Namjoon!”
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House of Hope/Chapter 14/save me
Pairing: OT7 x Reader, OT7 x OT7
Details: hybrid!bts, a/b/o dynamics, asexual!reader
Summary: Namjoon runs into trouble during his pack initiation.
Warnings: The recognizable names and personalities do not reflect their real life counterparts. prejudice, anxiety, abuse/violence, sketchy law enforcement
The eight of you looked around waterfront property while you waited for Jo to return with supplies for the initiation.
Waterfront was literal in this case. The house was directly on the shore of a small lake—a private lake with its own pier and fishing boat that Jin was excited to take out.
“Aren’t you supposed to be scared of water, kitty-cat?” Hoseok teased.
Jin rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure—“ He clutched his chest, groaning dramatically. “Oh, Hoseok-ah, help me, I’m so scared!” Hoseok laughed.
“I’ll save you, hyung!” Jungkook said, running up and pushing Hoseok hard off the pier.
“Hoseok!” You cried out worriedly. He surfaced a moment later, spluttering. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He looked at Jungkook. “Come closer, Jungkook-ah.”
Jungkook’s eyes widened. “No. I’m fine here.”
“Come on, I just want to talk to you.”
“I don’t think so…”
“We could do sashimi…” Jin said, still eyeing the boat. “Ah, but Namjoon-ah doesn’t like fish… surf and turf?” You reached down to help Hoseok out of the water, only for him to pull you in with him. You could hear them laughing as you splashed around wildly.
“It’s not funny!” You protested. “I can’t swim!”
“Oh shit.” Hoseok grabbed onto you. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. Please—stop thrashing around.” He flinched as you accidentally smacked him in the face. “Okay, maybe I deserved that…” You tried to regulate your breathing. One of his hands held you steady as you bobbed in the water, the other rubbing over your back. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you said. “You didn’t know.”
“Come out of there,” Jin called down to you. “Let’s get you dried off.”
By the time you had showered and changed, Jo was back with the supplies. He made sure you had everything you needed before he left again. He was staying at a hotel in order to give the pack some privacy. You had offered to go with him, but everyone had assured you they wanted you to stay.
You were in charge of leading the blindfolded members one by one to various locations on the property to wait for Namjoon to find them.
Once everyone was set in place, you went to tell Namjoon. You walked to the edge of the pier. He was sitting with his legs dangling, feet just touching the water.
He looked up. You stared into his amber eyes for a moment, trying to read his expression. Was he scared? Excited?
“It’s time,” you told him.
You paced the length of the living room, staring out at the rain thrashing against the high windows. Namjoon had estimated he would need about an hour to find everyone. It had now been three hours.
Why was it raining? It hadn’t say anything about rain on the weather report. What if he couldn’t find them? What if they caught a cold? What if— a crash of thunder interrupted your thoughts.
You took deep breaths, trying to think logically. With all of this rain, there was a very real possibility that Namjoon wouldn’t be able to follow their scents like he was supposed to. And many of their positions hadn’t been sheltered, meaning they were out there getting soaking wet as you stood here panicking.
But if you left the house and interfered with the initiation, would Namjoon’s chance at joining the pack be ruined? He would be heartbroken, they all would be.
What if you just went out to check on them? If you didn’t tell Namjoon where they were, that wouldn’t be interfering, right?
You’d have to take the chance.
You pulled on the raincoat Jin had insisted you pack, clutching a powerful flashlight Yoongi had complained Jungkook had nearly blinded him with, and pushed out into the wind and rain.
You could barely see your hand in front of your face. You followed the flashlight’s wavering beam, trying to remember exactly where everyone had been. Jungkook had been closest to the house, seated on a large boulder near the water. When you got to the rock, he was nowhere to be seen. That was… okay, right? Namjoon probably had already found him. Namjoon had probably found him and they were together, and safe. After passing what you thought should be the next spot, you realized you must have veered off course. The ground beneath you was road, not sand. You sought shelter in a bus stop, searching through your phone to find the next logical location. You spotted a tunnel on the map. You remembered from planning your route home that the tunnel was closed off. Maybe the boys had sought shelter there? It wasn’t too far from your current location.
The tunnel was dimly lit by flickering construction lights. Men’s voices echoed off the walls. It sounded like they were arguing. You had a bad feeling about this. You snuck forward. Your eyes widened.
There was warmth all around you, a hand over your mouth.
“Careful, kitten,” Yoongi said in your ear, barely a whisper. “Don’t want them to hear you.”
Three men were standing around a black van. The back of the van was open, revealing several stacked cages filled with animals. The two largest cages held a golden retriever, who was lying worriedly still on his side, and a rabbit larger and longer than your torso.
Namjoon was kneeling on the ground, his hands tied behind his back.
“Why won’t you shift?” One of the men complained. Namjoon didn’t answer, just glared at him. Anger filled your body. You wanted to hurt these men. You wanted to rip into them with your teeth and— wait, what?
The man raised a rectangle and Namjoon’s whole body jerked, sparks flying around him. A taser. Yoongi’s arms tightened around you. The man laughed. Another man slapped his arm.
“Ease up, you’re gonna damage the merchandise.”
The sparks died down, although Namjoon was still shuddering, panting heavily.
“If he doesn’t shift, the collar won’t fit—it’ll be harder to transport him,” the first man grumbled.
“I mean, he’s a fucking wolf, he’s going to be hard to transport regardless,” the third man pointed out. “Let’s just wait until the second van gets here and throw him in the back, shifted or not.”
“Yeah.” The first man sighed. “Alright.”
Yoongi lowered his hand from your mouth, and pulled you by the wrist out of the tunnel. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. You pulled off your hood and unzipped your coat, hoping the cool drops would clear your mind.
“How can we help?” You whispered. Yoongi shook his head, frowning.
“There’s already too many poachers for me to fight. One of ours could get hurt. But if the second van comes with reinforcements…” The wind picked up. You shivered as your clothes billowed around you. A horrible shriek rang out from the tunnel. Yoongi’s eyes widened. He ran back into the tunnel. You followed.
“What the hell happened?” The men were asking each other.
“What set him off?”
The cages in the back of the van were shaking. Rabbit Kook was kicking at his cage, screaming. Your chest hurt. Jungkook was so scared. He needed you—you needed to go to him. Yoongi grabbed you before you could move forward. You struggled against him.
“You can’t,” he whispered.
“But Yoongi—he needs me!” You whispered back.
“…I need you to be safe,” he said. You bit your lip, holding back tears.
One of the men looked at Namjoon.
“You’re his alpha, right? Shut him up before I do!”
“Kook-ah, it’s okay,” Namjoon told him gently. “It’s okay.”
Yoongi pulled you against the wall, further into the shadows. Another van was driving into the tunnel. Your heart thudded.
“Finally!” The man said. And then, “Oh shit!”
The lights glinted off the lettering on the side of the van—Hybrid Control. The poachers scrambled, rushing into the van. Lights flooded from the other side of the tunnel, another Hybrid Control van. They were boxed in. The uniformed officers flooded out of the van, shouting for the poachers to get down on the ground.
“You there—come out into the light!” One of the officers shouted, pointing a bright flashlight at your faces. Yoongi hissed. You blinked, your vision bleary as you stepped out into the open.
“Why is it screaming like that? Is he feral?” One of the officers asked, hitting Jungkook’s cage with the butt of his gun. Yoongi growled. The officer eyed him. “What about that one?”
Another officer snorted.
“Are you stupid? Human-form hybrids can’t go feral.”
The first officer shrugged. “Yeah, well… you never know.”
“Please,” Namjoon said, stumbling to his feet. “Let me help him. I’m his—“
“Hey!” An officer shoved him, stepping on Namjoon’s back to keep him down. “No one said you could move!”
Yoongi growled again.
“I’m serious, I think that one needs a tranquilizer!” The wary officer said.
“No!” You said, gripping Yoongi’s arm. “It’s fine—he’s fine—don’t hurt him, please!” Several of the officers laughed.
“She’s jumpy—are we sure she’s not a rabbit too?”
“Hasn’t got the ears,” one of the officers said, tapping the top of your head. Yoongi hissed, maneuvering you behind him.
“Don’t touch her!”
The officer rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
“You should really train your hybrid better, miss,” another officer said. “He’ll get in trouble, acting like that.” You frowned.
“Let Namjoon up,” you said, pointing.
“Might be a safety risk,” the officer on top of him said.
“Please.” You bowed low. “I promise they’ll behave.”
The officer sighed. “Yeah, alright.” He got up. You and Yoongi ran over to Namjoon, pulling him in for a hug, Yoongi immediately scenting along his neck. Namjoon grunted.
“Careful,” he muttered in your ear, wrapping one arm around you. You felt his hand brushing across your back. “I’m sore…” You drew away from him, frowning apologetically. Yoongi gently touched the side of Namjoon’s face, which was scraped and bleeding slightly. He growled again. “I’m fine, hyung.”
And then the door flew off of Jungkook’s cage. The officers all reacted immediately, pointing their guns at the shaking rabbit.
“No! No!” You and Yoongi both ran at Jungkook, placing yourselves in front of him. There was a rush of heat next to you, and suddenly a panther was standing in front of you, mouth open in a snarl.
“Now can we tranq him?” The one officer asked the others.
“No!” You said again, trying to push Yoongi behind you.
“Get out of the way, bitch!” One of the officers reached out, grabbing you by the hair and pulling you sharply to the side. You fell forward, your knee bashing into the ground. You gasped at the sting.
“Yoongi, stand down,” Namjoon said calmly yet firmly. He was holding up a cellphone—your cellphone, when had he gotten that?—and pointing it at the officers. He taped at the phone. “You better leave, officers, unless you want this footage released to the public.”
You sat up slowly, ready to grab Yoongi in case he decided to pounce.
“Can’t we just take the phone from him?” One of the officers spoke up as everyone looked around at each other. “He’s a brat, we should teach him a lesson.”
“I’m a lot of things,” Namjoon said, smirking. “Including someone who has just texted this footage to his lawyer.”
“…Let’s move off,” the officer said. “Bring in the poachers.”
“Yeah, yeah, alright.”
You waited, sitting on the ground silently until Hybrid Control moved off. Then you jumped to your feet, ignoring the ache of your knee, moving to the back of the poachers’ van and the cages. Jimin and Jin were crowded into one cage together. Taehyung was in another. Jimin stuck his paw between the bars. You reached out and held onto him.
“What’s wrong with Hoseok?” You asked. You were relieved to see him breathing, but worried he hadn’t woken during all the commotion.
“Tranquilizer gun,” Namjoon said as he and Taehyung stared at each other. “Luckily they only had one. Taehyung-ah broke it after Hoseokie…” Taehyung shuffled guiltily in his cage. Namjoon reached through the bars to scratched behind Taehyung’s ears. “No, no, it’s not your fault. You did good, Tae, really.” Taehyung chirped. “I think the keys were on one of the poachers—hyung, can you pick locks?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi said. You turned to look at him and froze. He was back in human form, completely naked, his modesty only preserved by rabbit Kook’s large body that he was hugging to his chest. “But somebody’s gotta hold Kookie—he hurt his foot.” Jungkook’s nose twitched in embarrassment. “No, it’s alright, maknae, I’ve done stupid shit like that before too.”
“I’ll hold him,” you offered.
“You sure, [F/N]-yah?” Yoongi stepped closer to you. “He’s heavy.”
“Yeah…” You frowned at him as you took Jungkook into your arms. He wriggled around until his face was pressed against your neck. “Where are your clothes?”
“Ripped to shreds,” Yoongi said, peeling a piece of black cloth off his shoulder. His nose wrinkled. “I liked this shirt…”
“You have about five others just like it,” Namjoon said. He rustled through a pile of clothes, picking out Hoseok’s shirt and Jimin’s jeans. “Wear these instead.” You frowned confusedly. If Yoongi was wearing those, what would they wear?
“Is that really a priority right now?” Yoongi wondered.
“Well, it’s raining, so you’ll all be cold,” you figured. Namjoon tossed the clothes at him. You looked away as he got dressed, stroking Jungkook’s head.
“Well, the others will be warmer, since they’ll have fur rather than skin,” Namjoon figured.
“Why wouldn’t they change back?” You wondered.
“Poachers typically carry two kinds of dart guns—tranquilizers, and darts that force us to shift into our animal forms, since it’s usually easier to transport us that way. The others will be stuck in their animal forms until it wears off,” Namjoon explained.
“So I’ll be the only one making you blush tonight, kitten,” Yoongi purred.
You groaned. “Yoongi…” You couldn’t help it if you were shy—even without sex, nudity still seemed intimate to you. But maybe you wanted that intimacy with him. You wanted to trace the lines of his body with ink on paper. You wanted to ask him about every scar, if he would let you.
“What? I’m glad to see I can still fluster you even if you aren’t attracted to me like that.” He held his hand out. “Hair clip.” You undid the clip in your hair and held it out to him. “Thank you~” He kissed your fingers as he took the clip.
You sighed and hid your face against Jungkook’s fur. He clicked his teeth happily.
“Hyung, four members of our pack are locked up—now really isn’t the time for flirting,” Namjoon reprimanded.
“We almost died,” Yoongi reminded him as he got to work on Jin and Jimin’s cage. “I think right now is the perfect time for flirting.”
“Hmm.” Namjoon reached over, smoothing down the collar of Hoseok’s shirt. “Looks good on you, hyung,” he said. “You should wear color more often.” Yoongi froze, staring at him. Namjoon smirked. You winced as Jungkook’s teeth clicked near your ear. Inside the cage, Jin squeaked indignantly. You cleared your throat.
After Yoongi unlocked the cages, he and Namjoon carefully undid the shock collars around their necks. Namjoon was checking over Jungkook’s injury when you got a frantic call from Jo.
“I don’t really know what happened,” you told him honestly.
“Put him on speaker,” Namjoon said. He placed Jungkook on top of the others, who were all cuddling around Yoongi.
Namjoon explained how he had tracked everyone down and was getting ready to head back when it started to rain heavily. They went to seek shelter in the tunnel, which Namjoon had recalled as being closed for construction, but instead came across a trio of poachers. The pack got into a fight with the poachers, during which Taehyung had stolen the keys off of one of the poachers and freed the hybrids who had been locked up in the back of the truck. Unfortunately, they lost the fight and were captured instead, except for Yoongi who managed to get away.
“I’m a coward,” Yoongi said quietly. “I abandoned my pack, I—”
Namjoon shushed him, rubbing his shoulder.
“You were being smart. There were too many of them, and you couldn’t avoid their darts forever. You kept yourself safe and bide your time to take action.”
Yoongi frowned. “I… don’t do well when I’m forced to transform. I was worried I would go feral and hurt one of you…” His brow furrowed. “But, Namjoon-ah, they hit you with several darts—how did you resist?”
Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck.
“I don’t know for sure… but my pack—my birth pack… was very strict about transformation training from a young age. I’ve always had good control over it.”
“…I’m jealous,” Yoongi admitted.
“Maybe I could teach you,” Namjoon offered.
Yoongi smiled. “Worth a try.”
It was barely raining as you walked back to the lake house. Namjoon was holding Hoseok. You were holding Jungkook. Jimin was perched on Yoongi’s shoulders. Yoongi was complaining that Jimin should walk since he was able to, but you could see the slight curl in the corner of his lips.
“You two look cute,” you couldn’t help commenting. Yoongi blushed slightly.
Jin meowed. “No way,” Yoongi said. “I’m not carrying both of you, hyung.” Namjoon laughed.
That night Yoongi pushed the coffee table out of the way and started piling blankets and pillows onto the carpet. Then he started forming a soft circle.
“What’re you doing?” You wondered. Namjoon blinked.
“Hyung, are you… nesting?”
“Shut up,” Yoongi grunted. He placed Hoseok in the middle of the nest. Jimin and Jin nestled against him, Jimin kneading at Jin’s stomach for a moment before Jin swiped at him to stop. Namjoon chuckled. Taehyung barked excitedly. Namjoon shushed him.
“Let them rest.” He scooped Tae up, and placed him into the pile before lying down himself, curling his body around them. Jungkook squirmed in your arms.
“Okay, okay,” you said. “We’ll join them.” Yoongi nodded.
@rrrrap-monster @fangirl125reader @asja-the-hoarder @mrcleanheichou @tinyoonsblog @mcusuperfreak @h0biversed @forvever-ddaeng @a-noona-mous @weallneednamjesus @singukieee @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh @strawberryybobatae @sachaa-ff @zae007live @colourlyhobbit @bunzom @inlovewithhonestlyeveryone @faceaeter @taradevonne @cestlabellemort @agustdjoon @childfmoonn @yoursoontobestepmom
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Summary: Jin adopts 2 hybrid bunnies, you and Jungkook. The first night home isn't easy.
Warnings:ANGST, hinting of past a*use
"Ohh Jungkook-ah, you really like Yoongi's cookies huh? Don't tell him where you got it from okay? Shh our secret."
"Yes Jin-hyung!" Kook smiles eagerly, making it his destiny to be in on a secret with Jin. Anything to be closer. Jin smiled with his pouty lips, eyes shining down at Kook. The lights in his bedroom bouncing off his brown eyes making them look softer. They were on the carpet in front of his bed, opposite the mirror. Kook was sitting between Jin's knees in pjs, gave Jin a bit of a struggle to dry his hair with how tall he was.
It only got worse when Kook started playing with the rug. He loved how plush and luscious the carpet was here, when you stepped on it ,it felt as soft as a mattress. He kept drawing on it with his fingers, amazed by the texture. I tried it too, writing my name and his..the sun...a triangle... till Jin saw me in the mirror.
Jin blow dried Jungkook's hair and floppy bunny ears, the blow dryer on something he called 'natural wind' whatever that meant.
Kook was always so naturally receptive to any kindness. It made me feel this underlying jealously at how easily he could let Jin touch him. And he shouldn't share that with anybody but me! How could he?
I bundled deeper in my blanket, in the corner in front of his cupboard. My floppy ears drooping around my face. I used them to dry the little tears. I held my stuffed carrot to my chest looking down at his smiling face.
I pulled my hands out of the sleeves of the sweater Jin gave me-the sleeves were strawberry pink with green fuzzy wrists. I brought my arms to my chest to get warmer, tucking my feet under it too,holding my knees.
Jin had rescued us from the hybrid shelter, he'd just saved us. How did Kook open up to him so quickly? It made me worry that he was using scent blockers to mask something bad. The trainers wore them so we couldn't smell the odor that come with anger or pain. It made it easy for them to surprise us.
"More dryer please!" Jin smiled, letting Kook get some of the blow dryers' air in his face. He loved feeling warm.
"Okay kookie, let's get yn warmed up now hm?" Jin walked over to me.
I put my arms back through the sleeves holding my arms in front of my face.
"I won't hurt you little one, come on,let's dry your hair."
I sniffled hiding into the blanket. He put me in his lap, shifting my hair to see the scar on my forehead. I stilled."I'm sorry, Seokjin! It was my fault I was being bad,"
"Did the staff do this?" He asked holding my cheeks.
I could slap myself, he wasn't my friend. He was going to be our master I had to address him with respect. How could I forget that?,"I deserved it Soekjin-ssi. I'm sorry you don't like it. I got the lesson honest, I won't talk too much anymore!"
"No that's no...I." he sighed pulling me and Kookie close. I latched onto him, this very much might be the last time I hold him before Jin sends me away. Last time I was ever held. I wanted it only because I was unsure if I was going to receive it again.Kookie held onto me knowing how this would go, tears filled up his eyes, snot running down his face. He sniffled out pleas to keep us both,face buried deep into Jin's neck, absorbing as much of his scent as possible.
"Baby, babies please listen to me please. Nobody is going home, you both are staying here. This is your forever home." He looked deeply into my eyes,holding my cheeks, "You didn't deserve this. You're too precious for this. Baby please I know it's hard to understand, but you didn't deserve this and you never will. I'll never do this to you, okay? To either of you."
"Yes Jin-hyung,"koo squeaked.
"Yes Jin-hyung," I copied,snot everywhere,"please can I have blow dryer too?''
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Caught in a Snow Storm - Part 41
Idol!Namjoon x Idol!YN AU
Previous - MasterList - Next
Taglist (OPEN): @leahknox @aliceluckycharm @chieftoadturkeynickel @knjsagustd @lochness-butmakeitsexy @darkskin-buttercup @preciouschimine @tar0txsailor@jeminiepabo @john-joong @just-jeon @salty-for-suga@wordsaremyswords @somelazysundays @sweetjellyfishland @r4yih @halesandy @arminandjeanandannieandhange @s4ilor-m4rs @missmadwoman @zxlla @theestrangeddreamer@jaiuneamesolitaiire @lyra0cassiopeia @silentkei @fairygirl18 @joyfullyobsessed @letmebreathepls @heyitsbreeeeee @wholockian1 @xxew-pineapplezxx @cursedblood707 @ryugujii-ken @obsessive-illness @zen-cottage@dustyinkpages @skz-jeha @piecesofapril11
A/N: Next chapter will be written! See you all soon xx
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BONA FIDES 11 - PJM, ft. KNJ
Pairing: Namjoon x Reader, Jimin x Reader, Namjoon x Reader X Jimin
Rating: M (18+)
Word Count: 6.5k
Warnings: Violence, gun violence, people being shot; heavily implied death; descriptions of blood; implied character death; characters have guns; loss; deception; swearing, taking the Christian lord’s name in vain
Author Note: I don’t know anything about wearing or carrying a gun except for what I’ve seen in the movies, so apologies for any mistakes there. I know even less about using a gun, hand to hand combat or field first aid. Reminder Reader has an alias in this story - Natalie Lee - see previous chapters for explanation on why.
Many, many thanks to @hobi-gif for beta-ing and keeping me in check when this got too sappy. @smasmashin for cheerleading and I would not have finished this without your encouragement. Also the way I referenced @xjoonchildx Best Bangtan Moles list like it was an academic text to get the placement right. Sadly, it does not confirm all of Jimin’s moles referenced in this chapter.
And, if you’re reading this, thank you! For reading, for your comments. This fic has been rattling around in my brain for months and it feels so good to get it all out 💜
CHAPTER 11: TROUBLE, PT. 2 or THE QUEEN OF NOTHING AT ALL
Last night was like a dream. You’re not sure how late you were up. Most of your body feels a little tender today. With the riot of emotions and thoughts happening inside you, the sweet physical love hangover from last night is a pleasant, if not wholly effective, distraction.
Walking out of the bathroom in your towel, you see Jimin adjusting his tie in the full length mirror. That look is back. The hard one. Like he has steel armor behind his eyes.
He smooths his jacket down and then stretches his arms back when he’s done. His jacket lifts just enough so you see the gun in a holster under his left arm.
You shouldn’t be surprised by this. You’re surprised you haven’t seen it before. Namjoon was right, their operation must not have been too violent until now. You aren’t afraid of guns, you have extensive arms training. Hell, you can even shoot a bazooka if necessary. But the sight of your sexy, cinnamon roll man carrying a piece brings reality screaming back.
This could be it. This could be the end.
“Jimin, why do you have a gun?” You reach out to him, but pull your hand back. You know why, of course, but it’s so incongruous, so scary, so real.
“Jagiya. My job is more complex than I’ve told you…”
“What do you mean? Jimin, you’re making me nervous.” This is not entirely a lie. You are quaking inside at what might happen today.
“Don’t be nervous, my love, but there’s been some trouble. At our warehouse. This is just in case. For protection.” His hands are on your shoulders, fingertips lightly moving back and forth.
You’re frowning so hard it kind of makes your head hurt. You try to relax your face, except then you might start crying.
You almost tell him everything right then.
You want to confess and beg him to run away with you. Leave Paris, find a beach somewhere and just be together. Never look back.
But if that happens, everyone else is at risk. Tae, Jin, Jungkook.
So you sniffle a little, bite your lip, and hug him. “Okay, it’s just I didn’t know—I love you. Please be safe. I can’t—” Take a deep breath. There is a plan. “I love you, okay?”
“Okay.” He’s hugging you, gently stroking your back, face pressed close, a little smile against your neck. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay.”
One more deep breath. You lift your head and blink the tears that welled in your eyes. His eyes are gazing right into yours, his hand softly whisking the tears off your face.
He kisses you softly once. “I’ll see you later?” He’s bending down slightly to keep his eyes on yours.
You nod. You loosen your grip. And let him go.
He turns and walks out without looking back.
Your face briefly crumples, mouth and eyes squeezing shut. You just need to get this rush of pain and panic out, then you can focus. It’s like it is surging out of you now, this fear that you’ve shoved into a corner of your heart. You bend over, holding your stomach, trying to hold the towel on your body. You’re suddenly very cold.
Then it’s over. It’s out.
You’re hunching over breathing hard, panting like you’ve just sprinted. You focus on breathing in. And breathing in. Breathe in. Breathe out.
This sharpens your mind. You have a plan. You know exactly what to do.
This time, everybody lives.
You take the Metro and make three transfers to the George V station. You still have a guard outside your house and Jimin has one at his, so just in case they’re following you, losing someone in the Metro is the easiest route.
Yoongi picks you up in a van so you can drive to the gallery. Jin was there at 5am to be in place in advance of anyone else.
When you hop in, he gives you a grin and wink. “Hey there, agent. Ready?”
“Who is this smiley person? Am I being kidnapped? I demand you takes to the real
Yoongi!” you joke, happy to see a familiar face even if you’ve never seen it before. Grateful for a moment of levity.
The smile stays but the deadpan shows up a little, “Spare me your attempts at humor, let’s go.”
“There he is! I feel much better now.” Laughing, you glance at the back of the truck and see the monitors, the computers, the weapons cage. This is really happening.
Looking back at Yoongi—seriously why is everyone involved in this so freaking hot—the two of you talk through the plan again.
Jimin and Namjoon, and you’re assuming Jungkook, will meet the New Guys on the loading dock. Jin is in place as support inside the gallery, as are some of Jimin’s men.
They’ll inspect the doctored painting crates, formalize the plans to sell and give some profit back to Jimin and company. Since the New Guys want to have a full partnership, they will probably ask for the proprietary chemical mix that allows the drugs to be stable but line the paintings.
This is the part of the deal where Jimin and the New Guys aren’t aligned. He wants to keep it, because the recipe is what gives them full control here. So this is where it might get complicated. The “recipe” is on Jimin’s phone, and since you have the tap, Yoongi’s manipulated the file so it can’t be sent, downloaded, copied or have a screenshot.
The plan is to have Namjoon (who they think is Jung Hoseok) tell them they’ll do another deal with the plans. If the New Guys protest, he’ll offer them full profit—several million Euros—on the shipment. Then Jin will meet them on their way out of the gallery and bring them both to the bomb shelter storage where they’ll stay until the New Guys have cleared out. And then they’ll be taken to a black site in Paris and moved to witness protection. Namjoon will carry on the business as normal.
This is the plan when it runs perfectly. This is how it has to work.
You arrive outside the gallery in about 10 minutes and Yoongi busies himself setting everything up. Yesterday you placed devices on the gallery’s video feeds so the van could pick them up. While Yoongi boots everything up, you get your gun from the weapons cage and check the clip, the safety and tuck it into the back of your jeans. Holsters don’t work well for people with boobs.
“_______, we’re ready.” Hearing your own name feels so luxurious these days, and to get it from Yoongi’s gravely voice is such a treat. Just then Tae texts you that it’s all set from his side, he let the other employees know the gallery was closed for an exterminator in the building.
