#hoseok boy meets evil

[anpanmann]

countdown to hobi’s return

d-3 ♡ boy meets evil

[kevinkevinson]

day 41 Boy Meets Evil

[jkjmbtsarmy]

j-hope “Boy Meets Evil” gifs ✰3/3

[curio-queries]

QuickCombo: EGO | BOY MEETS EVIL | MORE

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOBI!!

So excited to have him back before his next Bday!

Listening links and my thoughts on this QC below the cut:

Ego was one of the first solo BTS songs that I remember falling in love with. I think it perfectly encapsulates Hobi's ability to take a concept and translate it musically. It's such a fun listen but also informs in an interesting way. It's also my favorite of all of J-Hope's solo songs.

Boy Meets Evil was one of the first videos that actually helped me start to appreciate dance in pop culture. Dance was definitely not a huge draw for me at the start of my BTS journey and this video stands out in my memory.

More was such an interesting journey of song in itself. We were all so curious how the solo releases would be handled logistically as well as musically. Absolutely loved the rock elements and seeing Hobi get to transfer his skills outside of the typical soundscape of BTS.

[btsx50states]

Here in the U.S., Hobi Day is just getting started!! Happy Birthday, j-hope!!! To celebrate, check out some of his discography below!

[100vern]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. <3

[btscontentenjoyer]

BTS Summer Fic Recs

Here are some summer fanfic recommendations if you need something to read on the beach, by the pool, or just in your room while you're trying to escape the heat! If you enjoy any of these stories, please don't forget to let the author know by reblogging and leaving feedback. Most of these stories contain smut or other mature themes so MINORS DNI!

kim namjoon

solace by @m-yg93 (13.5k) fluff/smut

[roommates to lovers]

summary: Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.

kim seokjin

all you’re giving me is friction by @hot-soop (28.3k) angst/smut/fluff

[surfer!seokjin x lifeguard!f.reader, lovers to enemies (lite) to lovers]

summary: You’ve graduated! Congratulations - you’ve got one thing checked off your parents ten year plan! Now all that’s left to do is start your dreary office job, drag yourself up the ladder to CEO, marry your (as yet unknown) dream guy, and carve out some time to pop out a few kids before your ovaries shrivel up… Except all of that sounds horrendous, and you’d much rather spend the next three months at Hoseok’s beach house with your closest friends - relaxing, partying, and sleeping late while you still can. And it would be your last perfect summer break, if it weren’t for the most irritating man on the planet (and his chickens) living next door.

min yoongi

the landlord by @ppersonna (4.3k) smut/light crack/pwp

[landlord!yoongi]

summary: your air conditioner breaks right at the height of a recordbreaking heat wave.  good thing your hot landlord, yoongi, knows how to attend to any needs you may have.

watermelon sugar by @yoonjinkooked (23k) smut/romcom

[strangers to lovers, vacation au]

summary: Travelling alone to your dream destination had sounded like a good idea at the time. And you don’t regret doing it, of course not - you’re in Greece! The food! The sun! The smell of the sea! The white walls and blue chairs, the hills, the warm days and colder nights. A little company wouldn’t hurt, though. That’s how you end up talking to Min Yoongi, your next door neighbour with whom you practically share a balcony. He’s quiet, he barely leaves his room but when you reach out, he doesn’t push you away. That’s how your Greek adventure begins.

jung hoseok

strawberry sundae by @youtifulhobi (6k) fluff

[lifeguard!hoseok x olympian swimmer!reader, meet cute]

summary: A few years after you begin dating Jung Hoseok, the two of you reminisce about how you met when he was a lifeguard and saved you from drowning, when in reality you had just fell off your strawberry floatie and he just wanted to talk to you.

a taste of paradise by @theharrowing (8k) light angst/smut

[strangers to lovers, chance encounters]

summary: A handsome stranger helps take your mind off of all of the drama that awaits you back home. It is bittersweet, isn’t it, how a chance encounter that makes you feel so good can also just leave you craving more.

park jimin

i need you tonight by @minisugakoobies (1.5k) smut/slight angst?

[pool boy!jimin]

summary: You’re tired of watching your evil stepmom waste your father’s money. So you steal one of her toys.

you dtf? by @sailoryooons (10.2k) smut/pwp

[strangers to one-night stand]

summary:  You’ve never had a one night stand. Jimin has had countless. You’re trying to experience new things. Jimin loves doing the same old shit. So when you meet the man going around the club inviting people to touch his ripped abs, you think perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to try new things. It’s Labor Day weekend at the shore - what can go wrong?

into the wilderness by @gukyi (27k) angst/fluff/comedy

[friends to lovers, camp counsellor au, unrequited love]

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was… disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

kim taehyung

summer feelings by @jjkeverlast (558) fluff/crack

[childhood best friends to lovers]

summary: taehyung catches you off guard during your first trip to the beach.

himbo hours by @gimmethatagustd (7k) pwp/smut/humor

[himbo!taehyung x reader, strangers to lovers]

summary: Trouble always seems to follow Taehyung. An innocent night of finding new friends to share his alcohol, drugs, and boxy smiles quickly turns into a mess when he accidentally punches you, a poor, unsuspecting clubgoer, right in the face. Whoops!

trip by @daechwitatamic (22k) fluff

[friends to lovers, camping au]

summary: Your gigantic crush on Kim Taehyung is so bad that you drop whatever you’re holding every time he speaks to you. Your dirty liar of a best friend SWORE to you he wouldn’t be on this camping trip, but he is. Luckily, the trip gives Taehyung the chance to see you in a new light, admittedly with some help from his best friend (and definitely hired spy) Park Jimin.

jeon jungkook

in which sour and salt could be so sweet when jungkook’s existence reminds you that there is still good in the world. by @onlyswan (3.1k) fluff/a pinch of angst/suggestive

[established relationship]

baecation by @1kook (5.9k) smut

[richboy!jungkook, vacation au]

summary: “Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.” He truly knew the way to your heart.

heartless by @here2bbtstrash (7.4k) pwp/smut

[exes hooking up]

summary: after a wild summer at the shore where he made more than a few mistakes, jungkook is ready to remind you why you always take him back.

no longer strangers by @soft4gguk (9.4k) fluff/smut

[jungkook x inexperienced!reader, strangers to lovers, summer love au]

at the end of the day by @starshapedkookie (13.3k) fluff/smut/a little angst

[ex-baseball player!jungkook, high school friends to lovers, beach/vacation au]

summary: You and Jungkook have been best friends for 8 years, going through absolute hell and back together. After senior year of high school, you and Jungkook began a tradition of taking annual vacations together during the summer months. This summer is no different, with you and Jungkook celebrating graduating college just a couple months prior. You're set to move to NYC after the summer, with you and Jungkook soaking in the sun and as many moments as you can together. You'd think nothing could ever tear your friendship apart with him, but when you've sat on the beach for too many days in a row watching him surf, you can't help but wonder - when did your best friend get so hot?

lemon sherbet by @extravaguk (15k) fluff/smut/angst

[tattoo artist!&piercing artist!jungkook x popular!reader, ex high school classmates, kinda frenemies to lovers, summer au]

summary: But above all things, the last thing you expected to happen when you came back was to show your tits and get pierced by none other than motherfucking Jeon Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

concrete king by @bratkook (16.7k) fluff/smut

[skaterboy!jungkook x reader, himbo energy]

summary: when a cute boy in a tacky hawaiian shirt lands a trick in your honor there’s no way you could ever say no to him

ex on the beach by @beahae (mini-series, 18.2k) fluff/light angst/smut

[exes to lovers]

summary: You and Jungkook broke up. But it would be very silly of you to let the fancy beach vacation you both won go to waste, right?

stars behind waves by @taegularities (22.7k) angst/fluff/smut

[estranged childhood best friends to lovers, beach/vacation au]

summary: With a decade’s distance between Jungkook and you, your paths cross on the same island you deemed your second home years ago. And you realise once again – the ocean can never compare to the twinkle in his starry eyes.

paddle with me by @yoongsgguktae (two-shot, 30k) angst/smut

[enemies to lovers, camp counsellor au]

summary: when your camp leader forces you and jeongguk as partners in a team building activity. with frustrations and anger flaring during your journey down the river, how will all this pent-up emotion get released?

