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yilingradishfairy · 4 years ago

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Dying Leaf

Link to AO3 (1770 words)

Written for Day 17 of Untamed Fall Fest 2020 - Falling.

Summary: Wei Wuxian had thought he would have hit rock bottom by now. How much further can he fall? He has long since fallen from the high branch he had flourished on before. But he cannot seem to touch the ground yet, floundering desperately in the wind. His deeds during the war are like the final spectacular colors on dead leaves: impressive, yet they are only the vibrant marks of dying. His soul has surely withered away by now. He is tethered here by only a spare few. Though he cannot be the brother they want, he will watch over them as the protector they need. He will keep going until his body collapses.

Content warnings: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Whump, Emotional Whump, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Body Horror, Cannibalism, but like, Canon Compliant, Still, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Canonical Character Death

I have some feelings™ about that little ghost boy, so I covered the supervisory office scene in some detail. I actually pared it down quite a bit, and I don't think it's much more gruesome than EXR's translation. Still, please make sure you read the content warnings. We’re all responsible for what we consume on the internet.

He stands at the top of a mountain. He's almost surprised that he can stand at all. Wen Qing and Wen Ning left long ago, though Wen Ning wanted to wait with him. Wei Wuxian insisted that they had done enough.

It was enough.

He looks over to where his brother, his shidi, his sect leader lies. He kneels down to hover an unsteady hand over Jiang Cheng's lower dantian, reassuring himself for the twentieth time that it worked. The sacrifice was worth it. It was enough.

He stands again and notes the position of the sun in the sky. Jiang Cheng’s sedative will be wearing off soon. He stubbornly ignores the chill in the air, the one he would never have noticed a week ago, and sets off down the mountain. It feels like he left a part of himself behind.

He did.

Maybe this is for the best, he tells himself as he taunts the Wen soldiers. This way, Jiang Cheng will never find out. He forces himself to laugh in their faces. He dares them to kill him. And maybe I will come back to enact revenge. One vengeful spirit taking down this entire regiment. He spits onto their robes. What a perfect plan.

He's almost convinced them to do it. Instead, they haul him up, up, up into the sky. Higher even than the mountain he had just descended.

Then they drop him into the abyss. Into the mountain of forgotten corpses. Into the dreaded Burial Mounds.

He falls down, down, down.

Then resentful energy reaches up like a black fog, enveloping him completely, slowing his fall. The haze clogs the air so thickly, Wei Wuxian can hardly breathe. He chokes and gags on the thick hatred blanketing the entire area. It rushes into his lungs, crawls along his skin, and batters against his body. He reaches for his own spiritual energy to counteract it. To protect him. To keep it out. But there is nothing inside him but an empty hole.

The resentful energy rushes to fill it.

It's crawling into his nose, through his veins like liquid fire. It's oozing black hate into every pore. He hears whispers, feels hands, breathes smoke. The voices rise in volume until he can hear that it is his name. They continue to rise until they are shouts.

“What do you want?” he asks hoarsely.

The voices coalesce into one. “You.”

And he falls, even further.

Even once he lands on the ground, his descent doesn't stop. Piece by piece, every part of him falls away. Sloughs off like an old skin. He steeps himself in the thick, heavy miasma of the Burial Mounds.

All the souls left to rot here, all the stories with no conclusion, clamoring for a person to pour into. The general of that infamous war that led to the formation of the burial mounds. The countless soldiers slaughtered here. The untold multitudes carelessly dumped here in years since by the self-important Wens.

Wei Wuxian learns so many stories that he can hardly remember his own. The spirits feed him, protect him, gift him a dizi, promise him power. In return for being their instrument. Destroy the Wens, they whisper. Make them pay, they demand.

He travels up to the highest peak in the Burial Mounds. He shrouds himself in resentful energy, like armor. Then he marches down to the living world to begin his task.

He comes back to enact revenge, as he promised the Wens. But instead of one, he is many vengeful spirits, hunting down the regiment, one by one. The fierce corpses, though under his command, retain their individuality. Each Wen soldier is killed however their slayer deems fit. They fight over the ones that wronged them the most and mindlessly annihilate the rest.

Wei Wuxian brings a few select corpses with him to face Wen Chao.

The woman he had scorned and the little boy he had drowned.

"He starved you, boy?" Wei Wuxian asks. The boy nods his head jerkily, eyes fixed hungrily on Wen Chao's whimpering form. "We'll fix that," Wei Wuxian assures him with a pat on his ghostly shoulder.

Wei Wuxian lifts his dizi to his lips, but keeps his eyes open. He won't miss one second of his deserved revenge. He allows the woman and boy to do as they will, watches them hack Wen Chao into slices.

The boy tries to choke down the raw flesh but cannot. He chomps bitterly, stubbornly, until finally spitting it out in frustration. He beats his frustration on Wen Chao’s mauled, bloody leg, and the man’s mouth opens in an anguished scream. The boy freezes, and he looks up, into that gaping maw. He scrambles to tear off more of Wen Chao’s leg, and he shoves the meat into his open mouth. Wen Chao gags through it, but the boy claws his mouth open and forces more in.

Wei Wuxian thinks that he should feel disgusted. Or that he should feel victorious. Instead, he feels nothing. But it worked. The victory was worth it. It was enough.

Afterwards, he formally joins the Sunshot Campaign. It is strange to dine with the living. To converse with his brother and sister. To remember that he has not always been this empty husk, filled with the wishes of a thousand others and one shared goal. He had been Wei Wuxian. He had a place with these people who called him brother.

They try to draw him back in. To recreate the family they had been. But they cannot. He has been cut off from them too long, shriveling like a stale leaf, dead on the branch. The cultivation that they’re so worried about has been the only thing that kept him alive. This is what brought him back to them, though warped and deformed. It was his salvation on the Burial Mounds, and it will be their salvation from the Wens. He knows they don’t understand. He makes sure they won’t, that they will never understand the choices he made and the circumstances he endured. He knows that it was worth it. It was enough.

He has accepted that it will never be just the three of them, ever again. For he is no longer one, but many. And he keeps losing the thread of his identity. Wielding all those energies and stories and hate has a cost. He can’t sleep anymore. He lies down, but he doesn’t dream. Instead, he closes his eyes, and all he sees is them. He lives their stories every night. He feels their pain, their anguish, their rage. All of this borrowed energy swirling inside of him, clamoring for their vengeful conclusion.

So he stops lying down to sleep. Instead, Wei Wuxian steals off into the night, searching for Wen burial grounds. He marches down into countless graveyards, digging down and down to raise up a new horde.

He listens to every single corpse’s accounts. He internalizes all of their stories and uses them to his advantage. "They wronged you," he whispered. "You want to fight on our side." Some of them are persuaded. Some are so resentful, they don't care who they kill. Some rebel, and he simply drains their resentful energy into himself and leaves the husk of the corpse behind.

Before every battle, he amasses a great army with a single purpose. Annihilate the Wen. And annihilate they do.

He had thought he would have hit rock bottom by now. How much further can he fall? He has long since fallen from the high branch he had flourished on before. But he cannot seem to touch the ground yet, floundering desperately in the wind.

His deeds during the war are like the final spectacular colors on dead leaves: impressive, yet they are only the vibrant marks of dying. His soul has surely withered away by now. He is tethered here by only a spare few. Though he cannot be the brother they want, he will watch over them as the protector they need. He will keep going until his body collapses.

Though stated as a hyperbole, Wei Wuxian now knows his claim to be true. Falling to the ground in the midst of battle is far too dangerous to do more than twice, however. He wonders if there was a way to channel his resentful energy through a receptive object, to lessen the strain on his weakened body. He experiments for a few weeks before finding the answer.

The answer is yes.

But now he wishes he hadn’t asked the question.

He tells himself that it worked. The experiment was worth it. It was enough.

At least, the war is now over, and their vengeful goal is achieved. He releases his hold on the satisfied souls, now accompanied only by the stalwart. He continues to masquerade as himself, but he knows it won’t last long. He cannot stay. The living fear him too much now. He hopes that he can pass as Wei Wuxian long enough to see Jiang Cheng well established, and then maybe he can ascend to find peace.

It is not to be.

He must again cut himself off from the people he loves most. He is grateful to have had them as long as he has. But he has a new cause to champion. One that no one else is both able and willing to take up. He now wields his corpse army, not to destroy Wens, but to protect Wens. A branch of the Wen Sect guilty of nothing more than their name. He leads them up to the Burial Mounds, the only place he can protect them. He brings his corpse army home.

And he clings to that dead branch for two years. A dying leaf balancing on a condemned branch, bracing for the inevitable. He weaves winding tracks into the slumbering Burial Mounds, laying protections, buying supplies, and selling food. But he doesn’t realize. He is just one brutal mistake away from falling again. From falling and taking the whole tree down with him.

He stands there, at the end. He has already destroyed one half of his accursed seal; let them have the other. He backs up to the edge of the cliff. The bottomless pit yawns wide beneath him, beckoning darkly. The esteemed Hanguang-jun tries to save him, another bond he has severed. It’s not enough. Wei Wuxian has been falling and falling for so many years now. He wrenches his hand away, he loosens his grip on the branch, and he falls again. Finally, finally, he hits the bottom.

I love magic systems, and MDZS and CQL leave lots of space for headcanons. I've been trying to develop my own sense of how Wei Wuxian's demonic cultivation might work ever since I started working on a continuation of my You Ignite Me fic. I’m enchanted by the idea of a semi-sentient Burial Mounds. The tortured souls festering within, waiting for their chance for vengeance. Staking it all on one broken cultivator, keeping him alive, grooming him to be their instrument of revenge.

Credits to @words-writ-in-starlight (link) and @hunxi-guilai (link, link 2, and link 3) for the Burial Mounds feels and headcanon inspiration.

I hope you enjoyed this! Please let me know what you thought! Come yell with me about angsty necromancers ^_^

#untamed fall fest #mdzs fic #cql fic #the untamed fanfic #wei wuxian fic #my writing #dead dove #tw: cannibalism #cw: cannibalism #i haven't written in a while #so i'm really glad utff is back #but wow #this came out way darker than i intended #i just got imagery of wwx falling into the burial mounds #connected to falling FROM the burial mounds #and tracing that through the sunshot campaign #i love the imagery of falling/dying leaves #though you can probably tell i'm not a plant person #but then all my modao headcanons started pushing their way through

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years ago

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Make It Right [BTS Mafia AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence (bloody violence), Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 3,239

Tag List: @prisczero, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali, @shrimpmsg, @ggukkieland

AN: I need to quit fooling you people. Because the trust issues are going to get worse. Maybe this is a silver lining? Maybe? Yes? ...I’ll go away now.