“Okay, let’s get it.” You smile, your nerves soothed by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Jin was right, you had trained for this.
Jimin, Namjoon, and Jungkook arrive early with two other guys you recognize from your security detail. Tae, who even on a day like today is in head to toe Gucci, explains there is an extermination happening in the apartments upstairs.
Ever the host, Tae makes them coffee in the back offices. There is a full cappuccino machine to serve fancy clients. Usually one of the assistants makes it and it says a lot about Tae that he’s willing to make coffee for them since he dislikes it so much.
Camera shows the New Guys and the truck show up in the loading dock.
The men in the upstairs offices bow and shake hands. Tae and Jimin briefly hug. There’s no audio on the office cameras for privacy, but you can see both of their faces. Tae’s briefly flashes concern. The other three leave and when the door is closed, Tae looks right at the camera and gives a thumbs up.
You and Yoongi huddle around the screen with the loading dock feed, your eyes trained on the doors that lead from the gallery. There is a short flight of concrete stairs they’ll have to walk down to reach the lower floor that has truck access and where the New Guys—about seven of them—and the crates with the paintings are waiting.
The door and stairwell are surrounded by larger crates both near the door and on the lower floor. Because of this, you can’t see the door fully and they’ll be briefly hidden before they come out into the open.
The doors open and Jimin’s group walks out. Jungkook and the two other guys first, eyes scanning the room quickly while Namjoon and Jimin follow them. Jungkook nods an acknowledgement to the men standing on the lower floor and the five of them head down the stairs. The New Guys start loudly greeting them, why are they shouting in such a small space?
Just then you see movement on the right side of the screen. One of the panels on a huge crate is sliding open. Sliding… that doesn’t seem right, those crate doors are usually screwed on...
“Oh my god, they had someone hidden! Someone hidden in a crate!” Shouting and pointing at the screen, you and Yoongi are both standing now. Your breath is coming in shorter spurts, like you’ve been sprinting. You can see inside the crate a little now, blankets, food wrappers, and a large can. The sight makes you sick.
You’d only had camera access to this space for 24 hours. This guy must have been here since at least Wednesday. You weren’t monitoring shipments in and out. And with the Russia trip last week, the gallery was behind on it’s paperwork. Who knows how long this crate has been there.
The voices in the room are overpowering any sounds of movement, echoing around the concrete room. Jungkook and the other guards have come around the crates at the foot of the stairs, just as you see the hidden guy rush behind those boxes. Right where Joon and Jimin are.
They’ve outplayed you.
You are yelling at the screen, but of course they can’t hear you. Wearing a wire is too dangerous in this scenario for multiple reasons. Everyone just trusted the plan.
You hear shouting and a scuffle behind the box and Namjoon walks out with his hands up.
The hidden guy follows him. One hand on the back of Jimin’s neck forcing him forward. The other holding a gun to Jimin’s left temple.
Jimin’s face is expressionless. He’s not resisting but he’s also not in any hurry to move. He’s trying to give his guys a chance to notice what’s happening.
The other New Guys all pull their guns. As if it’s in slow motion, you watch Jungkook and the others realize what’s happened. Jungkook is the first to have his weapon out. He trains it on the hidden guy, the other guards point at the group of New Guys.
They are outnumbered. It was meant to be a show of respect and trust, to bring fewer people. Namjoon was insistent it had to be this way, keeping in line with how business was done in Jimin’s organization.
A New Guy steps forward and addresses Jimin. “Give us the recipe, Park and no one gets hurt.”
“This was not part of the deal,” Namjoon starts, arms still above his head. He approaches the lead New Guy slowly but with authority. “The deal gets all of us more. Cutting us out will just end in headaches.”
The New Guy laughs, “No it doesn’t. This way we get everything. Take his phone. Where is it, Park?”
“_______,” Yoongi says, interrupting your concentration. He’s typing rapidly on the computer next to him. You can see a mirror image of Jimin’s phone on the screen. His background is a photo of you and him taken at LaRotonde in one of those dark, cushy booths. He took it just as you turned your head to him. You’re looking at him with a mix of adoration and like you want to eat him instead of your dinner.
That seems like a lifetime ago.
“I’m going to remove the file completely, since they’re not playing fair, I doubt they’ll take the time to download it or whatever. The risk is they might see me working on the phone if they’re poking around in it.”
Another guy moves forward and starts patting Jimin down. He first finds the gun and takes it, looking at the hidden guy, he scolds him. “Next time remember to take the fucking gun.” He turns away and hands Jimin’s weapon to another New Guy and resumes his search.
He finds Jimin’s phone from his back left pocket. Jimin’s face betrays nothing. It’s still set in steel, his eyes looking forward. You can see him breathing. Then his eyes quickly flit over to Jungkook, who also hasn’t moved.
They might make a move. They’ve known each other for so long, trained together, worked together.
“Come on, come on, come on…” Yoongi is talking to the screen. You are still focused on Jimin, trying to will him to just wait a few more seconds.
“Keep calm, baby, we have this, we planned for this.” You’re staring at the screen, talking to yourself, to Jimin.
The New Guy holds it up to Jimin’s face to unlock it. On Yoongi’s screen you see him deleting the file. Jimin’s mouth quirks slightly. He must have seen the document being deleted in front of him. No time to worry about that now. You just want to get to the point where you’ll have a chance to explain.
The New Guy is poking around. “Where is it, Park?”
Jimin’s lips barely move. “It’s in the file folder titled ‘Mix 10.13.5’”
Time seems to stop while the guy pokes around in the phone. Jimin and Jungkook glance at each other again. Namjoon closes his eyes for a second, like he’s listening, trying to anticipate the next move. You and Yoongi hold your breath.
“It’s not there, that folder is empty. Stop lying. Bet your girlfriend would know.” He shows the New Guys the photo. “She works here—someone go find her.” One New Guy heads up the stairs.
The hidden guy pushes the gun harder into Jimin’s temple, pulling his head back slightly with the force.
“Not worth arguing,” says lead New Guy. “We’ll take it and just go, we’ll find it. Remove the security—”
Now that they have the phone, there is no more need for Jimin and Namjoon. Time for Plan B to kick in.
You’ve got your own hidden guy.
Jin steps out from behind a crate and without hesitation, shoots the lead New Guy. He crumples to the ground and then all hell breaks loose.
Jungkook pivots away from Jimin, who looks so shocked at seeing Jin, and starts shooting into the groups of New Guys. His normally stone face distorted with rage. He hits at least one guy but one of the New Guys manages to get a shot on him and Jungkook is hit in the shoulder. He’s knocked back to the ground and stops moving.
Jin turns to the hidden guy, still holding Jimin, and shoots him right in the chest. The hidden guy starts to fall. His hold on Jimin loosens and Jimin jerks back, ducking, just as the hidden guy’s gun goes off, right over Jimin’s head. The hidden guy manages to get one more shot out before he falls over and it hits Jin in the ribs. Jin is knocked back, falling to the ground, clutching at this side.
When he lands on the floor he is completely still.
Namjoon has moved behind a crate and is also shooting at the larger group of New Guys. Chunks of wood fly off the crate as the bullets hit it.
Just then Jungkook gets up from the ground, like the goddamn Terminator. He’s moving slowly, his arm is bleeding, but a shot that would have knocked out anyone else has not stopped him. He gets to his feet and starts screaming in Korean, charging the larger group.
Jimin has rolled on the ground landing near a piece of wood that’s been shot off of one of the crates. The hidden guy is still alive and has started crawling towards his gun, which slid across the floor when he fell. Jimin gets up, picks up the wood and twirls it around like a Kendo sword, assessing the weight.
He lifts it up threateningly over the hidden guy’s head, his face now also twisted in anger, and—
BAM! The camera is out. One of the bullets must have hit it.
You had been paralyzed with fear watching this all unfold. When the camera goes out you are immediately thrown into action. “Yoongi! Grab a first aid kit and follow me.”
Yoongi stands, moving to the medical supplies he asks, “Agent, confirming, are you sure? We don’t know what’s happening and it may compromise all of the work we’ve done so far.”
“Yes.” Your voice is low and calm, completely belying the panic and fear you feel right now. You grab your gun, double check the clip and safety and tuck it back into your waistband. Yoongi is holding the kit, but doesn’t move. You open the van door, and look back at him. “Let’s go.”
The front door of the gallery is unlocked. All of the lights are off. You see Tae and the assistant peeking out of the office doors. They look scared, they can surely hear the gunshots. In the open loading dock, most of the neighborhood can. It’s only a matter of time before the local police arrive.
You gesture and mouth to them to leave, sliding around the gallery wall to the hallway that leads to the bomb shelter storage. If someone is patrolling the gallery looking for you, you need to be extra careful. You wait until they’re safely out to go down the dark corridor.
To get to the storage, you need to pass the hallway leading to the loading dock. You can’t see much as the exit signs are the only light and they’re creating long shadows. The video feed cameras aren’t night vision and you were so focused on the loading dock feed, you could have missed someone. You check as best you can and take a breath. There aren’t many places to hide so you’re likely to hear someone coming. You motion for Yoongi to follow and start to move.
You’re nearly to the bomb shelter door when you sense movement behind you, and you hear quick footsteps. Suddenly, a hand grabs you from behind and pulls you back. They get part of the turtleneck on your sweater, it’s like you’re being choked.
So there he is.
Your training kicks in and you thrust behind you, your heel landing square in his nuts. The wind knocked out of him, you spin around, pulling your gun out. The New Guy is bent over in pain and you whack the butt of your gun across his head. Suddenly he’s on the floor, breathing but not moving.
“Oh shit, that was kinda hot.” Yoongi saunters over. Of course he is unruffled in this scenario.
You roll your eyes. “They’ll have to do better than that to fuck with me.” Then you squat down and zip tie the New Guy’s hands and pat him down for weapons or wires. You take his gun and bring it with you. If there was someone else around, they would have come out already. These dudes are not subtle. You both head down the stairs to the bomb shelter storage.
You’re only there for a few minutes, but it feels like a million, when the door opens.
Jimin and Namjoon are carrying Jungkook in. His face is pale, blood soaking the side of his body, splashes of it on his head.
You rush over help as they help Jungkook sit down on a crate.
Jimin doesn’t notice you right away. It’s so incongruous. You come around a stack of paintings. “Jimin, Jimin, love, are you okay?” He’s pressing his jacket to Jungkook’s shoulder, blood on his hands, a spray of it across his shirt. His hands shake and the color drains from his face when he sees you.
“Jagiya, what are you doing here?” He sees your back as you bend over to look at Jungkook’s wound. “Why do you have two guns?” Yoongi has come over to help tend to Jungkook. “And who the fuck is this?” Jimin gestures to Yoongi.
You can’t speak, you hadn’t thought through this scenario.
“I’m Min Yoongi, Park. We’re here to help you and Jungkook. We’re taking you into the protective custody of the government of the United States of America.”
Jimin has stood up and moved away from Jungkook. His face is pale, eyes wide, mouth open.
Yoongi pulls out the first aid kit and is pouring something into the bullethole in Jungkook’s arm. Jungkook starts roaring, a flush running up his face, the tendons on his neck bulging. “This will stop the bleeding and sanitize the area until we can get you to a field surgeon.”
Yoongi is pulling out supplies to bandage Jungkook’s arm, commanding him, “Stay awake for me, JK, keep focused on me.”
“I hate that nickname,” he chokes out, tears of pain in his eyes.
“Good, I’ll keep annoying you to keep you conscious, okay JK?”
“I like you,” Jungkook gives him a weak smile. The anesthetic must be kicking in, but his face is still pale, almost grey. Yoongi smiles and pulls out a sling for his arm.
“The United States Government…” Jimin starts, still staring at you. Your eyes have not left his face.
“Jimin, I can explain…” You take a step towards him and he takes two steps back.
“What are you doing here? How did you know we’d be here?”
“I can explain, this is part of the plan—”
“Plan?” His voice and hands are shaking. “And you,” he turns slightly to point at Namjoon, his voice so steady and calm, he is in shock. “You brought me here, did you know she’d be here?”
Namjoon hasn’t moved, he’s looking at you, waiting to see if you’ll need him. And all you can do is hold your hands out and move slowly towards Jimin.
“Don’t. Please. Stay there. Because… you…” It’s like you can see the realization washing over his face, and his voice starts to ramp up.
“Oh my god, you’re a spy. You’ve been spying on me. You’re the one who messed with my phone.”
You glance at Yoongi. “Kind of, I can explain.”
“I told you that I love you! I’m in love with you! And this whole time?” Jimin is shouting now and you are crying. Your lips smashed together, hands clasped in prayer, as if anyone or anything could get you out of this now.
“This whole time you’ve been lying to me? Who are you?” You have never seen him so angry. Actually it’s not anger, it’s hurt, he looks like he’s in pain.
“No, Jimin, I swear, I love you too, that is not a lie. I would never, I could never lie to you about that.”
He sees Namjoon looking at you. Joon hasn’t looked at Jimin at all.
“Oh my god, oh my fucking god. You know each other. And what happened in Moscow? What the fuck?” His head is back, hands in his hair. He stops talking and sinks to the ground.
“What the fuck.” This time it’s softer, he’s squatting on his knees, head in his hands, not looking at either of you.
And you, you are frozen, your worst nightmare happening around you, and you’re paralyzed.
“Jimin, I love you. That was not—”
Just then, Jin arrives at the door, “Hello!” He looks so chipper he’s borderline hysterical. He has blood on his head, he’s a little sweaty, but this guy really does look good in almost any situation.
Yoongi shouts. “Hyung! Oh my god, you’re alive! How?”
“Of course I am. I’m bulletproof.” Jin opens his torn shirt a bit, revealing the vest underneath. “And I’m far too pretty to die.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes at Jin’s smile, which immediately turns serious.
“But, sadly, no more time to talk about me. Park. Jeon. We need to get out of here. The New Guys brought reinforcements and are still outside looking for you. Also local police are en route. We have a helicopter to take you to Rammstein. We need to get to the roof.”
“Fuck me, is everyone a spy? Jesus. Rammstein?” Jungkook stands slowly, Yoongi holding the uninjured arm to help him up. Jungkook winces and starts walking towards Jin.
“Military transport, hospital for you, from there to protective custody.”
Jimin does not move. He is still staring at the ground, his eyes fixed, his breathing is slowing down. You know this face, he is thinking, processing. You also know that he is still very angry. You’ve stopped crying, and are just standing, staring at him. An unexpected feeling of calm washes over you, your heart beats: keep him safe, keep him safe, keep him safe.
“Park, you stay here. They find you and you die. Say your goodbyes. Now.” Jin’s voice is calm but stern.
You take a step towards him, but feel like you can’t get too close. Like your betrayal is a barrier pushing you back. “Jimin, I want to explain everything. But getting you out alive…that’s all that matters right now. You have to go.” Your voice is steady, loving, you can’t help it.
And with that, Jimin’s eyes snap to yours. In them a flash of recognition, of love, of the connection between you. He stands and strides to you, his arms moving up. You can’t tell if he’s going to kiss you or yell at you.
He does both.
Jimin’s expression is rough but his hands are gentle when they cup your cheeks and he gives you a bruising, passionate kiss. And then pulls back quickly, hands pulling away and clenching into fists as he slams his arms down.
“Fuck. I’m so confused, so angry.” You flinch involuntarily at his tone and his voice softens a little. “I need to—Was it all a lie?” The anger on his face clears for a second, he looks like he might cry.
“Park. We’re leaving.” Jin is at the door, taking Jungkook’s arm to support him and walking out the door.
“No. Never. I love you. I love you. That is real. That is true.” You reach out to touch him, hands hovering over his chest, but stop short.
His eyes pinch closed at your words. Then he looks you in the eye one last time, his face unreadable, almost as if he’s on the verge of saying something else. But he turns from you without another word, runs out the door and doesn’t look back.
You, Namjoon, and Yoongi all stand totally still, just breathing. It’s as if your body is made of cement. Heavy, immobile, numb.
Finally, Namjoon comes over to you and touches your arm. His voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. You can’t stop staring at the door. You can feel your heart beating all over your body, like it’s trying to jump out and follow him: Come back, come back, come back.
Yoongi’s phone buzzes. “It’s Jin. They’re in the chopper, everyone is okay.”
This breaks the spell, and all the pain comes flooding back. You nod and sink to the floor. Touching your lips where he kissed you, your hands shaking.
Namjoon puts his hand on your back, rubbing slow circles. “You did it, ________. You got him out. He’s okay. He’s alive.”
All you can do is sob.
TWO WEEKS LATER
You have to stay in Paris because what’s left of the New Guys and Jimin’s organization are watching you. Yoongi arranged it so that on the police records, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook had died that day at the gallery. You can’t let them think you’re anything but a girlfriend in mourning.
And you are. Jimin is alive, but you lost him. Was there even a chance to preserve what you had? It doesn’t bear thinking about, but it’s all you can think about.
You get a certified envelope addressed to Natalie Lee at the Vante Gallery. Tae hand delivers it to your apartment as you’d stopped going into the gallery. It contains a safety deposit key and an address.
When the bank manager leaves you alone in the private viewing room to open the rather large box, you don’t know what to expect. You’re assuming this is from Jimin but the two of you never discussed this. Maybe you weren’t the only one hiding things.
Inside the box are bricks of 500 Euro notes. Your hand flies to your mouth. This is several million in cash from the first glance. On top an envelope addressed to ‘Gertrude’.
Jagiya—if you’re reading this something has happened to me and we probably won’t see each other again. Please use this money to take care of yourself. I want to give you the whole world but this will have to do if I’m not around.
I need you to know I’ve never known anyone so smart, so strong, so brave or so beautiful. I was so lucky that you let me love you and gave me your love in return.
In Provence, I was also going to tell you who I really am. How I got this money. What I want to change. How I want to build a life with you. Forever. But it’s too late now. Just know that in my life, nothing mattered more than you. Please be happy, even if it can’t be with me.
I love you, so very, very much.
You sit on the floor of the bank room for a long time with your head in your hands. Jimin planned this for you in case he died. You try to focus on the positive—he is alive and protected. He’s safe.
It doesn’t really work. You don’t even deserve this. The Jimin who wrote this letter, he did all this to take care of you—that Jimin didn’t know what you’d done. How you’d betrayed him. This is for Natalie Lee, not you.
You stand up, you put the letter back in the box with the money and lock it up, leaving another part of your connection to Jimin behind.
TWO MONTHS LATER
You’re due to leave Paris in a few days and are walking around your old haunts. You pass by the gallery, the Vante name has been removed, all the grand spaces empty. Tae and his assistant turned business and life partner have bought a farm in Tuscany. Before you left, Tae made you coffee on the fancy machine. “You know, for a fake job, you did it really well.”
You smile and chuckle a bit, this is high praise from Tae. You feel lucky you had this chance to work with him, and you tell him so.
Tae smiles softly at you, those big eyes peering out from under that glorious head of hair.
“And if it’s any consolation, I’d never seen Jimin so happy. I didn’t know him for long, just a few years. But what you two had, it just radiated out of you both. It was beautiful.”
Jin didn’t come back to Paris. You know from Yoongi that he helped get Jimin and Jungkook placed into protection. And then had some time to recover mentally and physically from the loading dock fight. Yoonig said Jin’s next assignment might be undercover to investigate a drug ring in Bering Sea fishing boats.
You're still in touch with Yoongi. He will call you at random, always on a different number, to let you know if he’s heard from Namjoon or any other updates. On your last call, he ended on an uncharacteristic sentimental note. “I know you’re hurting. Believe it or not I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. But—” he sighs. “No one could have done better. You were brilliant this whole time.”
“Okay, that’s enough. Min out.”
He keeps your black card active.
So you go to the south of France—it is the summer after all—and spend two weeks at the Hotel du Cap Ferrat. Yoongi said it was okay. Mostly you just stand in the water staring at the horizon. You’ve stopped running through what you could have done differently, constantly replaying the last year. That final day. Now you’re just hoping to piece yourself back together enough to keep going.
At night, the empty space beside you feels like a missing limb.
When you return, you have 12 hours to do a final walk through of your apartment before you go back to the US. You have one piece of mail—a postcard from Busan with nothing written on it. The postmark is Paris, so that gives you a clue what it’s about. This is Spy Communication 101. You bet Jin set this up.
So you check it over for a message and see a website from the manufacturer in tiny print on the border. When you go to it, you’re prompted for a password. The hint is that it has 8 letters. You know it immediately—Gertrude.
The screen just shows text in the upper left corner of the screen. Your heart squeezes at the message.
You betrayed me, but now I understand more from our mutual friend about why. It broke my heart and it saved my life. I don’t know yet if I forgive you. But I do know I love you. Still and forever.
PS - Please keep what is in the box. I want you to have it.
You put your face in your hands. You don’t cry. This might be the best you could have asked for, right? Jin told him about what happened. Why you did what you did. And Jimin is alive, everyone is. He still loves you. Maybe he’ll forgive you. Most likely you’ll never know if he does, but just the thought is enough.
Still, you long for him so much, it’s like you can feel his arms around you, his lips pressing into your forehead, his hand holding yours. Is this what you’d been trying to avoid all those years you pushed people away? The times you didn’t open up to let someone really love you? To love them back? The way you cut off Namjoon?
What you know now, that you didn’t then, is that this pain is worth it. To have experienced being loved, to have felt the love that Jimin gave you, that is worth everything.
You run the self-destruct protocol in the Spy Closet and walk out for good.
A YEAR OR SO LATER
You've gone back to The Farm to teach and have started a PhD in psychology. Your thesis is on emotional attachment in clandestine ops, so you can help other agents prepare better.
You think of Jimin every single day, you have since he left Paris. You still wear his bracelet. You’re still not sure when or if you’ll be ready to date anyone else.
You started writing him letters about what happened in Paris, about your family, your past. What happened in your day, how you found that mushroom galette recipe. How much you miss him. How much you love every bit of him, the mole on his right cheek, your favorite one on his left hip that you would kiss every time you saw it. The sound of his breath when you did. His crescent eye smile, his mochi cheeks. How he always knew the right thing to say or give, and when you just needed him and nothing else.
Letters you can never send because he’s been placed into super deep witness protection. Maybe three people in the world know where Park Jimin is, and one of them is him. Last you heard through Yoongi six months ago, Jimin and Jungkook left a site on Eastern Europe and were given new identities and everything.
They are gone for good.
Your love for him has not changed. The longing isn’t as painful these days, but it’s always there. You suppose it always will be.
One cold fall morning, you’re heading out for your morning run. As an instructor, you share an apartment with one other person, though they haven’t arrived yet, your last roommate went out on assignment three weeks ago. You open the door and walk smack into 6 feet of man.
You shriek in surprise, delight, relief, you’re so happy to see him. He looks thinner and tired, dark smudges under those kind eyes, but he’s smiling back at you. Those dimples are as perfect as ever. He embraces you in a huge hug.
“Joon.” You hug him so tightly it hurts. “I’m so glad you’re here and you’re safe. Are you okay? What are you doing here?” Your eyes well up with relief.
“I’m okay, I had some time to recover. I am very, very glad to be back.”
“What and when and how and what the fuck?”
”Oh, uh, why do you ask?” He laughs and you swat at him. “Well, looks like I’ll have lots of time to tell you about it, roomie. I'm back to instruct linguistics for a bit.”
You hug him again. So glad to have someone to hold onto, someone who knows you, so glad it’s Namjoon. So eager to find out if all of that was worth it.
“Unless…” he sing-songs.
“Unless what?” You pull back and look at him. “Don’t be so cryptic, Kim, I get it we’re spies or whatevs but I haven't even had coffee yet.”
He grins, hugs you tight again, and whispers in your ear, “I know where he is, if you want to see him. He really, really wants to see you.”
A lightning bolt of shock and joy shoots through your body as you grab his sweater, smiling.
“I do, Joon, please. Take me to him.”
A/N 2: THANK YOU for reading! For sticking with this story. Please let me know what you think, I love your comments and messages.
I am thinking there will most likely be an epilogue but I need some time for the characters to tell me how that will play out. Their love wins out in the end and I want to do their reunion some justice.
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i. waste it on me
| bts x reader (multi-shot series)
genres/themes: angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, heartbreak, (sad) yearning, miscommunication, drama, emotionally unavailable people, sad times
"baby why not waste it on me?"
note: this is my first ever series i wrote here in tumblr that i completed and i'm writing a rendition here, this time in a more different approach then my writing two years ago. the old versions of these fics are long gone but i still have my notes on the plots.
based on bts x steve aoki, waste it on me.
not you my dear (knj.) | soulmate! au
"you say love is messed up, you say that it don't work, you don't wanna try no more."
falling apart (ksj.) | established relationship! au
"i don't know your secrets but i'll pick up the pieces, pull you close to me now."
trial card romance (myg.) | fake dating! au
"don't you think we got another season that come after spring."
happily never after (jhs.) | break up! au
"baby i'm no stranger, to heartbreak and the pain of being let go."
the night is young (pjm.) | drunken confession! au
"i know there's no making this right, and i know there's no changing your mind but we both found each other tonight."
of yellow carnations (kth.) | hanahaki disease! au
"just come eat me and throw me away if i'm not your taste, babe, waste."
never yours (jjk.) | historical! au
"so if love is nothing more than a waste of your time, waste it on me."
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It always Rains Whenever We are Together - Kim Namjoon
Pairing: professor!namjoon x bookstore owner!reader x officer!hoseok
Plot Summary: She’s afraid of the rain, and he’s her umbrella. Everything is not like what it seems though. After all, umbrellas can have holes. The one over her head.. It’s a different colour from the one she knows ever so well. She has been deceived. By him..
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Lucky Number Five
🔞 (Minors DNI) | 😈 Smut | 💘 Fluff
Word Count: 2107 Words
Pairings: Hyung Line x Reader
Warnings: HYUNG LINE X READER SMUT IM SO SORRY. This story is pure filth, I’m so sorry. Uh, warnings I guess all the smut in the world. I have no warnings for this because of how smutty this is. With the Hyung line, a lot of smut ensues. PWP. Unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, swallowing of cum. THIS IS JUST FILTH. OC is a ragdoll, pray for her she ain’t walking for a while. Daddy kink, idk it’s just smutty. Name-calling, idk y’all. DOM! HOBI THAT'S A WARNING
Taglist: @bonvoyagenoona @moonchild1 @thehorizon19 @mochilatae @tangledsparkles @skyys-universe @bringmetheksj @namjooningelsewhere @gukkmoans @m-yg93
© playmetheclassics 2021. All rights reserved.
“God, I’ve missed this,” Seokjin said, sipping his wine.
“What drinking?” You joked, and Seokjin glared at you, “no, smartass, I meant it’s nice drinking just the adults,” you laughed, smiling at him, “and you’re an adult?” You teased, making Seokjin glare at you.
“I swear you and Jungkook are the same age though, mentally at least,” you said, continued to tease Seokjin.
“Shut up, he could never do the wonders that my tongue does,” Seokjin said, making you blush, “ah, speechless, I like that,” Seokjin noted, and you were about to scowl at him when the front door opened to reveal, Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok entering the flat.
“Sorry, we’re late, Y/N, we were working on a new track,” Namjoon explained, and you nodded, getting up from the sofa to hug him, his large arms wrapped around your much smaller frame.