Thank you so much for taking the time to check out my list! I read some of these stories while on vacation this year, and some have stayed with me for a while since I read them last summer. If anyone has more summery recommendations, I'd love to hear them, so don't be afraid to put them in the comments or send me an ask <3

[hobipaint]

Peppermint Mocha

synopsis: Wanting to break away from the hubbub of the big city life, you decided to return your quaint, tiny town, seeking solitude. However, you meet Hoseok, who seems way more familiar than he should, and your solitary vacation takes a turn - for the better, or for the worse?

genre: fluff

word count: 4.6k

rating: pg13

a/n: A very happy new year, everyone! And especially to the amazing @the-boy-meets-evil - jess, I was so glad I could be your secret santa this year! carol worked hard on her puns hehe :) i hope you enjoyed my asks and this fic! i'm so sorry for the delay in sending out this gift, but i hope you enjoy the extended holiday spirit :) and for everyone reading, I hope you have an amazing 2024!

written for the @kpopsecretsanta secret santa event! | my masterlist

The holidays always went a little too fast for your liking. You didn’t know when it Christmas had come, shown its colours, and left; it felt like yesterday that you were preparing for Halloween. And yet, the wispy bits of fluffy snow falling from the sky said that it had been long since that time. You could feel the frosty bits of snow crunching under your feet as you trudged out of the airport into the lanes of the town. 

In the distance, you could see the festive hubbub that surrounded your town - with officials figuring out logistics for lights and trees, vendors setting up their markets and little kids toying about with the snow: everything was exactly the same as you remembered when you had last been here. 

“10 years,” you whispered to yourself, a small smile forming on your lips. “Hello again.” 

Your family had once called this town home, back when you and your siblings were young kids. Time had flown away like the little snow flakes did now, and forced you all to move away from your home to build a future of your own. Normally, you would have wanted to be with your friends and family to celebrate the holidays, but something oddly made you want to come back here. 

Making sure you had your belongings, you asked around to figure out where your lodge was located, not recognising a lot of the shops that now decorated the streets. Your parents had recommended a lodge they had first stayed in when they came here, one out of two cabins owned by a family friend who had since shifted to New York. They let you rent out one for the holidays, and encouraged you to get acquainted with the stranger who would be renting the other cabin around the same time - “wouldn’t hurt to make a new friend,”  they’d said. 

A tap on your shoulder broke your reverie. “Y/N?” A voice called behind you, making you turn to face the person in question. Dressed cosily in a green sweater that screamed the holiday spirit with vibrant red hearts and candy canes all over it, it was a man, snowflakes settling in his fluffed up brown hair. He was tall in a way that made you stretch your neck up to look at his big smile, and his eyes had a soft crinkle to them, as if you had just shared a funny anecdote. 

“I’m Hoseok,” he mentioned, stretching out a hand. “I figured you’re the other person staying at the Woodson’s cabin, aren’t you?”

You accepted his hand, surprised at the warmth instantly engulfing your frosty fingers. “Yeah, I am. How did you know it was me, though?” 

He grinned, tilting his head to look at your heavy bags - as if they were a clear indication. “No one really travels alone with three big bags to this town unless they’re planning a long vacation.” 

You smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess that kinda gave it away.” You could feel him staring at you as if trying to figure out what kind of a person his neighbour for the next few days was like. 

Hoseok flashed a friendly smile. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Y/N. I’ve got my car here, so if you don’t mind, we can get to the cabin together? Let me help you with those bags." He effortlessly grabbed two of your heavy bags, leaving you with just one.

“Thank you,” you said, following after him and settling into the warmth of his car. Helping him load your luggage on the car, Hoseok immediately ran off inside the car, immediately cranking the heat on. You couldn’t help but laugh as he gestured for you to come in quickly. 

“Not a fan of the cold, I presume?” you asked. 

“Brrrr,” he shivered, rubbing his palms together and blowing at them. “I love the aesthetics of cold weather, but absolutely hate the feeling of cold.” Starting the car, he slowly drove out of the parking lot, suddenly grinning to himself. “By the way, Y/N? You haven’t asked me for any proof of who I am,” he hesitated, looking over to you cautiously as if to detect any signs of panic. 

You froze at his words, realising his perspective: you had just trusted an absolute stranger and gotten in the car. “Should I be worried, though?” You tried to play it off casually. 

“I would suggest being worried, and not being relieved until you were sure I was the right person to approach you,” he said, lips pursed and hands tense on the steering wheel. “I could be really dangerous.”

For some reason, that stunned you, and yet, it made you burst out into laughter. 

Hoseok looked at you confused. “What?” 

Gasping for breath, you could barely stop your laughter enough to calm Hoseok’s concerned face. “Mrs. Woodson is a family friend, Hoseok. She’d already told me about you, and how you’ve been here for a few weeks at the cabin. I did recognise you a few seconds after you spoke to me.”  You grinned. “It would have been concerning if I did blindly trust you and get in the car, though.”

Hseok dramatically breathed out, as if a huge tension had been lifted off of his chest. “Well, at least you knew who I was. Imagine if you didn’t know anyone or anything in this town and got all lost? I would feel terrible.”

You settled into your seat, humming in agreement with him. “I do know this town well enough, though. I have lived here for long enough to know these streets, even if they’re more colourful now than then.” 

Hoseok smiled. “Ahh, so you lived here too.”

You turned to him in surprise. “You, too?”

He nodded. “I lived here for some years when I was younger. I don’t have very strong memories of this place here - I moved away with my dad after my parents divorced, you see - and came here only sometimes to visit my mom while she still lived here. And when all my family moved from here, I didn’t really have a reason to come back here as much.” He smiled softly. “But then, I just felt like I wanted to be here this year, alone, yes, but in a place I first started enjoying the holidays.” 

You hummed in agreement, understanding the sentiment.

He pointed to the houses you were crossing outside, all cheerfully decorated in lights and decor. ‘I used to rank the houses by their decor every year, and then go to the house I ranked first to tell them that they won,” he said, making you both laugh. “I wonder if the owners are still the same people.” 

“I would hope so, too,” you said. “‘My family and I had loads of friends we lost touch with. It would be nice to meet some of them.” 

The road to the cabin was a long one, you knew, and yet, you weren’t as bothered about travelling a long distance as you thought you would be. Hoseok’s company and your childhood nostalgia got the best of you, keeping the conversation in good spirits as you made your way to the cabin.

