#Seattle Fishing Charter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

godsofmonster · 5 years ago

Text

Bangtan MC ≽ I.

Reader x Bangtan- Motorcycle Club

Word Count- 7.9k

Warnings- sexual content, death, murder, guns, drugs, violence, betrayal, mentions of suicide, mentions of rape, etc.

For as long as I can remember back, I always wanted to be in a motorcycle club. Since I was six years old, the only thing on my mind was getting my hands on a Harley and a cut. I was a wolf, a wild cur, cut from the pack with bloodstained on my fur. Every wrong has marked a debt because a beaten dog never forgets.

The outline of the green bus threatened to leave me behind. I increased my pace, my toes cursing every stride I took in these pinching heels. The engine of the bus began to roar, black smoke coming from its muffler, as the wheels began to turn. The leather briefcase in my grip struck against my knee as my motions became desperate. Even as I called out in a senseless attempt to catch the vehicle, I remained there along a busy street in Seattle, defeated.

I let out a grunt from the cage of my clenched teeth. A twitch bugged my eyebrow in frustration as I pulled out my phone and worked to endure the idea of taking an Uber home. I could quite literally see the forming clouds above me, shunning any kind of sunlight that the midday had to offer. After spending the majority of the night before slumped over my desk and sitting the entire morning through a briefing, I was more than ready to kick someone’s head in.

After fidgeting with a buffering app, finally typing in my address, the screen was ripped away by the caller ID of an unsaved number.

The phone vibrated in my palm while I stared at the area code. An entirely different sentiment engulfed me completely. The 530 number from Northern California brought an uncomfortable weight in my chest and a hollow ring in my ears.

There was an extensive hesitation on my part, a ball of it, caught in the dryness of my throat. There was only one soul in California that bothered to call. He did once in a year or so, mostly around my birthday. However, this number was different. I watched it ring a few more times as I continued to ponder. Possibly a new number?

I sighed and answered it all the same.

"Dad?"

I questioned.

However, I was met with a far more tormenting voice. One that only cursed me in my worst dreams. It had been years since his voice had settled upon my ears and suddenly I was 18 years old again, shivering at his sound.

I was left fruitless, shaken, and unable to move. My entire mind was wiped clean, left with a blank set of notes. No concept, no words, not a single pitch came from my lips.

He simply spoke in my ear,

"Come home, (Y/n)."

Then the line went dead.

That's all it took, that's all I needed to hear, to know that something terrible had happened. As I began to run home, the skies over me began to weep.

It was painless, effortless, to just drop everything and leave. It was as simple as breathing. Brushing through the door of the apartment complex, passing through the rooms, with not a single personal attachment to hold me back.

My bedroom was a color scheme of white and gray, only the most fundamental of furniture and details. This never became my home.

As I changed into a clean set of clothes, dark jeans, a plain t-shirt, and dumped my heels for boots; there was nothing that I was leaving behind. I grabbed my double rider jacket off of the hook and fished the keys to my Harley and my 23 out of the drawer. I slammed the door shut and never looked back.

Walking through the basement of the apartment building, I found myself raging through so many thoughts that my mind was practically meaningless. I was so aware that all of my worries were the wrong kind. I should have been outraged about my father, why it was that he didn't call me himself.

He hadn't bothered speaking to me since my aunt, who I had been living with, passed away six months ago. She was the only thing I cared about in this city and without her, there was nothing left for me here.

Instead of being furious with him, instead of calling him and demanding answers, I pounced the second I had the chance to come home. I didn't care about anything else. Though, that's how seven years in exile left me, pitiful, and crawling back. Rather than being angry at my father, agitated at the thought of seeing him after so long, my mind was only set on him.

His voice replayed in my head like a record and the way he said my name was a lukewarm echo. And the worse part of it all?

I unveiled the gray tarp off of my Softail Harley. The tooled leather was like velvet under the cooling lights of the garage.

And the worse part of it all is that I would have an entire eight hours to myself. Just me, the road, and my bike with Kim Namjoon's call leading me home to Blackburn California.

"Pass me the wrench, will ya?"

I eyed the floor that was covered in bike limbs and oil. I scavenged for the instrument he needed and found it under a lost tire. Whistling for his attention as he turned around just in time to catch the wrench in his hand. I smiled as my dad kneeled on the floor beside his old Fatboy. I walked up behind him and watched him work underneath me. My hand rested on the letters sewn into the back of his leather cut.