“That’s okay. Can I at least get a sneak peek?” You asked, batting your eyelashes at him, and Namjoon laughed.
“Pretty girl, if you think I haven’t figured out your ways yet, you’re insane, no, you do not get a teaser,” Namjoon said, and you pouted and got out of his arms to hug Yoongi and Hoseok. Hoseok energetic as always, practically carried you into his arms.
“Hobi!” You squealed as Hoseok carried you in his arms. “I’ve missed you, pretty girl. How have you been?” Hoseok asked, earning a smile from you. “I’m good, wait. You’ve missed me?” You asked, and Hoseok nodded.
“Yup, well, not just me. Yoongi Hyung misses you too. He misses using your moans in our tracks,” Hoseok said, making you blush.
“Well, no one has told me about that, and frankly Yoongi hasn’t bothered to make me moan in a while,” you teased, earning a gasp from Yoongi, “my tongue is always ready, baby, you just need to ask,” Yoongi said making you blush.
“Okay, we get it. Y/N’s pussy tastes like honey, now can I get some attention, please?” Seokjin whined, earning a laugh from the rest of you, and Namjoon walked over to Seokjin, sitting down next to him and placed his hand on Seokjin’s thigh, and the visual alone was enough to make you grow wet with lust.
“You’re drooling,” Yoongi whispered behind you and placed a kiss on your shoulder, making you giggle as you walked over to Namjoon and Seokjin.
“Come on, let’s get drunk because the kids aren’t here,” Yoongi said, laughing pouring out shots for all of you.
After the first two shots, you all fell into easy conversation. You were sitting on Seokjin’s lap, his preferred choice of seat, and yours.
“Baby, you smell so sweet,” Seokjin said, grinning at you.
“It’s my new perfume,” you said softly, making Seokjin smile at you, “though, you also taste sweet too,” Seokjin said, making you blush and curl further into Seokjin’s lap.
“That’s very true. You do taste sweet,” Namjoon agreed, and you noticed Yoongi nodding as well. “Wait, am I the only one who hasn’t tasted her?” Hoseok whined, and the others laughed, and you smirked, crawling off Seokjin’s lap and onto Hoseok’s lap.
Hoseok was quicker to react, and he pulled you off his lap, placing you on the sofa and getting onto his knees.
“May I?” Hoseok asked, and you nodded.
You were already letting out a soft whimper, and Hoseok had barely touched you. Hoseok smirked at you as he pulled your sweats and underwear off together.
“Pretty little pussy,” Hoseok said, his hot breath on your cunt.
“Hobi, please do something,” you whimpered, and a sharp slap to your cunt stopped your whimpers.
“I’m not Hobi; I’m your Sir. Don’t fuck with me, princess, or you won’t cum,” Hoseok threatened, and you shook your head furiously, and you heard the faint groans of the other men in the room,
“Can you multitask, pretty princess?” Hoseok asked, and you nodded, “good girl. Make Yoongi Hyung cum, and I’ll make you cum,” Hoseok said, and you let out a soft moan before turning your head to see Yoongi.
Yoongi was sat next to you. You turned your body, so your head was in his lap. You palmed his length, making him moan. You kept palming him until he hardened.
You pulled his cock out of his grey sweats. You wrapped your mouth around his thick length, moaning as you tasted his arousal, and used your tongue to lap at it.
“Princess, do you like sucking on Yoongi Hyung’s cock?” Hoseok asked, and you whimpered, moaning around Yoongi’s cock, making Yoongi grip on to your hair tighter as he thrust his cock further into your mouth, hissing as he did so.
“Good girl,” Hoseok praised and finally placed his tongue on your cunt. Hoseok licked your pussy with short licks until his tongue finally reached your clit. You moaned more around Yoongi’s cock, as Hoseok slid two long fingers into your cunt, while his tongue flicked your clit.
You whimpered, trying to move your mouth away from Yoongi’s cock to moan, and Hoseok noticed, moving his mouth away immediately.
“Until he doesn’t cum down your greedy little throat, you do not need fucking move, understood?” Hoseok warned, making you whimper.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hoseok said with a proud smirk.
You groaned and resumed your actions on Yoongi’s cock, while Hoseok kept fingering you all while sucking on your clit with his tongue.
“Make her cum Hobi, and cum inside her. I want to lick your cum out of her,” Yoongi said breathlessly, making Hoseok grunt as he nodded, moving his mouth away from your cunt, “fuck you are so sweet princess, you need to ride my face one day,” Hoseok said making you shudder at the thought.
You kept bobbing your head up and down Yoongi’s cock, until he stilled and came down your throat, a string of curse words leaving Yoongi’s lips as he came.
“Good?” You asked Yoongi, removing your mouth from his cock. Yoongi nodded lazily, smiling fondly at you, “always good,” Yoongi said, making you smile.
Hoseok moved his mouth away from your cunt to pull you into a soft kiss, groaning as he tasted Yoongi’s release on your lips. “You taste good,” Hoseok moaned, nodding at Yoongi making the older man smirk.
You yelped suddenly when Hoseok grabbed your waist and flipped you onto your hands and knees. You felt him push his length into you.
Hoseok’s thick length allowed his cock was a lot longer, which allowed his cock to hit deep inside you. Hoseok moved his hips in the same way you’d see him often do on stage.
“Fucking hell. You’re perfect, baby,” Hoseok praised as you moaned as you fell forward as he constantly pounded his cock into you, hitting all the right spots inside you.
“More”, you begged, and a sharp slap to your ass silenced you as Hoseok grabbed your hair, yanking you up, your back pressed against his chest.
“I set the pace, pretty girl. You’re just my little whore,” you whimpered and nodded. you up, your back against his chest. “I set the pace, pretty girl. You’re just my little whore,” Hoseok warned, and you nodded.
“Sorry, Sir,” you mumbled, and Hoseok groaned in approval, pounding senselessly into you. “Good girl,” Hoseok praised, finally pushing you over the edge making you cum.
You felt someone’s tongue on your pussy, making you wail in pleasure, as you looked down to see Yoongi sucking on your clit.
Hoseok came soon after your release, groaning as he pulled out of you. Hoseok placed a kiss on your cheek and helped to position you on your back.
“Good?” Hoseok asked, and you moaned out a ‘yes,’ followed by a yelp when you felt Yoongi resume his assault on your cunt.
Yoongi started to lick your clit, moving his tongue inside your cunt to lick Hoseok’s cum out of you, making you shiver as you came again.
Yoongi gave your pussy a final kiss before his tongue away and moving his face to Hoseok’s and pulling him into a kiss.
You let out a soft moan, watching them kiss, watching the way their tongues glided over one another.
You watched as Hoseok’s squeezed Yoongi’s body against him, making the older man moan into his mouth.
You felt yourself being woken up from your dream-like state as Namjoon picked you up in his arms.
Namjoon carried you over and placed you down slowly onto Seokjin’s cock. You let out a hiss, already sensitive from your multiple orgasms.
Seokjin wrapped his hands around your waist, holding you still, and you could feel Namjoon felt Namjoon spreading your ass cheeks apart and running a wet finger along your tight hole.
“Fucking hell,” you moaned, falling into Seokjin’s toned chest.
“Pretty girl, I’m going to fuck your ass. Are you going to let me?” Namjoon asked, his hot breath on your neck, and you let out a muffled gasp before answering.
“Yes, daddy,” you breathed out, and Namjoon groaned, feeling his cock twitch at the mention of ‘daddy.’
“Good girl, breathe, pretty baby. Daddy’s going to stretch you out,” Namjoon said softly and nodded before finding Seokjin’s lips and capturing them with yours, gasping into the kiss as Namjoon slowly pushed his thick length inside your tight hole.
“Fucking hell, Y/N, you’re so fucking tight,” Namjoon groaned, and you moaned, unable to think coherently or form a proper sentence as you felt deliciously full.
“Can I move, baby?” Seokjin asked, and you mumbled out a yes. Seokjin slowly thrust into your cunt, and you kept scratching his chest, begging for more.
“Hold still, baby, I’m going to ruin your pretty little cunt,” Seokjin said, and you nodded, holding onto Seokjin as he furiously pounded into your cunt.
Namjoon hissed every single time your cunt clenched as he continued to move inside your tight hole. Namjoon kept slapping your ass, making you whimper more and wail in pleasure as both men pounded into you. Namjoon suddenly pulled out, making you whine.
“No, daddy, please,” you begged, and Namjoon chuckled at your misery, “Hyung, can you lay down? I want to see if she can take both of us in one go?” Namjoon asked, and Seokjin groaned and nodded as he laid down on the couch, never once pulling out of your tight cunt.
“Good god.” Namjoon kneeled between Seokjin’s legs and positioned himself at your entrance, and pushed his thick cock in, resting it against Seokjin’s.
You moaned and found Seokjin’s lips and kissed him, gently biting and tugging on his full lips, begging for more.
Both men groaned, feeling how tight you were, hissing as their cocks rubbed against one another. Seokjin started to thrust first, and Namjoon followed after.
Both men were close, and Namjoon knew this moved his hands down to massage Seokjin’s balls, making him whine and buck into you harder, causing you to collapse onto his chest as you came, making them both groan as you tightened around their cocks.
You felt Namjoon yank you up, your back pressed into his chest. “None of us are just quite done with you, baby,” Namjoon said, and you nodded lazily. You were pretty sure your limbs would be out of commission, but you didn’t care because the pleasure was so overwhelmingly good.
You turned your head to see Hoseok standing by your side and Yoongi on the other, and you shakily reached to take Hoseok into your mouth while your hand stroked Yoongi.
The room was soon filled with sinful noises, groans, whines and whimpers.
You screamed as you came again. This time after Seokjin came inside you first, Namjoon hissed, soon releasing in you as well. Both men continued to stay inside you while you moaned around Hoseok’s cock as his grip on your hair got tighter until he finally came, and you greedily swallowed his release.
You moved your mouth off Hoseok’s cock and turned all your attention to Yoongi and replaced your hand with your mouth and sucked him until he too came down your throat.
Hoseok and Yoongi laid back on the sofa and Namjoon, and Seokjin pulled out of you slowly while you laid back on the couch and were about to relax and recover.
Until Seokjin suddenly shoved three fingers into your cunt, while Namjoon rubbed your clit, making you squirt and writhe as you came undone again.
You shook, gasping as you curled into Seokjin’s chest, who placed a soft kiss on your forehead.
“So, round two?” Seokjin joked, earning a glare from you, making him laugh as he pulled you into his arms, cuddling you.
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21st century girl - yn & Namjoon
Synopsis: Campus activist Yn was only looking for a one night stand with campus fuckboy Namjoon, but they're both in for more than they bargained for, with many lessons for both to learn along the way.
A/n: over the next several days I'll be posting profiles of our characters. Remember, Jisoo is the face claim for Yn and the other members of blackpink are her friends. Please refer to this disclaimer. Send an ask or comment to be tagged!
Credit for these beautiful profiles goes to @yoongiofmine
Taglist: @halesandy @burningupp-replies @lilacdreams-00 @minclangyyy @yoongiofmine @yonkimint @wholockian1 @lyra0cassiopeia @hobizi @bri-mal @purpletaecup @secretlycrazyhummingbird @infiresyg93 @sweetjellyfishland @lovely-joon
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summary: namjoon takes you to a place he hopes can fill you with as much peace that it gives him.
pairing: kim namjoon x reader
genre: light angst, comfort-fluff
word count: 1.2k
tags/warnings: reader is experiencing pressures of life, light crying, much comfort and joon fluff
a/n: for @woodstockbtswriter, cjaaaay~ i hope this is exactly what you were seeking, and most importantly feels like a big, warm hug from joon. i adore you & thank you for always supporting my lil’ events.
october drabble event mlist
Sometimes the weight of the world feels all too crushing, holding it with your two hands, how could you be expected to continue bearing that? It could feel lonely, the kind of lonesome that wore on your bones, in a single breath, they could crumble until all that was left were dusty remains. Tears fall like heavy raindrops from your eyes and maybe, just maybe, the life in those tears could water what was drying up around you. What the world and life were taking from you. A warm press against your skin alarms you, but only in a gentle inhale because you remember who is there with you. So you keep your eyes closed and choose to stay there, trusting the hand that is carefully wiping your tears away.
The breeze picks up and brushes past your ear, taking strands of your hair in its wake, doing a little dance that lights a smile across your face for the first time in-well you couldn’t remember how many days. This trusted hand moves from your cheeks to move back the rest of your hair before it lays on your shoulder and rubs you there.
It’s nearing sunset and the weather is starting to cool off along with the wind that blows around you. He brought you here to remind you that other things still existed despite the pressure that was burying you. In his deep timbre, his voice urged you to listen to the rustling of the trees. Taking you as far away from the traffic as he could, he said, “you can hear the wind, just concentrate.” Namjoon stood behind you, pulling you until your back rested against his chest; “bear your weight on me.”
So you did.
You listened to the wind and the way it howled over the bridge nearby, the way it created a calm stirring in the trees around you. It carried children’s gleeful voices over to where you stood with your boyfriend, encased in his arms. He whispered close to your ear, reminding you that you could feel everything too. Moving the sleeves of your jacket up so the wind could tickle your skin, it was chilly and created goosebumps to appear on your skin. But it made you giggle. You only moved away from the safety of his arms when you needed to feel more it, wanting to feel that rush of brisk air hit your back. So he stood there and watched the way you tipped your head upward, allowing the breeze to brush over your face. He stayed back for as long as he could until tears began slipping from your eyes, moving just a few steps forward until he stood in front of you this time.
He just watches you, using his long fingers to rub away the ache in your arms. If he listens well enough, he can hear the creaking in your bones that are still intact. They are strong. These bones in you, they make up the person that Namjoon has fallen in love with. The person he can call his, the one he admires for more reason than one. One could be enough though; he smiles at the thought.
“Do you feel me?” His voice is never jolting, no matter how deep it can sound, it always resonates with you. Because inside of it you know he laces it with the most care. You blink your wet eyes open, smile growing that much more when you see Namjoon.
His hands fall down your arms and tickle the palms of yours, he looks down at them noting how cold they’ve become from the dipping temperature. His eyes gleam when they look back at you, “give me your hands.”
You chuckle; they’re already in his but you curl your fingers around his large hands and tighten them there.
“You’re always right,” your voice croaks, making him smile, “always.”
His plump lips flatten into a wide smile and suddenly you want to touch his dimples that appear when he smiles like that. The way his eyes stretch until you can’t see them anymore. But right now, they’re big and they’re staring right at you. His fingertips tap against your palms until he intertwines them with your fingers, locking them tightly together.
“Fear can consume us so easily if we allow it,” he breathes calmly, “the weight each of us bears, it can bury us so deep-” his voice tapers off when he sees your jaw tighten, fresh tears appearing in your beautiful eyes.
You bite the inside of your lip, squeezing his hands to let him know he can continue. You can hear this.
“Mm,” he hums deep inside his chest, “so we have to find the things that remind us we can keep living, and for me, this is my peace.”
You look at him, the trees around you reflecting in his eyes. Wispy clouds painting the sky and a bright moon rising amid them. The presence of nature creates light in Namjoon unlike any other wonder that makes up his life. He’s quieter and more thoughtful, you remember.
“Let me give you some of my peace, will you baby?” His question is innocent, his eyes slanting in slight sadness.
It’s all he needs to pull you into him this time, wrapping his arms around you like a blanket, becoming your warmth once more. His hands rub against your back as you quietly cry into his shoulder, but even then, he can feel the smile on your lips that wasn’t there when you first arrived.
He cases his hands around your jaw, his smile growing as he wipes those tears away before kissing you once. His eyes manage to say so much but you still long to hear those words fall from his mouth.
“I’ll take care of you,” he soothes, “so let me, please.”
You breathe a soft laugh, nestling into the softness of his hands. His eyes are reminiscent of a child’s, holding a certain look of affection that bursts out of his chest, nestling into a place inside of you.
The sun disappears after a little more time, leaving you and Namjoon cradled beneath the moonlight. You walk a little farther before the reflection of a moonlit path across the water captivates you and your boyfriend. Resting against the barrier wall, Namjoon is behind you once more, his hands resting on either side of the wall. It wasn’t long before he became wrapped up in you again, prompting you to turn and face him, resting your arms around his shoulders. Your fingers tickle the nape of his neck, allowing you to feel the buzzed ends of his short hair.
His lips are like pillows against yours, thoughtful kisses grazing across your lips that have gone slightly chapped from the wind. He laughs when he thinks about it, causing him to push against you with more fervency. You melt into him, feeling everything at once. The weight is still there, but you can feel what else exists despite the pressures around you.
You can feel everything.
You can feel your lover pressed against you, his warm breath casting over you as he chases after your lips. The way he smiles into it, your hand moving to hold his cheek which has gone warm beneath your touch.
You can feel him.
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Frat boy Namjoon but he's part of a Harvard social club instead and takes an interest to you, tries to woo you with his money but eventually you fall for his personality.
😭 What a trope, okay here we go! I'm actually so stoked you asked for Namjoon for this bc I feel like he just fits. Hope you enjoy! 💘
The Fundamentals of Winning Your Heart
Namjoon x reader
The name everyone knew. The name you couldn't care less about. And it just so happened to be the exact name printed on the slightly tinted envelope slipped between the cover of your Fundamental Law textbook.
___, I'm inviting you to Harvard's Social Club's next party of the century at my place. I'll pick you up by your dorm Friday night at 10pm sharp so be ready for me. See ya then.
You roll your eyes while reading each disgusting, black-inked word. How this letter ended up in your stuff is a mystery, but why Namjoon would think you'd agree to go with him is even more mysterious. Stuffing the invite inside your hoodie pocket, you continue to make your way to class. You can't be bothered with pointless social events when you've got lectures to record and discussion posts to finish.
Class is long today. Part of you feels like it won't ever end. But the moment it does, you wish it could last, so there wouldn't be an opportunity for a certain social club president to strut his way over to your seat and strike up a conversation with you.
"Did you get my letter?" he asks you with a smug pull of his lips. God he's so cocky.
"I figured it was fake."
"Why would it be fake?" he continues to ask, lounging across the front of your desk. God he's so lanky.
"That's not true, we talked just the other day. And why should I need a reason to invite you?" Namjoon moves his way closer to you, popping your personal space bubble multiple times until he's close enough to feel your breath on his cheek. "Maybe I just like you."
"I don't know, because we've literally never talked and there's no reason for you to invite me to a party."
"You don't even know me."
He gives you a big sigh and slinks into the seat beside you as the last student exits the lecture hall, leaving you alone in this ridiculous and inescapable conversation.
"Maybe I'd like to get to know you better then," he says.
But you already know who he is. At least, you have your impression of his character.
"Do you always ask so many questions?"
"Law student," you remind with a wink and stand to toss your backpack over your shoulder.
Without another word, you turn to leave. Namjoon immediately jumps up and follows you but you're moving along quickly to discourage him from saying anything more. You only have time for a select few people in your life right now and Namjoon isn't one of them.
"Alright, I get it," he groans, grabbing your shoulder to spin you around, almost successfully knocking you over.
"You get what?" you ask, shoving his hand from your body.
His eyes glance to the side before questioning if it’s safe coming back to yours.
You scoff, “Are you actually bribing me right now?” How low is this guy gonna scoop just to get you to go to some stupid social event?
Namjoon nods as if that should be obvious and not at all offensive.
With a loud laugh and a shake of your head, you point at his ridiculous attempts before retreating down the hall, “You’re insane."
You never imagined he would try something like that. He actually offered you money? Does he really think that little of you? He must be insane if he thinks you would actually-
"What did you just say?" Slowly you turn to see Namjoon, shrugging at the other end of the hall with a hopeful smirk.
As he walks towards you, it's like an approaching threat of something incredibly awful and wonderful. The way he walks like he owns the campus, even though that's far from the truth. He's just president of the Social Club. It's not that big a deal.
"Do you honestly think you can buy my company?"
And then it hits you. He's completely serious. Born with a golden spoon in his mouth, the only thing he's ever worked for are his grades. Everything else in life has been handed over either for free or a sum. Priceless probably isn't in his vocabulary. If he can't obtain something he wants through charm, his final strategy is to buy it. He smiles innocently at you, two deep dimples appearing and causing your heart to unadmittedly stir.
He has to learn the lesson at some point. Money has never been attractive to you anyway.
"No. You can't."
As your heels echo down the hallway of your university, Namjoon watches you walk away. For longer than he's probably supposed to.
Despite your insistence that you cannot be bought, you do show up at the party. Not because you're looking to be paid, but maybe, you're more interested in Namjoon than you originally admitted. It's just curiousity, that's all.
His friends aren't anything impressive at first glance. Ratchet, spoiled, a lot like your first impression of Namjoon. But as you examine them closer, you start noticing things you didn't before.
That Jimin guy. He's actually a really good dancer (if you take away the fact that he's on top of the table with a red solo cup spilling alcohol on the crowd). He holds the attention of everyone in the room and his stories are beyond convincing.
That Yoongi guy. He's constantly having debates with others and speaking intelligently about almost every subject, striking in depth conversation with just about anyone he can. His silver tongue is beyond impressive and you're lying if you say you're not jealous of his skills.
That Jungkook guy. He's in the corner with his (you assume) girlfriend, caring for her as she pukes her lungs out. A very compassionate look on his face as he cleans her lips and brow, and wise choices in his every touch to keep her from passing out or possibly hurting herself.
And then there's Namjoon. The more you watch him, the more you're convinced he isn't who you thought he was either.
"___!" he calls when he sees you making your way through the crowd to meet him. "You came."
"Yeah," you low-key shout over the heavy bass of the next song that begins playing.
"I thought you wouldn't come."
You shrug and glance again at your less than likable surroundings. "So this is a Harvard Social Club event. Fancy."
Namjoon laughs and it actually makes you smile just seeing him happy because of your comment.
"Sorry. Umm, you wanna talk somewhere quieter?"
You nod and let him lead you towards the back door. Slipping into the chilly night air, the two of you begin a casual stroll around the yard, making sure to bypass any couples who previously claimed corners and shadows. There's a tall tree with a somewhat sketchy treehouse in the middle of the lawn so that's where you head.
"Here," Namjoon offers you his hand as you begin to climb.
With your palm secured in his, he helps you to the top of the branch so you can step into the treehouse. The far wall is actually a giant window and you feel amazing being up this high, looking up at the stars, imagining how free they must feel burning up in the universe like that. You're jealous.
Namjoon stands beside you, looking at the same midnight sky.
"Sorry about the whole bribing you thing," he suddenly confesses, "I didn't mean to imply you could be bought. That's not at all what I think of you."
"It's okay, I get it."
He looks at you. "Really?"
"Sure," you look at him and smile, "let's forget about it."
As he's studying your features through the dark, he notices a small indent on your left cheek. Only the left one. And he thinks that's adorable. It's probably insignificant to be honest, but to Namjoon, it feels like a small automatic connection.
"So are all of the Social Club's parties like this?"
"Ah no, not all of them," he says, "sometimes we're at Yoongi's house."
For reasons you will never know, that makes you laugh. The fact that he's oblivious to what's causing your giggles entertains you that much more. He's actually cute with his blank, unsure expression and hopeful eyes. Hopeful you'll keep laughing like that and he can keep you closer by his side.
"Does the school know this is what you guys are doing, frat boy?"
He clamps a hand over his heart. "Hurtful. I am not what you call a frat boy, ___. I am a sophisticated, mature future lawyer."
"Alright then. Duces Tecum."
Namjoon chuckles, " A vocab quiz? Really?"
"What?" you tease, leaning into him with fierce eyes, bravely invading his personal bubble until he can feel your breath on his cheek, "you don't know the answer, Mr. Future Lawyer?"
"A legal writ requiring the person summoned to bring specific, requested evidence or documentation to be examined by the court."
"The doctrine that a trial court is bound by appellate court decisions on a legal question."
Your heart is racing unhealthily fast. Your parted lips allow steep breaths to escape while your eyes flutter from his eyes to his lips which utter such intelligent definitions. Accurate, intelligent definitions.
He smiles, his dimples once again shooting you straight through the gut, and slips his hand into yours.
"If you think that's hot, you should see my notes from Professor Callahan's lectures."
While his flirting isn't exactly practiced, you must admit it's kinda cute. The way he allows himself to be straight forward with you, the strange cross between being so insanely smart and yet somehow the most oblivious student on campus, makes for a dangerous combo your heart was not ready for.
"I'd like to see them sometime."
"They're in my bedroom," he informs you, smile fading as he realizes what exactly your conversation is implying all of a sudden.
Thankfully, he's able to read your body language. Within a second, he's jumping from the treehouse, opening his arms to catch you when you follow behind him. Without placing your feet on the ground, he carries you past the party still raging inside and up the stairs where you can spend as much time as you want reviewing his...notes.
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HELLO YOU JUST WROTE ME AN AMAZING DRABBLE FOR MY ANGST PROMPT BUT I AM GREEDY GUTS AND AM BACK FOR MORE
PLZ DO you're the first person to ever ask AND I just feel stupid, okay? IN SOME KIND OF NAMJOON FLUFFY MUTUAL CRUSH SHIT 😚
(hello again miss rose i am so glad you're back~ this one kind of got away from me but i loved writing it so i hope u love reading it!! ♡)
"you're the first person to ever ask" / "i just feel stupid, okay?"
pairing: namjoon x reader
wc: 4k (what's a drabble never heard of it)
warnings: swearing, alcohol usage, mentions of sexual situations & content (nothing explicit in this fic but minors please dni regardless), side sope bc it's me and rose, i didn't edit this bc i'm lazy, ??? this is just a best friends who are idiots 2 lovers fic idk what else to say.
send me drabble requests!
“This is so weird.”
Namjoon looks over at you, his cheeks bulging like a hamster around a buttered dinner roll. Yoongi hadn’t been thrilled with their existence. He’d stressed the importance of serving authentic Korean food, said his grandparents would throw a fit if not, but that’d thrown the resort into chaos, so Hoseok had to step in, smooth out the wrinkles, tell them the five-star menu looked great, thank you so much—
“That,” you say. At the end of your pointer finger are Yoongi and Hoseok, heads knocked together as they speak in a code only they understand. Hoseok’s laughter rings out, prompting a gummy smile from Yoongi. Beside you, Namjoon sighs—a breathy, lovestruck sort of sound. “I can’t believe they’re married.”
Namjoon mirrors Yoongi’s smile. Looks at his two best friends like they hung the stars in the sky. Like they’re relationship goals, or whatever the kids are saying nowadays. “They’re perfect together.”
A choked sort of sound escapes you, prompting a sharp glare from Namjoon. “Don’t look at me like that,” you scold him, handing over another roll on a tiny, fancy dish.
Taehyung frowns, reaching for it back. “Hey! I was gonna—”
“No, you weren’t.” You slide it closer to Namjoon, not wanting to risk another lecture on your romance-based cynicism. Over the years you’ve heard them all, and the thought of enduring another—especially at Yoongi and Hoseok’s fucking wedding—nearly has you retching in your seat.
Because—okay, you can see where Namjoon’s coming from. Where he’s all flowers on the first date and proper courting methods and you don’t have to let me know you got home safe because I’m going to walk you there myself, you’re more… well, none of that. Dating app hookups, horror stories told over brunch about the guy you’d taken home from the bar who didn’t even bother to go down on you before trying to stick it in, months-long situationships that are more like a flashbang than any kind of real relationship.
