#yandere namjoon au

[spookyserenades]

Sanctity - Chapter One

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Vampire!AU, yandere!AU, horror, themes of the supernatural and mythology, historical topics, vampiric powers, religious themes, violence, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, toxic behavior including stalking, torture, and manipulation, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Word Count; 22.8k

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Hello my loves! For those who do not know me from Trouvaille, this is Dana! I am very pleased and excited to share this brand-new series with you. It has been a longtime desire of mine to write a story with vampires. Sanctity was born from a love of history and a past with yandere stories. I sincerely hope you enjoy this first chapter and the love that was poured into it!

WARNING! There are instances of gore, including cutting. Suicidal language is used, so please be warned if this is triggering to you.

Next Chapter

The bell struck six in the crumbling belltower, two young men in white robes pulling on the rope to swing the massive metal fixture to and fro. The haunting sound sent a murder of crows scattering across the steadily darkening sky when they were startled from their perches on the Sanctuary’s roof. Y/N peered out of the arched window curiously, halting her task of wiping down the glass with an old, weathered rag, distant yearning filling her as she watched the black birds fly away to the greater unknown. 

“Y/N, it’s time to wash up for dinner,” Meredith, a fellow ‘acolyte’ and friend, reminded her, setting aside the wooden broom she was using to sweep the hallway they were working in. 

Suppressing an agitated grunt, Y/N simply nodded, rising from her knees and adjusting the cream linen skirt she was wearing, the hem of it dirtied from skimming the old stone floors all day. Following the blonde girl, the wispy curls on her nape appeared silver in the darkened, wintery hallways, Y/N wondered when the Sanctuary would allow them to light the sconces in the frigid building so the acolytes wouldn’t be numb and stiff by the end of the unforgiving November evenings. Not that the wardens actually cared one way or another if the acolytes were cold, as long as they were alive, blood still running through their veins, resources wouldn’t be wasted on a few paltry fires. 

“You know, electricity exists. Doesn’t it bother you that we’re forced to live like fucking peasants during the Black Plague?” Y/N seethed, Meredith’s posture growing stiff as she nervously looked around. Not a soul was in the hallway with them, so Y/N rolled her eyes at the blonde’s haughty reaction. “Relax, Mere. No one’s around.”

“You shouldn’t swear, Y/N. They’ll punish you,” Meredith whispered, her angelic blue eyes wide with concern. Y/N scoffed, her aching fingers curling into fists as they continued their way to the dining hall. 

“Working all day for nothing is punishment enough. What’s the prize? Becoming a walking transfusion one day?” Y/N, despite her agitation, lowered her voice when Meredith began to look truly frightened. “I’m sorry, Mere. There aren’t any vampires here, you know that, right?”

“Of course I do. They never come on Sanctuary grounds. I wish to continue being your friend, Y/N, but I do not wish to invite punishment onto myself,” Meredith swallowed, looking a touch guilty. “I’ll meet you at the table.”

Y/N sighed, watching the girl spirit away, a flurry of white skirts and matching billowy blouses. After so many years spent in the Sanctuary, Y/N realized she shouldn’t be as bitter as she was, but the winter months brought out the aching in her. 

“Talks like a fuckin’ walking pamphlet,” Y/N muttered, heading straight to the large basins lining the outskirts of the dining hall, cringing at the icy water that came from the taps as she scrubbed at her dirty fingernails.

At the very least, the dining hall was one of the warmest sections of the Sanctuary, thanks to the heat from the kitchens and the singular fire roaring in a brazier placed in the center of the room. The Sanctuary, free of 21st century comforts, was always crusted in ice in the winters and stiflingly hot in the summers. Sniffing the air, Y/N tried not to frown– food from the Sanctuary’s kitchens were never very tasty, even if she was often starving enough to eat a leather boot at the end of a day’s work. 

“What’s tonight’s mystery meat?” Y/N got in line, retrieving a tray for herself, and leaning up to whisper her joke into her other friend Joseph’s ear. Unlike Meredith, the dark haired man snorted, mirth flashing in his eyes. 

“Oh, the usuals. Beef organs or tuna. Paired with lentil slop, shitty kale salad, maybe a sweet potato if we’re lucky. Don’t forget the out-of-season orange and singular square of dark chocolate for dessert, too!” 

This time, Y/N did not hold back her light groan, startling a timid acolyte in front of her and Joseph, the girl dropping her hardened, ‘fortified’ bread roll onto the counter. Both her and Joseph bowing in apology slightly while they contained their snickering, Y/N shuddering when a slimy piece of beef liver was slapped onto her plate by a kitchen acolyte. 

“I can’t take these organs anymore. Why can’t we have a steak? Steak is rich in iron,” Y/N sat beside Joseph at one of the long tables, her ass smarting against the stone bench. Meredith, across from her, eyed her carefully, using her spoon to push mushy lentils around on her plate. 

“You’ve been eating organs for ten years now, squirt, aren’t you fond of them by now?” Joseph teased, prodding at the gory looking organs on his own plate with a fork. 

“For once, I just want a bowl of pasta. I mean, come on, vampires eat the best food in the world, and they don’t even need it to survive. Just pure hedonism,” Y/N continued, peeling the orange that came with her dinner considering everything else on the tray looked absolutely revolting. 

Every meal served to the acolytes in the Sanctuary was required to be chock-full of ingredients with an abundance of iron and Vitamin C, allegedly making their blood more nutritious and appetizing to vampires. So, in order for vampires to eat like kings, mere human acolytes ate like cavemen. 

“You’re especially salty this evening,” Joseph remarked, a flicker of surprise flashing over his face. Meredith had ironically grown quite pale, considering the supposed iron-rich meal she was eating should have had a glow rising to her cheeks. “Make sure none of the wardens walk by while you’re still on your soapbox.”

“You can hear their boots from a mile away, I’ll shut up well before they’re in earshot,” Y/N pinched her nose as she stuffed some lentils down her throat so she wouldn’t have to taste the foul mush. “I’ll stop now, don’t wanna upset you, Mere.”

“Thank you,” Meredith murmured quietly, her eyes softening. Y/N knew that Meredith understood where she was coming from, but complaining about their situations did nothing to get them out of it, in the end. “When we’re back in our dorm… it’ll be okay.”

Nodding, Y/N’s lower eyelid twitched at the thought of her bed– hard as a rock and no better than a bale of hay to sleep on, but kept her promise and changed the subject promptly. 

“What was your task today, Joey?” 

“Ugh. Joey,” Joseph shivered, nudging Y/N with his elbow. “The usual. Raking dead leaves and preparing the garden for the snow.”

“It’s going to be a cold winter,” Meredith remarked, her gaze turning to the stained-glass windows overlooking a frosty courtyard. 

“Maybe if we’re lucky, one of us will get out of here. Be able to stay in a warm building, with wool blankets, fires lit in every room…” Joseph twirled one of his dark curls around an index finger contemplatively, Y/N frowning at the unsaid. The only way that would happen would be if one of them got picked to become a human blood bank at the end of the week. Joseph read her mind. “Tomorrow is the Drawing.”

Drawing day happened monthly. Each acolyte in the Sanctuary was required to report to the infirmary wing and offer up a pint of their blood to be sent out around the area for vampires to “sample”, like some kind of wine tasting that could be delivered to one’s doorstep. Days after the Drawing, there would be a chance that word would be sent from a coven that they were interested in a sample, and the matching acolyte, in consequence, would be delivered to the coven to be a live-in blood donor. 

The Drawing happened for a reason. While vampires held the most power across the globe, it was agreed decades ago, after many conferences held by vampires and human world leaders, that solitary vampires must go through a Sanctuary in order to receive a human to feed on. It was during that time when solitary vampires began to form covens to decrease demand for a human donor, and Sanctuaries were born. It was also that time where vampires roamed rampant, claiming any human on the street to drain dry. The death toll was climbing at an alarming rate, so a compromise was reached: vampires could not “hunt”, only go through a Sanctuary to select a donor, one they’d keep indefinitely.  

Y/N often weighed the pros and cons of being selected for The Drawing: at the Sanctuary, she could keep her blood but spend her days freezing, eating nasty food, and scrubbing the filthy building. If she was taken in by a coven, sure, she’d have luxuries– good food, riches, warm clothes. But she’d be at the mercy of vampires, notoriously vicious and unforgiving creatures. That, and she’d be fed on constantly by the sadistic beings, likely for the rest of her life. 

“That’s why we got extra organs today. Figures,” Y/N shrugged, once again pinching her nose to choke down a sliver of meat. “I’m beat. Gonna head back before the final bell. You can finish my portion, Joey.”

Joseph grimaced at the nickname, but eagerly reached for her tray anyways, Meredith watching Y/N slip from the hall. Delicately dabbing her mouth with a frayed cloth napkin, Meredith sighed. 

“She’s always like this the night before the Drawing,” Meredith’s voice was sympathetic, resigned. “She never got used to it, even after all these years.”

“Can you blame her? She was living under the radar, forging her blood type results most of her life before she was caught. I’d be jaded too,” Joseph pointed out around a mouthful of soggy kale. “You’ve been here your whole life, Mere. Y/N and I knew what it was like before living here. Having freedom.”

“I know that, Joseph,” Meredith, to her credit, had the decency to look chastised. “I never said I do not understand. I suppose since the Sanctuary is all I know, I do not yearn for freedom in quite the same way.”

Joseph collected his and Y/N’s trays, smiling at Meredith wistfully. He often thought that life would be simpler if he began to think like her, but it was difficult to let go of freedoms after they’d been tasted before. He remembered the days where he could wander in untamed forests, on the outskirts of town, where he could pick wild fruit and bask in the summer sun. Joseph recalled Y/N telling him about her life of drifting, hiding– the excitement, the footloose feeling of it all. Smiling at his other friend still, he stood from the stone bench. 