The top rocker read 'Bangtan' across the back. The center patch showed the opening doors of Bangtan, along with the MC cube. And the bottom rocker, the territory that we claimed, 'California'. A cut signified much more than just a leather vest- it meant you were someone important. For my father, who was the founder and active president of the charter, it meant absolutely everything.

"What's the matter with it? The clutch?"I asked, squinting my eyes and looking over his work. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a square from my case of Marlboro.

"Yeah." He sighed and stood back to his feet. "The clutch plates are probably locked together."

"Well, what do you expect?" I chuckled with the cigarette placed between my lips. "You've had this Fatboy sitting in the bar for two years like some statue. Poor thing is neglected."

This was the first bike he ever bought with his own money. It was a 1990 Fatboy, cherry red- a true beauty. He turned around to eye me, except that his eyes fell down to the smoke in my mouth. I cupped my hands over the flame I used to light the end and raised a brow at his stare. He reached over to seize the cigarette from my mouth.

"What the hell did I tell you about smoking?" He said, holding the square in front of me.

"That you didn't care?" I reminded him with a smile. He stared at me for another moment, attempting to do his best impression of a scolding parent but ultimately broke into a sneer.

"I didn't care as long as I didn't see it." He corrected me and placed the cigarette into his own lips. I humorously rolled my eyes as he turned back to his baby. "This is what we're going to do,"

He said while mounting the bike with his feet planted to the floor. "I'm going to put the bike in gear and pull in the clutch lever. Now if I roll the bike back and forth the plates should come unstuck."

"Do you want me to get some heat in that oil and see if it'll help loosen things back up?" I asked.

Although, before my dad could answer, the engine of another motorcycle roared into the garage behind the bar. The light of a Street500 Harley blinded me momentarily. My father moved off of his bike while I walked out of the incoming Harley's way. I had a pretty good idea of who it was anyhow.

He thrust down his kickstand and removed his black helmet to reveal his bleached undercut.

"I was hoping you were still here, old man." He laughed, stepping off his bike and making his way toward my dad.

"Something wrong with it, Namjoon?" He suggested. With a rag, he wiped his hands clean from any grease as Namjoon put an arm around his shoulder. I cut my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest.

"It's not running well with the choke on." He explained. I watched as my father and he walked up to his bike to get a closer look. "It stalls when I turn the choke off and when I turn the throttle."

"It's probably because you left it parked in the garage for two months without draining the gas," I said coldly.

Namjoon turned to look at me as I walked but beside them, taking a look for myself. I could feel his cold stare on me as I inspected his bike.

"I think she's right, Joon." My dad said, patting his shoulder. I smirked and shot Namjoon a glare. I placed my hands on my hips, waiting for my father to tell him to fix it himself. "(Y/n) will get started on it in the morning."

"What!?" I hissed in disbelief. My eyes darted from my fathers to Namjoons, who wore a returning smirk on his face. I could feel my face heat with rage. "That will take hours! I have to drain the old gas, change the spark plugs, replace the air filter, and clean the clogged carburetors!"

"Well, now that you've graduated you'll have plenty of time on your hands' sweetheart," Namjoon said as my dad took a drag of my cigarette and agreed.

I could kill him.

I could not believe my father would have me working on Namjoon's bike. What kind of man can't even fix his own Harley? The thought made me sick. I knew how to change the oil on a Harley since I was six years old! Before I could even think to say another word against the idea, the door extending from the bar opened abruptly.

"Hey! I've been calling you." I saw another cut walk in that belonged to Seokjin. He and the current prospect, Yoongi, gathered around my father.

"What is it?" He asked. I could hear it in their voices, something must have happened for them to come looking for him at such a late hour.

"The mayor is here... he wants to speak with you," Yoongi said in a hushed tone.

I automatically knew that Namjoon and I were going to be dismissed. Any club business could not be discussed in front of nonmembers. Immediately, I tried to create an excuse to dismiss ourselves from the situation.

"I'll follow you home Namjoon," I called out catching everyone's attention. "I'll get started on your bike in the morning."

He simply nodded his head, knowing as well as I did, that this was not our place. Namjoon moved to get on his bike while I gathered my stuff from the counter behind me.

"Actually," My father suddenly spoke up. Both of us paused to see who he was referring too. "You can stay, Namjoon. It's time you learn a thing or two."

My father barely spared me a glance as he continued, "Prospect, follow (Y/n) and make sure she gets home."

"No problem." He responded. I could feel the color rise to my face as tears threatened to brim my eyes. There was an ache in my chest that could only be explained as heartbreak.

It was memories like those that flooded my mind, swarming my thoughts like a plague, and they haunted me all the way home.