Namjoon says you’ll have more luck if you’re more receptive. You say he needs to stop taking dating advice from Disney movies.
You sigh. Yoongi and Hoseok are cute. They spark a little bit of hope in your chest, a little bit of longing, but you swallow it down along with the rest of your drink. Something fruity and disgusting Jimin had handed you, claiming Taehyung didn’t want it because all the sugar would give him a migraine. Something definitely not strong enough if you have any hopes of lasting until the first dance.
“I’m going to the bar,” you announce. “Anyone want anything?”
Jimin and Taehyung immediately pipe up with their orders. Seokjin and Jeongguk don’t pay you any attention at all, too busy ripping off pieces of bread and rolling them into tiny balls, trying to toss them into each other’s mouths from across the table. Namjoon watches them, jaw slack with horror, and immediately announces he’s coming with you.
You immediately forget what you’re supposed to order the kids so you just order two more fruity things and something strong for yourself. Something from the top shelf that’ll burn as it goes down. Namjoon orders something boring your grandfather would drink and looks very pleased as he mixes it around with a little cocktail straw, ice clanking against the glass as it’s twirled around.
It’s at this exact moment that you realize, not for the first time, how attractive he is. How devastating his dimpled cheeks are—all the time, but especially when he smiles. How golden his skin looks under the amber lighting of this fancy hotel ballroom. How his eyes seem to twinkle when he looks at his two best friends so overwhelmed by love and happiness and the pure joy that accompanies a lifelong promise to love someone forever.
And this—this simply will not do, so you order another drink. Something stronger than the last one, which had been infinitely stronger than the first.
Namjoon doesn’t notice, too busy pointing out people you’d supposedly gone to school with that you wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to your head. He smiles at each one, whispering their names to you before they approach to say hello and you’re put in an awkward situation. But Namjoon’s just like that. Remembers all these little details about everyone—not because he has some crazy strong memory, but because he genuinely cares enough to learn.
It’s horribly endearing.
It makes your stomach hurt.
Because this is not the first time you’ve looked at Kim Namjoon and felt the world tilt. Sometimes you look at Kim Namjoon and you’re overcome with such fondness it feels like it’ll come spilling out of your ears. Sometimes you look at Kim Namjoon and you start to believe all those ridiculous poems he makes you read about destiny and love and soulmates. But sometimes you look at Kim Namjoon and you want to cry, because Kim Namjoon doesn’t look at you the same way.
Time for another drink.
Four turns into five turns into too many. By the time you return to your table, everyone else is gone, taking up space on the dance floor or mingling at other tables like socially well-adjusted adults do. Yoongi and Hoseok are making rounds of their own in between making heart eyes at each other and stealing little kisses that make everyone coo. Which is fine. You’re beyond buzzed, well on your way to full-on wasted, and seeing Yoongi and Hoseok kiss doesn’t fill you with existential dread the way it normally does.
Namjoon would be proud, you think. Maybe the secret to being more receptive to love had been at the bottom of a bottle the entire time.
A displeased scoff pulls you back into the moment. Namjoon’s beside you again, frowning at the empty bread basket. “I’m going to murder Jeongguk and Seokjin.”
“Why?” you ask, despite thinking it’s not a bad idea regardless of the reason.
Namjoon tilts the basket in your direction. “I’m fucking starving and there’s only little bread balls left.” Pure agony flashes across his face. “I’m fucking wasted, too. Drank too much on an empty stomach. Hey, did you know—”
As if by divine intervention, your stomach growls, too. “Yeah,” you say, cutting off whatever fun fact Namjoon was about to share with you. Probably something gross about ruminants and camelids. “Shit, I’m hungry, too. When’s dinner supposed to be?”
“No clue. Some fancy place like this, though? Probably late. Hobi said something about springing for the extended cocktail hour.”
You frown. “Not one person in a weird bow tie has offered me a bacon-wrapped scallop on a skewer or a tiny quiche. I feel ripped off.”
“I’m way too drunk to eat a quiche right now. I’d probably throw up.”
A snort escapes you. “Good, because there aren’t any.” You sigh, then, a wistful look on your face as you recall all the nights in university that you and Namjoon had gone to parties. Got too drunk and had to stumble back to your dorms, stopping every so often so he could groan and throw up in some poor bastard’s shrubbery. Sometimes you’d drink a lot but not too much and stumble into a McDonald’s instead, order way too much food, and eat it on a curb in the parking lot.
“Oh my god.” You moan in a way that’s not appropriate for a wedding reception. Namjoon chokes on a bread ball. “You know what I just thought about?”
“McDonald’s? Because that’s what I’m thinking about.”
Chicken nuggets dance at the edge of your vision. Greasy, soggy fries call to you like a siren song. You can feel the burn of that demonic Sprite in the hinges of your jaw, your lips puckering in anticipation. “Yeah,” you reply, tone a little dazed. “Fuck, I’m so fucking hungry.”
Namjoon looks around the room. Takes note of where everyone is, what they’re doing, how long it’ll take before they’re done doing it. “We couldn’t,” he says, but the wistful look in his eyes gives him away. “We shouldn’t.” A pause. “We shouldn’t?”
No, you probably shouldn’t. “No, we probably shouldn’t,” you agree, “but I know from experience we can bribe Taehyung to cover for us if we bring him back a McFlurry. And, really, if you think about it, Yoongi and Hobi can’t even be mad because who lets their wedding guests starve.”
Namjoon clicks his tongue. “That’s a good point.”
“You say that as if I don’t always have good points,” you quip, almost offended at the insinuation.
It’s full-blown offense, now. “Excuse you. What the hell does that mean?”
Namjoon looks ready to fight to the death over this, a PowerPoint presentation full of bulleted lists practically shining behind those eyes of his, but then his stomach rumbles embarrassingly loud and he flushes. “Do you wanna…?”
Those goddamn chicken nuggets are calling to you again. “Yeah,” you decide, no hesitation as you stand and hold your hand out to him. Well, you try to stand. All those drinks you’d thrown back are hitting you at once and you teeter a little on your feet, your hand missing Namjoon’s the first four times he tries to grab it. “Let’s go,” you say once there’s finally contact. Namjoon’s hand is warm, steadying.
You pluck a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter, unable to cope.
For some reason, Namjoon does the same.
“I always told you I’d take you to dinner in Paris.”
You snort, choking on a piece of chicken nugget. The replica Eiffel Tower gleams behind you as you both sit on the sidewalk, too drunk to care about ruining your expensive clothes. “Not once have you ever said that.”
Namjoon frowns, looking far too serious for a discussion like this. “I definitely have.” Looking over at him, you shake your head as you fight off a smile. Namjoon has never told you he’d take you to dinner in Paris. That’s not something you’d forget. “Well, I’ve definitely thought about it, then.”
“I don’t think that counts,” you say, shoving a handful of fries in your mouth. Your lips are greasy when you smack them together, the salt making them burn a little. “What good does it do me if you just think about it and never do it.”
The words seem to strike a chord with him. He looks over at you, gaze sharp and stone cold sober. Not like he’s seeing you for the first time, but—there’s definitely something there. Something new.
You think he might say something. Feels like the time and place for a confession. Namjoon’s definitely antsy like he’s talking himself up to deliver one, but he just snaps his jaw shut each time he opens it. Shoves more food in his mouth each time you think he might finally do it. Then he’s reaching into his coat pocket to pull out two tiny bottles of liquor he’d nicked from the mini bar in his hotel room.
He offers you one and you take it, unable to wipe the disappointment off your face.
The inside of your mouth tastes like battery acid.
Not to mention the throbbing in your skull, the way your entire body protests as soon as you open your eyes to golden sunlight. Your brain seems to be protesting most of all, seemingly taking the day off from recalling everything that happened once you and Namjoon had left the reception the night before. Fast food seems to have been involved, judging from the way your stomach roils, but there’s only a Windows shutdown screen beyond that.
“Wow, I feel like shit.”
You startle, barely resisting the urge to scream. Whether it’s out of fear or the overwhelming sense of disappointment that you’d taken someone back to your room that was almost certainly subpar, you’re not sure. You’re far too hungover to deal with the awkward this was great, but I have places to be talk.
But that voice—you’d know that voice anywhere, and that overwhelming sense of disappointment turns into an overwhelming sense of dread. Having sex with Namjoon has always been at the very top of your list of No Good, Very Bad Ideas. A logistical nightmare, if you’re being honest and completely putting aside the two billion daydreams you’ve had about how it’d feel to get railed by your best friend. Not to mention you’d done it drunk, because now you know how it feels to get railed by your best friend and you can’t even remember.
You swallow, trying desperately to keep the nausea at bay. You’re never eating McDonald’s again. “Um. Did—did we…?”
Namjoon’s silent only as long as it takes for him to take stock of the situation. The gears are clearly whirring in that giant brain of his, and if you didn’t feel like your entire world was falling apart, you’d spare a moment to appreciate how fucking hot he looks when he’s thinking. “I don’t—” He takes a peek beneath the duvet and immediately looks less green. “Well, I’m still wearing my suit pants, so I don’t—I don’t think we did.”
“Oh.” You take a peek, too. “I'm still in my dress.”
Namjoon nods. “That’s… that’s good, right?”
“Do you remember anything after we left the reception?”
You stay planted on your back, refusing to meet his eye. The ceiling is nice. A great ceiling. Has probably seen lots of debauchery. “I vaguely recall choking on a chicken nugget.”
“Okay. That’s—it’s a start.”
“Yeah. Do you?” Namjoon shakes his head. “Okay. Well, I guess—maybe we just ate McDonald’s and went back to the reception?”
Namjoon nods again, but it’s very weak and not at all convincing. “Yeah, maybe. Hey—maybe we can try, uh, checking our phones? We promised Tae a McFlurry. He definitely would’ve thrown a fit if we forgot.”
You can see Namjoon smile in your peripheral vision. “You say that as if I don’t always have good points,” he teases gently, parroting your words from the night before.
Despite the clusterfuck in which you’ve found yourselves, you smile, too.
And it’s immediately wiped off your face once you grab your phone and take a look at your lock screen.
Because there, set as your wallpaper, right below the time and the onslaught of text messages asking where you were, is a picture of you and Namjoon, clearly taken the night before.
Because you’re in your dress—the expensive one Jimin has insisted on, and thank god he did because you look incredible—and Namjoon’s in his suit.
Because there’s a man you’ve never seen before standing in between you, smiling at you both.
Because he’s dressed like Elvis.
Because you and Namjoon are kissing, each of you holding up one side of a sign that says JUST MARRIED!
“Oh no,” Namjoon wails. “Oh no, oh fuck, please no—”
You want to say something, maybe give him some kind of reassurance or comfort, but you can’t stop staring. Your life is in shambles and all you can think about is how good you look together. How it must’ve felt to finally kiss him, if those plush lips felt as good as you’ve concluded they must.
Namjoon holds his left hand in front of him. It’s shaking horribly, but not badly enough to obscure the thin gold band on his ring finger. “Please tell me we didn’t…” He takes in a deep breath, tries not to hyperventilate. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.”
He reaches for your hand, then. Finds it beneath the comforter and holds it up, face crumpling immediately as he sees a matching ring on your finger.
And it’s not really the point, all things considered, but Namjoon’s reaction makes you want to cry. Of course he doesn’t want to be married to you, but the obvious and enthusiastic rejection still stings. You’re not sure what other response you expected, but this one’s about as bad as it can get.
You roll onto your side. Pretend to be rifling through your things so Namjoon doesn’t see the swell of tears on your lash line. “I, um. I’m sure it wo-won’t be hard to get it annulled.” You thumb away the wetness beneath your eyes. “I’m sure there’s a million places. We’re—we’re not the first people to get drunk and wake up married, you know?”
Namjoon hears the thickness in your voice. There’s no way he doesn’t, because you can hear it too and it’s impossible to hide. And he just sighs, places his hand cautiously on the swell of your hip. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you’re not sure he’s ever sounded so small. “I shouldn’t have…” He trails off, clearly unsure what he’s apologizing for.
“Yeah. It’s—it’s fine. Maybe we should just… take some time. Come up with a plan. We can reconvene in a few hours once we’re thinking more clearly.”
Namjoon just nods. He doesn’t say another word as you gather your things and slink down the hall to your own room.
“You did WHAT?”
Sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose and tell yourself not to cry. You’d done enough of that in the shower. Over all four cups of coffee, too. “Don’t—please don’t yell at me.”
“Why not?” Hoseok huffs on the other end of the phone. You can hear Yoongi asking stupid questions in the background.
“Because,” you argue weakly. “I—I just feel stupid, okay? You know I’ve had feelings for Namjoon forever, and maybe something could’ve come from that, once upon a time, but we just fucked up so bad there’s no coming back from it.” A shaky exhale.“He’s probably never going to speak to me again, so not only do I have to mourn a relationship that never was and never will be, I’m also going to lose my best friend. And get a divorce. All before noon.”
Hoseok scoffs. “First of all, I’m your best friend, so that part is clearly untrue. And secondly, you’re not getting a divorce, you’re getting an annulment.”
Let no man say Jung Hoseok isn’t comforting.
“Wow, thanks a lot, Hobi. You’re a real pal.”
He clicks his tongue. “Wow yourself! You’re the one who called me in a panic the day after my wedding! I was blissfully getting railed by my husband—”
“Okay,” you sigh. “I get it. I’m sorry, I’ll let you go.”
“Hey, no, that’s—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I just… didn’t expect this. I’m sorry.”
“You and me both.”
Hoseok’s tone is impossibly soft when he speaks again. “What are you gonna do?”
“What choice do we have? We’ll obviously get it annulled and pretend this never happened.”
He hesitates. “Yeah, I—I guess that’s the best idea, huh?”
Before you can answer, there’s a knock on the door. You bid Hoseok a quick goodbye before you move to answer it, feet dragging the entire way. You’re not surprised to see Namjoon, but that doesn’t stop your hands from shaking. Doesn’t mean the sight of him doesn’t take your breath away.
“Hi,” you say, trying to offer up a smile. “Come in.”
You’re not sure what to do with all your nervous energy so you perch on the edge of the bed, run your sweaty hands up and down your thighs. Namjoon doesn’t seem to be faring much better. Can’t seem to leave his hair alone. Can’t keep his eyes off the floor.
Finally he sighs, sits next to you on the bed. Not close enough to touch, but close enough for you to feel his body heat. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to be honest with me, okay? And I mean honest-honest. There’s no wrong answer here.”
You gulp. “Er, okay.”
Namjoon gulps, too, Adam’s apple bobbing obviously in his throat. “Doyouhavefeelingsforme?”
You blink. “What.”
“Doyouhavefeelingsforme,” he repeats.
“Joonie, can you slow down? I can’t understand a fucking thing you’re saying.”
He whimpers. Takes a deep breath. “Do. You. Have. Feelings. For me.”
Oh. Well, this certainly feels like a question that has a right or wrong answer. Feels like a question that’ll decide the fate of the universe, one that has an impossible amount of consequences.
“Uh,” you respond eloquently.
Eyes still locked on the floor, Namjoon grabs your hand. You try to ignore the feeling of his wedding band against your skin. “Honest-honest, remember?”
Of course you remember, but how can you possibly put years of feelings into words? How can you justify being in love with your best friend for so long and never telling him despite there being no secrets between you? How can you tell the truth and be selfish enough to ask him to stay, to fix the mess the two of you have made? Because you can be honest, you can deal with the repercussions, but you can’t stomach losing your best friend.
But, if nothing else, you can at least give him what he’s asking for.
Namjoon slumps. Releases a very fractured breath, and this is it, you think. This is the part where he lets you down with a kindness only Namjoon possesses. This is the part where he regrets to inform you he doesn’t feel the same and extends a half-assed offer to still be friends because he feels obligated to.
Instead, this is the part where he says, “Thank fuck,” and laughs at your dumbfounded expression. Then he moves in to kiss it off your face entirely, and yes, those plush, pillowy lips of his do feel just as good as you’ve imagined. Better, even.
The two of you kiss for what feels like hours. He kisses you slowly and with intent. Kisses you until you feel all the love you have for him returned tenfold. Kisses you until you’re dizzy and drunk on him. Kisses you until you’re laughing until you cry that the first time the two of you are kissing is as husband and wife. Kisses you until you don’t care about the consequences. Kisses you until he’s pulling away to say—
“Maybe it’s too soon to ask, but do you want to, maybe, like… stay married?”
And then you’re laughing again, tears staining your cheeks that Namjoon thumbs away even though he doesn’t get it. Doesn’t know why you’re laughing, if it’s at him or with him or at the situation.
“Sorry,” you giggle, “it’s just—you’re the first person to ever ask me that.”
Namjoon’s smile is large and infectious. Has his dimples displayed prominently. “Oh, really?” He presses another kiss to your temple. “So this isn’t a habit of yours, getting drunk at weddings and waking up married?”
You press your no into his mouth. “Just this once.”
“And what’s the verdict?” he asks, tone teasing but there’s vulnerability beneath it. “No wrong answer again. I know this is really backwards.”
You go quiet. “You’d want to stay married? You, Kim Namjoon, the most traditional man on the face of the earth?”
He scoffs. “I am not—”
“Mr. House in the Suburbs With a White Picket Fence?”
“Mr. Two Kids and a Dog? Mr. Five-Hundred Wedding Guests? Mr. One True Love? Mr. Wifeguy—”
Namjoon groans. “I want a divorce.”
“It’s an annulment, not a divorce.”
“Then I want that, too.”
You shriek with laughter, rolling onto your side to face him. Namjoon is gorgeous all the time, but he’s most gorgeous when he’s happy. That pure, untainted happiness you see on him now. “Do you really?”
“No,” he answers, whisper-soft. “Do you?”
Maybe it’s the dumbest idea you’ve ever had, or maybe it’s the smartest, but you press another no into his mouth.
22 notes · View notes
cry me a river | 01
— summary: you tried so hard to be enough
— pairing: bts x reader
— genre: angst, mafia!au, arranged marriage!au
— word count: 5.8k
— warnings: ANGST, heartbreak, breaking up, divorce
— a/n: i am sooo sorry, but i was listening to this song and i just...yeah
A shatter of glass hitting the floor, you flinch slightly as you walk into the room and realize Namjoon must be angry at his subordinates.
He isn't one to release his anger out in the open so easily, it isn't like him, but you guess Hoseok getting hurt in the process of a mission due to someone's careless mistake must have been enough to tick him off.
You don't really blame him but a part of you sympathizes with the man who is now at the center of the boss's anger.
"Namjoon." You bravely walk in and almost see the relief spread across the subordinate's expression but ignore him to walk over to your husband. You reach out to touch him on the shoulder but Namjoon quickly holds up a hand.
"Don't," he demands, eyes shut tight with a clenched jaw and you know it'll take him some time to calm down.
So you turn to the man on his knees before him.
"You may go," you tell him in a soft whisper to make sure he knows that any sudden noise will only bring the boss of the mafia more ire.
He leaves the moment you give him the opportunity, although knowing very well that punishment would befall him soon enough. That itself you cannot stop but if he was the reason Hoseok got hurt, you guess he deserves some sort of punishment to make things right again.
Sighing, you turn to the boss who's now at his seat, head down with brows creasing so deep a part of you is almost afraid to approach him. But you know Namjoon wouldn't do anything to hurt you.
"Joon?" He likes it most when you call him that name and so you step up with a careful approach.
Usually, he'll allow you to come, and usually, he'll let you comfort him, but this time Namjoon's too upset to calm down so he shakes his head at you, causing you to stop in your steps.
"Just leave," he says, emotionlessly.
He's usually careful with his tone towards you but you understand his anger. Hoseok got hurt after all.
"I'll come back later, alright?"
"No." He turns his chair so that all you can see is the back of the chair. "Not tonight."
He's too upset and he has reasons to be. Being the mafia boss to one of the most notorious gangs isn't always the easiest and when someone carelessly hurts one of his members, more so his lover, of course he wouldn't be in a good headspace.
You know it wouldn't be good to leave him alone like this but you also understand that Namjoon needs some time to himself. He'll let you come to him when he needs it.
In the meantime, you just need to give him the space he wants.
"Alright." So you say, and begin to walk towards the door. "Hoseok hasn't woken up just yet but, when you need me, I'll always be here. Goodnight Joon."
Your voice is kind against the darkness of the room, and when the door shuts behind you, it feels empty.
Namjoon hates the silence that walks in.
When you walk into another office, you find Seokjin and Yoongi discussing some things in grave tones.
"Can I help in any way?"
They look over to find you and although it should have eased some tensions, it doesn't this time.
"No babygirl, just run along, alright?" Seokjin says, sparing you a smile so transient you hardly believe it was there in the first place, before he returns his conversation with Yoongi, who's too busy to even spare you a second.
The situation with Hoseok definitely has them on their toes, and so you bid them a soft goodbye, one you're sure they never heard, and leave them alone for the time being.
As you're walking down the hall of headquarters, it seems everyone is busy with them running around from place to place and you feel hopeless in that you can't be of any help to them.
You want to be useful, someone they can rely on, but if you were to try anything, you're sure you'd only get in the way. So you leave it to watching from afar despite how disappointed you are in yourself for not being able to help anyone.
Jimin and Jungkook are training underground while Taehyung is busy locking himself up in his computer lab, hacking away.
You're not exactly needed anywhere so you find yourself naturally walking back to where Hoseok is being hospitalized.
Even in sleep he seems to be in pain, so you hold the hands that feel so cold, trembling just a bit, yet it stops seconds after the touch of your hand. Almost as if Hoseok knows it's you, as if he can feel your presence and a touch alone can make it all better even in sleep.
You release a rueful smile as you sit by his bedside, watching the mafia man who has yet to wake.
At least you can be helpful here.
"How long have I been asleep?"
You gasp at the sound of Hoseok's voice, head quick to perk up and slap your book closed. "Hoseok!" He winces slightly at your loud call and you shrink back. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright," he sighs as he touches his head, only to realize he's hooked up to some IVs. "Damn," Hoseok grunts with frustration and goes on to try and rip it off his arm.
"Wait, Hoseok, you're still weak," you quickly intervene by holding his hand back.
When he looks at you, he can see the fear and concern written so well upon your face, and Hoseok sighs at the sight. "Babygirl." A simple call for you and he can see the tears welling up along your waterline. "Come here." When he opens his arms for you, you're quick to let him hold you close after the countless days he's been unable to wake. "You were scared, weren't you?"
You nod against his chest. "No one explained the situation to me so I didn't know what to think. I was so scared, Hoseok. You've been asleep for four days."
"That long, huh?"
"So please don't do anything irrational like ripping your IV off, even if it's irritating."
Hoseok chuckles lightly. "Alright, alright," he concedes. "Wouldn't want to worry my babygirl any more than I already have."
The reunion doesn't last long when you hear Namjoon's voice and look up to find the rest of them walking in.
"You've finally woken."
Hoseok rolls his eyes as you get off him. "Happy to see you too, Namjoon."
"I need you to tell me what you saw that night." He gets straight to the point without any wishes for small talk. You haven't seen Namjoon smile in a while, neither anger nor tears. He's simply just...emotionless.
You know Hoseok noticed it as well when the rest of them has created the atmosphere to be even tenser.
There isn't a glance your way except for when Hoseok's about to speak. "Y/N." You look at Taehyung when he addresses you. "Have you eaten?"
You're not needed here.
Noting at their intention, you stand from your chair and grab your book. "I'll uh...get lunch."
You've gotten so lonely.
But this is a serious time, you can't let your feelings get in the way. After all, you aren't like them.
Still, if only you were more useful.
Later that night, left to a quiet night with Namjoon by your side, you hesitate to yourself, wondering why the room is so silent but also understanding that if you don't make a sound, he'd never be the first to speak to you.
"Hm." He answers you in a heartbeat, letting you know that he had been up with you all this time without saying a word.
You press your lips together and slowly turn over to your side in order to face your husband. "How are you feeling?"
"What do you mean?" As emotionless as ever. He's usually better than this, making the effort to give you a smile, make you comfortable, but all that's left right now is an uncomfortable silence.
You sit up from the bed, not liking this and wanting to talk things out. Namjoon needs this, you know it. When the time is right, he'll return to his normal self where he's still cold and emotionless towards his subordinates but will be a little more expressive towards you and the other six.
"I'm asking you...if you're alright." You say in a soft whisper, eyes following him as he sits up from the bed as well. Though he doesn't meet your gaze, you watch him carefully.
"I'm fine," he says after a moment.
You frown. "I know you aren't."
For some reason that hits a nerve. "Who are you to assume that, Y/N?"
You flinch at the harshness in his tone as well as the glare he sends your way. Despite the room being so dark, you can still make out the expression on his face and it brings chills down your spine.
You take a moment to compose yourself, knowing he's just not in the right headspace with all the stress that has been going on around him. "Namjoon, I'm just saying that you can take a break every once in a while. You're stressed, I understand, but—"
You blink when he cuts you off. "Huh?"
"Do you truly understand or are you just saying that?"
"W-well," you stutter, taken back by his question. "Of course I'd never truly understand all it is that you're going through but—"
"But what?" Why is he being like this? So...angry? You've never seen him like this before. "Stop trying to pretend that you can magically make things all better just because you've lived a better life than I have."
You frown. "What are you saying?"
"Just give it up, Y/N. Your whole life you've lived under the care of your father and when he passed you down to me to take care of you, things are going so well for you, isn't it? You've never had to live the sort of life I have despite being born in the same field as I. Our lives are completely different, Y/N, and you will never understand that."
"..." You don't know what to say to that, not when he's so upset that he's beginning to take out his anger on you.
Still, it makes you upset hearing those things from his lips.
He's your husband, your lover, so why?
"Look, our lives may not have been the same growing up but that doesn't mean you can place your anger out on me," you tell him, feeling a small ire walking in on you but you know you can't let it get to you. Namjoon's just stressed and you can't add to that. "You know more than anyone how it is to live under a mafia household so why are you making it seem as if my life has been all rainbows and sunshine?"
"Even if it wasn't, you'd never understand the sort of path I have to walk on."
"Okay fine, I would never understand it but that doesn't mean I won't try." You look at him with frustration. "I'm just trying to help you, Namjoon."
"You can do so by getting out of the way. You're useless when you try to help."
Stunned by the words that are coming out of his mouth, you pause to take it all in, and in a way, for him to also hear what he had just said to you. Yet even as the seconds pass by, it seems Namjoon doesn't regret his words and indeed meant it.
Almost as if hearing that unbelievable expression leaving your lips has irritated him even more, Namjoon flips the blanket off him as he begins to storm off. But you aren't going to let him go that easily.
"Namjoon stop, let's talk about this."
He turns around after opening the door to your room, a piercing glare made your way. "Did you not hear what I just said? If you want to be useful, do that by getting out of my way. What use is a daughter of a mafia to me if she can't even follow simple instructions?"
Your anger shoots right up.
"You will not talk to me in that way. As if all I am to you is a pawn made by the exchange between my father and you."
Namjoon scoffs. "Isn't that what you are?"
You can't believe him.
"I may have been a pawn at first but we found love in this loveless arranged marriage and I will not have you talk to me that way. I'm not your pawn, Namjoon. I am your wife."