As you climbed the steps up to the Woodson's cabin, Hoseok spoke up, "By the way, if you ever need anything or have any trouble, feel free to knock on my door. We're practically neighbours for the next few days." He knocked at his door jokingly, before showing you into your cabin.

You nodded in gratitude, feeling a sense of warmth in both the gesture and the offer.

The Woodson's cabin was a rustic haven nestled amidst a picturesque snowy landscape. Its exterior, adorned with a glistening layer of snow, exuded a quaint charm that perfectly complemented the festive spirit of the holidays. A trail of footprints led to the wooden porch, where a wreath of pine cones and twinkling lights welcomed visitors.

Upon entering, the warm aroma of burning pine logs greeted you, emanating from a grand fireplace that stood as the heart of the cozy abode. The crackling flames cast dancing shadows on the log walls, revealing a collection of Wooderson family mementoes – framed photographs capturing moments of laughter, family gatherings, and snowy adventures. The memories were frozen in time, a testament to the cabin's rich history and the cherished moments shared by generations past.

The living area featured plush, oversized chairs and a well-worn sofa, adorned with festive throw blankets that beckoned you to sink in and relish the comfort. The windows, framed by heavy curtains, offered panoramic views of the snow-covered landscape, while the soft glow of fairy lights added a touch of enchantment.

In the corner of the cabin, a towering Christmas tree stood adorned with an array of ornaments, casting a festive hue that bathed the room in a warm and inviting light. A quaint dining table, draped with a red-and-green checkered tablecloth, held the remnants of a shared meal, as the remnants of peppermint hot cocoa lingered in the air.

The Woodson's cabin was a rustic haven nestled amidst a picturesque snowy landscape. Its exterior, adorned with a glistening layer of snow, exuded a quaint charm that perfectly complemented the festive spirit of the holidays. A trail of footprints led to the wooden porch, where a wreath of pine cones and twinkling lights welcomed visitors.

Upon entering, the warm aroma of burning pine logs greeted you, emanating from a grand fireplace that stood as the heart of the cosy abode. The crackling flames cast dancing shadows on the log walls, revealing a collection of Wooderson family mementoes – framed photographs capturing moments of laughter, family gatherings, and snowy adventures. You could spot your family and more familiar faces in the frames: the memories were frozen in time, a testament to the cabin's rich history and the cherished moments shared by generations past.

The living area featured plush, oversized chairs and a well-worn sofa adorned with festive throw blankets that beckoned you to sink in and relish the comfort. The windows, framed by heavy curtains, offered panoramic views of the snow-covered landscape, while the soft glow of fairy lights added a touch of enchantment.

In the corner of the cabin, a towering Christmas tree stood adorned with an array of ornaments, casting a festive hue that bathed the room in a warm and inviting light. A quaint dining table, draped with a red-and-green checkered tablecloth adorned the center of the cabin as the fragrance of toasted peppermint lingered in the air.

Hoseok bashfully scratched his head. “I may or may not have used your stove to make myself some Christmassy drinks.”

You grinned. “Was it something with peppermint?” 

“How did you know?” Hoseok asked, nodding in agreement as he stacked the washed and dried mug back in the cabinet. “I’ve always loved a good old mint flavoured drink, and ‘tis the season for peppermint, isn’t it?”

Seeing your vigorous agreement, Hoseok offered to whip up a drink for you while you settled your belongings in the cabin. 

“I’ll start the fireplace,” Hoseok called after you, busying away in the hall while you made your way to the bedroom. 

It felt like ages since you had sat by yourself, giving yourself time to do nothing. 

After you had moved away from your hometown, your life had been consumed with racing against the clock. With all your hardwork, you had been successful in your education, your career, and you had a place that you called your own. And yet, there were barely moments where you got to enjoy the time you so rightfully deserved to give yourself. Running around to prove yourself had only made you deprive yourself of your own time, seldom finding it in your busy hubbub. 

And now, as you overlooked the snow-laden mountains, with the town distantly coloured in a warm hue, you felt your shoulders melt into a more carefree, comfortable posture. You deserved this, you thought to yourself. It was more than worth it to come here, all alone, and enjoy one vacation in solidarity. You deserved the time all to yourself. 

And plus, Hoseok’s here for company, you added, feeling more and more resolute in your decision to take a break from the festive season. 

“This tastes really good, and I say that as someone who barely drinks coffee,” you hummed, hands wrapping around the warm mug that Hoseok handed to you.

He occupied the other end of the sofa, matching mug in his hands, crossing his legs comfortably. “That’s mainly because of the peppermint, Y/N. It adds a sense of uniqueness to the otherwise common coffee and elevates it.” You giggled at his narration as he indicated to his mug as if pitching a billion-dollar idea. 

“I noticed you like peppermints a lot,” you said, sipping away at the drink. “I like them too, but it is rare to find a fellow lover.”

“Oh, I love them!” Hoseok beamed eagerly. “Peppermint mochas are probably my favourite thing to make over the holidays. It is the only time of the year where it tastes just right and fits in, you know?” 

“My family used to make peppermint-infused hot chocolate,” you grinned. “It used to taste amazing.” 

As the crackling fire painted a warm ambience across the cabin, a subtle wave of nostalgia washed over you. The flickering flames seemed to dance in sync with the memories of holidays long gone, reminding you of the lively chaos that filled your childhood home during this time of year. 

Hoseok, sensing a shift in your demeanour, looked at you with understanding eyes. "Something on your mind, Y/N?" he asked, the glow from the fireplace casting a gentle warmth on his features.

You hesitated for a moment before responding, "It's just that... well, I miss my family. The holidays were always about being together; this year, being here alone feels different. I mean, it's wonderful to be back in this town, but the absence of their laughter and the familiar holiday chaos is hard to ignore."

Hoseok nodded empathetically, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I get that. Family has a way of making this time of year special. Maybe we can bring a little bit of that magic here. What's something your family always did during the holidays?"

As you shared tales of your family's traditions, Hoseok listened attentively. You don’t know when you two had started shifted closer, but soon enough, you and Hoseok were slapping each other on the arms while laughing away at old, embarrassing childhood stories. 

“I can’t believe you would do that!” you laughed, wiping a tear away from your eyes. Hoseok chuckled at your state. 

“Well, its at least better than when my family paraded me as baby Jesus on Halloween - my neighbour’s kid actually thought I was him,” he added, making you laugh even more. 

Outside, you could see the snow settling up higher and higher, and soon you and Hoseok decided to bid goodbye for the night. While walking him out, you chatted about more anecdotes from your time in this town - and you found yourself thinking, this vacation isn’t off to a bad start at all. 

Just before saying your goodbyes, Hoseok's eyes caught something above the door – a delicate mistletoe, adorned with tiny white berries, hung there as if placed by some unseen holiday fairy. A mischievous glint sparkled in Hoseok's eyes as he gently pointed upward.

"Well, look what we have here," he remarked with a playful grin, drawing your attention to the festive foliage above.

Your gaze followed his, and a soft gasp escaped your lips as you realized the implication. The air seemed to crackle with an unspoken tension, and a warm flush crept up your cheeks. Hoseok, with a charming smile, took a step closer, the glow of the cabin's lights framing his silhouette against the snowy backdrop.