For as long as I can remember back, I always wanted to be in a motorcycle club. Since I was five years old, the only thing on my mind was getting my hands on a leather cut and a Harley. For me, being in a motorcycle club was better than being the Queen of England. From the first time that I wandered into the clubhouse behind my father's bar- I knew I had to be a part of them. I knew that I had found the place where I belonged. Bangtan was like nobody else, they did what they wanted- when they wanted. No one ever stopped them or told them otherwise. It was being a part of something much bigger than yourself. It meant being somebody in a town full of nobodies. With my father as president, I knew everyone, and everyone knew me. I thought myself the most fortunate of girls.

But I was young, I was naive, I didn't know just how unfair the world could be.

The night had fallen deep. The roads deserted from creation. The air flowed differently down here, with no restraints, liberating. It felt real in my lungs. Seven years of my life had slipped through my hands and as I passed the sign welcoming me home, I could not recognize the world around me.

Welcome to Blackburn

Where Blood is Thicker

I rode through the empty town, the distant memories of my adolescence whispering within the wind. Recurring nightmares had brought me back through these routes time and time again. Straight from my bones, deep from inside, a fantasy of total catastrophe. They were nightmares I loved to hate because the hopeless endeavor was better than having nothing at all.

The street lights followed me all the way home. Turning into Ivory Lane, at the very end of the street, is where my youth was left behind. Undeniably the finest, largest, house in the neighborhood. As I pulled up to the front, there was light pouring from each window, the long driveway held 15 Harleys and five cars. A full house and a party I would surely crash.

Removing my helmet and parking my bike, I subconsciously began to pace toward the front door. It was like I was in another one of my dreams, not knowing what I was doing, nor what was waiting for me on the other side. By every step, I felt more lost and at home at the same time. Everything was the same and yet nothing felt familiar. Like a lost spirit, I simply opened the door and let myself in.

The door opened into the large foyer, where stairs circled around the left and a hallway led me deeper into the house. I stepped noiselessly, past my father's study and the dining room, following the disembodied voices coming from beyond. The warm light of the house made me feel senseless, not understanding what exactly I was walking into.

I found myself at an impasse, deep in the house, where the kitchen was in the room to my left and the living room to my right. It felt like I was in a stranger’s house with voices I did not recognize. It was all so unreal. Choosing to explore the living room I stepped to the right.

I found people scattered around in multiple conversations, no one who stood out in particular. I looked for any sign of a familiar face. The room smelled of alcohol and tobacco. Not a soul had noticed me walk in, it looked like a small gathering, not any kind of celebration. There was rock music playing softly in the background of the people's voices. There were women and their children and older men who I did not know. It looked to be just a few hang-arounds, outsiders that were friendly with the club.

My eyes scattered around the room, not knowing what to think. If I should stay- if I should go? I didn't know what I was doing here anymore. That was until my eyes landed on a group at the far end of the room.

Then, Namjoon was the only thing I could see.

I stared at him as he sat gathered between other guys. His black eyes switched from person to person as they spoke to him. He wore his cut and fiddled with his knuckles. His hair, that he used to bleach and cut himself, was now its natural black color and styled to the sides. He looked like a grown-up, far from the person that I remembered.

It felt like I stared at him for hours but it wasn't long before he felt my stare and found me for himself. His eyes dropped dramatically, changing. from a look of focus into one that was shaken. All of his attention was fixed on me and I could feel the weight of the room fall on my shoulders.

I spent the last seven years thinking about what I would say to him. What he would have to say to me. Except I felt frozen in place as he rose to his feet.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

A voice cursed behind me. Her tongue caught the attention of everyone in the room. Their eyes began to watch me intently while their whispers of curiosity filled the air.

I shuffled to the side, turning to see both her and Namjoon. I became trapped between them on either side, with a crowd of strangers in front of me, like a jury.

The girl that they knew would have never had the courage to stand here in front of everyone. The girl that they knew would have never come back but I wasn't that girl anymore. I wasn't 18 years old and everything I wanted to say then- I would say it to them now.

"This is my house." I reminded her.

Jaeeun scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her hair was a thick, black bob, with a single streak of white, that framed the side of her face. She always wore dark clothing, black and berry colors mostly. And around her neck was a black diamond necklace she was never seen without. The years had been kind to her, she looked like she always did. The wicked stepmother who stayed young forever.

"This hasn't been your home for a long time, sweetheart." She shook her head at me. Jaeeun's stare was as cold as ever, black eyes that looked like a cryptic abyss and fine aging lines cut into her pale skin.