"Then be a good little housewife and stop pestering me if you don't want to piss me off even further." With that, he slams the door right at your face, its sound so loud and forceful you feel the wind passing for a split moment.
The loud sound echoes against your ear, ringing even past the silence of the room which had begun to flow in.
You were useless to him, he said, as if all you are to him is a pawn, a chess piece exchanged from the hands of your father and right into his.
It takes a while for you to take those words in but when you do, your cheeks are wet before you even notice it.
And in the silence of the night, your cries echo loudly into the empty room that was meant to be shared between a loving husband and wife.
"Hey." You stop when he turns your way abruptly, not aware he would do that when you called for him, and wait for the man to speak. Jimin notes the way you fall silent, obedient, and places a hand on the top of your head. "He didn't mean those words."
Ah, he heard.
Of course he did, they probably all did.
The fight was loud after all. And if it wasn't that then they certainly would have heard the loud slam of the door last night.
You shrink back at Jimin's assurance, unsure of how to take it in and unable to meet his eyes.
And he knows that.
"I have to train for a mission but, feel better, alright?" He pats you lightly on the head and that's all he leaves you with.
If only it was that easy.
You wish he could have given you a kiss.
The effect of your fight with Namjoon not only causes a strain in your relationship with him but with the others as well.
Whenever you want to help, you're reminded of Namjoon's words and almost immediately back away from being a bother to the rest of them. Namjoon's upset at you and you wouldn't want the rest of them to get upset at you too.
You'll only get in the way if you try to help.
And you think they notice it as well, but no one tries to do anything about it and it hurts.
It hurts because they used to be so good at making you feel better, at reassuring you of their love for you.
But things are changing and you aren't sure what to do any longer.
Hoseok, who still needs medical attention and has yet to be updated on...the situation, is left in the blind. So when he looks at you with genuine obliviousness, as well as concern, you know you can't bother him about this mess. He has to focus on recovering after all.
The fake, overly wide smile you give him leaves a deadpanned frown on his face.
"You think you're so slick, sweetheart, but you can never hide anything from you." He hits you lightly on the head, not enough to hurt, to make sure you understand. "Now come on, tell me what's wrong."
How can you ever hide anything from Hoseok?
Still, it wouldn't be right to bother him when you know all of this is your fault in the first place. If you were stronger, perhaps you'd be less of a burden to them. If you were more confident and had more knowledge of the mafia.
You're a daughter of a mafia boss after all, so why are you so useless?
"I just...I just miss you, Hoseok."
It isn't a lie and he knows that. You do truly miss him because right now Hoseok's the only one that's giving you attention and love. You feel worthless around the rest of them.
"Oh, babygirl..." When he sees the tears falling from your eyes, Hoseok's quick to pull you right into the bed with him and hold you close.
You miss this.
You miss their arms around you and how they used to prioritize your tears over everything.
Things are falling apart and you aren't sure how to make it right again.
"I miss you too, Y/N, but I promise I'll get better in no time, alright?" You don't respond but he holds you still, resting your head on his chest so that you can hear the beat of his heart.
He doesn't know anything at the moment but you don't want to tell him anything. After all, if he finds out, maybe he'll succumb to those thoughts as well.
Just as the others seem to have.
"Mr. Kim and Miss Lee look like such a power couple standing side by side, don't they?"
"But isn't Mr. Kim already married?"
"Who cares, they look great with one another."
The lady laughs, agreeing.
You stare at the champagne in hand, swirling it in the glass cup as you stand towards the corner of the lit-up room, knowing no one really knows the face of Kim Namjoon's wife. You may be your father's daughter, who's also powerful in this world but your face has always been hidden from the media.
It's stayed that way even after your marriage with Namjoon.
A part of you is relieved, after all being the centerpiece between two powerful gangs would be quite the reward for the enemies, but you also know that it means keeping yourself hidden as Namjoon's wife.
He's a handsome man, charismatic despite his intimidating features but that makes him all the more charming and attractive to others.
At parties, you can't stand proudly by his side and at conventions, you're meant to hide as an outcast would.
What's the use of all of this? I'm not even needed here. You look up at where your husband mingles with a few people, Miss Lee by his side and remaining quite close but he does nothing to shake her off despite being a married man.
A sigh leaves your lips.
It seems I'm not needed anywhere.
You pass your glass to a waiter and leave the room to escape to the balcony hidden away by some large curtains. Not many people know there's a balcony here so you take the advantage to be left alone, knowing you'd much rather look at the bright moon than see your husband mingle with some ladies.
He used to hate the presence of women, enough to be openly rude and shake them off but it seems he's better now after getting used to you.
You aren't sure whether to be grateful or jealous.
But either way, it didn't feel good hearing those gossips from the ladies back in that room.
Miss Lee, a beautiful and confident woman.
Would she have been a better choice of marriage for Namjoon? After all, she has better knowledge about the mafia world, rather than you who have been sheltered away from it despite being born into one. Maybe it's because of that, because she's strong enough to join a mafia and stick with it unlike you who was just privileged enough and never even got to be made of use as a mafia's daughter.
A useless child, a useless wife, and a useless lover.
You want to become numb to the pain but you can't. Not when it was Namjoon himself who told you those exact words.
"What are you doing here?"
You don't even have to look to know who it is.
Your husband's voice.
And he's the only other person in this party who knows of this hidden balcony. A few years ago the both of you came here to escape and bumped into one another. It was nice then but right now you just want to be alone.
The disappointment in his tone only makes you hate yourself even more.
"I wanted to get some fresh air."
"It would do you well to mingle."
Can you ever get anything right?
You sigh and turn his way. "Forgive me, but I thought it'd be better for me to escape the scene rather than make a fool out of myself by being a disappointment to the public."
His brows crease at your petty excuse and it hurts. It hurts the way he looks at you with disgust and disdain. "What's the use of coming here if this is all you're going to do?"
It wasn't your choice to come here so why is he putting the blames on you?
Then again, your lack of confidence and worth in yourself has downgraded even more these past few weeks so perhaps he's right.
"I'm sorry," you lower your head with embarrassment. "I'll do better."
Namjoon doesn't say anything else and simply leaves you there all alone once more.
Alone to the thoughts which hurts you even more than he can ever.
"Jungkook, you haven't eaten, have you?"
He jumps slightly at your voice, takes one small glance over his shoulder before returning to his shooting. "I'm a little busy here," he says flatly and shoots two bullets at his target.
"Right, but...please take a break, Jungkook. Don't push yourself too hard."
"I uh...made you a sandwich. It isn't much so you can take like, a quick five minute break or so."
Short answers, without much emotion, and you find yourself shrinking back as you watch the youngest of the seven ignore you for some training.
He used to crave your for your attention but now...things are changing and you hate it.
Are you not enough? They still talk to each other normally, still exchange smiles and greetings so...are you the problem? Is that it?
Knowing that bothering him any longer isn't going to help, you walk yourself out the door despite wanting to talk to the youngest one so badly.
You're losing your mind.
It's been weeks since that angry fight with Namjoon and although you've tried your best to mend your relationship, nothing has changed. You aren't sure what to do anymore and it pains you knowing you're the only one who's trying here.
Why can't you be enough?
Why can't you be useful to them?
The fake smiles in front of Hoseok which upsets him from time to time, the desperate kindness you give towards the others that become wasted just seconds afterward.
You can't do anything right, it seems.
"Y/N, how many times do I tell you to stop frowning? The infirmary room is already depressing as it is."
You know Hoseok means well, you know he isn't saying that to hurt your feelings but after the short responses and flat answers you've received from the others, you just can't seem to do well anymore. But he's right, you shouldn't be coming in here with a sad smile when Hoseok needs your strength more than anything.
At least you're still of use to him.
Through the weeks, Hoseok's the only one who can make you feel better but as the days pass and the longer he has to stay in the infirmary, the harder it is to truly believe in anything anymore. You aren't sure what to do and it hurts to be lost when your thoughts are tearing you apart.
What makes it worse is that no one seems to care.
So you find yourself taking a stroll by yourself one evening. It's late and dangerous going out alone without a bodyguard but you don't want anyone else to be with you. Not when it'll be so easy to break down.
You'd hate for a stranger to have to witness that and then possibly snitch to your lovers — if that's what you even call them anymore.
Either way, it's been quite a while since you've gone out by yourself. Back then the boys used to be so overprotective of you, even when you had first started your arranged marriage with Namjoon. They cared then, even for a stranger whom they barely knew.
You miss those days.
Perhaps they've gotten too used to you and are tired of the constant lack of self-worth you have for yourself.
Because now all they are are memories. Memories left forgotten and for the wind to carry it forward.
How much more can you try only for the results to end up in shame? You're the only one trying at this point and you think, perhaps, their love for you is withering. After all, they can still rely on each other and talk normally.
So why is it so hard for you unless they don't love you anymore?
Your stomach drops and pain shoots through your heart when your thoughts lead to that.
Do they...not love you anymore?
"No...please no..." You hold a hand over your mouth, not wanting to make a sound even though you know you're alone, not wanting even the wind to hear you. Because it hurts and if you cry, it'll only feel more real.
You don't want to accept that. You don't want to admit that.
What changed? What went wrong?
"What's a lady doing out here crying all alone?"
You gasp at the unfamiliar voice and snap your head his way.
He's a tall man, much bigger than you, and goosebumps begin to crawl down your body.
"Hold on, I think I've seen you before." You hold your breath as he examines you, and when he grabs ahold of your wrist to force your hand away from your face, you let out a squeak of fear. Those dangerous eyes of his, twisting even more the longer he takes a look at you, your body begins to tremble with fear. "I see," he chuckles darkly. "You're Namjoon's woman, aren't you?"
Heartbeat beating so loud against your chest.
As your body still trembles.
You hold your wrist, trying to stop the shaking but knowing you can't ease your fear with just simply that. So as you walk towards the room you know that it is filled with them, thinking that perhaps it'll be better if you're in their presence.
They can make it better.
They always have.
You step up in front of the door, wincing slightly at the pain that shoots up along your right leg, and hold back tears. It's okay, you whisper to yourself. You can do this. While trying to steady your shaky hands, you hold them against the doorknob.
You take a deep breath, shaky though it is, and open the door to walk into a room that had once been filled with exchanging words, falling into complete silence.
They look up to find you, wondering why you've just walked in, and although intimidated by the stares, you try your best to keep yourself composed as you walk towards the group, hiding the limp of your leg. It hurts immensely but you don't want to show them.
Normally you'd instantly cry and silently ask for their help but not this time. This time you can't.
"We uh..." You clear your throat, trying your best. "We need to talk."
Namjoon sighs as he leans against the armchair and crosses a leg over the other. "About?"
You hate that you even have to explain this.
But you keep yourself controlled. "I think we all understand what I am trying to say," you begin, eyes looking anywhere but them as you hide your arms behind you. They still tremble and you'd hate it for them to have to deal with that.
You're in their presence and that usually takes the pain away.
It'll get better.
It always has so that at least can't change, right?
"I'm concerned about where this will lead to."
Without a care.
But you know you can't be too emotional because Namjoon doesn't like that. He'll see your tears as another burden.
You swallow thickly despite the lump which tries to keep you from speaking freely.
You hear him scoff and your heart falls.
Ah, you hate this.
You hate this so much.
But for some reason, you haven't shed a tear yet, despite it being so close to falling. Because you're keeping your head down and blinking it back from cascading. Because you know that once a tear falls, the rest will want to follow along and you can't have that.
"I'm sorry if I sound needy, I know you're busy but—"
"Exactly." You blink. "We're busy, Y/N."
Why is he so cold? And why aren't the others doing anything to stop him? He may be the boss but they've always openly gone against him if they ever felt he was in the wrong. So why?
Why are you the only one suffering in silence?
"I-I'm sorry." Ah, your voice is shaking, you're starting to sound weak. You take a moment, pause, and clear your throat once again to push the heavy lump away. It's hard, so hard. "Then tell me what's wrong, how I can fix this. Please, communicate with me so I know what to do. It's confusing being left in the dark. Communication is key to a relationship and I want to fix it before it's too late."
Complete, utter silence.
You hate this.
It's almost as if you're in a circus, putting on a show, while the audience watches in silence and has no reaction whatsoever.
You feel so embarrassed and filled with shame but you want to work this out, you do.
The question is, do they?
You're scared, so scared.
Even more scared than when you had to deal with that man mere minutes ago.
This sort of fear can never compare and you're so scared to make things worse.
Almost as if you can't take the silence anymore, you fall to your knees, head lowered, and Namjoon's eyes widen as you place both hands on the floor and your head follows along.
"Please." You're begging, and they can hear the breaking in your voice. "Please, I...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Begging on your knees, apologizing for things you have no idea what for. But you're desperate. If you've done anything wrong, you have to apologize, whatever it was. You feel so embarrassed, so shameful, but no one's doing anything and it feels as if the whole world is crumbling.
Perhaps you're too desperate.
An idiot still hopelessly in love, begging on her hands and knees for ones who seem to have already moved on.
"...So shameful," Namjoon utters and your heart shatters.
This is it.
This is the end.
You raise your head, taking a moment to yourself, and they watch as you wipe your tears away, before you pick yourself up. You try your best to make it seem as if your leg isn't killing you, you try your best to look composed.
Tears still fall from your eyes but this time you don't stop it because you know it's of no use.
Just like you.
Hands still trembling but for another reason, you reach for your finger. And when the ring slides off your finger, you almost feel as if a part of you is released from the pain, the suffering. Yet at the same time, they all come rushing right in as if a storm of emotions and you tremble upon not knowing how to deal with this. It's never been easy but they've always made things better.
Yet this time you only have yourself to rely on.
You only have yourself.
You look up at them, as if wanting to reaffirm their answers, and when no one says anything, you swallow thickly.
"Then..." You place the ring on the coffee table and turn to Namjoon. With one last smile filled with so many tears, you say, "Let's divorce."
"Babygirl! Y/N! Stop!"
You stop upon the familiar voice of Hoseok's and take a moment to think about this. But Hoseok needs an explanation. After all, he wasn't there that night when you declared your marriage was over with Namjoon, along with severing your ties with the rest of them.
So you turn to your butler and hand him your suitcase before greeting Hoseok.
"Hoseok," you smile, "the doctor hasn't released you yet, so why are you running? You'll hurt yourself."
"You..." He can't believe you can act as if all of this was okay, that all of this had been inevitable from the start. Tears are forming in his eyes and it's the first time you've seen him look so broken, so betrayed. "Why didn't you tell me?" He asks. "You should have told me you were hurting. If you were hurting, I could have done something to knock some sense back into their heads but instead, you kept silent. Why...Why..?! Why would you keep silent about all of this?! Did you think I'd react the same way they did?! Do you not trust me?!"
It's the first time he's shouting at you.
He's angry as hot tears fall from his eyes.
"Why couldn't you trust me, Y/N? Why was I the only one left in the dark?!" He takes your hands, holding them tightly and you can see the desperation in his eyes. Just as you were that night. "Stay. Please stay," he begs. "We can work this out. We can talk this through and love like how we used to and—"
"Hoseok." You cut him off and he stops, tears leaving his eyes, and it hurts seeing him like this.
It's the first time he's trying so hard to stop his tears but understands that he can't do anything. And that hurts him even more. "Why..?" His voice cracks. "Why....?"
The hands which hold yours lose their strength and you take that moment to lay a hand on top of his. He's shaking, hurting, but you make him look up at you.
"I'm sorry Hoseok but..." A tight smile, so broken, and Hoseok realizes just how much pain you had to go through while he was left in oblivion. "I'm tired," you say.
With so much pain carrying your voice.
It's the last thing you say before you leave him.
Where did it all go wrong?
2K notes · View notes
blood & lust⤑ knj | m.
⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 on the night of his two-hundred-and-seventieth birthday, your demon knight in a shining black suit shows you just how devoted he is to you, his future empress 〞dark fantasy au. demon au. royalty au. soulmate au. established relationship au. porn with plot.
❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: demon!namjoon x demon!reader
❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: fluff ∝ smut
❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 18k 𝘺𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 haha 🤡
⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: mentions of war, age gap (they’re both demons in their 200s but there’s a 40 year age gap), classism/class system because again. royalty, mentions of death and murder, mentions of violence, both oc and namjoon are... a little unhinged and also sadistic because u know,,, demons, mentions of blood, mentions of drinking blood, hard dom!namjoon, big cock!namjoon, possessive!namjoon, bratty sub!reader, jealous!namjoon, biting, heavy petting, degradation, teasing, public sex, dirty talk, fingering, exhibitionism, slight corruption kink, rough kissing, handjob, cum licking, finger sucking, size kink, rough blowjob, slight cock worship, hair pulling, cock swallowing, deepthroat, face fucking, throat fucking, choking on cock, gagging on cock, lots of spit, crying, pinning, bondage - using hands i.e. he restrains her wrists using his hands, jealous sex, possessive sex, praise, marking, clit pinching, pussy eating, tongue fucking, face riding, orgasm control, orgasm denial, ruined orgasm, slight brat taming, crying, begging, unprotected sex, balcony sex, pussy slapping (with a cock), grinding, wet and messy sex, forced orgasm, slight masochism, namjoon cawk huge, rough sex, deep dicking ♡, scratching, choking (with a hand), multiple orgasms, creampie, cumplay
➵ 𝑎/𝑛: this was NOT supposed to be as plot based or as long as it is but YOLO. also i was supposed to get this up for namjoon’s birthday but i’m a mess so have it for spooky month and kinktober instead ♡
⏤ thank you to my loves @lavienjin and @yeoldontknow for beta reading ♡
⏤ written for the namkook moonrise masquerade collab hosted by yours truly ♡
❂ Writing Game Fall for Romance
⁂ Hosted by: Professor Dia through @bangtansorciere
⤐ AU Type: soulmate au
⤐ Themes: royalty, age gap
⤐ Kinks: hair pulling, choking, fingering, throat fucking, public sex, orgasm denial/control, cum play, multiple orgasm, size kink
It wasn’t often that you attended events thrown by the various noble families of the Bael Empire. After all, as the Crown Princess, and heir to the greatest sovereign power in the Demon Realm, your appearance to any such affair—whether it be tea parties, balls and masquerades, or ceremonial feasts—was always one rooted in politics, rather than simple interest; even if the latter was your reason for attendance. Mainly because, as the scion of the illustrious House Bael, your presence was a sign that your family, and the realm itself, supported whichever aristocrat was hosting the event. A powerful endorsement that most—if not all—houses vied for.
As such, you rarely frequented social gatherings.
Though, if you were completely honest, you preferred it that way.
Most events—no matter which house they were hosted by—were boring; nothing more than a ruse for the varying nobles to boast their wealth, political standing, and fief’s latest feats and accomplishments. Of course, as the highest standing member of the aristocracy—surpassed only by the Emperor and Empress; your parents—these events were also just a place for members of noblesse to suck up to you in order to garner your favour.
Which was precisely why you were stuck here, with a tall, gaunt man—the head of House Andromalius, if you remember correctly—as he spills empty comments behind a conniving smile.
“My, my, Your Highness, you look splendid even today,” the man gushes, “Though of course, considering you are the glorious Bael Empire’s greatest beauty, that’s a given,” he continues. Internally, you wonder if this was the very same Count Andromalius who had believed that you were nothing but a marionette—a powerless puppet whose authority would eventually cede to your husband.
“Thank you, Count Andromalius,” you drawl with a polite smile. Evidently, he had no respect for your right as the heir; all his compliments are fickle and centred around your renowned beauty. Despite your lacklustre response, Count Andromalius continues blathering his praises, each one behind a thinly veiled attempt to flatter your ego.
Indifferent to his adulation, you zone out his droning. Instead, your eyes skim across the ballroom. From the tall, intricately carved granite columns and the burnished sconces adorned in jewels, to the baroque ceiling embellished with alabaster statues, the entire hall flaunts extravagance and opulence. Sable-streaked marble reflects gilded light; aurulent flames flickering from numerous candles littered across crystal chandeliers. Irised beams of dense moonlight filter through ceiling-high, arched windows; the nacreous effulgence offsetting the croceate radiance of candlelight. Burgundy curtains are draped over glass panes, the heavy velvet emblazoned with the Astaroth Archduchy’s heraldic symbol in pearlescent silk.
A grandiose display of wealth. One befitting the affluence of House Astaroth—the Demon Realm’s only archduchy.
Matching the grandness of the ballroom are the attending noblesse: each one attired in their most luxurious outfits and decorated with their most priceless jewellery. Ambient chatter fills the air, the gentle murmuration of the guests intertwining with the euphonic melodies of the string orchestra. As your gaze nonchalantly sweeps across the room, you can’t help but notice the sheer amount of nobles in attendance. Almost every one of the seventy-two houses is in attendance, whether they're affiliated with the Astaroth Archduchy or not. Not that you're all that surprised by their attendance.
As the second most prestigious house in the empire—losing only to the sovereign House Bael—there was no need for House Astaroth to host social gatherings. Their political influence was a given, eternal and unyielding.
After all, the histories of both Houses were the very foundation of the Bael Empire.
Aeons ago, the Demon Realm was nothing but a cesspit of chaos, anarchy, and carnage. Turmoil gripped all of demonkind. Lesser Demons—beasts manifested from malevolence and evil—ran amok, leaving the majority of the realm in lawlessness and unrest. Simultaneously, the seventy-two houses of Higher Demons were in the midst of never-ending war, each of them trying to seize power to rule as the sovereign of the Demon Realm. With the Higher Demons at war, the rest of the Greater Demon population fell into a state of decline and poverty. And for centuries, this state of discord and imbalance governed the Demon Realm.
Eventually, however, that all changed.
When Maximillian Bael and Hesperia Astaroth formed an alliance.
With House Bael—known for its prowess in sorcery—and House Astaroth—known for its mastery of swordsmanship—united, the rest of the Higher Demons soon fell to their combined might. Under the gifted intellect and natural charisma of Maximillian, House Bael ascended to the sovereign, and the Bael Empire was founded. At the same time, House Astaroth rose to be the only Archduchy of the realm, as well as its greatest combatant force—a house of knights tasked with the protection of the empire and its monarchs.
Thus, with such honourable prestige, it was no wonder that House Astaroth rarely held social gatherings such as these. They had no need for them. Furthermore, with how closely House Bael and House Astaroth were tied, it was given that you—the Crown Princess of the Empire—would be in attendance today. It was unheard of for a member of Bael to be absent at an event held by Astaroth and vice versa. Though, of course, regardless of House Bael’s duty in attending events held by House Astaroth, you would have found yourself in attendance at this particular celebration anyway. After all, this event was to commemorate the Astaroth Archduke’s two-hundred-and-seventieth birthday.
The very same Astaroth Archduke who just happened to be your lover of almost three-quarters of a century now.
Magnetised, like a sailor to a siren’s call, your eyes immediately land on the object of your affection and the very guest of honour.
Vaguely, you perceive Count Andromalius’ words, his continued drivel impregnating the air like that of an irksome fly hovering around your ear. Despite your apparent detached politeness and aloof demeanour, it seemed he hadn’t cognised your lack of interest in his conversation; even your intermittent hums hadn’t fazed the man. That, or perhaps he was too rooted in his sycophancy that he didn’t care about your blatant disregard for his presence. Nonetheless, choosing to ignore him, you instead focus on Namjoon. At the opposite end of the room, he stands surrounded by nobles much older than him—Barons Malphas and Valac, Count Glasya-Labolas, and Duke Gusion, you think—as they offer their congratulations. Even with the distance between you both, you can’t help but rake your ardent gaze over him.
Tall and dignified, more so than any of the aristocrats surrounding him, he towers over his guests—his statuesque build and distinguished aura easily drawing attention to his knight heritage while concurrently separating him from the rest of the nobles. Like that of spun silver, silken hair is side-swept, the argent waves displaying his strong eyebrows and sharp eyes. Incarnadine depths peek through heavy, hooded eyes: two rough-cut garnets that glint in the amber incandescence of the ballroom. Delicately, he holds his glass, casually sipping the melliferous bloodwine—the claret substance staining his full, sensual lips.
A black satin blazer clings to his figure—the material pulled taut over the corded musculature of his back—while gold epaulettes sit over his clavicles—the fringed embellishments augmenting the already broad expanse of his shoulders; both emphasising his powerful frame. The lapels of his jacket are studded with gold buttons, and embroidered in intricate patterns, matching the braided aiguillette that loops from the bottom of the epaulettes to just under his breast pocket. Underneath, he dons a simple white shirt and a matching frilled, lace cravat—their simplicity matched by his plain black trousers and leather loafers.
All in all, he’s a picture-perfect display of authority and dominance. One that has molten heat pooling within the pits of your abdomen.
“Your Highness? Are you listening to me?” Count Andromalius questions, his dour voice drawing your attention from Namjoon and back to the surly man. Without thinking, you let out a scoff.
“If I’m completely honest, Count Andromalius, I’ve barely paid attention to anything you’ve said,” you drawl, a derisive smile plastered on your lips as you sip at your bloodwine. The purposely lackadaisical intonation to your voice causes the man to bristle.
Spluttering, “Now, look here, Princess,” he begins. The moment he drops his respectful—borderline servile—tone, your gaze hardens.
“Your Highness” you hiss. Corner of your jaw flexing in irritation, you raise your head slightly and glower at him. The turbulent fierceness in your eyes has him cowering, and despite the height difference, you glare down at him. “That’s ‘Your Highness’ to you, Count Andromalius”, you revile, the harshness of your voice causing the crowd around you to quieten down as they look between you and the man. “Or do you think a mere Count could address me—the heir to the Bael Empire—as casually as Princess?” you censure, intentionally emphasising his status.
“I-I didn’t m-mean any disrespect, I a-apologise if I’ve offended you, Your H-Highness,” he recoils. Despite his deferential words, you find your lips twisting into a sneer. Seeing your displeasure, he wrings his hands together, nervously glancing at the nobles around you. “S-Surely, you will be beneficent and forgive this old man’s mistake,” he continues.
Audibly, you scoff.
“Old man’s mistake, you say?” you repeat, your voice deliberately placid. Crossing your left arm across your chest, the hand casually resting in the crook of the other’s elbow, your right hand softly taps the rim of your glass against your chin in thought. “Perhaps I will forgive you,” you ponder out loud. A look of relief immediately colours Count Andromalius’ visage. Though, it’s fleeting—disappearing the moment you smile coldly. “Or maybe I’ll have you thrown in the palace dungeons for contempt against the Crown Heir and insubordination of the Bael Empire,” you taunt.
“Y-Your Highness,” Count Andromalius attempts to protest, his back inclining forward as he bows before you. Features twisting into an expression of faux sweetness, you smile at him.
“Then again, what do I know? After all, I’m just a spoiled princess who knows nothing of the world nor how to run an empire. Perhaps I shall ask my husband to make my decision for me,” you suggest, your deceptively honeyed voice belied by the barely concealed loathing that mars your visage. Hearing your words, Count Andromalius’ blanches, the ashen expression blanching his already pallid complexion. As he stutters, his head bowed and his eyes wide with fear, a trill of amusement flutters through you.
By now, the entire ballroom is quiet, the string orchestra having halted their symphony while the rest of the nobles pay close attention to the altercation between you and the Count. Chancing a glance at Namjoon, you watch as he scrutinises the trembling man with predatory, almost bloodthirsty, eyes; his garnet depths darkening from limpid crimson to luminous carmine. As though he feels your stare, he changes his target, and the instant your eyes meet, your breath hitches. Lightning strikes your being, excitement coursing through your bloodstream and setting your body afire with wanton need. Feeling your inner walls clench involuntarily, you look away and back at Count Andromalius.