"Tradition dictates that if two people find themselves beneath mistletoe, they share a kiss," Hoseok said, his voice low and filled with a playful warmth. “Unless they both don’t consent, of course.” 

You hesitated, before responding. “I’m single, so - unless you don’t want to -”

Before you could fully complete your words, Hoseok leaned in, closing the gap between you. Time seemed to slow as his lips met yours in a gentle, lingering kiss, capturing the essence of the winter night and the enchantment that hung in the air. The snowflakes continued their silent descent around you, adding a touch of whimsy to the unexpected yet welcomed moment.

As his lips parted from yours, you could feel the frosty snow take away his warmth, and you oddly wanted nothing more to pull him back and kiss him. 

But he was already walking away, promising to see you the next day. “See you tomorrow, beautiful."

The mistletoe kiss had cast a spell, and the days that followed became a tapestry woven with the threads of shared laughter and newfound connection. The town, now dressed in the shimmering aftermath of Christmas, beckoned the two of you to explore its post-celebration charm.

In the heart of the town, where the streets turned into a canvas painted with the hues of festive lights, you couldn't help but marvel at the lively holiday market. "It's like walking into a snow globe," you mused, the twinkling lights reflecting in her eyes.

Hoseok grinned, the glow of the lights accentuating the warmth in his eyes. "A magical snow globe where every shop is a treasure trove waiting to be discovered."

The vendors, like holiday artisans, showcased their creations with pride. Hoseok found himself drawn to a quaint bakery where the scent of peppermint-infused pastries lingered in the air. "I can almost taste the nostalgia in these," he remarked, savoring a bite of a holiday treat.

You chuckled, a melody that harmonized with the festive ambience. "Nostalgia is the secret ingredient that makes everything here taste like a piece of childhood."

As you both strolled through the town square, the ice-skating rink unfolded like a winter dreamscape. People of all ages took advantage of the icy wonderland, gliding and playing around on the ice. "Care to join me?" Hoseok extended his hand, the invitation echoing your kiss from a few nights ago.

You hesitated for a moment before taking his hand. “As long as you don’t make me fall,” you remarked, making him laugh. 

Evenings were a journey through the luminous streets, where each step resonated with shared stories and whispered dreams. The glow of holiday lights reflected in his eyes as they approached midnight. Hoseok, holding Y/N close, whispered against the backdrop of fireworks, "Here's to new beginnings."

It was almost as if the post-Christmas festivities had turned the town into a living storybook, with Hoseok and you as its protagonists. The holiday magic lingered in the air, blending seamlessly with the enchanting connection that unfolded like the turning pages of a heartwarming tale. 

A chilly onslaught broke the rather pleasant dream you were having. Groggily, you woke up, wrapping the blanket around you strongly to block out the sudden rush of iciness. The fireplace weakly flickered, and you could hear the howling winds outside as a storm built up. 

Not knowing what to do, you decided your best option was probably to try to revive the fireplace and whip up something warm for yourself. You poked at the fire, but it seemed like it wouldn’t revive at all. As the firewood dwindled and the flames grew weaker, the bitter cold of the snowstorm seeped into the cabin, chilling the air and turning every breath into a visible mist. Despite your best efforts, the fire refused to revive, leaving you shivering and desperate for warmth.

“I did come here to be alone, but this is not what I envisioned,” you laughed to yourself, hugging your blanket tighter. 

Your phone was not getting any network, so you hoped that Hoseok would somehow be awake at 2 AM. Bundling yourself up to the best of your abilities, you set out to his side of the cabin, knocking at his door as loudly as you could. 

A few minutes later, a rather disgruntled Hoseok appeared at the door. “Is everything okay?” he rasped, hair awry and clothes haphazardly pulled on. 

“I think my heating is broken, and the fire isn’t reviving, either.”  You explained. 

“Ahh.” Hoseok welcomed you in his cabin - a near mirror image of your one - and let you settle up on the couch while he volunteered to check on your heating system. 

While Hoseok busied himself outside, you noticed how tidy Hoseok had kept the cabin. There were more photos here - though you could only recognise a few faces - and a few more albums, stacked on the table next to the fireplace. Curiosity getting the better of you, you decided to peruse through one of them, immediately finding pictures of people from your neighbourhood celebrating Christmas together. On some pages, you could find your own parents smiling back at you, with your siblings holding hands with the other kids from the neighbourhood and singing carols captured in a faded photo. 

 To your surprise, you stumbled upon a faded photograph of two young kids, clutching a bag of peppermints, wearing matching grins.

Hoseok stepped in at that time, and yet, in your shock, you could barely register any of the words he was saying.

"Hoseok, is this...?" you began, showing him the picture.

He glanced over and chuckled. "Yeah, that's me, and my neighbour’s kid. We used to be quite the troublemakers when our families spent holidays here together."

You smiled. “Do you know where this kid is now?”

“No,” he said, sadly. “I wish I did, though. We used to be best friends when we were younger, literally joined at the hip, but didn’t really stay in touch after I left. I sometimes do wonder about her.” 

You held the picture up to your face, making Hoseok face you. “Don’t you think something about us looks similar?” 

Hoseok frowned, judging the faded Kodak with your beaming face. “You do have the same eyes, now that you say it. She had very pretty eyes.”

“Do you not remember her name?” You asked. 

“We would call each other with nicknames,” Hoseok said, dusting the snow off his hair. “I used to call her Bunny, and she used to call me-”

“Hobi,” you completed, eyes gleaming. 

Hoseok looked stunned. “Yeah, that’s what she called me. How did you know that?”

You laughed at his oblivion. “Because I am Bunny, silly.”

“Wha-oh?” Hoseok exclaimed, bracing himself as you rushed to hug your childhood best friend. “Are you serious?” 

“I am,” you convinced him, finding it just as hard to believe as him. I mean, you don’t come to a cabin on the outskirts of the town looking for solitude only to bump into your childhood best friend again, do you? 

Hoseok pulled away from you, gripping your shoulders and letting his eyes take in every part of you - as if he were meeting you for the first time again. “I can’t believe it is you.” 

“Me neither,” you said, as you kissed his cheek. “It has been far too long, Hobi.” 

Hoseok's astonishment lingered in the air as you both navigated the surprising reunion. The faded photograph, a relic of childhood mischief, lay forgotten on the table, replaced by the incredulous exchange between Bunny and Hobi after years of separation.

The cabin, with its walls echoing with the laughter of yesteryears, seemed to encase the timeless connection that had just resurfaced. Hoseok's eyes remained fixed on you, his disbelief slowly giving way to the realization that the Bunny he once knew was standing right in front of him.

As the shock settled, you couldn't help but laugh at the sheer serendipity of the moment. "I never imagined I'd find Bunny and Hobi reunited in a cabin on the outskirts of town," you remarked, a playful gleam in your eyes.

Hoseok joined in your laughter, the familiarity of shared memories weaving a comforting thread between you. "It's like a plot from a nostalgic movie," he added, shaking his head in amazement.

The two of you, now seated on the sofa, exchanged stories of the years that had passed, bridging the gap between then and now. The cabin, a silent witness to the unravelling narrative, seemed to cradle the essence of your rekindled friendship.

As the night wore on, and the snowstorm outside intensified, the cosy cabin transformed into a haven against the wintry tempest. Hoseok, ever thoughtful, stoked the fireplace, the flames casting a warm glow on the shared stories and laughter.