"Mom," Namjoon cut in, reinserting himself into this situation. He walked between us, facing his mother and attempting to keep her calm as he assured her that, "I called her."

Jaeeun's arms came uncrossed at his words. It felt strange as if Namjoon was somehow defending me. She looked at him in disbelief, the frustration becoming more pronounced on her face, as Namjoon spoke. "She has a right to know."

The seriousness of his voice was alarming, my eyes turned to look at him but I didn't find any answers from his avoiding gaze. Jaeeun's eyes were fixed on him. The conversation quickly became an argument between only them two.

"A right to know and a right to be here- are two entirely different things, Namjoon." Jaeeun raised her voice. Her entire demeanor seemed overwhelmed as she placed her hand over her forehead. Namjoon took notice as well as he stepped to lend her a hand but she exploded. "You could have told me!"

Her voice cracked and tears slipped from her eyes. Entirely caught off guard, I didn't know what to do, I had never seen Jaeeun break down. Namjoon sought to console her by laying a hand on her shoulder but she forced him away. "Like I don't have enough shit going on already!"

I could tell that she was embarrassed to be crying in front of people. It wasn't until a friend of hers came up behind her for comfort. I could only watch as she eased Jaeeun onto a nearby chair where she could relax.

The room fell silent as everyone remained still while Jaeeun regained her composure. I was caught up in my own agenda to care about anything else. Everything just tasted wrong.

"Namjoon," I called for him. He left his mother's side and joined me under the archway of the living room. I caught a glance at Jaeeun's glare as he left but I ignored it and spoke in a low voice. He leaned in to avoid our conversation falling to her ears. I sighed. "What am I doing here?"

"For fuck sake, Namjoon." Jaeeun breathed. She held a cigarette between her lips as her friend beside her brought a lighter. Namjoon cursed under his breath. "You haven't even told her yet?"

"Told me what?" I didn't intend to raise my voice. The anticipation was causing terrible ideas to flow through my head.

Suddenly Namjoon took a hold of my hand, the touch alarming me further, as he stared at me sympathetically. I shook my head and yanked my hand from his touch. My heart began to beat in my ears as I stepped back from him.

"No..."

I said trying to remove the terrible thought from my head.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/n)."

He said, stepping closer.

"No!"

I yelled.

A weight came tumbling down on me, like the burden of the world, I felt as if my night terrors had crawled into my reality. My head was consumed by the pressure of news. My skin frosted with chills as I stumbled out of the room.

Bumping into strangers, I abruptly felt cornered as they stared at me with pity. I couldn't seem to retain any form of air in my lungs, every breath came out of my mouth like a cry for help. My house became a real horror scene, and my only impulse was to leave.

"Let her go! That's all she's good at..."

I pushed through the people behind me, stepping as quickly as my feet would allow. I ran through the way I came in, all the way to the front door with tears trailing behind me. My vision was clouded with the pain that emptied my chest.

The night breeze crystalized the stain my tears left. My body trembled in a mixture of numbness and despair. The door opened behind me and footsteps simulated my own.

"(Y/n), wait."

He followed me down the brick driveway, only intercepting me when I stopped to mount my bike. I ignored his call and avoided his stare. I was fiddling with the strap of my helmet when I saw his foot land on my footrest.

"You took the eight-hour ride here? You've got to be exhausted." He stated.

I felt a rush of rage boil my blood, a result of years of repressed anger. I looked at him from underneath my hair and said in an imminent tone.

"Get your foot off my bike."

Namjoon stood his ground and only released his hold on my bike as a sign of good faith. Except, he continued to hold me in his stare, his eyes a mirror reflection of his mother's. I sighed and looked away in defeat.

"How did it happen?" I asked.

That was the question I feared the most. No matter what the answer was- I wasn't here. I couldn't even recollect the last words we had spoken to each other.

"He was riding on the US-50..." It was hard for him to look into my watering orbs. Namjoon shifted his eyes to the floor, his black hair brushing against his forehead. "He collided with a semi-truck."

My arms rested on the fuel tank of my bike, burying my face from his sight, as I continued to break down. I pressed the tears from my eyes, the droplets tapping against the cold metal, as soft cries left my mouth.

I couldn't get the image out of my head, it replayed, once after another. My imagination created the sound of the impact. The black crows of the desert that flocked away as a result. The bloody aftermath plastered on the bumper of the semi-truck.

"I loved him too... He was my father too, (Y/n)." Namjoon spoke with pure sincerity. But all I could do was shake my head and dismiss his truth.