Scoffing at his grovelling state, you roll your eyes. You take a few steps forward, the gold of your heels clicking harshly against the pristine marble floors—the sound resonating through the silent ballroom. You pause and lower your head when you’re directly beside the Count until your lips are beside his ear. “You should be careful of what you say inside the palace walls, Count Andromalius. You never who’s listening in,” you teasingly gibe. Then, lowering your voice to a coy husk, “The walls may even have ears,” you quip.
Your words cause the man to collapse onto the floor, his knees giving out in shock. With your back turned to him, you hear the Count scramble to his feet before the sounds of hasty steps, and heavy doors fill the air. Clearly, Count Andromalius had decided to make a quick getaway, lest he incurs your wrath any further. When you hear the door slam shut, your lips tug into your most charming smile. His pitiful state has you smiling viciously, and with a soft tut, you walk away.
“Well, it seems Count Andromalius decided to retire early for the evening. Please do not worry, I’m sure he was just tired,” you lightheartedly chuckle. You wave your hand in a casual gesture. “Ah, let’s not let his exit spoil the celebration. Do continue. It is Archduke Astaraoth’s two-hundred-and-seventieth birthday,” you follow.
The string orchestra again resumes their compositions with your words, each string carefully manipulated to produce dulcet notes. They coalesce into a mellifluous harmony that resonates pleasantly in your ear, interlaced by the murmuration of the nobles and forming an amiable milieu. As the celebration resumes once again, the dissension between you and Count Andromalius is quickly forgotten. If any of the aristocrats have anything to say about your altercation, they stay quiet. Though, of course, it’s not like they could say anything in the first place. Not that you’d care if they did, Count Andromalius had it coming.
Flicking one of the stray curls out from your eye, you place your empty glass of bloodwine on the tray of a passing waiter and grab another full drink instead. If there was one thing you adored about the social events thrown by House Astaroth, it was the abundance of bloodwine they supplied—a delicacy that only the Archduchy, or House Bael itself, could provide in such large quantities due to its shockingly extravagant price. Unlike most wines, it wasn’t astringent in the slightest. Rather, it was nectarous, like the finest of ambrosia stolen from divinity themselves—a fragrant, honeyed concoction that had every demon salivating at its taste. The cloying aroma wafts through the air as you swirl the claret beverage, and mouth-watering, you sip at the drink in a bid to quench your thirst.
The sanguine honey gently flows down your throat, and closing your eyes; you relish in its taste. In the midst of your delight, however, you feel a heavy presence leer at you. Casually peeking your eyelids open, you come face to face with Namjoon, your lover practically devouring you with his smouldering stare from across the room. Fervent ruby gaze rakes over your body, and even with the distance between the two of you, you notice the way his incarnadine depths turn hazy with desirous lust. As he studies you from head to toe, you can’t help but shuffle from foot to foot, the heat of his observance causing liquid fire to pool between your thighs.
Deliberately, he traces over your figure, and as he tracks further and further down, you allow a wicked smile to curl at your lips. You had purposely chosen your dress for him today—an outfit you knew he’d… appreciate.
Lustrous black material clings to the top half of your frame like a second skin, highlighting your curves in the most flattering way. It exposes the entirety of your décolletage, the expensive ruby-encrusted choker only drawing attention to the elegant column of your neck, as well as the sweeping v-neck of the dress. With how deep the neckline is, it splits the corset in two, exposing your chest to the very bottom of your sternum and displaying the rounded curves of your breasts in a wholly tantalising manner. Gilded lace appliqué decorates your bodice, the gossamer fabric scintillating as you move and captivating anyone and everyone with its shimmer.
The skirt falls around your legs in swathes of inky chiffon and into a sweeping train that pools at your feet. A hip-high split separates the material, each of your steps hinting at the supple curve of your calves and thighs—their lengths only elongated by your stilettos. Satin pumps adorn your feet, the heels embellished with rubies and a golden spray of leaves. From your jewellery to your gown, it was clear that you and Namjoon had coordinated, even if you’d both—intentionally—attended the event separately and without any other escorts.
All of a sudden, Namjoon’s eyes snap up to yours, the abruptness of the gesture startling you. Locking his fervid gaze with yours, his tongue darts out, and he licks at his lips. Instantly, heat floods your cheeks, your body temperature rising by a couple of degrees. Involuntarily, your abdomen clenches, a trickle of wetness seeping out of your core and onto the insides of your thighs. Shifting from one foot to the other, you take in a deep but subtle breath and allay your electrified nerves. Then, corners of your mouth tugging, they twist into a coy smile, and purposely, you look at him through the thick of your eyelashes.
Casually, you take another sip of your drink and deliberately swallow thickly. The movement of your oesophagus draws Namjoon’s attention to the arc of your neck, his eyes darkening at the way your choker-clad throat bobs as you imbibe the bloodwine. You watch as he exhales deeply, his chest rising and falling harshly. Knowing you’ve rattled him, you suppress the smirk that threatens to break out on your lips. Instead, you raise a nonchalant eyebrow in challenge. Lust-blackened eyes leer at you; he glances towards a pair of glass doors on the ride side of the room, and with a short incline of his head, he motions for you to meet him outside on the balcony.
Just as you move to nod, “Your humble servant greets the most noble and sovereign Crown Heir to the Bael Empire. May our ancestors shine their blessings and glory upon you, Your Highness,” a newcomer announces, stepping in front of you and obscuring Namjoon from your line of view.
Cocking an eyebrow, you look at the stranger. He’s taller than you, even with your six-inch heels—though, only by a couple of short centimetres—and incredibly slender, his frame composed of lithe limbs and sinewy muscles. Raspberry-tinged red tresses are pulled into a high ponytail, the ends falling to the mid of his waist, while shorter, choppier locks frame his forehead. Crimson-tinged canary eyes stare down at you like that of a blazing fire, the depths twinkling in an impish manner while your gaze darts to the phoenix-emblazoned pin attached to his outer breast pocket.
“Lord Phenex, I don’t think we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting,” you respond politely with a short curtsy. You have no idea who the man is. As you’ve mentioned, you haven’t even met him before. However, from the heraldic pin on his pocket, you know he must be from the Marquisate of House Phenex. Although, that does confuse you somewhat.
As a Marquisate House, the second-highest rank—preceded only by a Ducal House; though not including House Bael or House Astaroth—House Phenex holds a relatively high position in the Imperial Council. Which, of course, meant that you’d met the current ruling members of House Phenex—an old demon who was nearing the end of his life expectancy. Sadly, the Head of Phenex’s wife had met her end shortly after delivering her stillborn child. Too heartbroken over the loss of both his wife and child on the same day, the Marquis had never remarried—choosing to stay a widow and grieve their passing for the rest of his life. However, that only meant that there were no current heirs to House Phenex or any young members. Hence why the man’s appearance confuses you.
For some reason, a lop-sided smirk paints the man’s lips, and eyes gleaming with excitement; he bows down. To your utter surprise, he then takes your free hand in his and brushes his lips against your knuckles. Now, to those not familiar with Higher Demon customs, the gesture would be wholly innocent, a mere greeting to a noble such of yourself. However, it’s a bold action for those aware of Higher Demon customs—notably, the entirety of the guests in attendance. A very bold action. Especially since you’re all in attendance at Archduke Namjoon’s birthday celebration.
You see, in Higher Demon customs, a kiss to the back of someone’s hand usually indicated an interest in courtship. Which, in ordinary cases, would be fine. After all, another facet of these gatherings was to form political alliances and marriage contracts, and a marriage contract with the Crown Heir of the Empire was highly sought after. Nonetheless, this isn’t an ordinary case. Mostly because, even though you weren’t officially betrothed, there wasn’t a single noble who did not know of your relationship with Namjoon.
So, under usual circumstances, and if you were single, his actions would be no cause of concern.
However, these aren’t usual circumstances.
You’re not single.
And your lover was the very host of the event you’re attending.
A grievous faux pass on Lord Phenex’s end, really.
Looking over the mysterious Lord Phenex’s back, you catch Namjoon’s face. For a second time that night, he looks murderous—the dangerous glint to his carmine eyes sending a shiver of excitement up your spine. You watch as the corner of his jaw flexes, the tips of his knuckles turning white as he grips his wine glass as hard as possible; both telltale signs that he’s doing everything he can to control the blood lust entrenched in his Astaroth lineage. You have no doubt that had his sword been on his hip like it usually was, his hand would already be on its burnished hilt.
“Lord Killian Phenex, heir to House Phenex, greets the Crown Princess _____. The pleasure is all mine, Your Highness,” Killian introduces himself, his posture still in a bow.
Carefully, but not unkindly, taking your hand from his, “You may rise,” you softly say.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” he returns as he straightens his back. Cocking your head to the side, you casually sweep your gaze over him. He’s handsome, you think, his dark cerise hair and golden eyes an alluring contrast to deep russet skin.
“Last I heard, House Phenex didn’t have an heir,” you remark, curiosity lacing your tone. A sheepish expression crosses Killian’s face.
“Ah. I’m not a direct heir to House Phenex; Marquis Silas is my great uncle from my mother’s side. He’s just recently adopted me as his official successor. Until recently, I’ve been living in the Phenex territory,” Killian elucidates. His words clear your confusion, and you finally understand why Killian doesn’t know about your relationship with Namjoon. It wasn’t often that news from the Capital made its way back to remote territories—unless, of course, it was significant, and paramount, for members of the fief to know such as wars, or sovereign decrees.
Well then, maybe you’ll indulge him a little bit.
“How dutiful of you to introduce yourself to me,” you intone airily, a coy smile on your lips as you take a small swig of your bloodwine.
Furtively, you glimpse at Namjoon, his brooding visage peeking over the red-haired’s shoulder as he glares daggers at the Phenex Heir’s back. Honestly, you’re surprised Killian hasn’t noticed Namjoon’s ire, especially with the sheer intensity of your lover’s glower. Either the golden-eyed demon was oblivious, or he just had no sense of self-preservation or survival instincts. After all, even the oldest of the Ducal Lords cowered in Namjoon’s presence.
“Oh, it wasn’t duty that brought me here. I’d heard rumours of the beautiful Crown Princess, and I just had to see for myself,” Killian brazenly admits. His lips curl into a flirtatious smile, one of his sharpened fangs devilishly peeking through the plump folds. If you were any other noble, you would have swooned at his suave charm. Nonetheless, you aren’t any other noble, and you’ve already got a handsome, charming demon to call your own. “And, if I may be so bold, you certainly did not disappoint. Though, even the rumours did not do Your Highness any justice,” he continues with a flirtatious husk.
You purse your lips together; an amused exhale escaping your nose as you stifle your laughter. With blasé mirthfulness, your gaze sweeps over him. Perhaps he really doesn’t have a sense of self-preservation nor any inkling of a survival instinct. Well, at least he was entertaining. You shift, and as your hip cocks to the side, you watch as Killian’s eyes follow the movement before he blatantly ogles the swell of your curves and the glimpse of your legs through the high slit in your skirt. You hum noncommittally, the sound drawing his attention back to your face.
“So… you just heard rumours of my beauty? Nothing else?” you question, unable to hide the amusement in your voice. Killian stares at you with a blank face, bewilderment evident on his handsome face.
“No… Was I supposed to? I did inquire as to whether you were formally betrothed to anyone, but I didn’t hear anything about it,” he ponders out loud while scratching his chin. His words have you lifting your hand, your fingers pressed to your lips as you smother the laughter that threatens to spill from your throat. Instead, swallowing it down, you clear your throat. “Honestly, I’m surprised someone as beautiful as you isn’t officially betrothed yet. Can I take it as a sign that perhaps you haven’t met anyone who catches your eye yet?” he hopefully inquires.
“Hmm… Can you?” you respond cryptically. Of course, you, and every other noble in the Capital, know that he decidedly cannot take it as a sign that you haven’t met anyone. Nonetheless, you can’t help but playfully entertain the man’s fantasies. After all, he’d soon find out that you are in no way, shape, or form, single. Even if you weren’t officially betrothed to Namjoon just yet. Though, that was also intentional on both your parts.
The lack of formality in your relationship with Namjoon had been a conscientious decision, and completely consensual on both your parts. When the two of you had first started courting, almost seventy-five years ago, Namjoon was still just the heir to the Archduchy of Astaroth, and you had yet to be named the Crown Heir. As such, with your position to the throne unsecured, you had not wanted to enter a formal courtship with Namjoon. For no other reason than the fact that you had not wanted Namjoon’s power to influence your right to the title of Crown Princess.
You aren’t stupid. In fact, you’re quite the opposite: intelligent, cunning, devious. However, despite your intellect, there were still many who believed that the right to the throne belonged to a man, to one of your cousins. Because to certain nobles—Count Andromalius included—a male Crown Heir would be much better than a directly legitimate female Crown Heir. Thus, knowing that, and with the knowledge of both House Astaroth’s military and political influence, you and Namjoon had both agreed to hold off on a betrothal until your power was secure; until you’d built enough influence and reputation for yourself—not just that of House Bael’s—that no one would be able to contest to your right.
Of course, roughly a decade ago, you’d finally been coronated as the Crown Princess. Nonetheless, you and Namjoon had still decided to wait. Mostly since there were still some nobles who weren’t happy with a female Crown Heir. Besides, even with the lack of formality in your relationship, you and Namjoon had been together long enough that every one of the seventy-two aristocratic houses of the Bael Empire knew that eventually, you would be tied together.
Which was the real reason you had no official betrothal.
Not because someone hadn’t caught your eye yet.
“Well, if you haven’t, I would love to formally court you and see if I can catch your eye,” Killian appeals.
As he speaks, you finally find Namjoon’s eyes. Your twinkling depths meet his menacing ones, and seeing the spark of dominance in them, your stomach contracts reflexively. From the amicable ambience of the ballroom—only a few intrigued whispers flittering through the air—it was clear that, unlike your altercation with Count Andromalius, barely anyone had noticed your conversation with Lord Phenex. That, or they knew to mind their business. Of course, one of those people just happened to be your lover. Your very vexed, very domineering lover. Taking pity on him—perhaps you’d pushed him a little too much today— you turn back to Killian.
“You are a very handsome man. And typically, I’d love to play with you,” you teasingly purr. The seductive intonation has Killian’s eyes clouding with desire, and you watch as the thick knot of his Adam’s apple bobs within his throat. “However, I don’t think that’ll be possible,” you quickly shut down, your voice returning to its usual airy confidence. Killian splutters at the abrupt shift in your disposition, but before he can open his mouth to retort, you’re smiling politely at him. “Now, I’d like to get some fresh air,” you excuse yourself. Without wasting a moment, you confidently stride to the glass double doors Namjoon had gestured to a little while back. Then, pushing them wide open, you step onto the balcony.
A cool breeze instantly envelops your body, the crisp air sending a shiver down your spine as it kisses the exposed skin of your back. You approach the edge of the landing, your heels clicking loudly in the silence of the night. The midnight sky looms about you, painted in violet-hued shades of mazarine and obscured by mist-like clouds that glow lambent with an amaranth hue. Behind the noctilucent veil shines the moon, the celestial body a nacre beacon of rose quartz. Its light cascades down from the star-speckled welkin like a lustrous river of pearls, the opaline deluge raining over the Astaroth Manor. Under the moonlight, the entire balcony glimmers ivory.
Vines of astar creep around ivory balusters; ruffled petals of sanguine are juxtaposed by palmate leaves of viridian in a verdant display of life. Each floret is delicately lucid with a vermeil shimmer, and illuminated by the moonlight, they simply glimmer brighter—taking on an almost ethereal hue. Dewdrops bead the petals, each one fragrant with redolent floral notes and a deeper undertone of laden musk; the two scents blending together into an intoxicating aroma and saturate the atmosphere in its potent headiness. Approaching the balustrade, you place your hands on the ledge and close your eyes before inhaling deeply.
You’d always admired the rare beauty—and even rarer fragrance—of astars, and growing up, you’d always wanted to cultivate some in your palace gardens. Nonetheless, astars were a unique species of flowering vines, native to the Astaroth Archduchy, and as such, a sacrosanct symbol of both their house and territory. Thus, even you, the daughter of the current emperor and empress, had not been able to gain permission to propagate them in the Princess’ Palace. Of course, that had all changed on your fiftieth anniversary with Namjoon—when your lover had lavished you with an entire garden of them.
Opening your eyes, you smile down at the flowers before deftly tracing one of the furled edges of the petals. Mid-appreciation, you hear the balcony doors open once again before the sound of expensive basilisk-leather soles against even more expensive marble fills the air. You don’t need to turn around to guess who has joined you. There weren’t many who would willingly approach you like this, especially without formally announcing themselves. Though, the lack of etiquette wasn’t the reason you knew who this was.
No, you know who this is due to your familiarity with him.
You’d know that oppressive aura of bloodlust anywhere.
Namjoon stalks up to you, and without saying anything, his strong, corded arms wrap around your waist. The broad expanse of his chest presses against your naked back, the low-cut of your dress allowing you to feel the sinewy musculature under the thin material of his shirt. Your head falls back, instinctively finding the groove of his sternum, where the back of your skull rests comfortably between his pecks. His heartbeat is strong under you, the usual rhythmic pumping slightly hastened and just marginally intenser as it pounds against his ribcage.
Pressing his face into the arc of your throat, he runs his nose down the column before burying it into the crook, where your neck meets your collarbones. Harsh breaths fill the air and as the heat of his exhales waft over your skin, a smile curls on your lips. Indolently, your hand rises, and finding his hair, you thread it through his thick, silvery tresses. They flow like silk through your fingers, the soft texture making you hum in pleasure. The affectionate gesture causes his harsh, almost ragged, breaths to soften, and you feel the palpable air of his ferociousness begin to fade. Within seconds, it fully dissipates, your lover turning to putty in your hands.
“Are you really jealous of Killian?” you question, mirth evident in your words.
“When did he become Killian?” Namjoon gruffly murmurs into your throat, and despite being muffled, you clearly hear the sullenness in his voice.
Laughing, “Is there a reason I need to call him Lord Phenex and maintain formalities when it’s just the two of us?” you respond.
It wasn’t as if there was any need for politeness when you were referring to other nobles while you were alone with your lover. Moreover, it wasn’t the first time you’d called someone by their given name—you did it frequently when in Namjoon’s presence, and he never seemed to mind before. Though, you know exactly why he minds this time. Really, he was too much sometimes. Namjoon only buries his face deeper into your neck before mumbling something unintelligible. Lower lip pulled between your teeth, you shake your head in amused exasperation.
“Are you really jealous of Lord Phenex?” you repeat, purposely emphasising his title. He tightens his embrace—almost possessively—causing you to let out a tinkling laugh.
“Should I kill Count Andromalius and Lord Phenex?” he asks. Though, from the contemplative intonation, you know it’s a question more for himself than you. Still, remembering the Count, your features twist into a scowl.
“Count Andromalius... more like Cunt Andromalius,” you mumble in response. That has Namjoon pulling his face away from your neck before he lets out a deep, throaty chuckle.
Plush lips press against the corner of your jaw in a soft kiss, “Just say the word, my love, and I’ll deliver his head to you on a silver platter,” Namjoon offers. You don’t doubt his words. As the Archduke of Astaroth, and the Demon Realm’s greatest swordmaster, Namjoon’s entire role was the ‘Sword of the Empire’—a role that was tasked with ridding any enemy of House Bael.
Of course, for you, he was more a sword for anyone who even mildly inconvenienced you.
“Ha…” you exhale in amusement. “No, it’s fine. I need to be able to handle people like the Count myself,” you murmur. “Besides, no one would take me seriously if you constantly have to fight my battles for me. You know some of them already expect you to rule in my place. Isn’t that the only reason we’re not married yet?” you follow. Namjoon hums lowly and goosebumps prickle at your skin as you feel—more than hear—his chest tremor beneath your back.
Shifting behind you, Namjoon’s arms uncurl from around your frame. Instead, his sword-calloused hands wander down, tracing the curve of your waist until he finds the swell of your hips. Dexterous fingers dig into your flesh before tugging, Namjoon pulling your ass flush against his crotch. Underneath his slacks, you feel his shaft twitch, his cock already hardening as it presses into your plump cheeks—as though it were an innate reflex. Your breath hitches, your pussy clenching in response as you feel heat pool between your thighs once again. Lazily, he presses a kiss to the corner of your jaw, in the sensitive spot just under your earlobe.
“You know I could just kill anyone who opposes you,” he murmurs. The cloying scent of bloodwine taints his breath, sweetening it and causing your eyes to flutter as it fans over your flesh.
“That’s what we call a tyranny,” you answer breathily.
Without an ounce of hesitancy, “Alright, I’ll just kill Lord Phenex then,” he murmurs, a sneer marring the husky baritone of his voice. The severity of his tone causes a peal of laughter to burst from your throat.
You turn in his arms, Namjoon’s hands instinctively moving over your hips and to the small of your back; his palms rest on your exposed skin, the rough pads of his fingertips—calloused from decades of wielding his sword—grazing the tops of your ass. Lifting your arms, you wrap them around the vast hardness of his shoulders before entwining your digits in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Rubious jewels stare back at you, the tumultuous depths lulling into a soft stillness, tender affection emblazoned clearly in his gaze as he looks down at you. Head tilting to the side, you examine him carefully, your eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and disbelief.
“No, seriously? Are you really jealous? It’s completely unlike you,” you point out.
It had been a very long time since Namjoon had displayed an ounce of jealousy, or possessiveness towards you. Over half a century almost. At first, it had been because various noblemen still chased after you, their houses sending you countless proposals for betrothals, despite the fact that you were—unofficially—courting Namjoon. Mainly because, due to the lack of formality, most of them simply thought the two of you were sowing your oats before settling down. Nonetheless, after half a century, they’d finally clued in on the fact that both of you were serious, and the betrothal offers had ceased.
Though, you believe a vast majority of it was due to the fact that there were very few houses that would be brazen enough to purposely incur the wrath of House Astaroth.
Namjoon’s handsome features twist at your remark. “I’m just not used to it,” he mutters. The ample swells of his cheeks puff out slightly, so marginal that if it weren’t for the all-seeing Eyes of Bael you’d inherited, you’d miss it. Voluptuous lips quirk downwards—the sensual lower fold jutting out indiscernibly to the naked eye—before his perfectly manicured eyebrows furrow as he looks away. At his sullen features, your eyes light up with delight.
By the Empire, he’s pouting.
Your hands move to his cheeks and squeezing them so his lips puff out, you direct his head back to face you. “Namjoon. Are you sulking?” you question, incredulity laden in your words. He attempts to look away, his countenance falling into a clear expression of sullenness as his cheeks tinge with vermeil heat. “Oh my Gods, you are. You’re totally pouting,” you cry in glee.
“I’m not,” Namjoon argues. In spite of his words, his lower lip pokes out further, a clear sulk marring his plush lips. Eyes twinkling with mischief, you lean up on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss on his mouth.
“You are,” you grin, your lips brushing against his before you kiss him once again.
For a second time, “I’m not,” he disagrees, and again, you press a kiss against his mouth.
“No, you definitely are,” you quip in a sing-song voice.
“I’m not,” he growls. Nonetheless, despite the harshness of his words, there isn’t a single inkling of anger in his voice. Rolling your eyes at him, you kiss him again. It lasts a little longer this time, your lips flush against his soft ones. When his pout dissipates, his mouth slotting into the seam of yours like two perfect puzzle pieces, you pull away.
“Lord Phenex just moved from the Phenex territory to the Capital. He didn’t know about us. He meant no harm,” you explain. Then, after a brief pause, “Besides, he’ll know about us soon enough,” you add as an afterthought.
Namjoon purses his lips, “I still don’t like it,” he murmurs under his breath. As he speaks, he runs his nose down the length of your jaw, and into the corner where it meets your throat. “You didn’t have to indulge him either, you know,” he complains softly, his hands tightening their hold on your back—as though worried you’d disappear.
You twirl your fingers through his hair, the pads drawing lazy circles into his scalp as you hum in thought. “It was harmless fun,” you respond. As you speak, Namjoon’s sharpened fang grazes your flesh, the stinging sensation causing you to moan in pleasure. Coquettish smile quirking onto your lips, “Why? Are you afraid I’ll leave you for a younger man?” you tease with a purr.
Instantly, Namjoon draws away from you. Shock colours his countenance, his crimson eyes flashing as he gawks at you. “Y-Younger man?” he splutters.
“What? I am almost forty years younger than you, you know,” you respond, your tone ripe with faux innocence. Purposely shrugging your shoulders, “Maybe I’ll grow tired and start wanting a younger, more handsome man,” you jest. There’s no real veracity to your voice—both of you know you’re simply teasing him. You’ve always said there was no one else but him, and you’d always meant it. To you, he was your first, and he’d be your last.
Besides, it wasn't as though that was the only reason he'd be your first, and your last. No, it was more than that. Namjoon is your soulmate—the two of you predestined by the universe to be together. In the demon realm, soulmates weren't a common thing. They were rare—two souls that were made for each other, forged in the very stars and formed from magic long before even their parents, or grandparents were born. Nonetheless, that didn't mean they were completely unheard of either. As a result, every now and then, there were two demons born who were inexplicably drawn together, something deep within them magnetising them to the other.
That was who Namjoon was to you.
When you had first met him, it had been due to pure chance—he'd joined his father, the late Archduke, in visiting the Imperial Palace. During his visit, he'd somehow managed to get lost, and eventually, found himself in the Princess' Palace gardens, where you'd met him wandering around, trying to find his way back. That one meeting had been it. You don't know how you'd know, neither of you did. But it was as if you'd seen each other, and lightning had struck both of your beings. Something simply clicked in place, and suddenly, it felt like you'd found a piece of you that had been missing— a piece you didn't even know you were missing before you'd laid eyes upon him.
Yet, even knowing this, even knowing that you were both made for each other, Namjoon’s lips form a thin line.
Carmine eyes leer at you, the rubious depths turbulent as they smear with unrestricted possessiveness. His gaze is almost predatory, unfathomable currents of coccineous dominance ensnaring you in their undertow and threatening to drag you under. The bulging muscles of his corded arms flex, and in one move, he easily pulls your body flush against his. Head bending down, his lips brush against the soft of your earlobe, the mix of his soft breath and the gentle touch causing your spine to shudder. Nonetheless, you know your love far too well, and you know the tenderness is simply the calm before the storm. True to your expectations, he suddenly bites down on your lobe, the sharp pain causing you to gasp out loud despite expecting it.
“A younger man?” he questions. The deceptively calm intonation, paired with the purposely low rasp to his voice, has a sudden ache blooming between your thighs—your inner core contracting vehemently, wantonly. “Oh darling, that’s not going to be possible,” he continues with a chuckle. Dragging his teeth against the outer shell of your ear, “Because as soon as I can, I’m going to tie you to me. Both in marriage…” Abruptly he bites down, his sharpened fangs cutting into the top cartilage and causing you to hiss. “... And our bed,” he finishes with a growl.