The sofa, now an island in the sea of nostalgia, beckoned both of you to its comforting embrace. The flickering flames, the snowstorm outside, and the whispers of shared memories paved the way for an unspoken understanding.

"You know," Hoseok began, his tone gentle, "it feels like we never really left those days behind. Just picked up where we left off."

You nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of belonging that transcended time. "It's like we're continuing a story that got interrupted."

As the night deepened, the warmth of the cabin and the shared connection became a refuge from the cold. The sofa, once a witness to the nostalgia of the past, now cradled the reunion of Bunny and Hobi.

Hoseok, looking at you with a softness in his eyes, spoke words that resonated with the atmosphere of the cabin. "I'm glad you found your way back, Bunny."

You leaned in, your shoulders brushing against each other, and whispered, "Me too, Hobi. Me too."

The flickering flames painted a dance on the log walls, casting shadows that seemed to waltz in rhythm with your shared laughter. The coziness of the cabin, the gentle snowstorm outside, and the rekindled friendship all merged into a symphony of comfort.

In the hushed moments that followed, the realization dawned that sleep was claiming its territory. The sofa, now transformed into a shared haven, invited both of you to surrender to its embrace.

"You know, Hobi," you said, your voice a sleepy murmur, "I never thought I'd find such warmth in the midst of a snowstorm."

Hoseok chuckled, the sound a gentle melody. "Maybe the storm outside brought us the warmth we didn't know we needed."

And so, amidst the crackling fire and the distant howl of the snowstorm, you and Hoseok snuggled closer, finding solace in the shared warmth. The flickering flames painted a canvas of comfort, casting a soft glow on your intertwined fingers.

And then, as if the universe had orchestrated the moment, your gaze met Hoseok's, and in that shared glance, a silent understanding bloomed. With a tenderness that mirrored the nostalgia of rediscovery, your lips met in a gentle kiss, sealing the night with a promise of new beginnings. The flickering flames seemed to dance in celebration, casting a warm glow on the cabin, now a witness to your reunion. 

As sleep began to weave its tranquil spell, Hoseok whispered, "I’m so glad I met you again, Bunny."

You smiled, the words a gentle echo in the cozy cabin. "I’m so grateful, Hobi."

While your previous year left much to be forgotten, it seemed that this year had begun with the embrace of an unexpected reunion, the flickering flames and the snowstorm outside bearing witness to the rekindling of a friendship that time had only strengthened. In the arms of the cabin, beneath the quilt of shared memories, you and Hoseok surrendered to the tranquility of the night, finding peace in the warmth of each other's presence.

If you made it till here, thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed the fic - i would love to hear from you about it! love, hazel <3

[bangtannies-stories]

Could I please request a y!BTS reaction for a reader with arachnophobia?

Yea! I think this request was in my box but I never was able to get to it so I'll do it now!

Arachnophobia: A deep fear (phobia) of spiders.

Namjoon

- You were sitting inside one day reading a book when all of a sudden you saw a spider crawling on the couch.

- Since you had a phobia, you'd scream for Namjoon to come kill it.

- Namjoon couldn't understand why you'd interrupt him during his meeting, until you ran to him crying.

- As you were going on about the spider, there were gears turning in Namjoon's head.

- Sure, of course he'd kill it, anything for his Queen.

- But now, you'll start noticing them more often, constantly having Namjoon on your side so you wouldn't go near them.

- Who knew he could find a small thing like that to push you into his arms?

Jin

- As you cleaned the bathroom, your punishment for getting messy with your paints, you noticed a spider behind the toilet.

- Screaming, you ran into the other room where Jin was reading his paper.

- When he inquired about what your fussing was about, you explained there was a spider in the bathroom.

- Jin laughed, but saw an opportunity. Of course his weak housewife is scared of an arachnid.

- He killed the spider, but it never left his head how dependant you were on him.

- Maybe he could use this as some sort of punishment in the future.

Yoongi

- You were cuddled up to Yoongi on the couch when you saw a spider crawling on the ceiling.

- Screaming, you ran across the room to which Yoongi scoffed at you.

- You told him that you were deeply afraid of spiders and them hurting you, but he just laughed at it as you walked into the other room.

- However, what you didn't notice was him killing spiders left and right everywhere he found them just so you wouldn't be afraid.

- Sometimes if you get bratty he might even use this as a way to keep you inside... Because there are so many spiders outside.

Hoseok

- honestly it's hard to tell what he'd do as even though he's a murderous psychopath, he too has a phobia of spiders.

- I think in this instance, mister murder man Hobi would put on his big boy pants, as you were never really supposed to see him afraid of anything, even spiders.

- He wouldn't taunt you with the spiders or anything either, because he'd be taking himself down as well.

Jimin

- in this case, Minnie is well aware of your massive fear of spiders.

- So, why not use it to his advantage, right?

- You were planning on going over to your parents' place for lunch when Jimin came into the room.

- He explained that the apartment where your parents lived had been having many reports of spiders lately.

- Out of paranoia, you hid and refused to go see them.

- Jimin was of course glad to let them know that you wouldn't be able to make it. Who knew a little white lie could be so powerful?

Taehyung

- Tae liked that you had a fear of spiders. Any fear to him was one more thing he was able to use to have power over you with.

- It was kind of like a big game to him in a way.

- He'd be sitting there watching television and all of a sudden he'd see you run into the room in frightful tears.

- He'd make you beg for his help to kill the spider, forcing you to tell him you needed him.

- Of course no matter what he'd kill it, but he wanted to hear you beg.

- Because where's the fun if you're not reassuring him that he's in charge?

Jungkook

- This cocky, evil man would use your fear against you whenever possible.

- He'd wait for you to fall into a trap, to mess up at the perfect moment.

- And when you'd expect him to punish you he'd drug you.

- When you wake up, you're on a table, tied to it as the floor is swarmed with spiders.

- Of course he'd put in harmless ones, but this man would be watching you from the cameras.

- He loved when you cried and begged for him to get you out. Begging by saying you'd never disobey him again.

- Which would never happen because no matter how much you tried, he'd make sure you slipped along the way.

[taetaespeaks]

The Wife / THV part.5

genre : yandere taehyung, failing marriage, mean and cruel protagonists

summery : you five were the nightmares of teachers back in high school, now adults, your cruel and violent temperament doesn’t seem to have change neither does have the obsession taehyung has for you.

warnings : mean protagonists!!!!, smut, s3xual descriptions, strong language, violence, cruelty from the protagonists themselves. here we have an evil y/n. read at your own risk ! this story is hard and violent do not read if you’re sensitive to those topics.

rate : +18 only minors do not interact

&lt;- masterlist ->

You had been watching the soapy water run over the tender flesh of your left shin for almost an hour. The water was cold but you didn't seem to feel it. Everything was cold in this huge house.

The freedom you had dreamed of away from your former husband seemed bitter. Since your arrival, you had hardly seen the sunlight.

Taehyung was always working, your mother never answered the phone, Jimin was always busy, you had no choice but to make conversation with that poor boy Hoseok, your bodyguard. Why would you need a bodyguard? And more importantly, did he really need to watch you take a bath?