"But he wasn't," I threw my helmet on the floor and stood off my bike. With the little force I could work up, my hands pressed against the leather cut and shoved his chest, causing him to trip over his feet. "He was mine!"

"He practically raised me- taught me what it meant to be a man." He explained, visibly hurt by my comment. It sickened me to hear him give my old man such credit.

"He was barely a father." I spat.

"Yes! He was complicated." He admitted, taking a step back and lifting his hands in defeat. He used his dominant hand to push his hair out of his frame, licking his lips in apprehension. "But he was smart and he always did what he thought was right."

I crossed my arms over my chest and refused to praise him for another minute. Namjoon sighed from his nose, taking a slow pace toward me as I continued to look away. The space between us became less and less until I could feel his body heat radiating on me. I resisted his tempting stare but he managed to make me melt at his touch. He took my chin in his fingers and guided me to his eyes. "Those complications killed him, (Y/n). That's why he let the road take him."

"What are you saying?" I snapped a look at him, removing Namjoon's hand from my face. "You think my father killed himself?"

"It's the only explanation." He simply declared. As if the answer was so simple. "The driver of the truck said that he just came out of nowhere."

"Bangtans don't kill themselves-" I was ridiculed by his words, finding it hard to accept that he would believe them himself.

"Don't worry." He hushed me. "No one else knows... I wouldn't let him get stripped of his patch."

He obviously did, nevertheless. Namjoon was ready to pull me in and wrap his arms over my shoulders. He embraced me with pity as if I was in denial about the situation. There wasn't much that I was sure about in my life, not a lot was stable. However, my fathers' courage, his willingness to keep moving ahead was unparalleled. It was the soldier in him.

“You’re not listening to me!" Once again, I pushed him away from me. "He would never do that. For someone who claims to have loved him so much you know very little.”

"(Y/n)," Namjoon said softly, he looked entirely exhausted. It was the first time I was actually analyzing his exterior. He displayed bags under his eyes and his skin was drained of color. “You don’t know what it's been like these past few years.”

His words left a larger impression on me than I would have expected. He was right. I didn't know anything about him, my father, or the club in the past seven years.

I was an idiot to have spent so many years dreaming of coming home. I thought I was lost before, that this was the place where everything would make sense. Now I feel more lost than ever. Nothing felt familiar here in Blackburn, everyone was a stranger.

"Come on," Namjoon called my way. His mouth dusted the most gentle of smiles as he waved me over with his hand. "Let's go back inside."

"Are you sure?" Using the back of my hands, I cleaned my face, from the horror I could only imagine. "I think Jaeeun still wants me dead."

He smiled, revealing a pair of dimples that cursed him as a child forever. He knew, as well as I did, that I was only half-serious.

"I'll handle my mother." He assured me.

I followed behind him, catching up to his side as we walked together up the driveway. I took a moment to examine his clothes. He wore black jeans and a cloudy blue button-up under his leather cut. He also had a bowie knife tucked into a sheath that was clipped to his pocket. And even though I couldn't see it, I would bet my life on him also carrying a handgun hidden under his shirt.

"Oh," He stopped us right before the front door. His facial expression winced as he remembered something. "No one… knows why you actually left. People think you just ran away."

He explained, presuming that the news would bother me. However, I didn't expect any less from Jaeeun.

"Of course they do,"

Namjoon led me to the leather couch in the middle of the living room. The set was surrounded by strangers and a glass coffee table. I sat to the very edge of the couch, crossing my leg over the other, in an effort to take up as little space as possible. I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to relax.

"Namjoon." A voice called for him across the room. I didn't need to turn around to know it was club business and Namjoon looked at me apologetically. I assured him that I would be fine.

He caressed my shoulder before vanishing behind the couch. My hands ran up my lap, feeling the texture of the denim under my hands, as I questioned what to do with myself. I peered down my body and adjusted the sleeves on my jacket.

"You want some coffee, doll?" I was slightly surprised by the silky voice. Standing over me was a young woman, younger than me, with a fresh coffee pot in her hand.

"Oh! Uh..." I quickly looked down at the glass coffee table before me. There were some clean mugs resting upside down, beside jars of cream and sugar. "Yeah, sure."

Instantly, I bent over to reach for the nearest mug at the same moment she did.

"I got it." She promised. However, in a second of panic, my hand already bumped against hers and tipped the mug over.

The glass hitting against glass made me uneasy and embarrassed as a few heads turned in our direction. I cursed under my sigh and removed my hands from creating any more chaos. I could only push my hair out of my face and behind my ears as I apologized.