Chapter 55: Sea

“Praying that we’ll remain in this desert till the end. Praying that this isn’t truly our reality.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Two Days Later Jeju Island – Seogwipo South Korea

When Taehyung first came to, he felt warmth blanketing his entire body. Every so often, a gentle brush of cool air passed over him. His limbs ached and it felt like a stone was being pressed against his chest. Breathing was a seemingly impossible task. When he could breathe, the sensation of phantom glass fragments scraped along the insides of his lungs. Coughing was a regular occurrence. Through said coughing fit was how he was able to pull himself back to consciousness.

For a moment, he believed he had, in fact, died. There was a part of him that even accepted it. But he wouldn’t have accepted it with a smile, of that he was most certain.

There were people waiting for him; people he would potentially be leaving behind.

The faces of his brothers and of the woman he loved yanked him from the abyss.

An old man sat next to him, moving a fan slowly over his body. Sweat seemed to cover him from head to toe and there was a large basin of ice beside him. Again, Taehyung coughed and tried to sit up. But the old man placed a hand on his shoulder, gently urging him to lie back down on the futon. What energy he managed to muster quickly slithered out of him, the weight of exhaustion overwhelming him all over again.

Had he actually died?

“Don’t make such a fuss,” said the old man.

The stranger’s skin was bronze from being out in the sun, his worn and wrinkled hands and face gave testimony to the life he lived. His hair was a salt and pepper gray, frazzled from being whipped around in the ocean breeze just outside. Despite his seemingly austere appearance and gruff tone, his dark eyes were gentle as he continued to move the fan back and forth over Taehyung’s prone form.

Taehyung squinted slowly, the light peeling in from the window almost blinding him. He tried to lift his arm to shield his eyes, but found it more difficult than he’d anticipated. Sensing his distress, the old man shifted so his small frame could block as much of the light as he could.

“Where am I?”

The question croaked from Taehyung’s throat, surprising him. Attempting to swallow, he mentally reeled at how terrible he sounded.

He heard the man scoff, a sympathetic smirk pulling at his thin lips. “My home,” he replied simply, resting the fan on his knee, “you’ve got the devil’s luck, young man.”

Taehyung tried to smile but realized it probably looked like a grimace. “You don’t know the half of it, Oroshin.”

He watched the man’s smile widen a measure. “You’re young, but I see you still have some manners.”

Again, he attempted to sit up and failed. The old man seemed to take pity on him, reaching out with his thin arms to help him. When he was up, Taehyung winced at the tight feeling around his chest. He rubbed at it gingerly as the elder pressed a cold compress to his temple. Willing himself not to shrink back at the sudden cold, his eyes wandered around the abode to serve as a distraction.

He could tell that it was the home of a local fisherman. Quaint, humble and quiet; save for the crashing of waves along what he could only assume was the beach nearby. The salt was prevalent in the air, seeping in through what cracks existed in the house. Even though he could feel the cold wind, the floor was warm beneath him.

“Did you save me?”

Dipping the cloth into the ice water, he wrung it out and pressed it back to Taehyung’s head. “The gods saved you, my boy. You were already washed up on the shore when I stumbled across you.” He watched his eyes shifting to his shoulder and Taehyung reached up to touch the dressings over his injury. “I managed to purge the toxins out of you.”

His eyes narrowed. So it was poison, he thought angrily, shifting his gaze to the space between his knees, Lee Jooheon, you son of a bitch…

Taehyung lifted his eyes to meet the old man’s. “How long have I been out?”

“Couple of days now. The worst of it passed yesterday.”

Even though he still ached all over, Taehyung quickly shifted to sit on his knees, bowing his head low to the old man. “I’m in your debt, Oroshin.”

“Nonsense. It’s human nature to help those in need.”

Taehyung raised his head. “It’s a cruel world we live in now. Your kindness is rare in it.”

“Your view of the world is too narrow, my boy.” The old man lifted the fan and smacked Taehyung’s wrist with it. “Now enough of this. Sit comfortably.”

He did as he was told, sitting with his legs crossed in a more comfortable position. “Oroshin, I hate to burden you further, but would you mind taking me into town? I need to get back to Seoul as soon as possible.”

For an uncomfortably long moment, the old man peered at Taehyung – as if gauging what his motive was. But there was only one thing on his mind. He needed to get back to his brothers and warn them of the danger that was coming. There would still be time for them to find Eden and return her to the place she belonged.

…at Jungkook’s side.

Jooheon’s words slammed through his body like a wrecking ball, causing him to visibly shudder. Taehyung couldn’t believe it now that he was lucid. How had Jungkook managed to hide such a huge secret from them all? Then again, they’d all been so busy anticipating the moves of the Jade Fangs that a lot of things could have gone amiss. Something as small as eloping could easily be overlooked.

That didn’t mean he was any less salty about it.

When I get back, he and I are gonna have a little chat…

“Well,” cut the old man’s words through his thoughts, “it’s a good thing this washed up with you then.” He reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out Taehyung’s wallet.

He bowed as he took it from him, opening to see the paper money was worthless. So were his cards. But his ID was still intact. That was the only thing that mattered. If he could prove who he was, getting money would be easy. He peered at the old man expectantly who raised his brows at him.

“I’m assuming my phone didn’t make it?” The elder shook his head and Taehyung sighed. Of course it wouldn’t have made it. That would have been the luckiest break he could get outside of being alive. “I’ll just have to buy another one.”

“Eat something and then I’ll take you to town. You can’t function on an empty stomach.”

Taehyung flashed him his best boxy smile despite the agony he continued to feel. “Thank you, Oroshin.”

After filling his stomach with three full helpings of rice, soup, and freshly caught fish, he thanked the old man profusely for his kindness. When he asked his name, the elder simply smiled and told him to come back when all his business was taken care of. Taehyung promised he would return to repay him for saving his life.

There wasn’t much time to waste. He needed to procure funds to buy a plane ticket back to Seoul. He would worry about a phone once he landed safely. Besides, Taehyung didn’t think he could handle the slew of missed calls and voicemails demanding to know of his whereabouts. He went on blind faith that everything was okay; that his brothers were able to find something out on their end since it was obvious that his own trail was a perfectly placed trap.

The flight back to Seoul was only an hour, but he felt like time crawled at an agonizingly slow pace. The time he had alone on the plane was enough to cause Taehyung to fester in his own guilt. He was angry at himself for falling for such a setup, and he was even angrier that he hadn’t seen it for what it was.

Maybe Hyungwon was right, he thought bitterly, narrowing his eyes as he stared out the window, we’ve gotten fucking soft.

But he stood by what he said. This wouldn’t have been a problem had they taken the Jade Fangs out five years ago. Sacrifices be damned. At least they could avoid the headache inducing bullshit they were suffering right now.

He replayed the scene on Dragon’s Head Cliff repeatedly. No matter how many times he thought about it, Taehyung’s conclusion was the same every single time.

…if I hadn’t dodged, whatever came at me would have hit me straight on. He frowned. They were really trying to kill me.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Curling his hands into fists on the arm rests, he closed his eyes – attempting to stave off an oncoming migraine.

They would be dealt with.

They would all be dealt with.

Taehyung wouldn’t rest until he made sure of it.

Seoul - Cheongdam; Gangnam District South Korea

As soon as he landed in Seoul, he purchased a phone at one of the stores in the airport, activating it on the spot. There were several voicemails and he rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time to listen to them. Now that Taehyung could confidently say he’d met the Reaper at the Gates of the Underworld and walked away, the only person he wanted to see was the woman carrying his child. He had to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming; still sleeping from the effects of the poison.

Taehyung needed just a little more reassurance that he wasn’t dead. That he wasn’t already in Hell.

Hailing a cab, he gave instructions for the driver to take him to Raelyn’s hospital. The woman was so stubborn, insistent on continuing to work as her belly continued to swell with the life in her. Taehyung told her constantly that she didn’t need to work anymore, especially while she was with child. But she was hellbent on having her way and who was he to deny her the freedom to do as she pleased?

He’d have been a fool to try.

Taehyung quickly paid the cab driver, thanking him for getting him to his destination so quickly. He raced through the parking lot, up the steps and just barely clipped his shoulders in his impatience in waiting for the sliding doors to open wide enough to give him entrance. One of Raelyn’s co-workers that he recognized spotted him, her expression forming into shock before melting to discomfort almost immediately. He skidded to a halt in front of her, blocking her path as she seemed to mentally prepare herself to flee.

“Eunsoo-ssi,” he huffed, attempting to catch his breath, “where’s Raelyn?”

She averted her eyes, shrinking back from him as he took a step toward her. Canting his head slightly, he couldn’t hide the confusion on his face. She’d never treated him like this before. In fact, he remembered her playfully doting on him like she would a younger brother. This sudden standoffishness seemed a little unwarranted.

“She…” Eunsoo paused, taking a breath, before lifting her face to meet his gaze. Her brows were furrowed harshly and he could swear that her eyes looked glassier than they had just a few seconds ago. “She’s at the funeral hall.”

Taehyung frowned. “Why?”

“I’m sorry, I have to finish my rounds.”

Eunsoo quickly bowed, side-stepping him to disappear around the corner to the next hall. His gaze followed her as he was left in the main lobby alone.

What the hell is going on? he thought as he made his way toward the elevators. Pressing the button to give him entrance, he pressed the button that led to the mortuary floor where funeral services were typically held. Did something happen to one of their co-workers?

It didn’t take him long to make it to the funeral hall. Various other families were dressed in their traditional mourning attire and rows of wreaths with white carnations lined the walls. White ribbons hung from them, traditional hangul printed on them with the names of the deceased. He barely took notice of them, his eyes frantically searching for any sign of Raelyn.

The weight of sorrow that filled the hall was palpable, making the uncomfortable feeling welling up in his chest almost unbearable. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but Taehyung swore that a dark cloud of dread was hanging over him. He quickly shook his head, attempting to chase the nagging voices from his mind.

This was crazy. He needed to get his head together.