“The freest we’ll be is if we’re chosen after a Drawing. And even then, we’re birds in cages.”

Even though she had pulled two pairs of wool socks on her feet before passing out in bed, Y/N’s toes were icicles when the obnoxious morning bell clanged through the hollow halls. Starting to regret not eating much dinner, Y/N’s stomach was turning uncomfortably as she sat up in bed. The roiling in her gut was not just because she was hungry, but the familiar unease that festered there each morning of a Drawing day. As she watched Meredith, who happened to be her roommate, pull the threadbare curtains back on their barred window dutifully, Y/N sluggishly removed her nightgown and dressed herself in the dreaded white linens she was forced to wear on a daily basis.  

“Hopefully I won’t pass out today,” Y/N joked, knowing that Meredith was usually much more relaxed about complaining when they were in the privacy of their shoebox-sized room. 

“They’ll give you juice if you do. Just keep your eyes closed and focus on your breath,” Meredith gestured to the stool at the foot of her bed, encouraging Y/N to sit.

Humming, she did so, staring at the ceiling as her friend began to braid her hair. Meredith’s careful fingertips raking through her tresses calmed her down enough to stop the acid in her stomach from rising into her mouth. Meredith was singing quietly, a hymn, from the sound of it, and Y/N was thankful for the peaceful start of the day, no matter how cold and nauseous she was. 

“You won’t have to go to the infirmary until after lunch, right?” Y/N attempted to distract herself from the fact that she’d be the very first to get her blood drawn. 

“Mm-hmm. B+ is scheduled for after the midday meal,” Meredith stopped singing, using a scrap of old cream fabric to tie off the braid hanging down Y/N’s back. “So I’ll see you in the dining hall, then I’ll meet you back in the west hallway to finish cleaning anything we didn't yesterday.”

“Thanks, Mere,” Y/N reached back, passing her hand over the braid her friend weaved, wishing that there was at least a mirror somewhere. Y/N hadn’t seen her reflection in years, except for blurry images in the surface of the Sanctuary’s garden fountain; the wardens rejected vanity amongst acolytes. “I’m gonna get it over with, head straight for the infirmary.”

“Are you positive that’s wise without breakfast? You hardly touched dinner, too,” Meredith’s pale eyebrows shot into her hairline, worry etched between them. 

“I’m worried if I eat, the spinach smoothie will make another appearance as soon as they get the needle in my arm,” Y/N pictured the tasteless breakfast she normally had coming up for a round two and shuddered. “It’ll be okay. Just like every time, right? I’ve been here for years. The local vampires don’t seem to like my blood very much, or at least the ones that this Sanctuary sends it to.”

“Good luck, Y/N. See you at lunch,” Meredith didn’t comment on Y/N’s attempt to brighten up– she knew the stakes were as high as Y/N did. 

God must have felt particularly cruel the day he decided to bestow Y/N with one of the world’s rarest blood types: the coveted AB-, a sought-after type for many vampires. Apparently, all of the blood types had different tastes, but Y/N hardly believed that. Blood was blood; tinny, salty, and a nauseating reminder of fragile mortality. There was a reason she had hidden from the world for many years, drifting from place to place. Those with AB- blood were hardly at Sanctuaries for long before a coven would promptly request them as their live-in donor. Y/N was basically living on borrowed time– she often wondered if her bitterness leached into her bloodstream and spoiled the ‘product’. 

Dragging her palm along the stone walls of the Sanctuary’s hallway, Y/N barely registered the crowd of acolytes passing by on their ways to the dining hall in the opposite direction from where she was going. Y/N was the only acolyte in that particular Sanctuary to have AB- blood, so naturally, she was by herself every Drawing day first thing in the morning, and the top priority of the wardens. Swallowing thickly, the scent of rubbing alcohol had her gagging as it filled her nostrils when she neared closer to the infirmary. 

 Of course, the infirmary wing was cold as ice both temperature wise and atmospherically. In contrast to the Gothic interior of the rest of the Sanctuary, the infirmary was somewhat modern (or was once, in the 80’s), sterile, and covered in pastel vinyl flooring. Her Mary Janes squeaked against the tiles, nervously wringing her hands together as she stared at the plastic dentist’s chair in the corner of the room, the clump of wardens setting up the apparatus to collect blood. Clearing her throat, Y/N pressed her lips together in a line as one of the wardens turned to her– Mrs. Sloane, a severe 60-year-old woman who ran the Sanctuary like the military. Y/N had an acute dislike for the woman, who saw her and the acolytes as nothing more but cattle to raise. 

“AB-, come here. Everything is ready,” her voice was dry, sharp, like a whip cracking down. It had her flinching, but she obediently trudged towards the crinkled old chair, mostly out of fear of having to kneel in the chapel for several hours in punishment if she didn’t follow orders exactly.

Knees wobbling, she lowered herself onto the chair while Mrs. Sloane eyed her like she was a slab of wagyu beef she was preparing to sell to the highest bidder. Biting her lip, she swiftly shut her eyes, heeding Meredith’s earlier advice. Perhaps she could prolong her anxiety attack if she kept her eyes shut the entire time, flinching in the seat when someone was not-so-gently rolling up the sleeve on her left arm past her elbow and swiping an alcohol wipe over her sensitive skin. 

“We’ll be taking more than usual today,” Mrs. Sloane announced, and Y/N’s plans of staying blind were foiled when her eyes snapped open in shock. 

“W-what? But taking more than a pint is dangerous, is it not?” Y/N’s voice came out panicked and thin, Mrs. Sloane scowling at her nastily. 

“Silence. It is not your place to question,” Mrs. Sloane scolded, Y/N’s breathing becoming fast and shallow. “A new coven has arrived in the area. They have requested a large sample of AB-.”

Dread flooded through every cell of her body, horrified that she was about to be drained dry, two pint bags on the steel table beside her. Barely having time at all to process that there was a coven of vampires that were new to the area, and that there was a great chance that they’d select her as a donor, Y/N yelped when one of the wardens pinned her wrist down and another slid the hollow needle in her arm. Seeing stars dance in her field of vision, Y/N whimpered at the sting of the needle, feeling sick when she felt the warmth of her blood flowing into the tube connected to the pint bag resting on her arm. She absolutely loathed the feeling of her blood leaving her body, like her very life force was being sucked out, and before she could actively close her eyes, they shut involuntarily when they began to water. 

“Calm down, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane sounded like she was spitting through her teeth, Y/N unable to feel her limbs. “You should be grateful. You’ll have the rest of the day off to recuperate.”

Y/N hardly heard the woman. Ears ringing, she was drifting away, a cold, sticky sweat coating her forehead. While she was struggling to form a coherent thought, one of the wardens must have switched out the full bag for the empty one, and by then, Y/N lost consciousness. 

Several moments later, Y/N not knowing exactly how much time had passed, someone was snapping in her face, jamming a straw in her mouth. Nearly choking on the orange juice that was being squeezed down her parched throat, her eyes opened blearily and all she could see was blinding white light from the fluorescence above her. 

“You may sit here for no more than five additional minutes. Then return to your dorm until the dinner bell,” Mrs. Sloane’s arms were crossed, annoyed that Y/N was holding up the line of acolytes outside waiting their turns. 

Though she was pretty much completely drained of energy, Y/N’s mind was moving a thousand miles per hour. With a new coven in the area, there was a very real possibility they’d be interested in her blood, considering the rarity of the blood type. She gleaned no additional information from Mrs. Sloane– typical– but how many vampires would be in that coven, if God forbid they chose her? Three, four? Four was typically the largest a coven would get, and the thought of four of them latching onto her at once had her leaning over in the chair and emptying the contents of her stomach into the bucket on the floor. 

It didn’t matter that she’d be free of the Sanctuary. Though she’d live lavishly, she’d have constant open wounds and would be psychologically tortured by the creatures. Suddenly, meals made purely of beef liver and beds constructed out of pallets seemed much better than cake and down feather mattresses. 

“Your time is up. Go back to your dorm. The midday meal will be delivered to you,” Mrs. Sloane barked, hauling Y/N up by her wrist. Feet faltering, Y/N swayed and scrabbled for the drywall, blindly feeling her way to the main hallway again. 

Dazed, her arm throbbed where the needle had been inserted, and the only positive that came from that morning’s events was the fact that she’d get to lay in bed all day instead of scrubbing floors. Y/N wasn’t sure how she managed to find her way back to her dorm room, but before she knew it, she was wrapping two blankets around herself and curling up in bed. 

She was woken up by Meredith hours later, the blonde bringing her a tuna sandwich on a undoubtedly stale roll. Choking it down like a wolf, she tried not to cry when Meredith gingerly wrapped a cloth around her arm, which was cruelly left to clot on its own by the wardens. 

“It’s going to be me this time,” Y/N announced dully, eyes on the overcast sky outside her barred windows. “I can feel it.”

“There is no way to know–”

“A new coven has moved to this town,” Y/N cut her friend off, Meredith’s hands stilling. Withdrawing her touch from Y/N’s arm, Meredith appeared tentatively unsure. 

“To Newport?” Meredith’s light eyebrows pulled together, disbelieving. Newport wasn’t exactly a magnet for vampires, most of the ones that resided in the area weren’t in covens at all, just solitary vampires. A new coven spelled danger for Y/N. “I heard that a vampire built one of the famous mansions by the ocean. Do you think one of the vampires could be him?”