Without glancing my way, she reassured me that it was fine. I watched as she poured the steaming brown liquid into the mug. She set the pot to the side and reached for the jar of cream.

"Black is fine."

She nodded and handed me the mug with a brief smile. I held it between both of my palms, the heat almost being painful, and I thanked her as she stepped away.

I brought the steam close to my nose, shutting my eyes and breathing in deeply, awaiting the aroma to keep me conscious.

"You have to let them do that for you." Jaeeun's voice spoke from behind. My eyes fluttered open to see her stepping around me. I followed her figure carefully as she took the seat next to me. "It's how they show you respect."

I scoffed to myself. Jaeeun looked better composed than before. That's how she operated, though. There was no time for crying, feeling sorry for yourself, none of that mattered when people depended on you. I figured that was admirable.

"Why does it matter? That respect is only because of my father, not me." Jaeeun smirked and agreed. "Everyone thinks I ran away nevertheless. Not much respect in that."

She could hear the bitterness that lingered in my mouth. My poor attitude annoyed her.

"Oh, cry me a river, sweetheart." She cursed under her breath.

"How do you do it, Jae?" I cut her off sharply. Turning my body to face hers without intimidation. "How-How do you keep all the lies intact? All the secrets buried?"

She lifts her eyebrow, almost amused by my anger. I asked, "Aren't you tired?"

Jaeeun cut eye contact with me and took in a long breath as she worked to remain unbothered. I watched her fix her hair as a distraction, loathing to realize that my judgment struck a nerve. Yet, she swiftly regained her confidence and even dared to lean in close to me.

"For my family?" She prompted. Her black eyes staring almost past me as her mouth dropped into a dead frown. "Never."

Without another word, she rose from her place and left me alone once again. I stared down into the black coffee, just barely making out my reflection before bringing the rim up to my lips. Being a forgotten memory in this town hurt me more than I wanted to admit.

"(Y/n)." My head turned, my eyes pursuing across the room, where I spotted Namjoon by the entrance. His hand singled me over through the blurred crowd of people.

I abandoned the coffee on the table and made my way into the lake of bodies. As I walked down my path, the faces turned to see me coming and one by one, they parted the road. Not even a graze came in contact with my shoulder while I approached his awaiting figure. I pressed near him as the masses allowed me too.

"Are you okay?"

Jaeeun must have left a sour expression on my face, he seemed concerned as he read my eyes. He even dared to reach his hand out to cup my face in some sort of aid, but I was ready to stir it away, a little vigorously.

"I'm fine," I said rigidly. Namjoon took notice of my discomfort, my cold behavior, and so he stepped back to proffer me space.

"Uh," He cleared his throat. I scanned him up and down, as the awkwardness spread in his demeanor. "He wanted to say hello."

My brows furrowed, confused as to what he was saying. Yet, I followed in his eyes as they led me out into the hall. I sensed his presence as he lingered behind me, his footsteps slower than my own. The lonely hallway almost suggested a trap, as I turned the corner around the staircase, I found no such thing. Assembled in the foyer were a group of leather cuts. With their backs turned to me, I could not make out any of their faces. The heavy noise of my footsteps rang over their conversation and they turned in my direction.

"(Y/n)!"

I gasped. Shocked, completely caught off guard, to see a familiar face. With nothing but a smile, his arms came wrapping around me.

"Jimin." I laughed, shocked at the years gone by without having spoken his name.

It was the first time that someone's face brought me memories that were worth reliving. My high school years were only significant because of him. I didn't know it at the time but he was my best friend. The reminiscences of a simpler time threatened my eyes with tears.

When he pulled away, I almost could not classify the man before me. But there was no one else that could mimic that smile, his eyes disappeared and his teeth took the spotlight.

"I-I can't believe it's you." I smiled. His hands rested on my shoulders as he inspected me from head to toe. "When did you patch in?"

"I requested a prospect about two years after you left." He explained. Jimin took a step back and pushed his hair out of his face. I used to poke fun at the fat on his cheeks but I couldn't now. He looked great, from his tight jeans to sharp jawline, I was genuinely appalled. "We both did, actually."

Jimin moved aside to reveal the standing figure behind him. "You remember Taehyung, don't you?"

He stepped out of the shadow, the light overhead casting contours on his face, another image far from what I remembered. But his strong brows and long-lasting eyes haven't changed. He licked his lips at me and shot a polite smile.

"Y-Yeah, of course." Shuttering lightly, I figured that we didn't know each other well enough to hug. He wore a bandana tied around his forehead that heaved his brown locks. "I see you finally stopped dying your hair red."