Just as he took another step, he stopped as someone dashed out of one of the rooms. He blinked when he realized the woman dressed in a traditional white mourning garb was Jimin’s older sister. She covered her mouth, smothering a sob, and Taehyung could only blink when she paused just seconds before colliding into him. It seemed to take her a moment to recognize who he was, as it did him for her. Her face was puffy and swollen from all the crying she’d done.

“N-Noona,” Taehyung stammered out, an icy sensation slithering down his spine, “what are you doing here?”

Her bottom lip quivered uncontrollably, her hands reaching out to grasp at the sleeves of his jacket. “Oh, Taehyung-ah,” she choked out, curling her fingers into his arms, “Jimin-ie…he…he…”

Slowly, he craned his neck to peer at the three wreaths lining the walls just outside the room she’d vacated from. He read the names on each of the ribbons draped over the wreaths. Taehyung’s heart froze for half a second before slamming viciously against his chest.

“No way,” he murmured, looking back at Jimin’s sister, “…Noona.”

Instead of answering him, he watched her collapse to her knees – a wailing sound bursting from her. Taehyung heard his very soul shattering as he pivoted on his heels, his legs carrying him into the mourning chamber.

It was crowded, bodies shuffling around as people cried or whispered among themselves. Taehyung didn’t bother removing his shoes as he stepped up onto the small landing. He saw Raelyn out of the corner of his eye. She was the first one to spot him, making her way toward him. But instead of relishing in the comfort of her embrace, the very thing he had so desperately been seeking out since he’d woken up, Taehyung stepped just out of her reach. His eyes focused on the three portraits situated on the table where various foods and flowers were placed.

“Taehyung-ah.” Seokjin called to him, but his voice sounded muffled from the incessant buzzing in his ears. He heard him say his name again and he still couldn’t hear it well.

All he could focus on were the smiling faces of Jungkook, Eden, and Jimin looking back at him from the black frames encasing their visages.

As he took another step, he saw someone move to step in his path – blocking his view of the pictures. When he lifted his eyes, he was now staring into Hoseok’s stern face.

“Where have you been?”

Taehyung continued to stare at Hoseok, blinking slowly as his mind attempted to catch up. He opened his mouth to speak and found he couldn’t find the words.

“We thought you were dead.”

The phrase shook Taehyung; rattling his bones. He visibly flinched, took a breath, then glared up at his older brother.

“Hyung,” he finally managed to say, his voice dropping a full octave, “what is this?” Raising a hand, he pointed to the side of him and gave a wide flourish to the entire scene surrounding them. “What the fuck is this?”

A hand fell on his arm and he felt Raelyn’s swollen belly pressed against his side. She buried her face into the curve of his shoulder, suppressing a sob as she pulled him close. His body felt stiff, like he’d turned into a marble statue. This was all some joke. It had to be. There was no way that any of this was real.

“How?”

“The Jade Fangs were responsible,” cut in Seokjin.

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no way that—”

Yoongi sighed gently. “You told us her location, Taehyung-ah.”

It was like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his body.

“W-What?” That was impossible. He hadn’t been able to obtain that information. “I didn’t—”

“We realize that now,” added Namjoon. When Taehyung glanced at him, he nearly hiccupped at the dark expression painted over his brother’s face. “They texted us from your phone. It was all a setup from the start.”

Again, silence filled the small space around them save for the members of Jimin’s family who came, as well as friends.

“They’re gone, Taehyung-ah.”

Twisting his face to look back at Hoseok, he noticed his other brothers crowding around him in a semicircle. It wasn’t until his vision went out of focus that Taehyung realized he was now crying.

“What?” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “What do—”

Hoseok’s face softened, his brows furrowing before he closed his eyes. “They’re gone.”

The sun slowly set over Seoul’s cityscape. Lights blinked with life in succession, illuminating the darkness. Taehyung listlessly stared out over the vast expanse while standing on the hospital’s rooftop, lips puckered out while indulging on a sucker. He didn’t remember running from the mourning chamber. He didn’t remember banging his knee on the steps as he tripped over his own feet upon his ascent.

No one chased after him. They knew better. They knew he would likely implode if they did.

Taehyung didn’t stay for the cremation process. He would have thrown himself into the flames right along with them. Selfish? Of course he was. He was man enough to admit that all he could see was red.

Pulling out his phone, he crushed the candy between his teeth. Scrolling through the numerous voicemails left by Hoseok, he stopped until he saw Jimin’s name. His thumb hovered over his name, trembling, before he pressed down on the screen.

It automatically played the message on speaker mode.

“Ya, Kim Taehyung,” came Jimin’s voice from the receiver.

Taehyung’s brows furrowed, hearing the pained chuckle that followed.

“…you son of a bitch. How could you just take off for the gates of the Underworld alone? Huh?”

His grip tightened on the phone, feeling his arm shaking from the force of his hold. There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence before he heard Jimin speak again.

“Don’t even think about stirring up a bunch of shit without me. Jungkook and I will be there soon.”

Without any warning, Taehyung fell to his knees. The phone fell with a clatter beside him as his hands gripped onto the roof’s railing. His whole body shook, his silent sobs rattling through him. The tears that streamed from his face were hot and thick. He swore he could feel his own blood leaking from his eyes.

Jungkook.

Jimin.

Eden.

They were gone.

Mercilessly ripped away from the life they more than deserved to live.

Someone had to answer for this.

Someone was going to answer for this.

“I’ll make them pay,” he growled, glaring at the landscape as he ground his teeth together, “I swear to your God, Jimin-ah…”

I’ll fucking kill them all.

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dat-town · 7 years ago

Text

Destined to fall | postlude [END]

Characters: Taehyung & You

Setting: fallen angel au, reincarnation au, historical au

Genre: angst

Warnings: character death

Summary: Your love story is a tragedy written with blood throughout the centuries.

Words: 2k

Chapter index

They say you don’t see love coming because you don’t find love but love finds you.

Taehyung loved you more than anything and you were his for the time being. More than once and it was enough, he decided. It had to be enough. He wanted you to have a chance for true happiness without his love weighing you down. After all he made you suffer through, after all the times he watched you die, he was ready to go first. But he couldn’t let go without saying goodbye on his own.

The Sun painted the streets bright yellow with splashes of gold like any other day. Just another working day for you and Taehyung’s last chance to redeem himself. You had promised to love him more but he wasn’t going to find out whether it was true or not.

As you walked out of the gate of your apartment complex, hurriedly pulling your coat onto your shoulders, phone in hand fumbling with earphones, Taehyung smiled as he watched you. You were as beautiful as ever. In his eyes, no flaw, no skin colour or figure mattered. He loved you unconditionally, for that precious soul of yours, loving and kind against all the pain you had endured.

He had repeated the same routine for over a week now. Watching you from afar, following you into coffee shops, on the metro and searching for the right time to talk to you. He had never had a problem with that before because he had always hoped for another chance to keep you by his side. Now he felt like a creep when he took a sharp right turn after you at the next corner.

What he couldn't foresee was your unpredictability, the way you turned on your heels, running back to your apartment for something you had left there, you pretty forgetful thing. However, with the intense force you ran into him knocked both of you a bit back. You grabbed on his shirt to steady yourself but as soon as you realized what you had done, you pulled back your hands from the stranger’s clothed chest as if he burnt you while blinking rapidly in your surprise.

"Ah sorry, sir," you apologized profoundly right away and just as you were about to go back on your way, forgetting this incident right after, Taehyung had to stop you. It was now or never because Taehyung was a weak, weak man and if he didn’t do it now, maybe he would never have the willpower in him to tell you those words that crawled up in his throat.

“Hi Y/N,” he greeted you with a gentle almost smile on his eternal face that halted your movements.

“Uhm sorry... Do we know each other?” you clutched onto your bag, doe eyes wide and innocent as you glanced up to his face, to scan through his smooth features, the sharp edges of his jawline and that carmine red of his pushed back hair. He was beyond handsome, he looked like somebody from the movies, Hollywood's recent favourite and a heartthrob. But oh the sincerity of his eyes, it wasn't acting, there were so many emotions swimming in his caramel orbs. Like he had so many things to say and it made you feel uneasy. Was he a long-lost relative or a forgotten childhood sweetheart?

He shook his head, a laugh hanging off from his mouth, crinkles appearing around his eyes. He seemed amused by your confusion or maybe an old memory replayed in his mind. You had no idea how to react, what to say or do, and you needed to go back for your bus pass you left on the kitchen table or otherwise you would be very, very late from work.

“You may not remember me but I know you," finally the stranger spoke up in a light, tentative voice, almost as if he was afraid of scaring you. He didn't seem intimidating but a little bit odd for sure, like a flaw in the well-done machine, the perfection in this imperfect world.

The man's right hand sank into his coat's pocket to fish out something while he put his weight onto the cane in his left. Such a weird sight, a walking tool for a young man like him! And the black winged angel figure as its handle was even weirder.

"I have something to give to you," he added and very tentatively he dropped a golden ring into your palm. He made sure not to touch you and his was the softest plea you had ever heard. "Please take care of it and be happy for me.”

You just stared at the accessory glinting prettily in your hand and you wondered how the metal's touch on your skin could feel so cold but so warm at the same time?

“What... I don’t understand. I can't take it,” you protested but it was all in vain, the man didn’t let you give him back the expensive-looking band.

Taehyung was staring at you hard, engraving even your smallest details, like the moles under your eyes, into his memory and he shook his head.

“You don’t have to understand,” he said with a faint smile, intertwining his fingers behind his back, “Goodbye, Y/N. I love you, forever and ever.”

You blinked in utter confusion and watched as the handsome man limped away without a word after such a confession. You literally needed to shake yourself awake to move on with your day.

Soon, you forgot about this strange encounter, writing it off as a drunk person mistaken you for someone else. For the longest time, the ring was covered in dust in your drawer and you couldn’t remember anymore how you had gotten it. You wore it often because you liked how simple but pretty it was. You had it on almost always because for the weirdest reasons, it helped to fill that aching void in your chest that just hurt and hurt sometimes. It was like missing something you couldn’t even put your finger on.

A few years later, you fell in love with an English major recreating the most cliché love story about meeting through mutual friends. The two of you moved in together after your university graduations, he proposed on your third anniversary and you echoed I dos a year later. You fought, you made up, and you were the couple everyone envied among your friends. When you were ready to start a family, you both cried in happiness when the pregnancy test came out positive and fast forward eight months, you gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

You named him Taehyung and loved him endlessly.