"Tell me, Hoseok." Slowly, you turned onto your side, revealing more nudity than necessary to observe the young man, leaning your arms against the icy marble walls of the bathtub and resting your chin on them, tilting your head slightly with perfectly masked false curiosity, but the young man's watchful eyes were not fooled by your fake looks. "Is it really necessary for you to watch me shave my legs or just a little kink you have?"

Hoseok laughed, his usual loud laugh that made you wrinkle your nose slightly, the noise, you were not used to it.

"I am obeying Mr. Kim's orders, ma'am."

Resuming your original position, you let yourself sink a little more into the almost icy water as you watched the black, cold ceiling inaccelebrate with a loud sigh, the lapping of the water making no effort to hide your annoyance.

"How is Jeongguk?"

A silence. Too long. Hoseok never answered you, instead he suddenly stood up.

"Sir."

Taehyung was all dressed up in a new and even more expensive suit, his hair perfectly combed back, his eyes scanning your naked body in the water but you didn't stared at him any longer than necessary.

You were miserable, in that big, cold house where Taehyung kept you as a trophy. Wasn't this what you had always wanted? To depend on a rich man and spend your days with nothing to do but look at yourself in a high wall mirror? What had you really wanted?

"You'll catch a cold."

"I hope so, maybe this way I can get out of this place."

Taehyung laughed, ignoring your defeatist tone and with a nod, ordered Hoseok to leave not even bothering to look at him.

"Don't be grumpy. You don't have to go out, you have everything you want here."

"I want to go out."

Taehyung's jaw tensed slightly before another cute smile lit up his childish face, childish, particularly when he wore that expression.

"No, you don't."

You did not contradict him, what would have been the point?

"I have a meeting tonight, again, make yourself at home." He joked, kissing your cold forehead and as if in a breath, he was gone again but this time you wasted no time.

Dressed only in a towel, and delighted to see that for once Hoseok wasn't waiting for you at the door, you ran to the second office, closing the door and pulling the white towel tighter around your trembling body, you tributary to the nearest landline phone. Jeongguk's number seemed so natural to type on the overly expensive object, cold, like everything here.

"Jeongguk?" You exclaimed, a slight smile appearing on your face so suddenly angelic but on the other end of the line only silence reigned.

"Gukkie, it's me, y/n. Are you okay? Can you help me?"

Nothing.

"Fuck, Jeongguk!"

Nothing.

A cry of frustration escaped you as in a fit of rage you threw the phone on the black tile and watched it furiously explode into a few small pieces.

"Shit, shit, shit..." Your frozen hands grabbed the pile of leaves waiting to be sorted on the right corner of the oak cabinet before you sent them flying across the room.

As you watched them fall, your actions suddenly seemed so pointless, for the first time, you were not in control. Had you ever had it?

"Stop."

Jimin stood in the doorway, surprisingly unsurprised and even less alarmed by your distressed state.

With great hurried steps, he walked over to you and to your astonishment abruptly hugged you, ignoring your wet body staining his clothes with water droplets.

"Stop. He can't know." He whispered in the hollow of your ear.

"What the fuck are you talking about!" Pushing him away abruptly, you pulled away from your best friend giving him a look close to madness. "What the fuck are you all talking about? What's your fucking problem?"

Jimin shook his head from left to right, looking sorry.

"y/n, stop it. We're fucked."

"Is there a problem?" Hoseok appeared in turn, his usual warm smile and relaxed air contrasting with the tense and absurd scene before him.

"No-" Jimin began, with an air of urgency.

"Oh, yes, there's a problem. I want to see my mother, I want to see my ex-husband, and I want to get out of this shitty place! So, fuck your boss, Hoseok, you're going to do your job and obey me and give me what I want!" You were now standing in front of him and although he was taller, it had never been something that scared you. "Now, asshole."

Something changed in the guard's gaze and before you could repeat your request, a burning pain caught you on the cheek. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jimin take a step forward and then change his mind just as suddenly. Hoseok had just hit you. Hoseok had just hit you.

Slowly you looked up at the young man. He was still smiling, like an idiot. It didn't take long for rage to take control of your body, and if it weren't for Jimin's reflexes, who, knowing you, leapt to grab your wrist before your palm hit Hoseok's cheek in return.

"Let go of me, Jimin. LET GO OF ME!" He did not obey. No one was obeying you.

Hoseok smiled even more, then leaning toward you, he whispered.

"Madam should learn to control her emotions." Your eyes locked with his, your pupils wide as if watching a demon from the underworld. Jimin let go of your wrist, which fell limply down your body. "I'll walk you back to your room now, love.”

As he started to turn around, your suddenly hot hand tightened around his bicep, stopping him in his tracks. The dark-haired man slowly turned back to you, raising his eyebrows curiously as a demented grin grew on your face under Jimin's terrified gaze as he instinctively stepped back.

"No men. No man. Has ever laid a hand on me. I will kill you for this."

Hoseok's gaze darkened but he didn't answer, dropping his arm, you left the two men behind, heading for "your room."

"You." Jimin looked up slightly. "I want to see Sa ra. Now." He nodded hesitantly.

You would ruin them all if you had to, but you would win. Always.

•••

"She tried to call him."

"I see."

Taehyung calmly looked at the ring he planned to put around your finger incessantly soon, with attention, back turned to Hoseok, whose attention seemed to be elsewhere.

"Stop looking at him." Hoseok immediately raised his gaze at the command, gaze who used to stare at an unrecognizable and torture-changed Jeongguk, who, breathing hard, was trying to get up from the bloody floor, his own blood on his scratched palms causing him to slip and fall back onto the floor of the Kim Association's boss's office.

"I see." Taehyung repeated, smiling strangely, almost creepily, closing his palm on the ring, he swiveled his seat to observe Hoseok.

"She probably threatened to kill you, am I wrong?"

"No, sir." Hoseok smiled, amused. "She did."

It was Taehyung's turn to laugh, a laugh devoid of humor. "Then she will." Hoseok's smile turned into a grimace and then disappeared. "Oh yes, my love, she is like that, she will."

On the other side of the door, Sa ra swallowed her saliva with difficulty. Terrified and stunned by the sight of the now motionless body of her former high school friend that she could see through the keyhole.

"Holy shit, y/n, what did you do?"

<tag list : @gethatcake @multifandombishthatlovekth @kimlineownsme @darkuni63 >

[bangtanhoneys]

BTS MOMENTS - Hoseok & Grace

V-LIVE

There were five different shades of nail polish and at least four different choices of face masks in front of Grace and Hobi, who had turned on the V-LIVE only half an hour before. “Pamper day,” he said as he held up the choices in front of the camera while Grace sat down with him, a cup of tea in her hand and a fluffy headband in the other. 

They were in New York, at one of the hotels after finishing up their concert and the two were still wound up on adrenaline. The others had either gone to bed, gone to eat or in Yoongi’s case, gone to make music. So best for these two sunshines was to chill, put on some of their music and pamper. After a full day of heavy make up, it was clearly needed.

“I have so many pimples,” Grace sighed as she ran a finger over the spots that covered her jaw-line, normally cleverly hidden by foundation but now laid bare for ARMY to see. Hobi tutted at her as he pondered over the choices, finally picking one that helped hydrate the skin and cleared away any of Grace’s little friends.

“Here, let’s put this one on,” Hobi helped pushed the fluffy headband onto Grace’s head and moved any stray hairs out of the way. And with careful fingers and attentiveness that came from being the lead dancer, he slipped the mask onto her skin and smoothed it into place.