"It was the only way they would let me prospect." He chuckled.

I didn't know him as well as I knew Jimin, even though they were always together, the conversations between us just never went anywhere. It didn't surprise me in the slightest to see him in a cut. Bangtan was seemingly the only topic we could discuss that endured more than just a few words.

"Yeah, there is no way the vote would have been unanimous if you would have kept that hair." A loud voice laughed behind the two.

The owner appeared over Taehyung's shoulder, continuing to laugh in his ear. I could distinguish him by his very voice, Hoseok, who began prospecting at the same time Namjoon did.

"Yeah? I still might do it one day, just to piss you off." Taehyung said, shoving Hoseok's shoulder playfully.

"You'll be the only one looking like a fucking strawberry, dude." Another face came wandering in, this time behind Jimin. It was only next to Jimin that I was able to recognize who he was.

"Jungkook?" He revealed a pair of bunny teeth and his 16-year-old image flashed in my head. "Last time I saw you, you were following Jimin around like a puppy. Good to see things haven’t changed"

They all began to tease and ponder the poor boy, Jimin especially, reached his hand up and lightly slapped his face. Jungkook could only laugh off the taunting as he looked back at me.

"Things have changed, (Y/n)." He purposely deepened his voice and with a smug look, pushed Jimin out of the way. With his hand hooked around his belt, he danced a slow walk toward me. "Now I'm 23 and… 5′10."

He let his eye drop into a wink and I shivered with a deep cringe. I couldn't help but burst out laughing, trying to withhold the obnoxious cries with my hand. The rest of the boy's laugh echoed my own. Everyone except Namjoons, it was only seconds later that he came up from behind me, elbowing the young member away.

"Cute, Jungkook." He stated, certainly not finding humor in Jungkook's flirtatious act.

"Honestly Jungkook, you're sick, her father just died," I noticed Seokjin as he spoke from behind the group, Yoongi just beside him.

"It was a joke." Jungkook protested as he stumbled back beside Jimin.

"It won't be a joke when Namjoon murders you for messing with his sister," Yoongi scolded.

"Stepsister."

Namjoon and I bluntly corrected, at the same time.

Our severe voices caused everyone to stop laughing, questionably staring in our direction. My head went blank as soon as I realized what had happened. The silence expanded to us and I hastily looked away from the situation.

"Where's the prospect?" Namjoon asked taking the pressure off the prior incident.

"He went to go find me some smokes," Taehyung replied and with perfect timing, the front door behind them opened abruptly.

"I got them!"

A voice called making his way around the group of boys with a pack of red Marlboro. Taehyung moved quickly to seize the cigarettes from his hand without a single thank you.

"Say hello, prospect." He said pushing the young boy on his back causing him to stumble forward into my line of sight.

Caught by utter surprise, he stared at me bashfully. I tilted my head as I examined his features carefully. Something about him looked familiar however he was so young, I could almost deny that I knew him at all. I just couldn't figure it out. He looked at me with pleading eyes, almost as if he was praying that I would recognize him. He had to be at least 19 years old now, which would put him at the age of 12 when I left.

Then it clicked.

"Yeonjun?"

When he smiled, in a matter of seconds, my heart completely melted. My face broke into a grin that ached my cheeks, my eyes glossed with more tears as I walked up to him. He lived just down the road, I used to babysit him when his mother took night shifts at the hospital. I placed my hand on his shoulder and got a better look at his face. I couldn't help but complain. "You lost your baby fat."

The boys teasingly ‘aww’ed at him, Jimin dramatically clenching his heart with his hand. Taehyung wrapped his arm over Yeonjun’s shoulder and began poking at his cheeks. He could only stand there and take the banters of his elders as it was a form of hazing for prospects. However, Yeonjuns head remained held high as he proudly said,

"I told you she would remember me." Taehyung, who he was specifically speaking to, could merely roll his eyes and let the prospect enjoy his victory.

As happy as I was at that moment, I couldn't help but fall mute, the truth of everything just sort of unraveling in my mind. Seeing Yoenjun was a testimony of how much I left behind, the little things I didn't know I cared about so much. The people I used to know had moved on without me. Everyone was so different and changed into better versions of themselves. I began to question if I had really done the same. I felt robbed of the person I could have been, the person I thought I was meant to be. Blackburn was a family community, everyone knew each other- now, I was just an outsider.