Taehyung might have been Lucifer once who became the first and most feared fallen. He might have had power no other cast out angel could have ever imagined but he wasn't almighty. He couldn't defy the laws of fate and the eternal order. He tried to deny God and his teachings, he tried to form the world to his image. It worked, to a certain extent, the doubts and fears of this Earth resembled the chaos in his heart. But there were some things he couldn't change, truth carved into rocks and stones. He tried so hard to create a happy ending for you but now he realized it was impossible if he always came back to you.

According to Seokjin, it was your destiny to be sacrificed for the greater good. That's why you died so many painful and brutal deaths, because it was merely history repeating itself in various shapes and forms. He saved you from one death but he couldn't save you anymore. Fate was ruthless and it demanded back what it was taken away: you. It couldn't be cheated but now, Taehyung was ready to strike a deal.

He wore a long black robe similar to his casual uniform back in Silla when he first came here. He barely batted an eye at the breathtaking scenery seen from the temple he had been in. From this hill, he could almost see the entirety of Seoul, the lively and advanced neo-tech capital city of Korea. He looked at the neon lights, the moon shining from above and he thought: there are worse ways to go. A lot worse.

So he stood there where everything began and taking a deep breath, he waited, finally ready. With his eyes closed, it looked like he was praying, asking God to keep his word. Then he heard the rustling of wings from above, the signs of Seokjin’s arrival. When he turned his head around, the angel sported his usual calm face in white suit attire. White might have been the colour of purity and heaven, but in some cultures, it was the colour of funerals and grief and Taehyung would have liked to think the elder archangel would at least miss him a bit. Since angels couldn't pass the gates of Hell and Taehyung was for sure on his way to the dump of that torturous place, they wouldn’t be able to see each other in the future.

After what happened with Azazel, Taehyung wanted to make sure, the kingdom he built up so cautiously won't fall back down and crumble as soon as he was gone, so he spent the last decades training his successor, one of his most intelligent and loyal demons. He trusted him not to let chaos burn down the world and keep those gates strictly closed. There was only one thing left to do.

“Will you look after her when I’m gone?” he asked hopeful and pride thrown away. The black abyss of his eyes glinted with unsaid worries and the sudden helplessness knocked the air out of his lungs.

“I will,” the angel nodded and he wasn’t the kind to break his promises. Taehyung could be sure he left you in good hands.

“You have been a great friend, Seokjin,” he said quietly, as his last confession. If he could have felt even more guilt, he would have said sorry for being so bad at reciprocating the sentiment but he hoped the elder angel knew that he appreciated his loyalty that stayed strong both to him and the heavens.

“You are welcome, Our Brightest. Rest in peace,” Seokjin whispered, his lovely voice turning into sorrowful as he pulled out an angel blade that shone brightly under the moonlight.

Taehyung closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and braced himself for what was coming. Just as he asked all those years ago when they agreed to end this, Seokjin pierced through the fallen one’s heart in one swift movement. The agony was nothing like he experienced before, at least not in a physical way. It felt similar to losing you again and again. He even saw your fading smile before everything went black. When he fell onto his knees, blood dripping off the blade, it finally ended where it began. Where it should have ended all along.

If you asked now, in that mellifluous voice of yours, curious and timid as always, how many? he would tell you: just one, myself. And as he took the last, painless breath on this Earth, looking at the brightest stars on the night sky, somehow it felt like the right answer.

Being as old as human history, he left nothing but dust behind and yet, it was said that a single red rose would bloom every following spring on the exact spot he bled. Because no matter what anybody said, Lucifer or Taehyung, whatever he preferred to be called, wasn’t evil. Unlike other fallen angels, he didn’t leave his sacred life because of greed or thirst for power. He did it for love, the most powerful force in the universe.

Did the world change when Devil died? you could ask and Seokjin would tell you: yes, it lost a lovesick soul and the sky earned another bright star forever watching over you.

THE END.

I sincerely thank you every single one of you who made it here. I hope you are not disappointed (too much) and enjoyed reading this as much one could bear so much angst. I offer tissues and hugs.

This story basically revolved around Taehyung’s character development. In the first version of the story, he made a demon out of the OC which - I think - would have been a terrible moral decision both on his and my part. So in this final version, he learned to be selfless and who knows, maybe God also thought they deserve a happy ending after everything he put them through (or was it all Taehyung?) Anyway, Taehyung might also reborn as a human, the OC might get a final life and when they meet, neither of them remembers their past. They just fall in love like they were always supposed to be.

If you made it here, I would be delighted to hear your thoughts on the story, any ideas how the story should have ended in your opinion (because I had four different version how the reincarnation ‘curse’ can be broken but none of them was quite happy), your theories about Seokjin (what did he want to achieve all this time?) or you can just call me heartless for making them suffer so much.

Thank you for reading! ♥

#angstykpopnet #bangtan bookclub #btswriters #bts writing squad #series: destined to fall #stories #taehyung angst #taehyung x reader #taehyung scenarios #bts v angst #bts angst #bts x reader #bts fanfic #reincarnation au #fallen angel au #i can't believe it's already the end

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yoongisbbydoll · 7 years ago

Text

Water Under the Bridge, 01 (m.)

⇢ pairing ─ min yoongi, reader

⇢ genre ─ hustlers, gambling

⇢ count ─ 10,118 words

⇢ warnings ─ smut, weapons and gore, drug abuse, character death, heavy themes of angst, criminal activities

⇢ synopsis ─ You are the prized daughter of Seoul’s most reputable loan shark, and as you begin to prowl on your own, you fall into the hands of the deep, dark abyss of cards, poker chips, and blank stares. Now, it seems unlikely you will be able to escape the insidious hold of these money hungry demons.

[ chapter index ; here. ]

Mama

There’s a story about a woman who lingers around town, snatching up children and sending them off to foreign countries for profit. She’s like the wicked witch of the west from The Wizard of Oz, except no one thinks she’s real. Instead, she’s a figment of imagination, a story to scare children into sticking to their parent’s side and to never stray off too far alone. Too bad she’s only fake until she comes and grabs your baby right from under your fingers, picks them up as you turn away, grabbing your stroller when you look off for just a moment.

They call her Mama, but she’s not as bad as they think. She scours the streets and takes the homeless babies from the underground train stations and bridges drug addicted feigns hide under for seclusion. She’s the fairy god mother no one wants to visit them, she’s the snake that tells Eve to eat from the forbidden tree, she’s the one in the dark alley way luring addicts in with bags of fine white powder.

Mama loves children, that’s why she does it, and she doesn’t sell them off. Instead, she puts them to work, sending them to the trains with opened palms, glossy eyes, and quivering lips—turning them into beggars.

After Mama found you and Seokjin rummaging through a dirty trash can, she gave you first job. She told you with a strict tone that if you became useless or didn’t bring home enough money from begging on the streets, she would not only drop you off on the side of the freeway but Seokjin as well.

You couldn’t recall when you had met Seokjin—perhaps he was your brother—but he was all you had. He stuck by you and made sure to take the beating when the days were slow and people were tight with their money. Though he was four years older than you, your bond was tight and at a young age, he showed you what family was. And though Seokjin had his own job for Mama—which he never talked about—when he was done, he would crawl into your bed with his blanket, draping it over you to make sure you stayed warm. Then he would lay beside you and wait until he knew you were asleep to drift off as well. Seokjin slept in your room until Mama told him it wasn’t right and gave him in his own room.

As you grew older, Mama put you up to different jobs. She no longer had use for little street beggars. Instead, after attending grade school, you would come home and print out fake IDs, tapping the keys of an old computer and snapping photos of illegal immigrants with another young girl—she was kicked out a year later while you were lucky enough to stay with Mama.

In middle school, Mama gave you time to do homework before taking you to work in the shipyard, carting boxes of god-knows-what from boats to a waiting truck. Seokjin sometimes came by to help, but he was out on his own for most days, staying productive and doing as Mama told.

He was Mama’s little errand boy, learning from a young age how to wield a butterfly knife and put it to use. Late in the night, he would help you study for tests while teaching himself new tricks with the blade, swinging it around his hand naturally.

Seokjin never went to high school as Mama needed him for most mornings and afternoons, so when it was your turn to become a high schooler, you argued with Mama, asking not to go. She wanted you to get a proper education, but you didn’t find it fair that Seokjin didn’t have to go and you couldn’t stay useful for Mama if you had more homework and harder tests. She agreed to let you drop out after sophomore year if you proved that you could take on bigger jobs.

So, freshman year rolled around and you began carrying your own knife, stuffed in your stockings. You used the knife whenever one of those smelly teenaged boys got too close or a makeup-wearing bitch made a snarky remark. Mama took away the knife after three suspensions for harassment but didn’t bother saying anything when you went into her room and took it back.

After freshmen year and a lot of begging, Mama finally gave you your first real job. She walked you to a restaurant, explaining everything on the way. “The Lee family borrowed some money from me to open their restaurant. Because they cannot pay me back in full right now, they must give me an installment each month. Right now it is $5,500 but this goes up each month so be sure to check my log books before coming to collect. Do not use your knife. If they don’t pay up you come to me and I will handle it. I’m going to be waiting across the street and will take you home when you’re finished.” It was easier than expected, the Lee’s forked over the money as soon as you said Mama.

Over the course of sophomore year, you took on so many of Mama’s clients that you had one for almost every day of the month—no weekends. Because you were getting older, you could handle more jobs, but this mean that Seokjin could as well.

You started seeing Seokjin less and less. He no longer stopped by your room before stalking off to his own bed and would leave your texts on seen. He’s just growing up, Mama would tell you before lighting a cigarette and pushing you out of the house. But you wondered where he was, how he was doing. You missed his broad shoulders and quirky jokes, you missed the late-night study sessions and his squeaky laugh. You missed your brother.

When Mama realized that you were spending more time in your room than before and staying out trying to busy yourself into forgetting about Seokjin, she picked up a junkie from the side of the road and gave you a new brother.

His name was Jimin and he loved dying his hair more than he liked heroin. So, you distracted him with colorful dyes and inside jokes. Jimin attended classes with you (he was a year older than you but had dropped out after freshman year to pursue drugs) and slept on a spare mattress on the floor of your room. But more often than not, the two of you stayed up debating some trivial topic such as Jimin’s next hair color or why the math teacher walked down the halls like she was about to go catch her husband cheating on her.