Hobi let out a giggle at what his noona looked like and turned to the camera, pausing to read ARMY’s comments.

“Oooh, noona, looking good!”

“Unnie,” Hobi read out in what Grace assumed was a poor attempt at a high pitched girl’s voice. “How do you deal with your pimples? Tell us your routine.”

Grace laughed and took a sip of her tea, pushing Hobi’s shoulder to bring attention back to her. “Put your face mask on, you ball of energy.” While Hobi did that, Grace took the moment to study the colours of nail polish that the staff had given the two - clear to a pale pink, obviously neutral colours so they could easily remove it tomorrow before the concert or not bother and it wouldn’t look so strange.

“Okay, let me do your nails and you speak to ARMY,” Grace decided after picking the clear polish and took hold of her dongsaeng’s hand. She half listened to Hobi talk about their concert or random tidbits he threw out after reading the comments and began to carefully paint his nails. She hummed his intro - boy meets evil - then took hold of his other hand, painting those nails with the same care. 

“There, pretty!” she said she twisted the cap closed and leaned back to admire her work. “ARMY! Tell Hobi how pretty he is.”

It didn’t take long for the comments to come flooding in at their unnie’s instruction, leaving Hobi a blushing mess and Grace laughing into her cup. Ah, you had to hand it to their fandom - they knew how to flirt without much pushing.

[kverything-official]

Happy J-Hope Day: 10 stages of falling in love with Jung Hoseok

Just as we fans like to boast, February is not about Valentines but, for us, It’s about J-hope’s birthday. And today being 18th February, marks the 30th birthday of your hope, my hope, Bangtan’s hope, Jung Hoseok, aka, J-Hope.

J-Hope is not only a human being, he is the personification of sunshine, positive energy and a friend that we all need in life. And he has managed to make us fall for him over and over again. He has that bright and beautiful aura around himself that makes you smile even in your darkest of days. 

Starting from discovering this member with heart-shaped lips to falling head over heels with him, you go through 10 stages and it happens so fast that even before you realize what’s happening – you are in love with J-Hope. 

And to confirm these stages while celebrating the birthday of one of the best dancers of K-Pop industry, I am here with 10 stages of falling in love with J-Hope. 

1. You notice the member who laughs the most 

When you first start to watch BTS, you are bound to notice J-Hope exceptionally. And one of the reasons behind this is his laugh. 

His ringing, echoing laugh is like music to our ears. Maybe he is a bit loud at times, but the way he throws himself everywhere while laughing, makes it impossible not to notice him. And once you notice him… it’s an endgame. 

2. You get to know his unique stage name: J-Hope 

The second stage is getting to know his name. J-Hope, such a unique name, isn’t it? You expect his name to be a bit sassy, given the fact that he is a rapper. But rather his name has hope in it, ‘himang’ as he likes to project. 

Then you find out how perfectly his stage name goes with his personality. The loud, smiley, always energized member is actually BTS’ hope. He has been the bridge between the hyung line and maknae line, holding the group together with his positive energy and his cool demeanor.  

3. You start smiling whenever he smiles 

The third stage is a bit dangerous because it is the starting point of falling in love with J-Hope. 

In this stage J-Hope’s happy virus gets injected into you and you find yourself smiling whenever he smiles. You may stare at your phone for minutes without realizing that you are smiling ear to ear watching him being crazy (coming out from personal experience). 

His smile, the sound of his laugh, his crinkly eyes, his bow-shaped lips, his deep brown orbs, you will start to find everything endearing and a little too interesting all of a sudden.  

4. You get awed by his dance moves 

One thing about J-Hope is that no matter how boisterous he is, he is a completely different human being while performing. His powerful dance moves in heavily choreographed numbers like Mic Drop, Not Today, Dionysus, Boy Meets Evil have left us gasping for air time and time again. 

It is as if somebody shifts a button within him and he becomes an absolute serious dance machine during their performances. And when his dance teacher mode is on – even the members are scared of him. 

Remember that one Run BTS episode when all of them suggested the very same expression when it was asked to pull out an expression that they would project upon messing up a step and making an eye-contact with Hoseok. 

Once you find out the dark, serious, and dedicated authority that J-Hope has, and once you find that amusing – you are gone for good. 

5. You start loving the way he raps – very uncommon 

Now you have probably already heard rappers rapping in their own way but I bet you have never heard anyone rapping like J-Hope. Even though Namjoon and Yoongi have their very own distinct styles of rapping, Hoseok’s rap style is very uncommon. 

He uses his voice like an instrument and creates verses that seamlessly flow out of his mouth in the smoothest possible way. In Boys With Fun he raps in three different ways, something only a genius can do. 

His rap artistry lies in items like Cypher series, Boys With Fun, 1 Verse, Hangsang, Arson and many more but the song that will knock breath out of your lungs is Blue Side. 

Personally, I am devoted to that song. Blue Side is one of the most underrated creations ever. 

The words, the tune, the melody, Hoseok’s breathy voice and that last verse, everything reflects perfection. And once you start feeling Blue Side in your soul – you just know J-Hope is probably your bias already. 

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[jkjmbtsarmy]

j-hope “Boy Meets Evil” gifs ✰2/3

[lauraperfectinsanity]

BTS members in every MV

Hoseok version No More Dream (2013) - We Are Bulletproof pt. 2 (2013) - N.O (2013) - Boy in Luv (2014) - Just One Day (2014) - No More Dream (japanese - 2014) - Boy in Luv (japanese - 2014) - Danger (2014) - War of Hormone (2014) - Danger (japanese - 2014) - I Need U (2015) - For You (2015) - Dope (2015) - On Stage: Prologue (2015) - Run (2015) - I Need U (japanese - 2015) - Epilogue: Young Forever (2016) - Run (japanese - 2016) - Fire (2016) - Save Me (2016) - MAMA (2016) - Boy Meets Evil (2016) - Blood Sweat & Tears (2016) - Spring Day (2017) - Not Today (2017) - Blood Sweat & Tears (japanese - 2017) - DNA (2017) - MIC Drop (2017) - Daydream (2018) - Airplane (2018) - Euphoria (2018) - Fake Love (2018) - IDOL (2018) - Airplane pt. 2 (japanese - 2018) - Boy With Luv (2019) - Heartbeat (2019) - Lights (2019) - Chicken Noodle Soup (2019) - Make it Right (2019) - Outro: Ego (2020) - ON (2020) - ON Kinetic Manifesto Film (2020) - Black Swan (2020) - Stay Gold (2020) - Dynamite (2020) - Life Goes On (2020) - Film Out (2021) - Butter (2021) - Permission to Dance (2021) - My Universe (2021) - Yet to Come (2022) - MORE (2022) - Arson (2022) - Rush Hour (2022) - Yet to Come (Hyundai Version - 2022) - on the street (2023)

[raplinenthusiasts]

for your reblog of the questions for gif makers post: 9, 18, 34, 49 ♡

9. What/who inspired you to start making gifs

I feel like I already talked about it but I love my story so here we go. After the 3j butter video dropped i saw so many sets but I couldn’t find Hoseok centric so I decided to do it myself. (It’s my second set ever because the first one was Boy Meets Evil and it was so bad I never published it 🫣) I remember it was close to his birthday and #cyphernet hosted birthday event so I took part in few days challenges. Overall I get into giffing because there wasn’t enough Hobi sets for me to reblog 🤷‍♀️