I heard the boy's laughter cut short, my train of thought lost by the screeching sound of tires coming from outside. All of our heads turned to follow the noise. Down the hall where the front door stood lonely, we moved as a group, our feet trying to get a clear image of the outside. There was just enough darkness to see through the glass shapes cut into the frame of the door. The street of Ivory Lane was cleared except for a gray van parked parallel in front of the house.

Before I could think to question anything, the side door slid open and three masked figures appeared, in their hands were fully automated KG-9s.

"Get down!"

Namjoon's voice was all that I heard before my body was hitting the floor. Someone's weight was on top of me, acting as a shield, as the following movements were full of total chaos.

Thousands of rounds firing off, causing the windows to shatter into pieces. My arms covered over my head, shards of glass scratching against the leather of my sleeves. My cheek pressed against the wood as I heard the screams of the souls in the house, women, and children.

I raised my head to see Yeonjuns face over my shoulder. His forearms rested on either side of my head, I saw the fear in his face, the way his eyes were shut tightly. I took a look at the rest of my surroundings, Taehyung and Namjoon were leaning against the wall, their hands working fast to load their handguns.

"Cover me!" Namjoon yelled over the firearms.

My heart was pumping adrenaline throughout my body. But the thought of my family home being shot up while grieving my father's death fueled me with red rage. It was blinding.

I forced Yeonjun off of me, my knee pinning him down on the floor where he would remain clear of any bullets.

"What are you doing!?"

I stayed crouched as my arms reached behind me. My hands felt for the Glock 23 that I had tucked into the belt of my pants. The heavy metal was cold in my hand, I clicked the safety off and rose on my feet.

"(Y/n)!"

I moved quickly, my gun pointed out toward the door as I reached quickly yanking it open. I found the three men retreating back into the van. My brain didn't hesitate to take the aim to the one in the middle, pulling the trigger over and over again, my arms resisting the gun’s kickback. The bullets went cutting through the air, piercing holes of the van until one finally broke through the skin of his shoulder. He struggled to reload his gun as his two partners jumped into the van.

"(Y/n)! Get back!"

Bullets behind me came firing at the van, shattering the window of the driver. I kept firing at the already injured figure, his friends running to get him in the van as they were trying to flee. They pulled at his arms, dragging him into the van as he finished reloading. With a click of his ammo, he aimed his gun at me but I fired first. My bullet went right through his kneecap causing him to fall off the moving van. His partners had no option but to leave him behind.

"(Y/n)!" Namjoon yelled as my feet moved, sprinting, toward the man bleeding out on the street.

He laid on his back, holding his disjointed knee in one hand. He wore a ski mask and black clothing. I kicked away his KG-9 with my foot and aimed my gun at him.

"Put your hands up! Put Your hands up!" I commanded. He followed them without hesitation. Namjoon and Taehyung came running up behind me.

"Put the gun down, (Y/n)," Taehyung said calmly but I didn't budge. I could only stare angrily at the blue eyes I could make out through the holes of the mask. My hand began to tremble from rage. I wanted to shoot him, I wanted to shoot him so very bad. "People are watching, (Y/n)."

I glanced back at the house where people were gathering behind the broken windows. I took a deep breath, shaking to remain calm, and lowering my gun.

Namjoon and Taehyung moved in, holding him down as they removed his mask. I didn't recognize him in the slightest, he was white, with thin white hair and ice-blue eyes, at least 40 years old.

"I’ve got PB ink here," Taehyung said to Namjoon as he raised his arms to reveal tattoos.

"Help! Please help!" A scream filled the night, coming out the front door was a woman. Her face contoured in pain as wails left her mouth. She held a young boy, pressed against her chest, drenched in blood. "My son, please!"

She begged as Jimin helped her hold the boy up. His hand was stained with blood over the wounds on his chest and abdomen. But the boy's body was unresponsive, lifeless, he was already gone.

That's when everything went silent for me. My ears hollowed with a ring of white noise. I felt my hand loosen as the gun fell from my grip. As the metal hit against the street, I stepped back toward the gunman, trance-like. His eyes barely caught mine before I stomped my foot on his face.

"(Y/n)!"

I growled through my teeth as I felt the cartilage of his nose crack under my boot with the first stomp. The ones after that beat his teeth into his mouth. Gashes of blood leaked into the curves of his face. He begged and cried for me to stop but I couldn’t.

Taehyung wrapped his arms around my waist, I fought back, but he lifted me and tore me apart from him.

Masterlist ≽

#bangtan mc #bts #bts fanfic #bangtan fanfic #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #park jimin #jeon jungkook #Jung HoSeok #min yoongi #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts scenarios #bts gang au

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