It was you and Jimin, walking along the streets with your butterfly knives, collecting payments for Mama. Jimin quickly took Seokjin’s place and it was only when summer rolled around and Mama finally signed the papers to let you—and now Jimin—drop out that you realized you hadn’t seen Seokjin since that Christmas.

When you questioned Mama, she changed the topic. It was a few months later that you found out where Seokjin had been. Mama had sent him out of the country, all the way out to America to pursue some offshore affairs. He came back but was never the same. Seokjin’s eyes became daggers that darted across the room to scan every person, his fingers twitched and he picked up nervous habits he’d never had before, his knuckles were always bruised and he started smoking. It was frightening to see the man you’d been with your entire life change so quickly. You no longer recognized him.

Jimin only knew the new Seokjin and they didn’t get along at all. Seokjin got Mama to clear out an old room full of boxes because he disapproved of Jimin sleeping in the same room as you. He demanded that you start using Mama’s bathroom instead of the one he started sharing with Jimin too. Whenever Seokjin was around, you weren’t allowed to talk to Jimin, too much talking could lead to distractions from work.

Jimin started distancing himself and taking on separate jobs for Mama, he started talking to one of Mama’s workers that was a year older than him named Hoseok. Hoseok seemed to replace you instantly. Seokjin didn’t hang around for long, and with Jimin out of the house running around with Hoseok, you were left alone (again).

You didn’t want to go back to school so you picked up as many jobs as Mama would let you. You took the bus around the city collecting payments in your trusty Jansport backpack Mama got you for your birthday that year. In your lonesome, you started smoking at the age of 17.

Mama tried to sway you away, but she was no better, ash trays in almost every room of the house—and now yours. No one was around to advise you of otherwise and though Mama cared she didn’t care enough. Her resolution to your new-found addiction was another poor kid on the side of the street, this time he was younger than you.

Jeongguk came to you in the middle of the night, his mind blown out by the deadly combination of shrooms and cocaine, blood dripping from his nose onto your sheets, eyes almost completely dilated. He was fucked out of his mind so you shoved him off you and whipped back the sheets to glare at Mama standing in the door.

“What am I supposed to do with him? What is he—my new fucking art project?” You kicked him in the shin—though maybe he didn’t deserve it. Jeongguk groaned in his intoxicated state and rolled over.

Mama took a drag of her cigarette before turning around, “Just keep him out of trouble.”

The next morning, Jeongguk awoke with a start, digging into his pocket for the shrooms you had confiscated. When he realized there was nothing there, he stood up and emptied out his pockets and threw his busted leather jacket on the floor, searching it frantically. You sat on your mattress, knees tucked to your chest, watching him quietly.

“Are you looking for this?” You asked, holding up the little baggie.

Jeongguk scrambled across the floor on his knees, halting in front of you with round, bloodshot eyes. “Please, I bought those with the last of my money.”

You shook your head and shoved it in your sports bra. “We’re going out today, you need to be sane.”

Jeongguk shuffled behind you the whole day, a gloomy shadow that stalked you all the way into town like No-Face. Maybe he followed you because he thought you would give him his drugs back—you would never know.

You wondered how he got into drugs but never asked, you weren’t looking to replace Jimin with anyone, you were fine on your own.

“So,” you kicked a rock, watching it tumble down the sidewalk, “how long are you going to be with Mama?”

You had walked all the way into the city—long walks had helped Jimin whenever he got an urge, could clear his head he said—but neither of you had said a word the entire time. You only had one stop at a hotel but supposed that you could drop by the candy shop a block over for Jeongguk.

He was 16 at the time, with a fringe and smudged black eyeliner under his eyes, enhancing his deep-set dark circles. He wore all black and hunched his shoulders to make himself seem shorter, leading to aches and pains in his lower back and between his shoulder blades. He never left Mama’s without his phone and headphones. He was a teenage heartthrob that turned the heads of all the girls he passed.

But that night you found out, that like any other kid, he loved candy. Adored cotton candy and banana lollipops and watermelon sour patch kids.

You sat in a small, dirty table in the candy shop and watched him scarf down an entire bag of sugary sweet watermelon candies. When he looked up, there was sugar on his lips. You smiled. “Did you want some?” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, looking away from your eyes as he ripped open a lollipop.

You shook your head, leaning into your palm as you studied him. “Do you like the ocean?”

Jeongguk nodded his head, biting into the cotton candy lolli and then tearing open another one. You also found out how impatient he is that day. “I guess. Why?”

He still didn’t look you in the eye, it was starting to bug you. “Want to go?”

“To the ocean? Right now?”

You shrugged and look at your phone to check the time. “It’s only seven thirty, Mama won’t expect us back any time soon.”

So, you took him to the docks and you showed him your favorite abandoned boat (a 28-foot cabin cruiser with the words Queen of Hearts painted across the side) that was covered in crates and tarps and dirt. The lettering on the side matched the red underbelly of the ship, but the paint had begun to chip and the color seemed more muddled and brown after years of being uncared for.

Jeongguk quickly fell down onto deck of the boat, leaning against the internal seating, his head resting back onto the cracked leather seats. The two of you sat in the softly rocking boat, talking about everything, bathing in the summer breeze of ocean salt and heat. He told you how he left home at 14 and moved in with someone who worked for Mama; he told you about his pickpocketing skills and where he hid his money for drugs; and he went on and on about his dog dying when he was young and how it really fucked up his perspective of the world.

You barely spoke all night, but it was good listening and soaking up the information. Jeongguk was a clean slate, an innocent young boy who made some bad mistakes, but ones he could come back from. He was so young, though just a year younger than you, and had so much to learn.

As the sun began to rise, the two of you sleepily stumbled into a taxi and rode it almost all the way home, jumping out a block before Mama’s. The walk was slow and Jeongguk had draped his arm over your shoulder, leaning his lanky body against yours.

Before you stepped up to the door to the apartment, Jeongguk pulled you back and looked down at you with his sideways smile and smudged eyeliner eyes. “No one has ever let me spew on like that, soooo, thanks—I guess.”

You looked down at your beaten-up Converse. “Yeah, any time.”

“Would it be weird if I called you noona?”

You smile and shake your head, “No, no it wouldn’t be.”

So, the charade began again. With Jeongguk by your side, you and Mama dominated the entire south side of the city, stealing from people and charging them for their losses, kicking people out when they couldn’t afford rent, bringing in shipments of drugs and ammunitions from China, printing out fake IDs for illegals, and, later on, gambling.

Seokjin and Jimin had been ghosts for months, finally rolling around when winter of what would have been your senior year took it’s turn and the temperature called for thick jackets and snow blanketed the streets.

They came back to the house in the same day, while you and Jeongguk were watching videos on the new iPad Jeongguk had gotten for his birthday.

Jimin stumbled in first, plastered at only 2 o’clock in the afternoon. Hoseok trailed behind him, an awkward voice when saying hello but bubbly and loud when the two turned down the hallway towards Jimin’s room. You didn’t expect them to stay long so you shrugged it off and returned to the video.

Then came Seokjin, wrinkles forming between his brows as he barged through the door, whipping his head this way and that in an overdramatic way of searching for someone or something. But his hands balled to fists and as soon as he heard Jimin’s recognizable laugh. He stormed down the hall, almost ripping the door off its hinges as he entered Jimin’s room.

“What did you do with it?” He screamed, the whole apartment seemed to shake in his rage.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jimin giggled.

Jeongguk looked at you and paused the video, pushing back from the kitchen table, iPad tucked under his arm. The two of you looked up the hall as a storm began to build in the small space. “I know you have my money. Where is it?” Seokjin seethed, grabbing Jimin by the collar.

Then, another man was behind you, his lips centimeters from your ear, hand against the small of your back. “What’s up, buttercup?”

You turned to look, but you only caught the side of his face as he passed you and walked down the hall. He was skinny, frame delicately outlined in a fitted silk shirt and skinny jeans, blonde hair shaggy on top of his head in an almost mohawk style that oddly fit him. He walked as if he owned the apartment and the people in it.

When he reached Seokjin whispering threats to Jimin, he simply placed his hand on Seokjin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jin.” No one had ever called Seokjin, Jin. “He’ll give you the money back or else I’ll have to have a little chit chat with him.”

The stranger smiled insidiously at Jimin who nodded quickly in his presence. Seokjin let go of Jimin, dropping him to the floor. Hoseok was sitting on Jimin’s mattress, awkwardly looking between the three in the room.

Jeongguk tapped your shoulder and leaned close to your ear like the stranger had, “Why are the hyungs fighting?”

You shook your head, eyes fixated on the ordeal. You couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away.

Seokjin left as he had come, slamming the door behind him, steam practically coming from his ears. Jimin and Hoseok stayed the night, quietly talking with the door closed. You and Jeongguk went to bed early that night, staying up in silence. You had a million questions but none of them Jeongguk could answer so you kept your mouth quiet and let Jeongguk roll around and take all the sheets in his sleep.

A week later, the stranger and Seokjin officially moved in. Mama didn’t mind so you didn’t say anything to protest. There were now seven people living in the apartment, two people to each room except for Mama. It didn’t bother you much as everyone’s schedules allowed for rare run ins. Mama, Jeongguk, and you stayed out all day while Seokjin, the stranger, Hoseok and Jimin slept in and wandered out at night.

There were few times where you were in the same room with the blonde stranger, but when you were, he made sure to have his hands on you in any way possible.

You had just sat down for breakfast when Seokjin and the stranger roll in, looking drained and buzzed. Seokjin mumbled something about a shower and left. You couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed as your eyes followed him across the room. But he hadn’t talked you in so long that you wondered if you should be used to it.

The stranger sat down, kicking his dirty leather boots up onto the table. Your plate shook from the movement and you closed your eyes to hold yourself back from saying something you’d regret. “What’s up, buttercup?” He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as he slid down comfortably in the chair.

“Nothing.” You grumbled, stuffing your face to avoid conversation.

He wasn’t having any of it. His quick fingers stole the fork out of your hands, putting his feet back on the floor and leaning across the table. The close proximity was suffocating.

“Nothing? You can’t be doing nothing. Even when you’re dead you’re still being dead, doll.”