The deep, gravelly sound has both your mouth and throat drying up. Lust splatters across your eyes, your own gaze darkening with licentious need. Digits tightening around his hair, you tug at his roots. “Hmmm. But what if you can’t satisfy me the way I want? Maybe I’ll even have to bring in some concubines to do your job for you. I’m sure Lord Kilian would love the opportunity,” you coo. Your bravado is an act—a mere farce that Namjoon easily sees through.
You feel him smirk against your ear. One of the hands resting on your back moves, his palm wandering over your hip and further down. Easily, he finds the split in your skirt, and fingers creeping under the gossamer material, his indurated digits skim your bare flesh. Mouth falling open, a low groan slips from your throat as he tracks over the curve of your hip and over your ass. Gripping the cheek, he spreads it apart slightly and pushes his fingers between your thighs, the tips of his fingers brushing against your dewy folds. When he feels the bare flesh of your pussy, a low growl of appreciation tremors through the air.
“No panties? Aren’t you a dirty little Princess,” he purrs. His voice cuts through the air, the husky dominance saturating the atmosphere and causing your core to tremble. Desperate for his touch—your cunt aching to be filled—you push your ass further into his hand, your thighs automatically spreading apart. “Oh? Someone’s eager,” he chuckles.
Flexing his fingers, he teasingly massages the outer folds of your pussy, your wetness lubricating the flesh and causing you to hiss in pleasure. As the pads of his middle and pointer finger trace your nether lips—the tips frustratingly close to your aching hole—your head drops to rest on his chest. “Namjoon,” you mewl, his name spilling from your mouth; your lower abdomen flooding with liquid lust as he toys with your cunt.
“Concubine? How could you ever even entertain the notion of a concubine?” Namjoon questions, foreboding glee laden in his voice. “Look at you, already moaning like a bitch in heat for me,” he chuckles.
Suddenly, the pad of his finger dips into your pussy, the shallow intrusion causing a low groan to tear through your throat. Lazily, he circles the finger inside you, his nail tracing around the entrance to your cunt, teasingly stretching it out just enough to drive you mad, but not enough to satiate the desirous ache. Thick, filmy strings of your arousal drip out of you and onto his finger, some of it sliding down the length and onto his palm. Feeling the molten heat of your wetness trickle down his hand, Namjoon purrs.
“See. I’ve barely even touched you, and yet, your cunt is leaking all over me. Do you really think anyone else could get you this fucking desperate? This wet and needy for cock?” he hisses, plunging the rest of his digit hilt-deep into you. The blunt tip of his finger glides through your tight, pulsating walls, stretching out the pliant flesh of your cunt. Instantly, you gasp in pleasure, the sound morphing into a strangled moan as the length stimulates your innermost erogenous zones.
But, it’s not enough.
It’s not nearly enough—not remotely close enough to the way his thick, hard cock would pull you apart.
“N-Namjoon,” you mew, the sound breathier, and higher-pitched, than you’d expected it. The licentious desperation etched in your voice has Namjoon chuckling lowly—the resonant sound echoing through your eardrums and straight to your core, your walls autonomously clenching tighter around his unmoving finger.
“Come on, my sweet hellion," he coos, a rakish, lop-sided smile painting his expression. "Tell me, will a mere concubine satisfy you like I could? Could they put you, the future Empress, the noblest woman in our Empire, on your knees and fill you up—your mouth, your cunt, your ass—until you're nothing but a crying, sobbing mess begging for them to cum inside you?" he questions. The lewdness of his words has your skin tingling in anticipation, the heat of lust pricking at your being as though you were being branded with the hot-iron of his lechery.
"Fuck, Namjoon," you breathe out, your hips reflexively grinding into his hand as you try to ride his stationary finger.
In a flash, Namjoon's hand moves—his finger retreating out of you. Earlier than your brain could even register the loss of his appendage, and before you let out a displeasured sound of complaint, his pointer finger and thumb swiftly ping your swollen clit. Pain coalesces with pleasure, the contrasting sensations jolting across your nerves, and mouth falling open in response, you cry out—your hand shooting to grip his wrist as your long, claret nails dig into his flesh. Your reaction causes Namjoon's smirk to widen, his sharpened canine glinting in the moonlight through the split in the seam of his lips.
In indolent movements, Namjoon circles the outline of your clit with his fingertip, the bud rolling lightly under his ministrations. A soft mew escapes your lips, the gesture causing your empty core to convulse, a gush of wetness flooding out of you and down your thighs. "No, my love," he purrs, his lips brushing against your temple in an affectionate kiss, "That's all for me. You're all for me. Mine to love. Mine to protect," he continues. With each sentiment, he presses a kiss to your face—first onto the apple of your cheek, then to the corner of your jaw—as he makes his way to your mouth. Just when he gets to the corner of lips, however, he stills. Then, pressing a deceptively sweet kiss against the edge, "Mine to fuck," he finishes.
Sucking in a sharp breath, you look up at him through the thick of your eyelashes. "Are you going to fuck me?" you breathily question.
Moving his fingers through your slit, Namjoon grins darkly. Lambent carmine firmly locking onto your gaze, he runs his long, dexterous fingers through your folds and gathers as much of your wetness onto them as he can. Then, when the tips reach the entrance to your slick, heated cunt, "I am," he admits.
Briefly, your flick your eyes over his shoulder and glancing at the doors of the balcony, "Right here? With your guests on the other side— all demon nobility who'll hear us?" you ask. Reflexively, your cunt begins to pulsate, and as the dripping hole twitches around his fingertips, he presses the pads of his pointer and middle finger harder against your entrance—just enough to hone your attention onto the threat of penetration—but not enough to physically plunge into you.
"Isn't that what you want, little hellion? I can feel the way your cunt is twitching, Princess. Don't you want me to slide my thick cock into your little hole and fuck it open? Right here? Where all your subjects can hear you? Where they can bear witness to the way I defile your body—desecrate it in the way you love, in the way only I can?" Your throat tightens at his words, the heat of your desire searing through your being and engulfing you in its ardent blaze.
"Please," you choke out.
Instantly, Namjoon's lips crash down onto yours. The moment you feel the rough of his lips onto yours, you moan in pleasure. His kiss rattles through you like that of a hurricane, the possessiveness of it consuming you whole as he practically devours you. Simultaneously, his pointer and middle finger thrust into you. Easily, you spread open around his digits—the ringed muscles contracting and sucking him deeper into your velvet depths. Your mouth falls open in response, a low keen escaping from deep within your chest when you feel his fingers inside you. Seizing the opportunity, his tongue forcibly pushes between your teeth before roughly gliding over yours. The saccharinity of his own flavour blends with the honeyed taste of the bloodwine he'd consumed—the two blending into an melliferous concoction that has you salivating.
Unrelenting, Namjoon plunges his fingers deeper and deeper into you—his ministrations incredibly deliberate: making you feel every centimetre of his fingers—until he’s pushed them in till the hilt. Hands darting out, you fist them into the collar of his shirt—desperately needing him closer to you—until you feel the rigid musculature of his chest press into the softer curves of your torso. His kiss is bruising, the harsh roughness a juxtaposition to the soft silkiness of his tongue, causing you to whimper into his mouth.
In tandem with his dominating press of his lips, Namjoon thrusts his fingers into you, the digits pulling apart the wet velvet of your inner walls as the pads stimulate your inner nerves—setting your nerves afire with burning pleasure. Your rock your cunt into his hands, your hips swivelling as you try to take them further into your pussy—your slick walls pulsating around his appendages. Between the way he fucks you with his fingers, and the way his mouth devours yours, you lose yourself into the licentious pleasure he lavishes onto your body.
Meanwhile, releasing his collar, your own hands begin wandering down the length of Namjoon's body. Your palms trace over the hard, corded muscles—each and every one of the rigid fibres teeming with unbridled power. Tracking over his defined abs, the musculature trembling under your touch, you glide your fingers over his slim waist and towards the waistband of his trousers—your digits lightly skimming over the belt buckle. Over you, Namjoon pushes his hips into you, and when you feel the hardened bulge of his cock pressing against your hip through his trousers, a ripple of anticipation flits through you.
Not wanting to waste another minute, you quickly unbuckle his belt. Undoing the button and zip of his slacks, you push your hand beneath his boxers and take hold of his cock. As soon as the soft warmth of your hand palms his cock, Namjoon lets out a hiss—his lips breaking away from yours. Ragged breaths fill the air, the both of you gasping from the fervent ardour of your kiss as your lungs burn for oxygen. The veined shaft sits in your hand, pulsating, hot and heavy. Squeezing it lightly from the base, you run your hand along its length, until you reach the tip. Blunt cockhead sitting in your hold you run your thumb over the slit in the crown, relishing in the sticky precum that coats your skin.
Releasing his cock, you remove your hand from his trousers, and instead, bring it up to your mouth. From above, Namjoon leers down at you, his rubious eyes tumultuous with raw, carnal lust. Keeping your gaze locked onto his, you poke your tongue out from between your lips and lick at the precum that stains your palm. The second your tastebuds touch his arousal, your palate is bathed in his headiness—the flavour causing a low groan to escape your throat. Watching you sample his precum, Namjoon's eyes darken—the bright incarnadine tinting into an inky sanguine. He lifts his own hand, he brushes his slick fingertips against your lips, painting them in your own wetness, before pushing the digits into your mouth and onto your tongue.
As a reflex, your mouth automatically wraps around the appendages, your tongue moving to curl around the fingers as you lick off your own arousal. With how thick your essence coats his hand—the length of his fingers practically dripping in your juices—your own laden taste overpowers his, overtaking your palate and bathing it with your taste. You let out a hum, and hollowing out your cheeks, you coquettishly suck on his digits, your eyes never leaving his.
"By the Empire, aren't you the most depraved little slut?" Namjoon rasps. Despite the harshness of his words, his voice is laced with affectionate approval, his eyes sparkling in praise. Pulling his fingers out of your mouth, he grips your chin between the pad of his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger before angling it up to look up at him further. Softly brushing his lips to yours, "Does my Princess want to suck my cock?" he coos. Unhesitatingly, you nod your head. Your response has the corner of his lips twitching in amusement.
He takes one step away from you before arrogantly glancing at the floor in a silent gesture you know to mean 'get on your knees'. Despite the cockiness of his demeanour, you can't help but obey—your body automatically dropping into a kneeling position. Your obedience causes Namjoon to smirk down at you. A strong eyebrow quirks, and eyes twinkling with mirth, "Well, aren't you eager to swallow my cock," he taunts. While he speaks, his hands move to the waistband of his trousers, before he lowers them slightly.
Promptly, freed from the confines of his trousers, his shaft springs up, bouncing slightly with its own weight. Over the seventy-five years you and Namjoon have been together, you've seen his cock plenty of times. In fact, you've seen it enough that if you closed your eyes and thought about it, you could accurately and perfectly imagine it. Hell, if you were given the opportunity, you're sure you could mould it out of clay, or carve it from marble. Nonetheless, despite the countless of times you've seen it, it never fails to amaze you—or have you salivating.
Thick pearls of translucent precum ooze from his cockhead, the mushroom-shaped, mauve cockhead glistening under the moonlight that rains down upon him. He's incredibly long—the tip reaching way past his navel—and somehow even thicker—your hand barely able to fit around his girth. Vascularised with prominent, bulging veins, his shaft throbs under your gaze, the pulsating blood vessels onto drawing attention to his impossible, and wholly delicious, size. It stands proudly between two thick thighs, the muscles indurated and toned from years of swordsmanship training. Transfixed to the sight of him, you find your throat constricting, your mouth-watering as you imagine the way it'll fill your mouth, and stretch out your oesophagus.
"Go on then, Princess. Take my cock in your mouth," Namjoon goads.
Brazenly, you reach out and grip the base of his cock, its weight a familiar heaviness in your hand. Of course, it barely fits in your small hands, the throbbing length practically dwarfing your fist. Warm lips brush against the crown of his cock, and with your eyes firmly locked on his, you stare up at him through the thick of your lashes. Placing his cockhead against your lips, you run it against the folds of your mouth—as thought it were lipstick—and staining your lips in his precum. The sticky wetness paints your mouth, and responsively, your tongue darts out to lick it off of your own flesh. At the sight of your lewd gesture, Namjoon's pupil's dilate, their murky inkiness overtaking the lucent crimson of his irises.
"Fuck... What an obedient cock-hungry Princess..." your lover hisses, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows thickly.
Opening your mouth further, you gently wrap your lips around his head and take it between your teeth, just until his frenulum sits between your lips. Nestled in the balmy wetness of your mouth, his shaft pulsates viciously, the veins throbbing as more blood surges to his member, causing it to swell further. Unable to stop himself, Namjoon's fingers move to curl at the base of your neck, and pressing his fingertips into your flesh, he tugs your head further—a gesture you know to be an attempt to bury his cock deeper into your mouth.
Within the confines of your lips, you flick your tongue out against his slit. Feeling the tip of your velvet appendage against his leaking head, a throat growl rumbles from Namjoon's chest—the sound tremoring through the silent air. Emboldened by the sound, you wrap your tongue around the head before suckling at the weeping cockhead—teasing him and causing to hiss in pleasure. Then, all of a sudden, you release it. Instead, picking up his shaft, you lick at the underside, from the base, all the way to his tip—your tongue curling around and lightly massaging his frenulum.
"It's all for you, Archduke," you purr, using his title rather than his name.
The fingers around your neck flex, and uncurling from the column, they move to thread into your tresses instead—the digits knotting in the unruly mess of curls that is your hair. Affectionately, he strokes your head. With a hum, "This is exactly why you won't need a concubine, my sweet hellion," he coos. Then, gripping at your roots, he tugs your hair harshly, a blunt pain stinging at your scalp. "Because no one else could make the Crown Princess beg for a cock like you beg for mine," he continues, dark dominance heavy in the husk of his voice.
A smirk tugs at your own lips, and pressing a chaste kiss to the side of his cock, "I'm the Crown Princess, my love. I don't beg for anyone," you purr in response, your eyes twinkling with mischief. Low chuckle resounding from his throat, Namjoon's eyes glint fiendishly.
"As far as I'm aware, the Crown Princess doesn't kneel either. Yet, here you are. On your knees. Eager for me to fuck your throat," comes his derisive gibe. His words has a surge of insolence coursing through you. Sensing your rising petulance, Namjoon pulls your hair once again. "However, you're right. You don't beg for just anyone... but you'll beg for me, won't you, my sweet?" he responds. The guttural lowness of his voice has your already drenched cunt clenching, the prominent emptiness causing you to whimper.
Still, despite your own aching desire, you coyly smile up at him, "We'll see about that... After all, it may just be me who makes you beg," you respond cheekily. Namjoon quirks an eyebrow at your taunt.
"We'll see about that," he replies ominously, his eyes nebulous with sanguine lust.
Spurred by his reply, your stomach somersaults with your own desire. Responsively, you take his cock deeper into the hollow of your mouth, until the crown of his cock hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag. A strained sound resounds through the air, a mix between a groan and a hiss, as Namjoon's fingers tighten around your head. Spit pools around your mouth, spilling through the cock-plugged seam of your lips and all over his shaft, soaking the length in your saliva. The silken warmth of your mouth rhythmically pulsates around his hardness, and Namjoon's jaw clenches—the corner muscle clenching—as he relishes in the pleasurable sensation.
With your jaw split wide open around his tremendous girth, Namjoon leers down at you through dark, taunting eyes. "Gods, aren't you desperate to fit me in your mouth? Do you want to swallow my cock so much that you're already drooling all over it?" he taunts, his eyes luminous with provocation.
Insolence floods through you, and narrowing your eyes slightly, you force your throat to relax and swallow. The muscles of your oesophagus immediately turn pliant, and yielding to his length, you feel his crown press against the opening to your throat. Your sudden gesture has Namjoon jerking, the feel of his sensitive cockhead pressed against the heated flesh of the back of your throat causing him to inadvertently buck his hip. The motion of his hips presses him further into the opening of your oesophagus, and reflexively, your muscles clench, causing you to choke around him as more spit spills out of your mouth and down his shaft.
As the sound of you gagging fills the air, "Fuck— You're really going to try and swallow it whole, aren't you, Princess?" Namjoon coos. Your mouth twitches in response, and Namjoon knows that if it weren't stuffed full with his girth, you'd be smirking. Own lips forming a lop-sided, cocky grin, he releases his hands from your hair. Instead, he uses them to unwrap your own fists from his cock and curl them around your wrist—until they're each confined in his hold. Pinning them to the railing behind her, he sneers down at you. "Alas, that's too bad, Princess. Because I'd rather fuck your throat myself," he admits, a playful tilt to his voice. Your eyes widen at his words, your pupils dilating with salacious want. Staring up from your position on your knees, you look at him with a mix of challenge and imploration.
"Oh? Do you want me to fuck your throat, sweet hellion?" he hums. You nod your head in reply, the movement causing his cock to shift inside you, the head threatening to push further past your pharynx and into your oesophagus. "Really. Does the Crown Princess really want me to use your throat as my personal cocksleeve?" he questions. Again you nod, a soft mewl spilling from your throat—the vibrations reverberating over Namjoon's cock. A sly smirk forming on his lips, his eyes glint mischievously down at you. "Then... are you begging for me to fuck your throat?" he mocks derisively.
The dark, domineering inflexion in his voice causes your skin to flash with heat, white-hot lust prickling at your being as your aching pussy releases another trickle of wetness. As a result, the musky heat between your legs deepens, growing near uncomfortable, and causing you to shift. Wincing slightly, you feel your knees slide across the cold, hard marble—your joints growing sore from your own weight. Still, as you spread your legs wider, the cool midnight air skims across your heated cunt. Nonetheless, the reprieve is only slight, and within moments, its overshadows by the prominent emptiness between your thighs, causing you to squeeze them shut.
Despite your own aching desire, however, "No," you respond petulantly—your reply stifled by his girth lodged in your throat. Namjoon's lips twitch at your defiance, amusement colouring his expression.
Exhaling mirthfully, "Don't worry, Princess. Even if you're not begging for me now, I'll have you begging for me long before I fuck you," he coos in response, unaffected by your disobedience. Then, gripping your wrists tighter in each of his hands, "Relax your throat, my love. I'm going to fuck it until it's raw," Namjoon commands. The authoritative dominance in his demeanour strokes your hunger, and once again, you forcibly will your muscles to slacken—longing for his immense girth to pull them apart.
Abruptly, Namjoon's hips retreat, only to buck forward just as swiftly—his cock surging into your mouth as quick and as deep as he can—only to be stopped by the unyielding muscles of your pharynx. Eyes widening, you choke around his length, your throat contracting violently in an effort to bar Namjoon's cock entrance. Nonetheless Namjoon pays the response no mind. Rather, he drags his cock out, only to plunge forward again—fucking your mouth as his crown forces itself against the opening to your oesophagus. His brutal pace has tears stinging at your eyes, and your fingers digging into the flesh of your palms. The wet sounds of gagging fill the air with each thrust, spit dribbling out of your mouth relentless and trickling down his shaft as he sinks his cock into your cheeks over and over again.
“F-Fuck, Princess. Relax,” Namjoon hisses in command, his voice broken up by hollow groans and choked pants.
More than used to his ferocious pace from the years of rough fucking, you quickly adapt to his rhythm. Thus, the next time his cockhead rams against your pharynx, you forcible swallow. Immediately, the thick mushroom-tip of Namjoon's cock pushes past the tight flesh and into your oesophagus. Moreover, with how drenched his shaft is—copious amounts of your spit lubricating his length—he easily slides further into your throat, your muscles eagerly—and willingly—accepting his girth. As the velvet warmth of your flex encases his cock, the pulsating, wet heat gripping each inch of his cock, Namjoon hisses in pleasure, and responsively, thrusts his hips harder —until he's buried hilt-deep in your mouth.
With his cock deep within the confines of your throat, you will yourself to breathe through your nose—ragged inhales and shallow exhales filling the silent night—even as you choke around his unrelenting hardness. Above you, Namjoon basks in the feel of your throat, your silken flesh erratically convulsing around his shaft as it attempts to force out the intrusion. Nonetheless, with the way his hips are pressed flush against your mouth, your nose buried in his pubic bone, all the action does is surreptitiously caress his stiff length as he forcibly spreads the tight passage open around his girth. Namjoon groans at the sensation of your silken walls massaging his sensitive shaft, his cock throbbing in tandem.
Swallowing thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing under the ministration, he opens his eyes and looks down at you once again. The sight of you—tear-stained face, spit-soaked mouth, and lust-filled eyes—has his cock jolting in your throat, the immense hardness capriciously twitching within your throat. The sensation has you keening in wanton need, your hips squirming and your knees pressing further into the marble as the ache between your thighs practically overwhelms you.
"Fucking hell... You take it so well, don't you, Princess? You swallow cock as though you're so... fucking...greedy... for it," Namjoon praises, each word emphasised by a light thrust.
With his cock stuffed within your oesophagus, and the underside of his length flat against the hollow of your tongue, it's all you can do but to moan out—the sound coming out slightly garbled. Encouraged by the strained sound, Namjoon retreats his length from your throat—your eyes fluttering at the sensation of his blunt seam of his frenulum dragging against the soft of your silken passage—before he thrusts back inside. Pinning your wrists harder against the railing, the back of your head pressed flat against the marble balustrade, he begins fucking your throat.
Lewd sounds of you choking and gagging around Namjoon's cock resound through the silent air, intertwining with the wet slapping of Namjoon's hips and balls slapping against your face, as he uses your through and mouth for his own personal pleasure. Spit trickles out of your mouth, the flood of saliva dribbling from the seal of your lips around his shaft and down your chin before dripping onto his balls. Eyes slipping shut, you relish in the motion of his thick girth roughly pumping into you, your skin tingling with pleasure as your oesophagus turns raw from his ministrations—Namjoon using the sloppy wetness to effortlessly easing his cock in and out of your throat.
"Tell me, Princess, do you think a concubine could use your throat like this?" Namjoon hisses. The sudden question has your eyes snapping wide open before you look up at him through the thick of your lashes. Tear-filled eyes meet luminous ones, and with your gazes fixated on each other, Namjoon's chest trembles in a low growl. One of his fists releases your wrist, his other hand restraining them both instead, before he uses his now free hand to grip at your hair, tugging your head back to further look up at him. "Hmm, little hellion? Do you think a fucking mere concubine could stuff your throat? Fuck it until it's bruised? Until your knees are raw? Until you're sloppy with spit and cum?" he continues, each sentiment emphasised by a particularly harsh thrust, the rigid, blunt head of his cock pushing further and further into you.
Out of the blue, he gently caresses your head, your eyes fluttering shut—causing tears to track down your cheeks—as you relish in the way his fingers stroke your hair in tender affection. "Do you really think anyone but me could do this to you, Princess?" he asks, his voice dropping by a couple of decibels. The low, guttural sound, paired with his words, has your skin flushing with ardent heat. Goaded by his lascivious sentiments, you deliberately move your tongue to lave at the sensitive underside of his cock—your muscle straining under the weightiness of his shaft pressing it down.
A strangled groan rips from deep within his throat at your ministration, the sudden pleasure of your wet, velvet appendage rhythmically massaging his cock growing to be too much—especially combined with the way the silken heat of your throat convulses around the rest of his shaft. His cock twitches inside of you, the bulging veins swelling even further as more of his blood pumps towards his member, until he swells impossible inside of you. Mentally, you brace yourself for the impending deluge of his cum to erupt out of his head and flood your throat. Nonetheless, before he can spill himself directly into your oesophagus, he's quickly dislodging himself from your throat.
The abruptness of his ministration has you choking, your face twisting into a grimace as you feel his cockhead scrape against your inner flesh before popping out of your pharynx as he retreats from your throat. Once he's back within your mouth, the heaviness of his head flush against the back of your tongue—Namjoon breathing heavily over you—you look up at him in confusion. Nonetheless, Namjoon ignores you—choosing to inhale deeply. Once he's caught his breath, he looks down at you once again. Heavy eyes take in the sight of you, a tremor of appreciation rumbling from deep within his chest.
Knelt on the floor and head staring up at him, you're a complete mess. Desire laces your half-lidded, heavy eyes and tear-tracks stain your cheeks, while your lips are swollen and bruised, a mix of precum and spit dripping from them. Large hand dropping from your head, the other continuing to bind your wrists against the balustrade, Namjoon moves to swipe his thumb against your lips. Gathering the residual concoction that paints your mouth onto the pad, he pushes it between your puffy petals. Instinctively, your lops wrap around his thumb, and keeping your gaze on him, you suckle deliberately.
"By the Empire, I love you," he breathes out, the affection of his words juxtaposed by the gruffness in his voice. Releasing his thumb with a pop, you nibble on the tip coyly.
"Why did you pull out?" you ask, a grimace colouring your features as your throat—raw from his rough thrusts—protest the sounds. Taking his thumb out of your mouth, Namjoon tenderly strokes your tumescent lips.
"Because, my love, the only place I want to cum tonight, is deep within your cunt—so that I can bathe your womb in my seed," he responds without hesitation.
His words have your eyes darkening, and involuntarily, your lips part, "Please," you implore—the sound raspy, and wanton.
At your behest, and before you can even construe his actions, Namjoon is leaning down and picking you up. Strong arms—the muscles lean, and corded, each tissue boasting robust power—wrap around your waist, and after picking you up off of the ground in one fell swoop, he gently sits you on the balcony ledge. Once you're safely on the railing, Namjoon's hands slip under the slit of your skirt and onto your knees, pushing the material onto either side of your body as he bears your bear legs, and naked folds, to the night. Automatically your legs move, spread further apart in order to accommodate him, as his hips slot between your thighs. Spit-soaked, indurated cock pressing into your arousal-slicked, tumescent pussy, your head falls back as you let out a ragged moan.
"Mmm, fuck me," you mewl, your hips bucking as you attempt to press your cunt further against his cock. A husky laugh fills the night air, Namjoon's head dropping to the arc of your throat, his teeth raking up the column and causing you to hiss. When he gets to the sensitive spot just under your earlobe, he harshly bites down on the supple flesh—hard enough for his teeth to almost penetrate your skin.
"Are you begging already?" he laughs with a mirthful inflexion. Hands dropping to his chest, you trace your hands over the hardened muscles.
"Fuck off. I don't beg," you scowl, your words cavalier and prideful. Still, Namjoon chuckles. Lifting his face away from your neck, he instead drops his lips to bite at your tumid lips.
"You're awfully defiant for someone with bruised knees and cock-swollen lips," he responds, his hands slipping up your knees and to the top of your thighs whilst simultaneously nipping at your mouth. When his hands get to the top of your thigh, Namjoon wastes no time in spreading your legs further before running two fingers across your slit. Warm, indurated fingers drag over your nether lips, the sensation causing a fervent cry of pleasure to spill from your lips.
"Fuck me," you urge once again, your hands fisting around his shirt as you attempt to push your cunt further into his hand—desperate for something, anything. Ignoring your plea, Namjoon indolently circles his pointer finger around your slit, revelling in the way it throbs viciously under his touch.
"Ah, Princess, I can feel the way your clit throbs... and the way your cunt leaks for me," he remarks, his finger dropping from your clit, down your slit, and towards your dripping entrance.
"Gods, just fuck me. Make me cum," you respond—the ache between your thighs making you delirious with need as it becomes unbearable.
"Are you begging?" Namjoon repeats. You don't even have to look at him to know that he's smirking down at you.