“Well, if he is, then I guess I’d get to live like a princess. You know, the one that got locked in a tower with a dragon and shit.”

Y/N had a bad feeling. Not that she was one to have premonitions, but trusting that feeling in her gut is what helped her to survive years before she was brought to the Sanctuary. Meredith stroked the back of her head in an attempt to comfort her, but Y/N knew she was just as nervous as she was. Because the coven requested so much of her blood specifically, and was the only person in the immediate area with AB- blood, if the vampires liked her blood her fate was officially sealed. Swallowing bile, she shook her head, not wanting to put the cart before the horse yet. 

“I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. I’ve been around for a while, none of the local vampires have been interested. Maybe my blood tastes like dirt, and I’ll be here until I’m elderly.”

“It’s okay to worry, Y/N. However,” Meredith sat on the side of Y/N’s bed, the old wood frame creaking with her weight. “There are many others here with rare blood types. Perhaps they will prefer AB positive.”

“Perhaps,” Y/N agreed, beginning to sit up. “Shall we go to the hall and finish the windows?”

“I have to go to the infirmary wing, it’s my turn. You should rest, Y/N,” Meredith helped her stand, Y/N furiously shaking her head. 

“If I stay here until dinner, my thoughts will continue to spiral,” Y/N shoved her feet into her well-worn shoes, slinging her braided hair over her shoulder. “Thank you for bringing me lunch. I’ll get started on the windows and wait for you.”

Y/N headed out first, leaving Meredith to prepare herself for her drawing. The blonde often liked to pray before the process, Y/N not knowing whether she was praying to be chosen, or praying to be skipped over. She didn’t have the stomach to ask. 

By herself in the west hallway, she picked up the rag she abandoned the previous evening with a rough sigh. The sky opened up and ice-cold rain began to pelt the windows, crows eerily taking shelter in the eaves of the bell tower. Y/N felt like their beady eyes were on her, able to see through the glass and spot her wiping the window. Shuddering, she couldn’t tear her sight from the birds, the superstitious side of her insisting that they were some kind of omen. 

Two days later, Y/N was trudging through the hollow halls after dinner, which she again excused herself from early. There had been no news about the results of the Drawing, but it didn’t stop her stomach from turning over in anxiety all day long. Hands coming up to rub her biceps, she glanced at the full moon outside of the large arched windows, slightly obscured by thin, dark clouds. 

Kicking a stray stone as she turned the corner to the wing with the dorms, she paused a few feet from her and Meredith’s door with a frown. Light spilled out from the open dorm, more light than would have been possible coming from the small candles she and Meredith were allowed for nighttime reading. Besides, Meredith was still in the dining hall, so the door shouldn’t have been open. Fear sunk into her bones, making a sticky heat flash over her skin with dread. Mustering her remaining courage, she crept towards her room like a mouse. 

Torches were lit up in the usually empty sconces, three wardens, including Mrs. Sloane, rifling through Y/N’s small dresser and nightstand. There was a large, old-fashioned suitcase box on her bed. Horrified and confused, Y/N accidentally bumped into the creaky door and snagged Mrs. Sloane’s attention. 

“Congratulations, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane was sickly sweet, and it didn’t suit her whatsoever. “The coven has chosen you. Help pack your belongings, you leave tonight.”

“What?” Y/N’s world was spinning, vision getting spotty. “Leave? T-tonight?”

“Yes, girl. Are you hard of hearing? Pack your belongings, we are to bring you to the coven in less than an hour,” Mrs. Sloane went back to her snarky self, Y/N holding onto the door in a desperate attempt to stay upright. 

Mrs. Sloane reached for the pocket of her apron, where she kept a metal ruler so she could strike those who disobeyed her, Y/N stumbled into the room and shakily tossed her white skirts into the suitcase to avoid being struck. Hardly able to form a single coherent thought, Y/N moved woodenly, so shocked that tears didn’t even roll down her cheeks. 

“You are lucky. The coven that requested you consists of some of the wealthiest vampires in the world. You will want for nothing,” Mrs. Sloane tossed the final garment Y/N owned into the suitcase, another warden closing it up and bringing it out to the hall. Y/N had to hold her tongue, considering she was about to shout but I’m going to live with monsters. “All seven of them have wealth, in fact. They are rumored to have great powers, as well.”

“S-seven? Did y-you just say seven?” Y/N gasped, flinching when Alfred, the burliest warden in the Sanctuary, grabbed her arm and began to pull her out of the room. She had never heard of a coven so large, and it made every cell in her body light up with sharp panic. 

“Yes, seven. Make haste,” Mrs. Sloane and Alfred hauled her through the Sanctuary, confused acolytes coming from the dining hall making space for them to pass. Y/N recognized the look on some of their faces, relief that they hadn’t been chosen. 

“But, my friends! Please, let me say goodbye,” Y/N begged, tears finally starting to form when she spotted Joseph in the crowd, his eyes wide and mouth dropped open. Somewhere, Meredith was probably thinking about the book they were going to read together that night. 

“There’s no time. You’ll get to write letters,” Mrs. Sloane refused, a whimper coming from Y/N’s throat as tears began to pour down her cheeks, getting one last look at Joseph who was mouthing something to her. Miserably, she couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say, Alfred yanking her to the tall front doors, frigid air blasting her in the face as they opened. 

In the courtyard, a place Y/N had only been once or twice when she was first brought to the Sanctuary, there was a horse-drawn carriage. Y/N, had she not been in the greatest shock of her life, would have laughed– wouldn’t it have been easier for her to be taken in a car? Hardly having the time to look back at the Sanctuary she called home the past ten years, her knees knocked together when she was pushed into the carriage with her luggage. Unfortunately, she wasn’t allowed privacy to cry when in the carriage, Alfred clambering in after her with a grunt. 

Y/N didn’t talk to Alfred, mostly because he rarely spoke. At least he let her silently weep for a few moments, Y/N beginning to process the gravity of the situation. With watery eyes, she looked outside the carriage window, the gothic Sanctuary becoming distant as the horses trotted on. Her dread was temporarily numbed by the opportunity to see beyond the Sanctuary, land she had not seen in years. The trees lining the paved streets were barren, gray, and the hard-packed dirt had not a blade of grass. Even then, Y/N hadn’t seen such beauty in so long– a small taste of freedom before she was locked away for life again. 

Her tears continued to flow even when she greedily took in the sights of the town of Newport, the homes of the wealthy humans who did not have to give up their freedom for vampires, shops that had closed for the day, parked cars on the sides of the streets. It was odd to see the vehicles, considering she had been living in an analog manner for so long, Y/N wondered if she’d ever know what the inside of one looked like. 

“H-how long will it take?” Y/N asked timidly, not confident Alfred would respond, but she tried anyway. The middle-aged man looked up from his Bible, giving Y/N an unfeeling look. 

“We are no more than ten minutes away, now. Wipe your sorry face,” Alfred responded coldly, Y/N’s heart racing when she dabbed at her cheeks obediently. “You will not shame our Sanctuary by showing the coven how miserable you are.”

Y/N had never heard Alfred speak so many words. She was starting to think that was for the best, his words like a slap across her face. Part of her pondered if she’d ever hear a kind word again. Lapsing back into silence, Y/N sniffled up the remainder of her tears, the shock beginning to wear off and her survival skills kicking in. If she wanted to remain sane, and not give the vampires an inch before they took a mile, she had to appear unafraid and unaffected. Strong, confident, and indifferent, but pure, so if not to anger them. Vampires and their purity– ironic.

The houses– if one could even call the structures that– became grander and grander the further they traveled. The massive buildings made the ginormous cathedral the Sanctuary called home look like a garden shack. Y/N had a hunch, as they turned down a road that had imposing iron gates lining yards that looked like parks, that the coven she was to belong to resided in one of the famous Newport mansions. Passing by a white marble monstrosity, Y/N shuddered. The homes looked empty, cold, and imposing. Grand, yes, but the kind of display of wealth that had someone like Y/N, who lived her entire life struggling, clenching her fist in fury. 

“Won’t be long now. Straighten yourself out. The staff is to greet you,” Alfred slapped his Bible shut, grasping for the handle of Y/N’s suitcase.

Breathing shallowly, Y/N’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head when the carriage brought them to the largest iron gate on the street, initials TK welded between filigree at the top of the barrier. As if by magic, the gates began to creak open, Y/N stunned by her first glimpse of actual electricity illuminating the gatehouse. Of course, she had seen it prior to her life at the Sanctuary, but it was odd to see the night lit up after living by candlelight. Gnawing at her nails, thinking that she could be shocked no further, an audible gasp tore from her when the carriage pulled through the driveway of great trees, an imposing mansion coming into view. 

Y/N had never imagined such a building could ever be constructed. It would take a person hours to walk the entire floor plan, the grounds aside. Y/N was struck by a memory from earlier that week, when Meredith brought up the mansions by the ocean. One of the members of the coven must have been the man that built it, and the only other thing Y/N knew was that the mansion was settled on a steep cliff jutting into the sea. One she could potentially careen herself off of, if need be. 

Her elbow was tightly grabbed again when the carriage stopped before the covered front entrance, bright lights nearly blinding her as Alfred shoved her out of the carriage, Y/N freezing instantly when she felt a foreign touch on her forearm to steady her. Eyes adjusting, she frantically looked up, not ready to deal with a vampire right off the bat. To her great relief, a blue-eyed– not red-eyed man, one dressed in a fine suit, righted her with a tight smile. A human, presumably a member of the mansion’s staff. 

“I–I– I’m sorry,” Y/N managed, cursing Alfred colorfully in her mind. So much for confidence. 

“Quite alright, acolyte…” the man prompted in a British accent, the first whisper of kindness Y/N had in over an hour. 