When you looked up at him, his eyes were staring back at you intently. “I’m eating.” The statement came out as more of a question than you meant it to, but you couldn’t take it back so you swallowed your pride and sat back indignantly in your chair.

“See, that’s a better answer. We’re going to have to work on that though.” You snorted at that. “Why don’t we go out after you’re done with Guk this afternoon?” No one had ever called Jeongguk, Guk. You wondered why this man never called people by their full name.

“We’ll see.” You shrugged.

His eyes turned to slits. “Buttercup, you don’t have a choice. I’ll be here for you at 7.”

He pushed out from the table and tossed you your fork before turning towards the hallway with a wink. You felt sick.

When you returned home with Jeongguk—a little past 8—he was waiting at the kitchen table for you, a single light turned on above him. He was spinning an open pocket knife between his fingers, eyes focused on the door.

You and Jeongguk stopped dead in your tracks, confused. You didn’t think that the stranger was serious—apparently, he was. He smiled and flipped the knife closed, shoving it into his back pocket as he stood.

“Ready?” He made his way over to you, arm curling around your waist protectively, pulling you away from Jeongguk.

You glanced between him and Jeongguk, the younger looking like a confused deer in headlights. Before you could speak up, you found yourself being dragged back out with the blonde stranger.

As you walked, he tugged you close to his side, glaring at every man that passed on the sidewalk. The air was awkward and the only thought on your mind was that you didn’t even know his name.

He walked you all the way down to the center of town where a small pop-up restaurant was sitting on the corner of the block between closing shops and people escaping to the warmth of their homes.

“What do you want?” He pulled out his wallet, staring at you with such an intense glare that you had to clear your throat and avoid eye contact.

“Jeongguk and I already ate.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes even though he didn’t seem surprised by the statement. “Alcohol it is.”

“Oh, no, I—”

He was up before you could stop him. You studied the other people lingering at the tables around you, watching their quiet conversation and soft smiles. The stranger dropped down three bottles of Soju and two shot glasses, startling you from your daze. He filled both glasses to the brim, the clear alcohol practically sloshing onto the table. You hesitantly picked one of the glasses up.

He raised his glass to yours, clinking them, alcohol spilling over the edges. You quickly downed the first one, some of it dripping down your chin—you were never the most experienced drinker. He reached out and boldly wiped it off for you.

“What’s your name?” You blurted out as he filled the glasses again.

He chuckled, “You really don’t know who I am?” You shook your head and awkwardly looked away, focusing in on his slim fingers wrapped around the green bottle. “I’m Yoongi, Min Yoongi. No need to introduce yourself to me though, buttercup, I know all about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Seokjin, we spend a lot of time together. Of course, you—his little sister—would come up.” Yoongi took his glass and threw back a second and then a third shot as you sat in confusion.

You shook your head, fingers tightening around the shot glass as anger bubbled inside of you. “I’m not his sister.” How could Seokjin go around telling people about his “sister” but not bother to come home and spend time with you like a real brother?

“Oh, sure you are. You grew up together.” Yoongi nudged his shot glass with yours, urging you to take another drink.

You tossed it back, taking the burn happily. “With that logic, someone could grow up in a pack of wolves and that would make them family.”

“Harsh.” It was very rare that Yoongi came across a girl who raised her voice or talked back and put him in his place.

You shrugged and took a few more shots with him in unison.

Before long, Yoongi’s pale cheeks were rosy and his blonde hair was beginning to fall against his brow. He pulled you against him on the way home, stopping to tongue his way from your ear down your exposed neck to your collarbones.

He tangled his hands in your hair, jerking your head back to bite along the underside of your jaw. His other hand—ever so curious—worked its way up your shirt, pushing under your bra and kneading your breast.

Your weary eyes darted up and down the street, at such a late hour no one was out, but it didn’t stop you from worrying about being caught. Though, something in you was thrilled at the thought of someone coming around the corner to find you and Yoongi’s tangled bodies practically fucking in the middle of the road.

The rest of the way home was clumsy, your feet falling over his as the two of you kiss and grope, saliva dripping down your chin messily, giggles floating through the empty, stale air.

Yoongi frantically pushed you into his room, your clothes couldn’t seem to hit the floor fast enough. He threw you down onto the mattress he’d pushed up against the window. Yoongi climbed over the bed, resting between your legs, cock pressing against your heat.

You ran your nails down his back, moaning into his mouth before he pulled away to flip you onto your stomach, giving your ass a light smack as he pulled your hips up.

“I’m going to fuck you raw and I’m going to finish first.” He grunted, lining his cock against your entrance.

“Just do it already.” You moaned, pressing your face into the mattress.

He smacked your thigh lightly, “That’s not the right response, babydoll.”

You groaned, too focused on wanting to get off until he gave your thigh a real smack, causing you to lurch forward and bite down into the sheets. Your skin was raw, Yoongi’s hand a red imprint on your thigh. “Repeat after me, doll: Yes, sir.”

“Why would I—”

Yoongi smacked you again in the same spot, heat burning under your flesh. “Say it or leave.”

“Yes, sir.” You breathed, the words feeling so deceitful as they slipped past your bitten lips.

“Perfect.”

Yoongi snapped his hips once, thighs smacking against your own, pushing you farther into the mattress, erupting pain in your heat and fire in your stomach as his throbbing cock slid inside of you. He didn’t care about your pleasure, it only came down to getting himself off. So, he kept a pace that he liked, fast and harsh, cock moving so quickly in and out of your heat that the only thing you could feel was searing pain.

But he never failed to hit the soft bundle of nerves that kept you pushing back for more, moaning out his name like it was the only word you knew. He was relentless, digging his fingers into your hips to keep your body up in the heat of the moment, rough breaths filling the room. The smell of sex, alcohol and cigarette bombarded your senses, you could barely breathe.

Yoongi suddenly reached under you and jerked you up, pressing your back to his chest. Your hands landed on the windowsill and from that angle you could see down to the orange glow of street below. Yoongi kept you upright as he fucked himself up into you, whispering nothings in your ear.

Your legs were weak, pain settled into the side of your thigh where he had hit you. Your breaths were labored and the only thing keeping you from falling back onto the bed was Yoongi’s hand on your stomach. He noticed your struggle but didn’t bother to do anything about it, too focused on getting himself off as this new angle allowed him to push even deeper into your pulsing, abused cunt.

In this drunken haze, you somehow felt so connected to him, to his dark eyes that lingered on you whenever you pass by, to his hands that explored your body like they know every curve, to his thick voice like honey in your ear.

Yoongi ran his hands down your body, frantically cupping your breast and digging his nails into your sides. His fingers landed hurriedly on your clit, rough skin pressing into the sensitive nub. “Don’t you dare come.” His breath was hot in your ear as he began to swirl his finger around your clit.

Your body jerked against him, palms digging into the edge of the windowsill, teeth biting into your bottom lip. Yoongi pressed harder, the assault almost too much against you. Then he slowed down his thrusts, deliberately hitting the erogenous spot inside of you that made your breath shaky and voice crack.

You tightened around him, trying to pull him as close to the edge as you. But he seemed unfazed, thrusts constant and repetitive. His blonde hair tickled the back of your neck as he leaned over to whisper in your ear, “I’m not even close, babydoll.”

The words rung in your ears and you let out a high-pitched whine, pushing your ass back onto him and screwing your eyes closed. He let you fuck yourself back onto his cock for a few moments before grabbing your hips with both hands and angling himself into your cunt.

The knot in the pit of your stomach was so tight you thought it might snap any second. But you were too scared of disobeying Yoongi to let yourself go so quickly. You want to do something to urge him along, to help him finish but you didn’t know how.

As soon as you were about to speak up, Yoongi pushed you back down onto the bed, face in the mattress, his hand on the small of your back. Your skin was covered in a sheen of sweat, your chest heaving as you tried to get a solid breath of air. You knew that your thighs and ass were going to be bruised in the morning from Yoongi, but you didn’t mind. It only turned you on even more.

Yoongi breathed out steadily, pinching your ass. You could feel yourself getting lost in your pleasure, too focused on holding back your orgasm that you almost didn’t notice that Yoongi had slowed down. He finished with a sigh, falling over you, arms trapping you against him as he came inside of you. The knot finally unraveled inside of you and you convulsed around him, his cock feeling heavy inside of you.

He pulled out but didn’t get up. Instead, he bit down on your shoulder and ran his tongue over the skin as you tried to catch your breath. “You were amazing, buttercup.” He breathed against your skin before finally standing up and slipping on a pair of boxers.

“What’s with the nicknames?” You turned and rested on the single pillow on the bed, pulling the thin blanket up over your bare body.

Yoongi tossed you a t-shirt he grabbed from the dresser. “As someone with many identities, it’s easier to remember something short and sweet than someone’s whole name.”

You put the shirt on, rolling on your side to stare at Yoongi across the dark room, the only source of light being the streetlights below. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, leaning against the wall opposite to you.

“How did you meet Seokjin?”

Yoongi looked down at you sadly, as if breaking news like this would be hard for you. “We’re not exactly friends, buttercup.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your fingers twitched with the need for a cigarette as you watched him take a drag.

“You see, Seokjin owes me money. I’m a little like your Mama, I give money to people and they must pay me back. Except Mama gives loans to everyday people, I give loans to gamblers.” Yoongi took a long drag after speaking, watching the smoke as it slipped past his lips and disappeared into the air.

You shook your head and leaned over to rummage through your jeans for a cigarette of your own. “Seokjin doesn’t gamble. He’s only twenty-two.”

“And I’m twenty-one.” Yoongi chuckled, smoke coming out of his mouth like a fire-breathing dragon. “Look, he’s not in a lot of debt. Just enough that I see him often enough to call him an acquaintance. He makes his money as quick as he loses it so don’t worry about it, buttercup.”

Too many thoughts were running through your head. Seokjin was never the type to succumb to such activities. He always looked down on thieves and cheaters. You had only ever played card games with Seokjin when you were younger, but it was nothing competitive.

You finished your cigarette and let Yoongi climb in next to you, his arms wrapping around you as you fell asleep.

The thought of gambling was still on your mind when you woke up. Yoongi was still sleeping when you crawled out of bed and made your way to the kitchen.

Jeongguk looked up at you from the table before quickly reverting his eyes back down to his iPad. “Hey, Jeongguk. Wanna go to the candy shop today?”

He didn’t answer.