18. For the aesthetic, for the laughs, or for the feels what your preference

As I’m the proudest of my bts x the office collaboration that resulted in my holy trilogy (1, 2 and 3) I have to say for laughs 🥰 And I can truthfully say that I come back to read the tags on these three regularly because they are always able to make me smile and feel so happy. So yeah 💛

34. A set that took you a long time/was really hard but you’re really proud of how it came out

I’ll cheat here a little. Because shadow Yoongi set is my baby and it was the first time I tried something more advanced. It took me a long time to do it and it was worth every second. But the true monster that took me about two weeks to finish was my bts anniversary discography set. I threw it away a few times and always came back to it in the end. Firstly, it took me so long to find clips with 7 of them from actual era then finding good sequence so they all can be seen NIGHTMARE and then the fucking numbers, it was mind numbing!!! BUT I loved using that template and choosing my fave songs and everything else 💛

49. How much would you say you’ve improved since you first started giffing

Well I have to say A LOT because looking back on my old sets I cringe so hard sometimes. Sometimes it’s coloring, sometimes it’s sharpening or quality. But it’s constant process so I won’t ever be able to say I’m good with what I’m doing 🤷‍♀️ I’m quite proud of the skills that I learned in the last months especially. Trying new things and getting them to actually work is very satisfying (you have no idea how I screamed when I finally got to understand clipping masks or the happy dance I did after making successful the motion blur gif).

please ask me things 🙏

[spookyserenades]

Soooo I'm back and i wrote an essay:

Chapter 10

I love the Scooby Doo gang a lot. How Namjoon is eager to learn and help. Also the fact that it brings them together without too many fights 😂

The brewery scene was hot and unexpected. I'm saying unexpected because i kinda hoped she'd go over to the waiter and everyone will be Uhm Ma'am sit yo ass down. But i liked it nonetheless with killer teddy bear being all mrrr. Also, Hobi and miss gorl Alice i see you and you need to either get to it and make us super jealous or nothing at all😭

The surprises for Namjoon and Jimin were so sweet they warmed my heart. The lengths she'll go for them is unimaginable. Like she could've just been like yep there you go a house and food do your thing, but no, she has a big heart.

Now the 3 events. Liked Hobi's, but I'm a lot more inclined towards Yoongi's and Tae's. The fact that be only has eyes for her my love🥹 I want one pls! And then Tae's i get on another level. As an artist myself, i tend to paint people i love a lot, to get the appreciation back is absolutely ecstatic. Also very touchy touchy sir i see you too👀

And then the cliffhanger, bad Dana. Very bad.

Chapter 11

I need to know how the fight went down between them 3. Like air, Dana, I'm telling you! Poor Hobi, he probably thought he's getting kicked out 🥺

Kookie kookie kookie, you are more smitten than we thought you were. Hiding it under the I needed to scent, oh Jin will be a pain. Shut up you lil bastard 😏

And the scenting? I was so giddy...give us more pretty please ☺️

WE HAVE MORE HORSES! Are we also getting a y/n ride scene? It doesn't have to be a horse tho 👀

OMG good job Hannah! Oh i'm happy she is getting a better life. Can't wait to meet her. 🤭🫢😧😐😒Scrap that! Hannah is competition.

Oop jumpscare! Yoongi baby you are wearing JK's personality and that doesn't suit you.

Oh babies🥺🥺🥺

Oh what? Question mark? The bar is...what? Very cryptic. Ok.. Yoongi you locked the door you didn't make the room soundproof. Did they talk about sharing her between themselves? Cuz I'd like to read that as well 😏

Ooop like a sack of potatoes. Uuuuu, are we ever honna see y/n extra super drunk like at that bar?

NOOOO FUCK! YOU ARE SO EVIL WOMAN WHYYYYY?😭😭😭😭

Hiii love nice to hear from you again!! Hope you're well, I can't wait to discuss your thoughts about the last two chapters with you! 💞💞

Chapter Ten -

fdsjfdsjf the Scooby Doo gang I love that!!! MC, Joonie, and Jeongguk make quite the little paranormal investigation squad, I'm definitely looking forward to writing some more adventures the trio will go on with their ghostbusting interests. AHH and the brewery scene was so fun, they hybrids getting to go out and have a good time with MC and Alice was really exciting for me to write. I did play with the idea of MC flirting with the waiter as well, but in the end I wanted to display some of Taehyung's growing possessiveness. Besides-- MC definitely has her hands full with the seven of them! As for Hoseok and Alice *evil laughter* 💀 there are some plot lines that I have planned surrounding those two... we're just going to have to wait and see how it pans out (and how MC will react to it!!!)

MC is just ahhh I want her to adopt me fhdksf like her gift giving skills are unmatched. She really wants all of the hybrids to feel at home and like they have their own belongings, spaces, etc. that make their lives more happy and comfortable. She really really cares for them all 🥺

Hehehe the three events~ for Hoseok's track meet, it was a sort of supportive bestie vibe, whereas Yoongi's and Tae's had a bit more of a romantic feel to them. Tae.. my goodness he probably sees MC as his muse or something, because she's the one who encouraged her to participating in the photography club in the first place. I hope he continues to take pics of her and make friends in the club, as well. He's such a sweet boy, he definitely could use some buddies.

rjGFJDGHD BAD DANA!! I can't help myself with the cliffhangers hehe I'm sorry love!!! 🤭

Chapter Eleven -

So the little spat between Hoseok and Jeongguk... We've seen Hoseok's sort of jokester personality, and I really think he wasn't trying to start anything, but with Jeongguk already on edge needing to scent her again, things got a little heated between those two. Joon, not wanting to upset MC like he had during The Incident (with Tae), played the part of peacemaker, which I think shows how willing he is to change and grow for MC. I think you're right, Hoseok was probably entertaining the idea that MC would be angry enough at him to "kick him out", but MC would never. 😭

AHH and Jeongguk. What a tease!!! I definitely think that he is starting to grow more fond of MC, even though he is a bit reluctant to show it. For some reason, too, he seems to sense how fond Seokjin is of MC, so often brings up his own concern for MC and covers it up by blaming Seokjin hehe....

I do plan on having some horseback riding scenes!! Of course, with our cowboy Jimin, maybe we'll get to see him teach MC how to ride also I see what you did there wink wonk ;)

Hannah!! Good news for her, good news for Seokjin, but MC is already feeling a little jealous. I wonder how things will go down when MC takes Seokjin to meet up with Hannah...

Yoongi being a little impatient and brisk with MC made me upset, too, especially since he's always been one of the softer ones with her. That's probably why MC could sense something was wrong. As for them talking about sharing her, that's certainly a drabble idea, but also, I'm toying with the idea of having it sort of an unspoken agreement between all of the hybrids... we'll see how I decide in the future!!!

SO! When I finally get around to all of the prequels, I plan on having that scene with MC at the bar with Yoongi. Something to look forward to in the future-- his prequel, Fire, Walk with Me. ❤️‍🔥

fjkdszkjfzsjd SORRY FOR BEING EVIL!!! But also thank you for sending me all of your lovely thoughts. Sending you hugs, bestie!! 😘