Incensed, "No, I'm not begging. As your Crown Princess, I'm ordering you to make me cum," you reply contemptuously. All of a sudden, Namjoon's fingers move to your clit, and without a warning, he pinches the swollen bud—twisting it between the pad of his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger. Pain mixing with pleasure, your mouth falls open as you cry out his name.
"I don't think you're in a position to be ordering me around, Princess," Namjoon spits out, heavy dominance thick in his voice. Then, gently stroking your clit—the action a stark contrast to his earlier, harsher ministration—"How long do you think you'll be a disobedient, bratty little Princes? Don't you want to beg for me, sweet hellion?" he coos derisively.
A smirk twists onto your lips. "As long as I need to be." Pressing to the underside of his jaw, just at the corner, "And no... not yet," you continue.
"Hmm. I'll just have to make you beg, then, won't I?" Namjoon responds. All of a sudden, Namjoon drops to his knees in front of you, his hands spreading your legs wider as your own drop to brace themselves on the marble ledge.
Face-level with your cunt, Namjoon unabashedly stares at your bared pussy; lambent rubious eyes casting over every inch of your soaked, swollen folds. He takes you in, his eyes roving over your tumescent, pulsating clit, your dewy, arousal-slicked slit, and your trembling entrance, leaking with thin rivers of filmy wetness. A finger drags through your lips, the tip dipping into your pleated petals as he strokes through them. The motion causes your slick to coat his length in a thick, filmy sheen.
"So fucking wet," Namjoon voices.
Molten heat crawls up the length of your throat, the muscles tightening as you feel him tease your aching cunt. Whining in need, you buck your hips into his face, your fingers curling tighter around the balustrade—until your knuckles pale under the force. Underneath you, Namjoon presses two fingers flat onto either side of your lips, then, spreading his fingers in a v-shape, he splays you open for him—your cunt moving in tandem with his digits. Completely exposed for him, he takes a movement to stare at the entrance to your pussy, the ring of muscles erratically clenching and unclenching around nothing—the sight beckoning him.
Unable to stop himself, Namjoon dips his head forward and presses the flat of his tongue against the leaking hole, before whorling his appendage around the entrance. The sensation of him swirling his tongue against your cunt has you crying out in pleasure, heat flashing through your being as you feel another wave of wetness flood out of you and directly onto the hollow of his tastebuds. Bathed in your heady essence, Namjoon hisses in pleasure, his velvet muscle pressing further against the pulsing opening as he drinks your arousal.
"Oh fuck," you mew, the sound breathy, and low-pitched.
"Do you like that, Princess? Do you like the way I eat your pretty cunt?" Namjoon questions, his tongue laving around the opening to your cunt.
"Gods, yeah. Yeah. Please," you moan—unsure of what you're begging for as licentious pleasure addles your mind.
A small coo falls from his lips before he presses forward. Wrapping his lips around your cunt, he suckles at them. The action elicits a croaked cry from your lips, and emboldened by the sound, Namjoon presses the flat of his tongue against your pussy once again—laving it in one broad lick. Then, releasing your folds with a wet pop, he nibbles on your pleated slit lightly. With his sharpened incisor grazing over your soft flesh, you can't help but groan—the rough pleasure causing your blood to bubble with lustful delight.
"By the Empire, you taste so fucking good," Namjoon praises, his face burying deeper into your thighs as he relishes in the redolent scent of your cunt, the heady aroma only causing your flavour to deepen on his palate.
Words reverberating through your cunt, your head falls back once again, your eyes fluttering with euphoria. Shifting under you, Namjoon suddenly thrusts his tongue into your honeyed entrance, the stiffened appendage filling you up abruptly. A choked moan spills from your lips, your hips rolling against his face as you attempt to ride his tongue—the muscle writhing and wriggling inside you as it samples the thick juices that coat your inner walls. Feeling the way you grind against his mouth, Namjoon smirks.
"Go on, Princess, ride my face," he urges, his voice darkened with lust.
Namjoon whorls his tongue inside of you, the silken appendage gliding effortlessly through your cunt as he thrusts it in an out of you. Liquid lust swirls within your abdomen, the molten heat causing your stomach to knot and tighten with each and every one of his movement. His tongue isn't as long as his fingers, and certainly not as lengthy—nor thick—as his cock. Yet, with how prominent the ache had been, you find some of it alleviated just by the agile appendage moving inside you. One hand releasing the railing, you card it through his silver tresses instead.
"N-Namjoon," you stutteringly moan.
Out of the blue, Namjoon pulls his tongue out of you. Before you can moan in protest, however, he's suddenly forcing two fingers inside of you—the digits moving from splaying you open to sinking hilt-deep into your pulsating cunt. The unexpected intrusion has you howling his name, your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as your hips undulate faster—riding his face as you chase your pleasure. Your cunt convulses around his digits, the calloused fingertips stroking through your innermost nerves and setting them afire with ecstasy.
With his fingers replacing his tongue, Namjoon instead moves his tongue languidly lave through your folds—the pointed tip tracing over your slit and around your clit. Though, even through your pleasure, you can't help but note that way he purposely ignore your clit. The telltale signs of your impeding orgasm begin stirring through you; the dull heat of euphoria gradually growing to a blistering sea with each and every one of Namjoon's ministrations. Nonetheless, with your lover deliberately neglecting your swollen bud, you know you have no chance of cumming.
"Namjoon—fuck— stop teasing," you complain, your fingers twisting around his roots as you tug at his hair in an attempt to move his tongue towards your clit—where you need him most.
"No," Namjoon laconically refutes, a smirk twisting onto his plush lips. Intentionally, Namjoon splays his fingers inside of you—spread the pliant walls further. There's a pleasurable burn to the stretch, and you can't help but whine his name into the still night. "So fucking tight... So fucking wet," Namjoon comments, enjoying the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting in and out of you, even as he continues keeping his digits spanned out in a v-shape. "Gods, I can't wait to fuck this tiny little hole open... spread it apart with my cock and cum deep into you," Namjoon groans, his own cock twitching at his words.
"Fuck, Namjoon. Stop teasing, wanna cum," you respond, your words beginning to slur from your peaking ecstasy.
"Not until you beg," comes your lover's reply. Lips twisting into a scowl, you pull your lip between your teeth.
"N-No," you refuse. "I d-don't beg," you continue. Though, conviction lacks in your voice, your own desperate need beginning to overshadow your pride—something Namjoon hears clearly.
In response, your lover rapidly begins pumping his fingers in and out of you, stroking each and every one of your nerves inside you. With every plunge of his digits inside of you, Namjoon laps at your folds while deliberately ignoring your clit. Blissful ecstasy burns through your bloodstream, causing your body to flash with heat as the dull ache within your stomach ignites viciously. Fingers flexing over the railing, as well as Namjoon's hair, your pussy clamps around Namjoon's fingers—the rippling of your walls turning erratic.
"Come on, Princess, don't you want to cum?" Namjoon taunts, his digits curling inside you as he expertly finds the spongy sweet-spot inside of you. Flexing his fingers, he presses the tips right against the bundle of tissues, before purposely stroking them. Back contorting in pleasure, your thighs begin shaking. Still, it's not enough. Tears blur your vision, desperation beginning to cloud your being as the need to cum grows unbearable. Words stifled by your sensitive sex, the low rumbling of his voice causes your folds to reverberate and intensify your pleasure. Electric ecstasy jolts up your spine, your mouth and throat drying up.
"F-Fuck... N-Namjoon," you moan with a stammer, the sound coming out ragged, and harsh.
"Beg," Namjoon commands. As he speaks, the fingertips against your g-spot press harder against the bundle of nerves, before he furiously thrusts his fingers in and out of you—so that his digits constantly and viciously stroke the sensitive tissue. Jaw slackening with pleasure, you wail out at the sensation, the tears beginning to spill down your cheeks as your clit begs for attention. You teeter on the edge of euphoria, your impending orgasm so close you can almost taste it. Just a little more. If he just strokes your clit, you know you would unravel and break all over him.
Still, "N-No," you insolently respond. Under you, Namjoon quirks an eyebrow. Then, before you know it, he's ripping his fingers out of you before pulling his mouth away from your folds. Eyes snapping wide open, your shake your head furiously. Hips bucking wildly, you attempt to chase after him. Nonetheless. Namjoon's hands move to your hands instead, and gripping your wrists in his strong hold, he constrains your limbs—preventing you from finishing yourself off.
"N-No, no. Wanna cum. N-Namjoon," you cry, the tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you sob.
Furiously, you shake your head, your hips desperately grinding against the air in an attempt to push your cunt back into Namjoon's face. Nonetheless, despite your best efforts, Namjoon keeps himself far away from your pussy, and swiftly, you find your orgasm begin to dissipate, ebbing into nothingness. The burning sear of your euphoria returns to a dull heat within your abdomen, and unable to stop yourself, you find yourself breaking down into a fit of frantic, needy cries. Heaving raggedly for air, you sob out his name. The tears that once misted your eyes trail down your cheeks, your orgasm ruined and far out of reach.
Standing up, Namjoon draws to his full height before stepping between your spread thighs once again. He gathers your trembling body in his arms before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "You know, if you want to cum, you just need to beg, Princess" he taunts wryly.
Unable to bear the desperation any longer, "Please. Please, fuck me. Namjoon, please. Wanna cum. Please," you finally plead, your words broken by thick sobs.
"That's my good Princess," Namjoon purrs in praise, his tongue flicking out to lick at one of the tear tracks on your cheeks before pressing a kiss to your temple. Then, shifting above you, he grips the base of his cock before smacking it against your cunt.
Loud, wet smacks resound through the air—his heavy girth slapping against your dripping, aching entrance—before the sounds of squelching replace them—Namjoon's cockhead rubbing through your sodden, tumescent folds. With each impact, more and more of your wetness clings to his cock, the filmy strings sticking to his shaft until his length is drenched, and glistening in your arousal. Namjoon watches the lewd sight with dark, rubious eyes, his gaze turning turbulent with lust. All of a sudden, you feel him angle his length through your pussy—before he begins running it directly onto your clit. Head falling forward, your forehead rests against his chest as your hands move to wrap around his shoulders; a guttural moan spilling from your lips as his blunt crown strokes your engorge clit.
"Please," you whimper, your head burying further into his chest as you cling onto him.
Not wasting another moment, Namjoon moves his head down from your clit and towards your pulsating entrance. Pressing the crown firmly against your leaking hole, he moves his other hand to your clit, and pressing the pad of his thumb flush against the tumid bud, he begins stroking in swift, vicious movement. "Come on then, Princess, cum on my cock," Namjoon orders.
Then, the next thing you know, Namjoon in thrusting his cock into your rippling entrance in one, swift motion. The force of his thrust impales his thick cockhead into you, and nails raking across his shoulders, you howl his name in a mix of pain and pleasure—your entrance forcibly made to stretch around his immense girth. Continuously, Namjoon slides into you, and with every inch that penetrates you, you feel him pull apart your inner walls further and further apart. The plunge of his cock, paired with the furious drag of his thumb against your sensitive clit, has you immediately careening off of the edge and straight into your orgasm.
Violently, your back contorts—your spine arching and forcing your chest flush against his—as you cry out his name. Your orgasm which had once dissipated flares to life, igniting into a molten sear that rattles through your being, flooding the entirety of your body in mindless, unbridled pleasure. Wave after wave of blissful ecstasy ricochets through you, your thighs quivering erratically as your cunt clenches in a vice-like grip around the blunt-head of Namjoon's cock.
Amidst your orgasm, you feel a stinging ache ripple through your cunt—Namjoon struggling against the frantic, uncontrollable clamping of your walls as he feeds his cock further and further into your depths. Tears of pleasure and pain blur your eyesight, the pleasurable burn of Namjoon's cock stretching you out mixing with the euphoric sensation of your climax rocking through you. Inch by thick, brutal inch, Namjoon's indurated cock spears into you—the vascularised, unrelenting hardness dragging against your rippling, velvet passage.
Gradually, his immense girth pulls your cunt apart—spreading your innermost walls and moulding them to the shape of his cock. With how often Namjoon has fucked you through the years, you'd think you'd grow use to how he fucks your cunt open. Nonetheless, with how absurdly thick he is, and considering you're still within the throes of your orgasm—making you much tighter than you'd normally be—you're much more sensitive to the stretch. As he continues sliding into you, impaling his cock further and further into the depths of your pussy, you let out a small mew—relishing in the way he fills you up. Until, all of a sudden, the blunt crown of his head bumps against your cervix. With his cock buried hilt-deep into you, his cockhead pressed flush into the back walls of your pussy, an intense pressure forms inside your stomach—a choked cry emanating from your throat.
"H-Huge," you breathlessly keen, your recent orgasm only making you more sensitive to his size.
"By the Empire, how are you always this tight?" Namjoon grunts in response, almost undone by the feel of your clenching cunt. Hands trailing down your curves, Namjoon's palms move to rest on your hips. Then, fingers digging into your flesh, "Hold on, Princess. I'm going to ruin your cunt," Namjoon promises.
That's the only warning you get.
Because, the next thing you know, Namjoon is sliding his cock out of you—until only his head is buried into you—before thrusting back into your cunt.
"N-Namjoon!" you shriek as he begins to pound into you. Dropping his head, Namjoon buries his face into your neck before suckling and biting at your flesh—hard enough to bloom mauve bruises all over your skin.
"That's it, Princess. Scream my name. Let everyone hear whose cock is fucking you this good," Namjoon urges. Then, biting down particularly harshly on your neck, the sensation causing you to keen in pleasure, "Let Killian know whose fucking you this good," he continues—dark possession thick in his raspy voice.
With each and every one of his thrusts, the velvet shaft drags against your innermost erogenous zones, setting your nerves afire with pleasure as you feel his thick length open you up. Ragged sobs of pleasure spilling from your throat with each vehement surge of his lips, you moan his name over and over again—just as Namjoon had commanded. Under the force of his thrusts, you bounce on his cock, your ass shifting over the bannister and further off the ledge. Nonetheless, between the way Namjoon grips your hips, and the pleasure that addles your mind, you don't care about falling off of the edge. Besides, you know Namjoon would never let any harm befall you.
Thus, despite the danger, you find yourself wrapping your legs around his waist, and using the leverage, you pick yourself up and down, fucking back onto him as you follow his rhythm. Feeling the way you begin to ride him, Namjoon drops his face from your neck down to your shoulders, and growling, he bites down on your exposed flesh—leaving the imprint of his teeth into your flesh. Once again, he nips and suckles at your skin—his teeth scraping harshly against the surface as he bruises your flesh in his marks. The rough ministrations draw mewls and croons of pleasure from your lips, and you have no doubt that by the end of the night, he'd have marked you as his.
Soon, a throbbing pain forms deep within your stomach, Namjoon's cock continuously battering the soft flesh of your cervix with each thrust. As the blunt pain intensifies, your nails dig deeper into Namjoon's shoulders, your lover hissing at the sensation. "F-Fuck, you're so deep," you stammer with a moan.
Namjoon chuckles. "You love it when I'm this deep, don't you, my love?" Namjoon growls, punctuating his words with a particularly harsh thrust. His words have you undulating your hips faster as you both chase your pleasure. Feeling him surge deeper into your depths, you sob in pleasure; tears of bliss welling in your eyes as you feel unadulterated euphoria cloud your being. "Fuck, you're so tight. Your cunt won't stop clenching around my cock," Namjoon hisses. Hands moving from your hips to the back of your ass, Namjoon pulls you further into him. "Tell me how much you love this, Princess. Tell me how much you love when I fuck you. How much you love the way I ruin your sweet little cunt?" Namjoon provokes, his voice laden with honeyed sin.
"N-Namjoon," you whimper in response. Immediately, Namjoon halts. With his thrusts coming to a sudden stop, you cry out his name. Lifting your head from his chest, you look up at him imploringly. "W-Why?" you question.
"Tell me, sweet hellion. I want you to tell me how much you love me fucking you—say it loud enough that everyone will hear and know who fucks you this good," Namjoon answers. As he speaks, he begins fucking you once again. Nonetheless, his pace is excruciatingly slow—each and every ridge and vein that mars his cock prominent as he moves inside you.
Hips grinding against him, "I love when you fuck me. Gods, Namjoon, no one else could fuck me like you. No one else could ruin me like you," you reply. Grinning against your throat, Namjoon presses an affectionate kiss to the supple flesh.
"Hmm... What about your concubines? Do you think a concubine could fuck you like me? Huh, my love?" Namjoon asks, his words reverberating across your skin.
"N-No. No one but you," comes your response. Namjoon chuckles darkly.
"That's what I thought. Now... scream for me," he orders. Then, the next thing you know, Namjoon begins rutting into you once again.
Furiously, Namjoon thrusts his cock into you—the mushroom-tip of his cockhead pulling your silken depths open with each thrust before he batters it into your cervix. True to his word, with each of his harsh plunges, you scream out his name; your cries only aggravating your throat—the flesh still raw from when he'd fucked it. Nonetheless, even as your voice breaks, turning hoarse, you continue wailing and sobbing out his name, Namjoon smirking against your neck as he mouths at it.
For a second time that night, pleasure ripples through your body, your blood bubbling with the pleasure Namjoon lavishes upon you. Feeling the heat of your second orgasm stir within the pits of your abdomen, your cunt begins to clench around his cock. Walls of your pussy beginning to spasm around his length, Namjoon lets out a hiss. Suddenly, Namjoon's back straightens, and drawing to his full height, he looms over you. One hand releases your ass, and instead, he moves it to gently cup the side of your neck, his thumb pressing against the hollow of your throat.
"Are you cumming, Princess?" he questions, a teasing inflexion evident in his voice. Namjoon knows your body as thought it were the back of his hand, so of course, he already knew you were close to your end. Nevertheless, he still loved to tease you. Dry sob emanating from your throat, you nod your head, your stomach twisting and tightening.
Reverently, he caresses your neck, his fingers skimming over the column as he traces the curves and contours. "Who do you belong to, my love? Who do you belong to?" Namjoon questions.
"Y-Yours," you autonomously reply, your eyes fluttering in pleasure. Through half-lidded, lust-obscured eyes, you gaze at your lover. "Namjoon, please," you hoarsely plead.
At your response, Namjoon rolls his hips. The motion causes him to shift angles, and as a result, with each thrust, you let out a low moan of pleasure—his cockhead dragging against your sweet-spot with each plunge. Suddenly, the fingers around your throat tighten. Eyes snapping wide open, your gaze immediately fixates onto him—your lover grinning rakishly down at you. The pads of his fingertips dig into your flesh, on either side of your oesophagus, before he begins squeezing in a rhythmic fashion—not enough to hurt, but just enough to expertly constrain your breath. Mouth falling open, you inhale sharply as your cunt inadvertently clenches in pleasure.
Head dropping forward, Namjoon presses his nose into your hair. Then, inhaling deeply, he allows your scent to wash over him, before he presses a kiss to your temple. "Hold onto me, Princess. I can't have you falling off," Namjoon softly commands. Obediently, you do as he says, the arms wrapped around his shoulders moving to wrap around the base of his neck as your hands cling to him desperately. Once he's sure you're not going to fall off the ledge, Namjoon moves his other hand from your ass, and instead, pushes it between your thighs. Muscles of your throat tightening, and in a bid to lubricate them, you swallow thickly.
Pleasure tinges at the seams of your being, each of Namjoon's rough thrusts causing his rigid head to drag against the sensitive tissues inside of you, before pressing deep against the back walls of your cervix. Teetering on the edge of your orgasm, you croon his name. The hand pressed between your thighs easily finds your pulsating, needy, clit, and pressing his fingers against the bundle of nerves, Namjoon begins toying at it with his thumb and forefinger—rolling and pinching the bud between the two appendages. With your neglected clit stimulated, you let out a strained howl of pleasure—the additional stimulation sending you careening off of the precipice of pleasure and hurtling you straight into your second orgasm.
Nails raking over his neck, "N-Namjoon," you screech, the raw muscles of your throat protesting the howl as they force out the sound. Diving straight into the unbridled euphoria that is your orgasm, your entire body violently trembles, your cunt clenching and unclenching uncontrollable around Namjoon's pulsing hardness. Eyes stinging for a third time that night, your vision blurs with a mix of your tears, as well as pleasure; white-spots of intense ecstasy clouding your line of sight as you sob in pleasure. Cunt clamping around his cock in a vice-like grip, Namjoon feels your cum gush out of your pussy and over his shaft, drenching the length in your orgasm as he continues fucking you.
"Fuck. Oh fuck. That's it, Princess. That's my good girl. Fuck, yes. Cum on me. That's right, my love, milk my cock," Namjoon urges with a groan, his own breath turning ragged. The brutal rhythm of his pace falters, and hips moving in an erratic fashion, he continues impaling you with his cock—revelling in the way your velvet walls contract around him. When you clench particularly hard, Namjoon hisses in pleasure. "Fuck, I'm cumming," he rasps.
"C-Cum in me," you sob, somehow managing to form a coherent sentence through the haze of your rapture. Even if the words come out slurred, and slightly inarticulate.
Suddenly, Namjoon buries his cock as deep into your cunt as possible—the head pressing into the groove of your cervix. Toes curling in response, your eyes roll into the back of your skull, your thighs shaking uncontrollably. Shaft swelling inside of you, Namjoon lets out a low, carnal growl before cumming. A torrent of his seed spills deep inside of you, Namjoon bathing your inner walls white with his essence. The warmth of his cum fills you up from within, the sensation causing you to mew in pleasure as you begin to float down from your high.
Sheathed deep within you, your erratically convulsing walls milk Namjoon's cock—draining each and every last drop of his cum from his cock and against the entrance to your womb. The two of you stay still for a few more moments, harsh, ragged breaths filling the air as you both attempt to catch your breaths while coming down from your high. Bonelessly, you fall forward—Namjoon immediately wrapping his arms around your limp body in order to steady you. Shifting above you, Namjoon drops his face to bury into the top of your head, his nose ruffling through your hair as he takes in a deep breath.
"Gods, I love you so much," Namjoon whispers. His voice is low, and quiet. But, in the dead of the night, you hear him clearly—the affection in his voice causing your heart to flutter.
Angling your head up, you press a lazily kiss to his neck, "I love you too," you respond.
You have no idea how long you stay in that position, simply basking in the thrumming pleasure of your post-orgasmic haze, as well as the comfort of each other's arms. Nonetheless, eventually, Namjoon shifts—the first to move out of the two of you. Carefully, he pulls his flaccid cock out of you, your face twisting into a grimace as you feel your sensitive walls ache from the movement. As soon as his cock retreats from your depths, Namjoon's cum begins dripping out of your pussy and down your body.
Nose crinkling at the sensation, "Where's your handkerchief? I need to clean myself up," you ask, your back straightening as your energy replenishes itself. It was in moments like this that you were thankful for your demonic stamina and recovery.
Namjoon hums noncommittally. Then, without saying anything, Namjoon pushes his hand between your thighs once again. Fingers pressing against your sensitive folds, your lover gathers the spilling cum onto his digits before pushing it back into you. Indolently, he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, his ministrations causing you to let out a soft mew. "Hmmm... No. I want you to walk in just like this... with my cum dripping out of you and down your thighs," Namjoon responds.
You quirk an eyebrow. "Why?" you question, your head cocking to the side.
"So that everyone knows you're mine," Namjoon mumbles. An airy laugh bubbles out of your throat at his response, and looking at him incredulously, you shake your head.
"So you really were jealous of Lord Phenex?" you ask, your eyes glinting with mirth. Once more, Namjoon pouts, before avoiding your gaze. Shaking your head, you cup Namjoon's face in your hands before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "You know you have nothing to worry about right? I was only joking about the concubines. I love you. You're the only one I love and you're the only one I want," you reassure. Above you, Namjoon's face softens, and turning to you, you watch as he gazes at you tenderly.
"I know, my love. I love you too," Namjoon responds before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The two of you stay like that for a few more minutes, simply revelling in each other's presence. Nonetheless, before long, you let out a sigh.
"We have to go back. Your guests are waiting," you mumble reluctantly.
"We don't have to do anything. Let's just say our goodbyes and leave. I want to take you to bed," Namjoon mutters. Cocking your eyebrow, you look at him in amazement.
"Already?" you ask, your eyes glancing down at his already hardening cock. Namjoon shrugs before looking at you with a wolfish grin.
"What can I say? I'm insatiable for you," he responds. "Besides, it's my birthday. I'm going to have you till dawn," he continues.
Snickering, you look at him in mischief, "Just dawn?" you reply. Namjoon growls before bending down and nipping your lip.
"Mhm. Maybe even longer... if I don't tire you out," he responds huskily. Pushing him away from you, you gracefully hop off the balcony railing. Grimacing at the uncomfortable messiness between your thighs, you fix your dress back in place and make sure you're presentable—or well, as presentable as you could be—before walking towards the doors. Before you can enter the ballroom, however, you pause and look over your shoulders.
"Hmm, I'll take that challenge," you smirk. Namjoon's lips tug into a grin. Swiftly, he pushes his cock back into his trousers before buttoning himself up. Though, he leaves his shirt untucked—unbothered by how unkept it looked. After all, with how loud you'd been—something he had made sure off—there was no way his guests didn't know what the two of you had been up to. Once he's more presentable, he quickly jogs towards you. Then, wrapping his arm around your waist, he opens the doors and leads you back inside.
The moment the two of you step inside the ballroom, the air shifts. Some of the demon nobility look at the two of you in exasperation, other's faithfully looking away, their cheeks vermeil with embarrassment. Other's, the bolder and more lecherous ones, look at you two with barely concealed prurience, knowing grins on their face. Despite the mix of looks, you hold your head up high and walk into, your heels clicking against the marble floor. Whether they knew or not, it mattered not. If they knew what was good for them, they would keep their mouths shut. Lest they wanted to find themselves on the opposite end of Namjoon's blade, or your magic. Not that they would even dare to utter a word, of course. After all, you and Namjoon made up the biggest powers of the Bael Empire.
Beside you, Namjoon clears his throat. "I have to thank you all for coming to celebrate my two-hundred-and-seventieth birthday," Namjoon begins, drawing the attention of everyone as the ballroom falls to silence. Then, skimming the crowd, he easily finds Killian Phenex. Triumphant smirk crossing his face, Namjoon levels his steady gaze onto the man—the cerise-haired man looking back at him with a mixture of fear, shock and embarrassment. Curling his hand around your hip, he splays it possessively over the curve. "Unfortunately, however, the Crown Princess and I have to bid you a goodnight now as we have some more... private matters to attend to," he continues. At his words, Killian's cheeks flush with heat before he quickly looks away—avoiding Namjoon's dominant gaze.
"Namjoon," you admonish lightly. Your lover turns to you, his eyes twinkling with delight as he looks down at you.
Then, dipping his head, he presses a soft kiss to your neck, "What? I just wanted to make it clear that you'd rejected his pathetic courting attempts," Namjoon replies. Rolling your eyes, you playfully smack his chest.
"Alright, whatever you say. Now, come on, Archduke. I believe there were promises to have me till dawn?" you taunt, a coquettish smile on your lip. Namjoon's reaction is instantaneous.
Gripping your hip tighter, he growls in your ear, "And longer," he reminds you. And with that, he leads you out of the ballroom and towards his bedroom.
a/n: ahhh i hope you enjoyed that!! sorry this took so long, work has been so hectic and i’ve been so tired but i sincerely hope this was worth the wait!!
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