“Jeongguk?” You drawled, leaning against the table to look at what he was doing. He was watching a cat video on YouTube.

You called his name a few more times before giving up with a huff. Mama had left out her log book for you and you swept it up before leaving the house, Jeongguk still sitting at the kitchen table, ignoring you.

The day was gloomy and miserable, clouds a dark, threatening gray. You picked up your payments and almost called it day when you received a text message. Yoongi had somehow gotten ahold of your phone number and asked you out again that night through a simple message.

You didn’t want to respond; your head was too stuffy and you still had a headache from the alcohol the night before. And now Jeongguk was ignoring you, which completely ruined your mood.

You turned your phone off and put it in your bag, opting to walk through the streets instead of taking a cab home like you normally would. Your feet lead you instinctively towards the docks—a comfort place you go back to whenever you need to feel at home.

The docks were completely desolate, boats rocking in the restless waves. You walked up and down the wooden docks, wondering over this blonde stranger and Jeongguk. Ever since Yoongi and Seokjin moved in, Jeongguk had been on edge, and it seemed that you finally set him off by going out with the blonde the night before.

You were about to turn back and leave for home when you spotted someone standing on your favorite boat, looking out at the sea.

Jeongguk.

You quietly made your way over, trying not to startle him. When you climbed onto the boat, he shifted on his feet but didn’t say anything. You didn’t have anything to say so you sat on one of the busted leather seats and stared off as well.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” You turned to Jeongguk, looking up to find his face tear stained.

“Sleep with Yoongi.” Jeongguk grimaced as if Yoongi’s name was a sour candy on his tongue.

“Are you jealous?” You joked, wiggling your eyebrows in a useless attempt to lighten the mood. It only seemed to make him even more upset and push him further away.

Jeongguk shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. “He’s not a good person, noona, you shouldn’t hang around him.”

“I won’t, Jeongguk. It was one time.” You smiled and reached out, hand open and ready for Jeongguk.

He looked between you and your hand before cracking a smile and locking his fingers with yours. You walked home like that, hand in hand, conversation alight as if nothing had happened at all. Once again, when you got home, Yoongi was waiting at the table, but this time, he was toying with the safety on a Glock. Jeongguk pulled you slightly behind him as you tried to walk to your shared room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Yoongi spun around, eyeing your interlocked hands.

“To bed.” Jeongguk didn’t stop walking, tugging you along persistently.

Yoongi stood up. “With her? I don’t think so, Guk.”

Jeongguk’s grip tightened around your hand as he stopped in his tracks, spinning around to face the blonde. “You don’t control either of us.”

“Maybe not,” Yoongi ran his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes landing on you, “but I don’t think I need to remind you who she went to bed with last night.”

You nervously looked between the two as they stared each other down, Yoongi’s hands fiddling with the gun. You decided to speak up, “I just want to go to bed. I’ll talk to you later.”

With that, you pulled your hand out from Jeongguk’s and turned around, making your way down the hallway. When the bathroom door closed behind you, you leaned against it heavily.

Jeongguk seemed to know Yoongi, and Yoongi clearly knew Jeongguk—but from where? You couldn’t ask Jeongguk or he would change the topic and you were too nervous to ask Yoongi.

“Fuck.”

Sleep escaped you in the next month. Jeongguk dragging you around during the day before Yoongi pulled you from your bed in the night to fuck or go out for food. Yoongi would then leave you in his bed and in his shirt to go out and find Seokjin or just leave. You were never too curious about what he did, too busy to worry over his every move. But, of course, your curiosity got the best of you and one night, after pretending to fall asleep, you followed him.

Yoongi never liked cars so you followed about a block behind him as he walked almost all the way into the city. He ended up going into the closed YMCA, unlocking the front door with his own key. You were too tired to try to investigate further, but as soon as you turned around to head home, you were met face to face with Seokjin.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He spat, venomous hate dripping from his words.

You huffed, “What are you doing here?”

“Funny. Did Yoongi put you up to this? Cause I have his money right here.” Seokjin waved a bag in front of your face before dropping it on the pavement. “Tell him to get the fuck out of our house while you’re at it.”

Seokjin walked down the street, turning to head for the city but you were too stunned to chase after him. When you finally came to your senses, you looked down at the bag, pushing it with your foot. The open bag spilled its contents onto the street. Hundreds of crumbled bills and stacks of money fell out and you scrambled to pick them up.

The bag was heavy, far too heavy for a bag of money, but you didn’t dare look inside. You spun in circles in the middle of the empty street, wondering what to do with it. There was a single light on in the YMCA but it was too high up for you to see inside.

You opted to go home, walking all the way back and crashing on Yoongi’s bed with the bag of money next to you.

When you woke up, it was gone, and so were Yoongi’s things.

Jeongguk was more than happy that Yoongi moved out, and Seokjin started coming around more often—even if it was just to talk to Mama. Jimin and Hoseok were nowhere to be found and Mama started smoking more cigarettes than she ever had. The air in the house was odd, as if everyone was hiding something from one another.

You wanted to reach out to Jimin but he never replied to your messages or picked up his phone. When you brought it up to Mama, she said not to bother him (“He’s been working day and night, he doesn’t have time to gossip with you anymore.”).

You could no longer remember the last time the two of you spent the night bleaching, coloring, and styling his hair. You had begun to miss the way your fingers would turn the color of his new hair dye and how hours could be spent in effortless conversation. Of course, you had Jeongguk but he wasn’t a replacement for Jimin in the same way that Jimin wasn’t a replacement for Seokjin.

Instead of spending countless hours worrying, you busied yourself with work—Mama could always use an extra hand. Jeongguk sometimes took you out into the city for a day of distractions, but it was never enough to completely pull yourself away from thoughts of Yoongi or Seokjin or Jimin.

Jeongguk would sometimes get angry at your absent mind, drifting away from him and to the other men in your life. It was hard to spend quality time with you when you couldn’t keep yourself focused on him. But he still held himself back, reminding himself that they had been around for much longer than himself.

When cigarettes no longer satisfied the itch creeping up your spine, you found yourself picking up an old deck of cards from the junk drawer in the kitchen. You didn’t exactly know how to play, but figured there were enough videos on the internet that you could figure it out.

At night, when Jeongguk was sleeping, you pulled out the deck and stole his iPad to spend hours at the kitchen table, eyes straining as you set up mock games for yourself, using coins as chips. When the sun began to seep in through the blinds, you would turn the iPad off and plug it back in, crawling back into bed where you would sleep for about a half hour before Jeongguk was waking you up and dragging you out the door.

Somewhere along the way, you found yourself ditching the iPad and taking walks all the way down to the abandoned YMCA. Most of the time, all the lights were off when you pass by, but, one night, that single light on the top floor was turned on.

You bit your lip as you stared up at it, wondering who was inside. Yoongi, maybe. The chance at seeing him again was enough to have you pushing through the doors, searching in the dark for the stairs and making your way up them. You stopped at the top step, wondering if you should really be doing this. Yoongi was always someone who kept his business to himself, didn’t like people going through his things and getting in his private space.

You wanted to turn back, but your feet took you forward and your hand opened the door and lead you into the open space before you could completely stop yourself. The room was completely silent as you entered, all eyes landing on you.

There were five tables set up in an open rec room, at least six people seated around each of them. On the table were poker chips and cards thrown about.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you searched for one person in a crowd of strangers.

Yoongi shoved back from one of the tables, fuming. He grabbed your hand and pulled you out into the stairwell, pushing you against the wall. “How did you know about this place?”

“I might have followed you a while ago?” You whispered.

He was so, so close and it had been so long since you’d last seen him. His hair had become a soft, minty color.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” He spat, eyes glaring into yours.

You looked down at your shoes. “I don’t know.”

Yoongi sighed, running a hand through his hair before stepping back and eyeing you. “Let me finish this round and then I’ll walk you home. You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself this late.”

“Can I watch?” You piped up, smiling innocently.

He shrugged but didn’t reply, opening the door and holding it for you. Everyone was immersed in their games, talking and betting and raising in quiet voices. Yoongi made his way back to the table he was previously at.

“Let’s reshuffle the cards.” He motioned for you to sit in the empty seat next to him.

One of the men smiled and threw his cards in the middle. “Don’t trust us, kid?”

Yoongi offered up a half-assed smile before tossing in his cards, everyone following. The dealer took the cards and tosses them, pulling out a fresh deck of cards, peeling back the packaging.

“No limit, buy-in, winner takes all?”

Everyone around the table nodded and you looked over at Yoongi for some sort of clue as to what was going on but he doesn’t even glance your way, eyes focused on the dealer as they shuffle the cards.

“Let’s let the kid decide the buy-in and the minimum bet. Switch things up a bit.” The man from earlier smiled, and this time, you noticed little gold-plated diamonds on his teeth. You grimaced to yourself.

Yoongi dipped his head, “You’ve got a big mouth for the Big Blind.”

The “Big Blind” is the person who must put in the full amount of the minimum bet—you remembered this from a Wikipedia page.

Big Blind grinned, elbowing the man to his right, the Small Blind. “Can you believe this kid? You’ve got a big mouth for the Big Blind. Who does he think he is—the Ace?”

The two laughed to each other until Yoongi blurted out, “Buy-in: 15. Minimum bet: 30.”

They fell completely silent and the game began. Yoongi won with a three of a kind—he was holding an ace and two were played on the table. Three of a kind wouldn’t have been such a great feat had he not been holding a king in his hand, which paired with another king on the table. He had gotten the best three of a kind possible while the other players were fighting over high cards.

Yoongi took all the money with pride, a boastful smile hidden behind his blank face. On the way out the door, the Big Blind stopped Yoongi. “You aren’t slick, kid. We want a fair rematch, he could tell you were hustling.”

“Oh, could you now?” Yoongi wrapped an arm around your waist, not bothering to stop walking. “Can you prove it?”

The Big Blind took a moment, looking over at Small Blind as if asking for assistance. “We saw you.”

“I’m sure you did not.” Yoongi pulled you closer, nearing the door.

“We did too!” The man yelled across the room, turning the heads of some of the other gamblers.

Yoongi kept walking, only stopping at the door to turn back and say with a smirk, “Sir, you’ve got it all wrong. The Ace isn’t a hustler.” Then, he dipped his head and pulled you into the stairwell.