“Oh. Forgive me. Acolyte Y/N,” she replied quickly, accessing the back of her brain where cobwebs and her etiquette surrounding that event resided. 

“Sir, you may leave. Acolyte Y/N will begin her duties under our watch now,” the man in the suit removed his touch from Y/N’s forearm, not a single strand of silver hair on the man’s head out of place. 

“Contact us if there are issues,” Alfred hardly got out of the carriage, his scarred face twisting into a smirk. Y/N wanted to spit on him. 

“Of course,” the man replied, tight smile still on his lips, standing importantly beside Y/N until the carriage was well on its way back to the gate. “He’s a cup of tea, isn’t he?”

Y/N blinked, not knowing whether or not to agree, if it was her place. Turning to the man, whose posture had loosened up and a more genuinely friendly expression taking over his features, Y/N nodded slowly. 

“Forgive me. I’m Edmund, head butler here at The Breakers. Pleased to meet you, Miss Y/N,” Edmund extended a gloved hand to Y/N, who hesitantly shook it. Was he trying to get her guard down by feigning gentlemanly behavior? “I take care of important matters inside of the estate. If you have any needs, you can seek me out. Of course, you’ll have personal maids, as well. Come, let’s get you out of the cold.”

Reeling, Y/N watched Edmund effortlessly scoop up her luggage, timidly following him to the door that was opened by an older man, also dressed in a sharp suit. With a house that size, Y/N realized that the staff must have been numerous to keep everything functioning smoothly. It was somewhat of a comfort that the staff she encountered so far seemed to be humans, likely ones with low status and common blood types. 

Not even the imposing exterior of the building could have prepared Y/N for what the mansion looked like inside. In just the entrance alone, exquisite stone work, massive tiled floors, and tall ornate lamps illuminated by real light bulbs had stars circling around her head. Now that she was inside, she started to feel nervous again, waiting for a vampire to pop out from behind a thick stone column. In awe and in fear of her surroundings, she jolted when a young woman appeared from the left, carrying a tray. 

“This is Nadia, she’ll be your head maid. I’ll take your luggage to your room, and Nadia will show you around the first floor before you retire. She’ll answer any questions you have.”

Edmund bowed to Y/N, which had her blanching in embarrassment. The butler disappearing further into the estate, Y/N turned to Nadia when the young woman cleared her throat lightly. 

“Miss, I’ve brought you some cocoa. Hopefully it will warm you,” Nadia presented her with a large porcelain mug on the silver tray, a thick, sweet smell hitting her nostrils and making her nearly tear up. The only chocolate she could have at the Sanctuary was a square of bitter 100% cacao on Wednesdays and Sundays, not something decadent and rich like the cocoa she was being offered. 

“I can have this?” Y/N squeaked, not daring to take the mug lest it was some kind of trick. Nadia cocked her head, confused by the question. 

“Of course, Miss. Unless you don’t like chocolate, I can prepare you some tea instead,” Nadia began to lower the tray, Y/N waving her hands urgently to stop her. 

“N-no, no, you don’t have to do that! Thank you, I’ll take it,” Y/N wrapped her hands around the ceramic mug, the warmth soothing her frozen fingers. “Um, you can call me Y/N if you want, please.”

Y/N was already weirded out, and people addressing her by formal titles was definitely a camel back-breaking straw. Nadia set her tray aside, watching Y/N take a shaky sip of the cocoa. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted, and she couldn’t even find it in herself to be embarrassed when she drained the whole mug in five seconds flat. The drink was thick, rich, and warmed her from the inside out. She both wanted to cry and beg for a second mug. 

“You must be freezing, shall we head into the hall? It’s much warmer there,” Nadia gestured forward, Y/N glancing at what appeared to be a giant ballroom in front of her. Gulping, she nodded, following the woman timidly. So far, not a single mention of the vampires that allegedly lived in the mansion. “If you’d like, I can draw you a hot bath when we get to your bedroom. I’ve filled your dresser with warm clothes for you to sleep in, too, I’ll put them on your bed… This is the Great Hall. I imagine the coven will hold parties here from time to time.”

Y/N didn’t know where to look. Between the sheer size of the space, the ornate artwork painted on the ceiling, and the endless colors swirling around the room, her vision finally landed on the enormous fireplace roaring at one end of the hall. It was then when she noticed it was the first time since mid-October she wasn’t chilly. Prior to that evening, Y/N had a lot of assumptions about vampires. One of the assumptions was that they would prefer to live in a cold and dark environment, but the mansion she was standing in was toasty and brightly lit. 

“It’s… big,” Y/N managed weakly, Nadia leading her to a red-carpeted staircase. All she could do was follow, wanting to ask the maid a few questions about the coven, but she knew that vampires had superior hearing and she didn’t want to attract the attention of one of them. 

“Yes, but you will become accustomed to it. I can help you navigate the interior and grounds until you know your own way around. Oh, right here. This is a portrait of Master Taehyung. He built this estate,” Nadia paused on the landing, where the staircase split into two directions. 

Whipping her head upwards, she soaked in the lines of the old painted canvas, Nadia’s first mention of the vampires making her heart stop dead in her chest. The man depicted in the painting was beautiful, which was typical for the creatures, but Taehyung nearly took her breath away. Dressed in a Victorian-style suit, the vampire had a cold, stern expression. His dark wavy hair was parted down the middle neatly, and of course, the vampiric red irises staring back at her made her stomach turn in fear. Schooling her features, Y/N bit her lip at Nadia’s expectant expression. 

“He’s, um. Handsome,” Y/N offered, hoping that her voice wasn’t wavering, Nadia nodded, resuming her ascent up the stairs. 

“Master Taehyung made his fortune in steamships, railroads, and shipping in the mid-1800’s. He’s a legendary businessman,” Nadia informed her, Y/N cringing that she referred to the creature as a ‘man’. Nadia herself didn’t seem to have a problem with the vampire, and in fact, her voice almost implied that she admired Taehyung. “All seven of our masters are impressive men.”

“Wait, they’re all male?” Y/N stopped in her tracks, feeling the blood drain from her face. She was hoping for a coven of mostly female vampires, theorizing that perhaps they’d be less vicious. 

“Yes, I’m sure you know that it’s atypical for a coven to be both so large and of all one gender. The masters are like-minded, which is why they chose to form the coven,” Nadia explained, stopping at a door at the end of the hall, beside a breezeway that likely looked out onto the ocean. “Here we are, this is where you’ll stay. The rest of the bedrooms on this floor are occupied by five of the masters, Masters Seokjin and Namjoon prefer the bedrooms on the third floor due to privacy of the quarters.”

Y/N swallowed, stepping into her new bedroom, which was bigger than four dorm rooms at the Sanctuary smashed together. The walls were covered in an intricate pink floral wallpaper, all of the upholstered furniture a matching shade of blushing rose, and the marble fireplace was lit already. The room was decidedly feminine, Y/N’s eyes catching on a painting above a nightstand depicting dancing women. Nadia, as she was bumbling around the room selecting clothes from a dresser, noticed Y/N staring at it. It was expertly painted, precise. 

“That is one of Master Yoongi’s pieces, depicting the Nine Muses of Greek mythology,” Nadia placed flannel pajamas on Y/N’s new bed, which looked plush and was piled high with thick pillows. “Master Yoongi is a painter, an artist. Very famous.”

“Really?” Y/N knew nothing about art, let alone Greek mythology. She didn’t have the luxury of studying those things. 

“The hour is growing late, Miss. I can tell you more about the masters in the morning. They will not be back from the affairs that called them away tonight until midday tomorrow,” Nadia pulled out a pocket watch from her apron, heading towards a door by the back of the bedroom. “I’ll run your bath, and leave you to rest. You’ll be woken in the morning for breakfast.”

Moments later, Y/N was left alone in her very own bathroom, not a communal one like she was used to at the Sanctuary with cold water taps. The bathtub had steaming water filling the room with humidity, the scent of lavender oil somewhat easing her frayed nerves. Chewing her lip, she decided she might as well indulge in the hot bath, considering her muscles were beyond stiff and there was no way she’d be able to fall asleep right away, if at all. 

Part of her wondered what kind of ‘affairs’ that the vampires were involved with. If it were her, and she had accumulated all of that wealth and immortality, she’d spend her days lazing around. The other part of her was thanking the sky that none of them were in the building; she had more time to prepare herself to meet the creatures the following day. Stiffly, she began to untie her skirt, letting the fabric hit the floor. Y/N supposed never having to wear those skirts again was a bit of a silver lining. Kicking it to the side, Y/N’s vision caught on something silvery and polished– an actual mirror. Eagerly, she dashed to the sink it was fixed over to catch a glimpse of herself for the very first time in ages. 

Unable to help the gasp that came from her mouth, Y/N didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. The image of herself she had in her mind was her fifteen year old self, not the twenty-five year-old reflected in the polished silver. In awe, she traced her sharpened jaw and cheekbone, lacking teenage fullness, and she realized that she had forgotten the color of her eyes. Tearing up a little, she turned from side to side, getting a look at her figure– even going as far as removing the rest of her clothing in curiosity. Poking at areas of her body she was unfamiliar with in the mirror, like the curve to her hips, Y/N felt rather odd. The whole evening had her entire world turning upside-down. 

After several moments, she tore her attention from the mirror, only feeling slightly guilty of vanity, and tentatively dipped a toe into the bath. The water didn’t immediately dissolve her skin and bones, so she slowly sunk her body into the porcelain basin with a ragged groan. Maybe she had died and went somewhere beautiful, because being treated like royalty so far was not something she predicted. In the back of her mind, she reminded herself not to get too comfortable. She hadn’t even met the coven yet, and for all she knew, they could be horrible individuals. Nadia didn’t speak of them in that way– but maybe the maid wouldn’t dare. 