You stepped away from him as you walked down the stairs, crossing your arms over your chest stubbornly. He didn’t seem bothered though, tossing his bag over his shoulder as he opened the door to the exit, holding it for you.

“Who’s the Ace?” You nervously worried on your bottom lip, watching the sidewalk as you walked.

Yoongi chuckled and draped his arm over your shoulder. “Only the best hustler on the south side of the city.”

Your head was beginning to hurt. “But you just said that the Ace isn’t a hustler.”

“You’re so innocent,” he griped, musing your hair and leaning down to press his face into the side of your neck. “I missed you.”

Those three words had you melting under the frigid night air and you could feel yourself wrapping around his finger again, right where he liked you to be. Whenever he was around, it was like you were under a spell, too love-struck to think of anything besides Min Yoongi and his deceptive eyes and child-like smile. His breath was hot against your skin, sparking shivers up your spine that had you arching your body into his touch, grasping at the expanse of his broad shoulders for more.

He took you back to his apartment, two blocks away from YMCA in a tall building, discolored yellow from old age. The apartment was one room, its kitchenet was two cabinets and a mini fridge but you supposed that the place was enough for someone like Min Yoongi. Maybe he could afford something more, like the penthouse on a high-rise, but being such a young gambler with a name for yourself could put a target on your back—so maybe he was smart for living there.

He sat you down at the small two-person table, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and some cards. “Wanna learn how to play?” He took the deck out and cut it neatly, shuffling them into a bridge, the sound of the cards falling into place feeling so foreign yet so natural.

“I thought you brought me here to fuck.” You were only half joking, but Yoongi gave your shin a little push with his foot before dealing the cards.

Yoongi tossed you two cards and put out one face up next to it then did the same for himself. “That’s boring. Let’s do something fun—I’ll teach you how to play Stud. Do you know the ranking of the hands?”

Yoongi handed you a few stacks of cash from his bag. The thought of using dirty money to play a simple game brought a goofy smile to your lips. Yoongi cleared his throat and you focused yourself back on him, eyes wide in the darkness of his small apartment.

“Did you even hear me?” He looked over his cards, avoiding eye contact with you. You shook your head in response. “I asked if you know the ranking of the hands?”

“What do mean?”

“Oh god, this is going to take a while.” He ran a hand through his hair, the green locks falling back into place above his brow. You wanted to know why he ditched the mohawk but kept quiet. “Okay, well the best hand you can get is a royal flush—which means you hold an Ace, King, Queen, Jack, and 10 all in the same suit. Wait, please tell me you know what the suits are.”

You kicked him under the table, “I’m not that dumb.”

He relaxed back in the chair. “I’m not too sure about that.” You kicked him again and he raised his hands in joking surrender. “Okay, okay. After a royal flush is a straight flush—five consecutive cards of the same suit. Then, four of a kind and a full house. Full house is three of a kind and a pair. So, you could have—say, uhhh—5♠, 10♠, and 2♠ but also a 4♦ and 4♥, that’s a full house. Then a flush, as we know, is any five cards of the same suit—before you ask, no, a regular flush is not in consecutive order, that’s only a straight flush. After that, three of a kind, then two, then one. Lastly is just a high card.”

“Wow, take a second to actually breathe there, Yoongi.” You chuckled, looking down at your two hidden cards. You weren’t sure what to make of them but supposed Yoongi would help you in the first round.

“Just listen to me—okay? So now that you know your hands, we need an ante. Usually this is done in chips but I don’t keep any here so the money will have to do. Let’s make $100 the initial ante because we don’t have any small bills.” Yoongi pulled a single, crisp hundred-dollar bill from his pile and placed it in the middle of the table, you did the same. “Usually, the cards are dealt after the ante is paid but we’re not necessarily following all the rules tonight.”

“What now?” You asked giddily, feeling like a child in Disney Land, surveying all the rides they intend to go on.

Yoongi seemed amused by your admiration. “After the cards are dealt, there’s one round of betting. What are your cards?”

You held them to your chest indignantly, “Why would I tell you? Aren’t we playing against each other.”

That earned you an annoyed eyeroll. “You probably can’t remember the hands so just tell me what cards you have so I can guide you.”

“I have a 5♥, a K♠, and a 5♣.” You laid the cards out on the table for him to see.

He grinned, “Because you have two cards of the same rank, you already have one pair.”

“Is that good?”

“Could be.” Yoongi shrugged. “But you don’t know all of my cards.”

“Well show me.” You shuffled in your seat trying to look over his hands.

Yoongi leaned back further. “In a real game, you wouldn’t even know what cards I have.”

“But I showed you mine!” You threw up your hands, trying to force yourself to seem angry though you knew it was just playful banter.

“That’s because you don’t know how to play.” Yoongi put his two hidden cards face down on the table, amusedly watching you.

“Well now I don’t even want to know how to play.” You pushed back from your chair and stood as if you were going to walk out.

Yoongi grabbed your wrist, eyes innocent and bright as he pulled you down into his lap. He leaned in close to your ear and poked his tongue out. When you tried to shove him away, his grip around you only tightened. “Do you really want to know my cards, buttercup?” His voice echoed in your head, cold heat crawling up your back. “I have my A♣ and—” he paused, softly breathing for a moment, “a 4♣ and a 10♣.”

“You do not.”

Sure enough, when you reached over and flip his hidden cards, a 4♣ and a 10♣ are staring back at you.

Yoongi chuckled and patted the small of your back in an attempt to comfort you. It didn’t work. You jumped off his lap and slouched back into your chair, pouting with your arms crossed defensively over your chest. “You’re going to get a flush. I know it.”

“Possibly. We still have to bet and play another round before winner takes all.”

You huffed, sitting up slightly. “I don’t want to bet when you’re clearly going to win.”

“You don’t know that. A flush is rare, and I’ll only beat you if two more Club suit cards are put out.”

“Whatever. I bet $200.” You angrily pulled out two bills and threw them into the middle of the table.

Yoongi smirked deceptively, hands wrapping around two stacks of cash. “Well I raise you $2,000.”

“Asshole!” You screamed, hands slamming down on the table.

“Just play the game. We haven’t even finished one round yet, buttercup.”

Childishly, you stomped your foot on the ground and rolled your eyes, but you eventually pushed in the $2,000—though it pained you to see so much money being tossed around so easily. Yoongi gladly handed you another card, placing it face up on the table.

Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi lost. Had you been paying attention and had Yoongi been watching your cards and not only his, he would have seen that you had a full house—which would beat out his flush (a full house beats a flush but not a straight flush). Then, when you tried to take what had become an enormous amount of cash to your side of the table, Yoongi put his hand over yours.

“We weren’t really playing.”

You flipped your hair over your shoulder. “So, if you won, you wouldn’t have tried to take this money?”

Without a word, he sunk back into his chair, watching you take more than $20,000 of his proclaimed hard-earned money. But he quickly came up with a way to get his money back, clapping his hands together and proclaiming. “Let’s go another round.”

You looked between him and your new, larger pile of money and shrugged. “I guess.”

Yoongi found himself utterly baffled after you win the next three games, taking more than $100,000 from right under his fingertips. Maybe he was acting a little too cocky and not paying full attention like he would in a game with real gamblers and higher stakes, but he couldn’t figure out how you never failed to beat him by a better hand each time. You had somehow gotten two full houses two games in a row—which in his 7+ years of gambling, he’d never seen. Then, you proceeded to ruin his night by getting a straight flush while he was fumbling around with his high cards and two of a kinds.

Was the hustler being hustled or did you just have some sort of amazing luck? He wasn’t completely sure but knew that he wanted to see more. He wanted to take you out and see if this was really just some funky beginners luck or if you actually knew what you were doing—or if you were somehow hustling him without his knowledge.

When the morning sun began peeking its bright face between Yoongi’s blinds and he finally decided he had lost enough money, the two of you crawled into his bed—or maybe you just got under the sheets on the mattress he’d dropped in the middle of the room, doesn’t matter. He wrapped his arms around your waist and breathed into your hair, “Want to come out with me tomorrow and watch how some real gamblers play?”

You were too tired to reply but knew that you would eventually be dragged out, feet stumbling along pavement as Yoongi leads you towards a part of the city you had never imagined before.

You didn’t go out with Yoongi the next night, or the day after that. It was almost a week later that Yoongi finally decided you were ready—in just five days he’d managed to teach you Texas Hold ‘Em, Omaha (High and Hi/Lo), Three Card Poker, Caribbean Stud, H.O.R.S.E., Five Card Draw, and Badugi. He even managed to lose every single game to you. You had no idea how you were winning, but the cards were playing in your favor and it was funny to see Yoongi get mad and throw around his money when you just barely beat him. (He had even tried to hustle you in one round but you still came out on top—which pissed him off even more.)

Yoongi didn’t think you would beat any of the men he was going to introduce you to, but was willing to drop a few good dollars to see you lose. He took you to a glorified shed where a single game of Texas Hold ‘Em was being played.

Everyone bowed to Yoongi as he entered, like a king returning to his palace after a day of hard work. But then everyone saw you and their moods darkened.

“Another recruit, Ace?” One of the men nudged Yoongi, eyeing you shamelessly.

Yoongi rested his hand on the man’s shoulder, “You betcha.”

“How much is the little lady going to lose tonight?” He turned to you, lips pulling back to reveal rotten teeth. You grimaced and looked away.

“Oh,” Yoongi turned to you, securing an arm around your waist. “She’s not going to be losing.”

You swallowed thickly, his statement feeling more like a threat as he pushed you down into an empty chair. Yoongi handed you a few stacks of poker chips, laying his hand over yours. Your palms felt damp as you watched the rest of the players assemble their own chips, counting and stacking them precariously.

Yoongi leaned in close, lips barely touching your ear. “Darling, I’ll give you a little hint for your first round. Rule one is to know who you’re up against. If you can read them, you can beat them. Good luck.”

⇢ next.

⇢ playlist.

note: please forgive me for any mistakes, this is the longest i have written in a long time and i have gone through and edited it so many times. if there are any grammatical, spelling, or general mistakes please let me know.

Thank you for reading! Find more from me, July, here.

#bts #bts scenario #bts smut #smut #yoongi scenario #yoongi smut #yoongi bts #yoongi bangtan #kpop #kpop smut #kpop scenario #water under the bridge #water under the bridge yoongi #water under the bridge yoongisbbydoll #thank you for reading! love july

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