Y/N sat in the bath until the water became lukewarm and her skin was pruny. Limbs loose, she wrapped herself in a plush towel that was waiting for her on a rack that actually heated the towel. While the ends of her hair dripped water on the tiled floor, she bent down, looking through a chest beside the sink with interest. Each drawer held essential and non-essential toiletries, some things Y/N had never even heard of. Picking up a bottle of ‘skin oil’ and ‘hair detangler’, she blinked in confusion. Was it Nadia who stocked the drawers for her? Or were the vampires considerate enough to provide her with a toothbrush and facial cleanser?

Head full of cotton, she decided to ignore all of the products she was unfamiliar with and simply brushed her teeth and combed her hair. Peeking out of the bathroom door to make sure that no one had entered the room while she was bathing, Y/N tip-toed across the richly carpeted floor towards the ridiculously large bed. The fire was still going, warming the room, and Y/N hesitantly slid into a pair of flannel pajama pants left out for her. The elasticated waistband hugged her hips perfectly, and as she buttoned up the top and pulled on fluffy socks, she speculated about how Nadia managed to figure out her measurements. The Sanctuary probably had some sort of file on all of her personal information, which had her skin crawling. 

While she was still on edge, her body was so relaxed from the bath that with slight resignation, she maneuvered herself under the sheets and heavy blankets, clasping a hand over her mouth as she sunk comically into the mattress. The bed hugged her in all directions, like getting to sleep on a cloud, and as she stared at the ceiling in awe, Y/N squirmed around to get in a cozy position curled up tight on her side protectively. 

The lights would remain on, that was for sure. Y/N was never afraid of the dark per se, but in a new environment, she wasn’t risking things watching her from the shadows of the old estate. While memorizing the shapes of the intricate carvings on the ceiling, Y/N tried to make a mental list of everything she knew about vampires in general, and the specifics of the ones she was about to serve. 

Over the centuries, there were several old wives tales that were circulated by humans surrounding vampires; but Y/N hardly knew which ones were fact or fiction. There were the superstitions passed down through common blood-typed, lower class humans that would work as maids and butlers to the vampires, the awe-inspiring, intimidating tidbits wealthy and influential humans would spread after doing business with the creatures. Then, of course, was the probable propaganda Y/N and her fellow acolytes were spoon-fed in Sanctuaries. 

Y/N started with what she knew was just plain phony: vampires did not have an aversion to the sun and could walk around in daylight as they pleased. They did not flee from crosses or garlic, and they could not be exterminated by a stake through the heart. Acolytes were told that vampires could not be killed, and had few, if any, weaknesses. That was enough to have Y/N shivering, even beneath all of her blankets and flannel pajamas. 

The older the vampire, the less in-touch with humanity they became. There was a recalled memory, a boring lecture in the Sanctuary’s dusty chapel, which consisted of a hazy memory of Y/N copying down ‘Oldest known vampire is aged 1,291 years, but some may be even older’. Y/N couldn’t even fathom living to be in her forties, let alone how it must be to live for over a century. On the other hand, ‘younger’ vampires– under three hundred years old– tended to be bolder, and adapted to modern times with greater ease. 

Vampires needed human blood to sustain their powers, immortality, and to keep their internal organs functioning properly. While considered to be undead, a vampire’s heart kept beating, lungs brought in oxygen, and they could even digest human food if the creatures had consistent access to blood. Squeezing her eyes shut tight at the image of a vampire tearing into a rare steak, Y/N started to count off the things she found out from Nadia about the particular coven that requested her from the Sanctuary. 

First, there was only a brief visual she had of one out of the seven, ‘Master’ Taehyung. Y/N prayed she wouldn’t have to use a title on any of them, but it was likely out of her hands. Sure, the portrait depicted a handsome young man, with all the airs of importance and wealth– but Y/N couldn’t get his unearthly red irises out of her mind. Taehyung was the vampire that commissioned the construction of the mansion she was currently cowering in, apparently a business tycoon that dominated during the Gilded Age. The next piece of information she got was ‘Seokjin’ and ‘Namjoon’ living on a separate floor for additional privacy, which made her nervous for some reason. Which was more dangerous, vampires in the bedroom next door to her, or those hidden in spots she hadn’t even toured yet?

The last thing she learned about one of the vampires– Yoongi– from Nadia is that he was evidently a famous artist. Cracking one sore eye open, she stared at the elaborately framed artwork above her nightstand again, noticing the fading of the paint and how it aged the piece. How old was the painting, and how old was Yoongi? Shutting her eyes once more, she sunk deeper into the mattress and pulled her blankets over her head. Nadia promised she’d answer any additional questions Y/N had over breakfast, so Y/N miraculously fell asleep by coming up with a handful of queries. 

“Miss, hello? The sun has risen,” Y/N sat up in her bed with a sharp gasp, her hair hanging in her face like a nest. Whipping her head around frantically, she couldn’t believe she actually managed to get some sleep in a brand-new setting so easily. Knocking on the door, as well as a mousy, unfamiliar voice had her stumbling to her feet frantically. “May I come in, Miss?”

“Um, uh, yes, come in,” Y/N panicked, smoothing her wrinkled flannel shirt into place and hastily raking hair from her face. The door creaked open, a young woman who wasn’t Nadia hurrying in– her uniform pristinely pressed. 

“Good morning, Miss Y/N. I’m Juliana, I work under Nadia. I’ll be helping you with your morning routine, while Nadia handles more important matters– coordinating breakfast, of course,” Juliana gave Y/N a slight bow, Y/N’s mouth dropping open at the gesture.

Before she could respond, Juliana began to draw the great curtains around the room open, the blinding white light of the early winter morning flooding into the room and stinging her eyes. When her vision returned to her, she gasped again at the sight just beyond the windows. Unable to help herself, she tripped towards one of the windows, grappling for the sill so she could steady herself. 

Her room overlooked the backyard– if one could even call it that– and beyond the manicured grass and gardens was the vast, unending ocean once the landscaping dropped off of the famous cliff. It was like her eyes couldn’t absorb enough of the scenery, and impatiently, she pressed her forehead to the glass plane to gawk at the icy, gray ocean. 

“In this drawer, here, we’ve placed warm pants for you– leggings, jeans, corduroys. If you prefer skirts and wool tights, those are hanging in your closet, and your tops and sweaters are in this armoire, here. Underthings are located in the lingerie chest beside you,” Juliana opened up various drawers, light on her feet and peppy, her curly brown hair bouncing with her movements.

“Lin… lingerie?” Y/N tasted the unfamiliar word on her tongue, attention effectively stolen from the gorgeous view beyond her windows. 

“Forgive me. It’s another word for your undergarments, such as brassiers?” Juliana clarified, raising her brows and crossing the room. Y/N had not a single clue what she was talking about, following her like a duckling. 

“Oh! I’ve never…” Y/N suddenly felt immensely awkward, peering into the drawer that held garments she hadn’t worn while at the Sanctuary– the thick, burlap material of the Sanctuary tops were all she got, not delicate lacy scraps of fabric that seemed to exist for the sole purpose of cradling her chest. “Um, okay. I can… wear whatever I want?”

“Yes, yes, as long as you’re comfortable, Miss,” Juliana took Y/N’s confusion in stride, moving towards the fireplace. Taking up a fire poker, the maid prodded at the glowing embers in the hearth. “I hope you were warm enough while you slept. The fire tends to go out in the middle of the night.”

“Y-yes, I was fine. Plenty of blankets,” Y/N chuckled nervously, not used to being so diligently cared for. Would it always be like that? “Um… have they returned?” 

“They? You mean the masters?” Juliana paused, replacing the fire poker back on the rack. “They’ll be back before noon.”

“Okay,” Y/N was proud of herself for keeping a tremble out of her voice, Juliana gesturing towards a vanity by one of the windows. 

“I can comb your hair, Miss, then leave you to get changed,” Juliana herded Y/N to the cushy stool, Y/N once again blinking at her unfamiliar expression. Contrary to the circumstances, her expression told the story of someone who got plenty of rest the night before. “I’ll wait by the stairs to show you to the breakfast room.”

That time, Y/N didn’t reply. She was too distracted by the feeling of the young maid gliding a fine comb through her hair gently– and with a sharp twist in her chest, she was reminded of the last time someone did her hair– Meredith, on the day of the Drawing. Holding her breath, she waited patiently for Juliana to comb through every snag on her head, surprised when she finally pulled away without braiding Y/N’s hair. Usually, Sanctuaries insisted that acolytes keep their hair braided if female, and cropped short if male. Juliana, however, left Y/N with her hair flowing free. 

“Alright, Miss, take your time getting dressed. I’ll wait for you by the staircase,” Juliana smiled sweetly at her through the mirror, setting the comb back onto the vanity before she took her leave. 

Y/N had a newfound feeling of determination when she absorbed her reflection, suddenly. She was going to get as much detail about the characters of the vampires from members of the staff as she could before the seven of them returned to the mansion. Swiftly, she pawed through various drawers for clothes, stomping to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Tugging on fleece-lined leggings, she cursed at herself in the mirror when it took her several minutes to figure out how to hook a brassier around her bust. The top she selected was a large slouchy sweater, one that hid her figure and hung loosely around her thighs. It made her feel a bit more protected, not having so much skin exposed. There weren’t any shoes in her closet, so she awkwardly stuffed her feet into her Mary Janes from the Sanctuary. 

With a huff, she headed to the hallway, the mansion looking completely different during the day. Early winter sunlight flooded into the building, making the colors of the interior appear vibrant and excessive. Able to retrace her steps from the previous evening, Y/N didn’t have any trouble meeting Juliana at the top of the grand staircase. 

“Right this way, Miss,” Juliana started down the stairs, Y/N glancing at the portrait of Taehyung on the wall. She hadn’t noticed before, but while he certainly seemed cold, there was a sort of melancholy look on his face. 

“Juliana, did um… Master Yoongi paint that portrait?” Y/N launched into her interrogations, the maid cocking her head to look at the painting Y/N was referring to. Y/N had to fight the urge not to cringe when using the ‘master’ title. 

“Hmm. I never thought about that! Master Yoongi is mostly known for his work from the Renaissance. Now that you bring it up, however, the attention to detail does look quite a lot like Master Yoongi’s handiwork,” Juliana continued down the stairs, Y/N grasping onto the banister for stability. If Yoongi’s famous artwork was from the Renaissance period, he’d have to be over 500 years old. “Do you like to read, Miss? The library is full of rare books. Master Hoseok has collected them from around the world for hundreds of years. Nadia can show you the way after your breakfast.”

“Oh–”

“Good morning, Miss Y/N, I hope you had a restful sleep,” Edmund was at the bottom of the staircase, interrupting Y/N’s response to Juliana. “Juliana, you’re needed in the laundry.”

“Yes, sir,” Juliana straightened up importantly, bowing at Y/N again. “Have a nice breakfast, Miss.”

Edmund stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching Juliana hurry away out of earshot. The polite smile sort of slipped from his face, attention turning back to Y/N shifting from foot to foot by the staircase. 

“Y/N, after your meal, I’d like to speak with you in the pantry. Have Nadia show you the way,” Edmund said quietly, gesturing to the left. Tightness in her chest increased when he said that, following him through the hall. 

There was what appeared to be a grotto under the staircase, water trickling from a fountain and a couple of seats facing the structure. Briefly, Y/N thought that that would be a wonderful spot to read. Led to a sage-green room, Y/N blushed furiously when Edmund pulled out a chair for her at the round table in the center of the room. There was only one fine porcelain plate set in front of her, along with silver cutlery and crystal glasses. 

“I’ll tell them to send out the food. Please enjoy,” Edmund announced, filling one of Y/N’s glasses with water from a metal pitcher. The butler was gone before she could ask him any questions, but moments later, at least ten staff members were filing into the room. 

Y/N’s eyes immediately bugged out of her head. A vat of creamy scrambled eggs, a platter of toast and pastries with jam and butter, plates of crispy bacon and breakfast potatoes, cinnamon-scented oatmeal, even a board with cheeses and bowls of every kind of fruit one could ever wish to try. Staff arranging everything meticulously, she could only blink as someone poured her a mug of coffee with cream and sugar left on the side, as well as a large glass of orange juice. 

“W-wait, this is… this is all for me?” Y/N hadn’t seen food like that well, ever. Everything looked gourmet and prepped with love and care. She wouldn’t be able to eat everything, but she was going to try her hardest. 

“Yes, Miss. The staff eats before the sun rises,” a young man answered her, setting down a plate stacked with waffles and a gravy boat of syrup. “Meals will be quite large like this until we figure out what your favorite foods are. I hope that’s alright.”

“O-of course,” Y/N felt herself flushing again, swallowing down a mouthful of saliva that was flooding her palate dangerously. “Thank y-you.”

“Enjoy. Call if you would like anything else.”

With that, the staff left her alone in the room, and Y/N didn’t know where to start. She compared the silence of the room to the loud chatter that she would listen to in the Sanctuary’s dining hall. Slowly, she sniffed the steaming coffee in front of her– she had never tasted it. Taking a small sip, she cringed at the bitterness, understanding at once why the bowl of sugar and fresh cream was left beside the mug. Not wanting to waste anything, she stirred cream and sugar into the mug until the drink tasted decent. With eager, shaky hands, Y/N stood with her plate and began to pile food onto it. 

Y/N worked herself around the table. Ignoring the feeling of gluttony, she tried every single thing that was left out for her, her plate stacked so high she snorted at herself when she sat back down. To her embarrassment, she moaned in pleasure when she swallowed her spoonful of eggs– buttery and topped with chives. Urgently, she nibbled on a strip of bacon, the meat hanging out of her mouth as she tore a croissant into pieces. Everything she put into her mouth was the most delicious thing in the world, and she felt like a ravenous bear trying to bulk up for the winter. 

She stopped eating only when her stomach felt it was going to burst, pushing a bowl of peaches and cream away with a grunt. Y/N did try everything, but it looked like she hadn’t even made a dent in the feast. Wiping her face with a fine cloth napkin, she clumsily got to her feet like a milk-drunk baby. Instantly, several staff members swept into the room when she stood to clear the table, Nadia’s familiar face appearing. 

“How was your breakfast, Miss?” 

“I’ve never had such delicious food,” Y/N admitted, absently trailing after her head maid through a door connected to the breakfast room, probably leading her to the pantry. “The chefs here must be very skilled.”

“Master Seokjin insists that we hire the finest chefs in the world. Though he is a vampire, he has culinary interests,” Nadia replied, Y/N finding it hard to walk with how stuffed she was. “Edmund told me you two were going to speak. He’s likely going to give you a formal tour and tell you a few things about the manor, day-to-day routines…”

Y/N turned that over in her mind. The look on Edmund’s face earlier had a sort of graveness to it, which she didn’t think matched up to explaining house rules. Y/N decided to keep her mouth shut, hoping at the very least she’d have her questions answered. Suddenly, they were in a room filled with dark wood shelves holding china and crystal stemware, and when Y/N looked up, there was a loft that held even more shelves and dishes. Edmund was by a table in the center of the room, taking notes. 

“Thank you Nadia. I know you had some errands to run, so I’ll show Miss Y/N around until the masters return,” Edmund looked up from his notepad, Nadia nodding once before turning on her heel to leave the room. 

“Alright, one moment, Miss Y/N…” Edmund said in a chipper tone, moving around the room to shut the doors quickly, which had Y/N suddenly growing nervous– was he trying to soundproof the room, keep the conversation quiet?

“Oh, dear. You do not have to be frightened of me,” Edmund put his hands up when Y/N began to cower in the corner of the room. “I want to offer you information before the vampires return.”

“R-really?” Y/N released the breath she was holding, timidly getting closer to the table Edmund had returned to. He had a grandfatherly look about him, kind and warm. It was not lost on Y/N that he didn’t refer to the vampires as masters.

“It was lucky that they were called away yesterday. I fear you wouldn’t have been prepared had they been here. Now, listen; this is very important. Most of the staff treats the coven like gods. I am the only one in this estate who you can talk about the coven negatively.”

Not a good start, Y/N thought, shivering. 

“Negatively, sir?”

“Child. Looks can be deceiving. I know you that in the hours you’ve been here already you have been treated gently. The coven will not follow suit. They are cruel, heartless creatures. You must do everything in your power to not upset any of them,” Edmund enunciated clearly, Y/N’s heart dropping in her chest. “The powers they possess are extremely dangerous. They do not have emotions like you or I.”

“The way Nadia talked about them… painted a different picture,” Y/N uttered desperately, Edmund looking out the window wistfully. 

“I’ve been with the coven for decades, while they lived in Europe. Nadia has only been around for five years, and she does not deal with the coven as I do. She has not seen what they’re capable of.”

“Are you telling me this because you feel bad for me?” Y/N suddenly became defensive despite her terror, hating when she was pitied in any circumstance. 

“No, child. I want to help you. I want to warn you, before they come back and they size you up,” Edmund shook his head, looking down at the notes he was taking earlier. “You are dealing with four vampires that are very old and disconnected to humanity. The younger three are wild and reckless. It's important to remember this.”

“How old…”

“I’ll tell you a bit about each of them specifically in a moment. My largest piece of advice to you is never directly show the coven you’re afraid of them. Of course, they’ll be able to scent it on you, but do not give away your fear verbally, or you will be backed into a dark corner and toyed with.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N breathed, then dreading the coven’s return to the estate. 

“You asked how old they are. I’ll start with the eldest, who is the most respected vampire in the coven– he has seniority, you see, due to his age and his status. Seokjin is 879 years old, and when he was human, he was a crown prince of a Korean monarch,” Edmund began, using a handkerchief to dab his dewy hairline. “He may appear very calm and unaffected, but he absolutely despises humans. He hardly tolerates the staff, and we know not to bother him unless necessary. Under no circumstance should you lie to him, ever. I’ve seen him kill many staff members and even associates over being deceived. One more thing about Seokjin… the ‘power’ he has. Vampires call it ‘Compulsion’. He has the ability to make telepathic suggestions to others in order to control their thoughts, even wipe memories. He can convince a man to jump to his own death, or forget his happiest memories.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. All of the questions that she had come up with before falling asleep completely fled from her mind, and all she could do was grip onto the wooden table with slick palms. Over 800 years old– Seokjin was ancient, otherworldly, and sounded like a monster. 

“On the other hand, the youngest in the coven, Jeongguk– just 124 years old. He has the gift of Telepathy, so you must learn to control your thoughts around him. If somehow, Seokjin is unable to find out you lied to him, Jeongguk can tear through your thoughts and report it back to him,” Edmund continued, tapping his notepad with his pen. “Quite a few in the coven have much experience with violence. Jeongguk, when he was human, was a bodyguard to Al Capone. When he was turned, he was not only a bodyguard, but he read the minds of enemy gangs to relay back to Capone. He’s strong and lacks empathy, so he kills without mercy.”

“How… will I be able to control my thoughts? He’ll know I’m terrified, he’ll…”

“I can teach you, when they’re away on business. It is difficult, but can be done. Child, let me finish telling you what I know before they’re due back.”

Y/N clammed up, growing more petrified by the second by each word that came out of the butler’s mouth. By the time he had run through the basic personalities of each of the vampires, Y/N had a cloth soaked in cold water pressed to her forehead. For lack of a better word, she was fucked. 

“I’m sorry to tell you all of this,” Edmund said quietly when he was finished, regret flashing over his face. “Just know, you have someone here who is on your side. I’ll do everything I can to protect you from their wrath, or at least train you to handle it. Fortunately, you’re needed by them– while they may be cruel to you, they need you alive in order to sustain themselves.”

“Spectacular,” Y/N wheezed, wishing she didn’t eat so much breakfast. She didn’t want it to make a second appearance. “To think I was going to press you for information. I don’t know if I was better off in the dark or not.”

“Certainly not. You know what to expect this afternoon, somewhat. Keep your guard up, and try to keep your fear in check, and the introduction can go smoothly,” Edmund insisted. “Perhaps… while you wait for their return, you can peruse the library, as Juliana suggested.”

Edmund began to open the doors again, and Y/N understood that meant their conversation was as good as over. 

“Edmund?”

“Yes, child?’

“Won’t they know that you warned me about them? Will you be punished?”

“Don’t worry about me, child. The coven knows how I feel about them, it’s earned me a teaspoon of respect. Besides, no other butler in the world wishes to work for them. Rumors of their behavior, you see,” Edmund placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, smiling faintly. “Come. I’ll give you a brief tour and then escort you to the library.” 

About fifteen minutes later, Y/N was left by herself in the dark, intricate library. Hardly giving the alleged ‘rare’ books collected by Hoseok a glance, she sank down into a chair by the fireplace, staring into the flames blindly. Curiosity killed the cat, and Y/N hardly knew what to do. Every single one of the vampires were murderous, unfeeling monsters with horrifying powers. Powers they’d likely be using on her any moment. 

Y/N didn’t know who she was afraid of the most. Seokjin sounded menacing, Jeongguk dangerous and immoral. The others, she didn’t even know where to start sorting out what she learned. There was Hoseok, Y/N’s eyes shifting to the weathered books on the shelves, who was once a pirate over four hundred years ago, and had the ability to ‘Track’ people by scent. Edmund told her that Hoseok could find anybody without fail and even predict their future moves. He was greedy, fond of drinking, and impulsive. 

She wondered if it was Namjoon she was most afraid of. His power was definitely the worst one: with eye contact and focus, he could inflict pain on others compared to being burned alive, a power called Pain Illusion. Apparently, he was once a Korean military general roughly four hundred years prior, and once turned, he became a sword-for-hire. Edmund told her that he enjoyed the kill, enjoyed watching others suffer, and was second to Seokjin as far as the hierarchy of the coven. Like the elder vampire, Namjoon had a disdain for humanity. Edmund told her to be especially careful around Namjoon, as he was a known sadist. 

Head in her hands, she groaned. Yeah, Namjoon definitely was the scariest. The other three were no daisies, either, but the thought of having to experience what Namjoon’s Pain Illusion felt like was enough to have her heart racing. 

Apparently Taehyung is the most deceiving of the bunch. He had all of the etiquette of a Gilded Age businessman, but Edmund relayed that he was absolutely ruthless when it came to his affairs and could Glamour his appearance. Jimin, a famed playwright of romantic tragedies the same years Jane Austen was active, was notoriously manipulative, hedonistic, and a feared Hypnotist. Finally, the artist, Yoongi– apparently studied under an artist named Leonardo da Vinci, and was secretly known for using his power of Paralysis on his models so he could paint them for hours without interruption. 

That tacky sort of nervous sweat began to roll down the notches of Y/N’s spine. None of the vampires sounded friendly at all. Y/N knew that it would be wishful thinking to expect all of them to be somewhat tame, but she had hoped for at least one that wouldn’t be insane or murderous. Hugging her knees to her chest, Y/N counted her breaths to calm down. Heeding Edmund’s initial advice would be wise; trying to keep her thoughts bland, maintaining aloof confidence. Not bursting into tears, or trying to hide behind Nadia’s skirts. 

Chin resting on her knees, Y/N closed her eyes. She wondered what Meredith and Joseph were up to. In the mornings after breakfast, typically they'd have study and silent prayer in the chapel. Y/N considered herself to be somewhat of an atheist, so usually she’d daydream while on her knees, eyes glazed over. Meredith would let Y/N lean her shoulder on hers, and Joseph would make sure she wouldn’t fall asleep and get punished. Sadness filled her at the thought of her memories. It was likely she’d never get to see Meredith or Joseph ever again. Too busy wallowing, Y/N jolted in her seat when Nadia appeared in front of her, repeating her name several times. 

“Miss, the masters have returned. We must greet them outside,” Nadia offered Y/N a thick winter jacket, Y/N audibly gulping. She’d run out of time. 

Heart thundering in her chest, Y/N shrugged into the maroon felt coat, shuffling after Nadia with resignation. It was like the a monarch was coming, countless members of staff hurriedly heading to the front entrance or flying up the stairs with various linens. Deciding to think of only her friends, Y/N replayed scenes of the two of her closest kin harvesting vegetables in the gardens during the summer months. Reading with Meredith by candlelight in dramatic voices. Horsing around with Joseph in the hallways when they were supposed to be dusting statues. 

Outside, the grounds were clearer to her in the daylight. In the spring, the landscaping was probably breathtaking. Quietly, she stood between Edmund– the head butler, and Nadia– the former giving nothing away regarding their private discussion surrounding the coven. Holding her breath, Y/N watched the large iron gates swing open, the purr of car engines filling the quiet street. 

Biting back a surprised noise, Y/N supposed she shouldn’t have been stunned to see a line of luxury cars pulling into the drive. The first in line was a sleek, vibrant-blue colored sports car, followed by a cushy looking black sedan, two black SUVs, and two more small sports cars– one in cherry red and the other canary yellow. 

No one said a word. Y/N counted the vehicles again– there were only six. Again, she was thinking about the excess of wealth. Would it kill them to share cars? Bouncing on the balls of her feet, the blue sports car’s doors opened first– upward, like a spaceship. In succession, the rest of the roaring engines cut off and Y/N stared blankly at the carport’s carved stone ceiling to put off matching names to faces. She hadn’t even considered how old they looked physically, were they middle aged– Christ forbid, were they teenagers? 

“Master Seokjin. I trust everything went well?” Edmund bowed deeply, Y/N urgently copying the movement when the butler glanced at her from the corner of his eye. 

“Who’s this little girl?” Seokjin ignored Edmund’s question, Y/N’s eyes on the highly polished loafers that were just in front of her. 

Y/N finally straightened up to take a look at the vampire in front of her, and all of the oxygen was sucked out of her lungs when the most beautiful face she had ever seen was studying her right back. He appeared to physically be in his early thirties, but the faraway look in his eyes gave away his true ancient age.

Tall, broad, and dressed in an expensive looking suit, the dark-haired vampire had his full mouth twisted into disapproval. With his short, choppy bangs, they gave a perfect view to sculpted eyebrows, a pallor to his flawless skin, and of course, the red eyes narrowing while he waited for an answer. Y/N felt like she had to look away, so her eyes slid from Seokjin’s statuesque face to the second figure disembarking from the blue sports car, the passenger. 

“This is Acolyte Y/N, from the local Sanctuary. The AB- donor. She arrived last night,” Edmund bowed again, this time at the second vampire storming up the steps to the front door.

“Take this upstairs, Nadia,” the second vampire, again, an exceedingly gorgeous man, barked. While his voice was rich and smooth like silk, he curled his nose up in a snarl when he spotted Y/N beside her head maid. 

“Yes, Master Namjoon,” Nadia grunted when a briefcase was shoved into her chest, Namjoon scoffing once at Y/N before disappearing into the mansion. Three things Y/N noticed about him: the skinny Asian-style sword strapped to his massive back, the thick leather gloves on his hands, and the air of total hatred coming off of him in waves. 

“Didn’t think she’d be such a… scrap of a thing,” Seokjin sounded bored, almost disappointed she wouldn’t put up a strong fight. 

“The Sanctuary diets aren’t particularly nutritious. She’ll gain more muscle and mass after a few weeks with our great chefs,” Edmund reassured the eldest vampire, whom Y/N wished would stop staring at her and simply go inside. 

“Make sure she’s present for dinner,” Seokjin drawled, lifting an eyebrow at Y/N. Was… she for dinner? “I have calls to make. Tell the chefs twelve courses tonight, rich food. The little girl needs more meat on her bones to be of actual use.”

With that, Seokjin brushed past the butler, Y/N’s head already spinning. Next thing she knew, there were three more vampires stalking towards her and Edmund, Y/N wondering which one was the one that could read her uneasy thoughts. 

“Oh? A little dove!” A borderline childish voice is what caught her attention first, wicked delight coloring his tone. 

If his eyes weren’t so frightening, the grin stretching across the vampire’s face could have been on the cover of a magazine. He flicked his overgrown black bangs out of his face, biting down on his plump lower lip with a sharpened fang. Contrary to the chilly weather, all he wore was a loosely buttoned, thin white shirt, revealing a large strip of his pale bare chest. 

“Jimin, don’t get carried away like last time. You’re always breaking your toys,” One of the others, leaning against a stone column, picked his nails while tsking. That particular vampire wouldn’t even spare her a glance, his wavy dark hair curtaining his face. While his body was lean, hands were extremely weathered compared to the rest of his smooth, pushing-30-years-old complexion. 

Knees wobbling from that remark, the third vampire, who was eyeing every inch of her thoughtfully, noticed the movement with a slight smirk and a narrowing of his feline-like eyes. 

“Aw, that wasn’t my fault, Hoseok. Don’t listen to him, little dove! We’re going to have fun together,” Jimin, evidently, pouted, but the effect didn’t soothe her when she saw a psychotic glint reflected in his irises. “Ugh, I hate traveling. I hope there’s wine in my room…” 

Jimin winked at her as he slunk inside. Rolling his eyes, Hoseok, the most casually dressed so far in a simple dark turtleneck, trailed after, Y/N noticing how sharply cut his jawline was and the geometrically perfect way his nose turned up into the air. 

“Master Yoongi, is there anything I can get for you before you resume painting?” Edmund cleared his throat, the long-haired vampire finally stopped smirking at Y/N, shaking his head silently. As soon as Yoongi stopped looking at her, she felt like she could breathe again, her fingertips twitching. “We’ve purchased fresh oil paints, as per your request.”

Wordessly, Yoongi was in her presence at once, and the next, with a blur, he was gone. 

“Vampiric speed,” Edmund murmured, Y/N swallowing thickly. She had forgotten that not only did they have individual powers, but they had strength and speed, as well. Only two more to go– Taehyung and the mind reader, Jeongguk. “You’re doing well.”

The driver of the second car that had pulled into the driveway, the black sedan, finally cut the engine. The second SUV, the first of which belonged to Hoseok, had long since been turned off but no one emerged from it. 

“Master Taehyung typically likes to take a walk around the grounds after returning from business. Here, however, is Master Jeongguk,” Edmund schooled his features, him and Y/N robotically bowing at the final vampire she was to greet. The mind reader. 

“Hello,” Y/N blurted impulsively, much to her chagrin. The youngest vampire appeared to be around her age, perhaps a year or two older, and besides his ghostly complexion and red eyes, Jeongguk looked remarkably like a human man– perhaps like Joseph, but far more muscular. 

“Edmund, I’m assuming this human is the AB- acolyte?” Jeongguk completely ignored Y/N, which had humiliation pulsing through her body painfully. “Let’s see, you. Look at me.”

Y/N froze, Jeongguk stooping to make his face completely level with Y/N’s. Suddenly, the grip she thought she had on her thoughts melted away into nothing, and she got lost in the doelike quality of the youngest vampire’s eyes. 

“Typical, Edmund. Warning her about us? All you did was terrify her,” Jeongguk murmured, his youthful voice but a coo. Y/N knew not to trust it, especially when his chilled index finger jabbed into her cheek. “Who’s Joseph, AB-? A lover from the Sanctuary?”

Y/N’s tongue turned to stone in her mouth. Like his covenmates, Jeongguk was extremely handsome, but taunted her coldly. Luckily, she had motor function, shaking her head in the slightest. Tongue probing into the meat of his cheek, Jeongguk stood to his full height, the dark brown trench coat he was wearing hiding just how truly large he was. 

“You’re fortunate you’re the only butler available to us. Your head would be on a pike, if it were up to me,” Jeongguk, in a mild tone, addressed Edmund, who simply looked at the vampire placidly. 

“Yes, sir,” Edmund took a leather bag from the vampire, Y/N unable to believe how easy it was for Jeongguk to enter her mind– her memories pulled from her mind to his in hazy flashes that had her skull throbbing. 

“Y/N,” she flinched when Jeongguk addressed her by name, whipping her head around to watch him stalk up the stairs behind her, wearing a murderous smirk. “Wear something pretty to dinner, alright?”

Acid began to crawl up her throat, and when Jeongguk disappeared in almost a mist, Edmund placed a grandfatherly-like hand on her upper arm. 

“Relax now, Y/N. You did well. Very well. You won’t see any of them until dinner. Returning to your bedroom for now would be wise, Nadia will help prepare you for the meal,” Edmund whispered, gripping Jeongguk’s bag in one of his hands. “Head in, child. You’ve been in the cold long enough. Soak up the warmth, while you can.”

It was a miracle that Y/N didn’t make deep dents in the carpet of her bedroom as she paced back and forth. Escorted to her room after meeting six out of the seven vampires, Y/N was left to her own devices that afternoon. Nadia had left her a stack of books to entertain herself before dinner, Y/N thinking that she’d rather swallow shattered glass than sit at a table with the monsters. 

Halting, Y/N stood in front of one of the windows, hands coming up to brace herself on the windowsill. The ocean was choppy thanks to a biting wind blowing in from the North, the color of it almost black. Was it too late for her to jump off of the cliff? If she made a run for it, would anyone catch her before she could fall to her merciful death?

Eyes glazed over, her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms. Suddenly and inexplicably, the hair on the back of her neck stood up, like a cold draft of air swept through the room. Ears picking up movement, Y/N spun around, a startled yelp coming from her mouth at the sight of the figure at her door. One of the vampires actually sought her out, lazily trailing his crimson eyes up and down her form. Tripping backwards, Y/N’s back was pressed into the icy windowpane. The vampire boldly stepping into the light, Y/N realized who it was before he even opened his mouth.

“Be careful, little dove. It would be a shame if you fell through the glass and cracked that skull of yours open before we even had a chance to play,” Jimin teased, though the taunt was far from an innocent jest. 

“W-wha–”

“I said, careful. Think about how to speak to me before you stutter out something disrespectful,” Jimin sneered, crossing the room in a split second. Flinching, his face was mere inches from hers, his skin so pale it was almost translucent. His eyes, while certainly red, were sort of a dulled tone, and there was nothing good-natured about his expression at all. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, voice cracking. Jimin seemed to accept the apology, tsking and backing up a degree. Y/N forced herself to remain calm, the vampire pushing up the sleeves to his blouse. His chest was even more exposed than it was before, his muscles seemingly carved from white marble.

“That’s better, dove,” Jimin hummed, falsely sweet. “You can’t wear those rags to dinner. Juliana!”

Jimin’s voice was sing-songy, the vampire putting his hands on his hips and tapping his foot impatiently. Swallowing with great unease, Y/N’s palms were slick as she held onto the windowsill. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps flooded into the room, Y/N’s fright easing a degree when Juliana and several other maids joined her and the vampire in the bedroom. At once, Y/N’s eyes went owlishly wide, each of the maids carrying brightly colored gowns, stacks of velvet boxes, and more pairs of shoes than she could count. 

“The latest fashions… Chanel and Dior, Cartier jewelry. Fashion design has come a long way these last few centuries– not bad for a bunch of humans,” Jimin seemed like he was talking to himself, plucking a heavy looking necklace up from the open case Juliana was holding. Y/N still couldn’t get over the childlike lilt to his voice, paired with the unsettling confidence he carried, cautiously returning eye-contact when he sauntered towards her. 

“Dressing your new doll, Jimin?” Hoseok appeared in the doorway, Jimin still entirely focused on getting Y/N pinned to the window. The older vampire had a bottle of liquor in his grasp, an amused smirk on his face. Y/N felt ill. 

“Rubies suit her, don’t you think, Hoseok?” Jimin bit down on his lip with a fang, like he did earlier. Then, his voice took on a silky tone, an index finger curling in her direction. “Come here, dove.”

Y/N didn’t want to comply, but after nearly a heartbeat, everything in her body was telling her that it was okay, more than okay, to get close to Jimin. She wanted to, needed him, it felt like she could hardly breathe. In a darkened corner of her mind, Y/N’s rational self realized Jimin was using Hypnosis on her, and there was nothing she could do to resist his his call. Moving on autopilot, Y/N almost stumbled over her feet to close the distance between herself and the vampire. 

With a satisfied, wicked grin, Jimin tilted his head, looking down at her through his dark lashes. Spellbound by his presence– how had Y/N gone her entire life without him? Unprompted, she gathered her hair up and held it over her shoulder, exposing her bare neck to the vampire. Excitement flashed through her when Jimin licked his lips, and when his chilly fingers traced along a fluttering vein by the base of her throat, Y/N squirmed in delight. So removed from herself, as if in a trance, she obediently stayed still as Jimin clasped the necklace around her throat. Past the haze, she could hear an amused snort coming from Hoseok watching by the doorframe. 

“Isn’t that nice?” Jimin hummed, adjusting the jewelry so it sat perfectly on her clavicle. Boldly, he tugged at the neckline of her sweater, exposing more of her skin, the strength in his touch stretching out the flimsy wool with ease. 

“Very obedient, pet. Juliana, get her ready for dinner,” Hoseok snarked, taking a swig from his liquor. 

Slowly, like roots of a tree pulling up from the earth, the influence Jimin had over her mind and body untangled from her being with a deep ache. Different from the throbbing, disorienting pain that filled her brain when Jeongguk infiltrated her thoughts, Jimin’s affect gripped her entire being as if her bone marrow was bruising. With a whimper, Y/N staggered to the side, Juliana promptly righting her by one of her arms. Jimin had used his vampiric speed to join Hoseok at the door, winking at Y/N trying to catch her breath. 

“Here, Katie. Make the human a pre-dinner cocktail. She looks like she’s going to suffer from a paranoid break. I abhor hysterics,” Hoseok loudly placed his glass bottle of booze on one of Y/N’s nightstands, addressing an older woman who was holding several silky dresses in her arms. 

With that, the two vampires shut the door behind themselves, the sounds of their expensive shoes marching down the hallway, leaving Y/N to figure out what just happened. The necklace around her throat felt like a ten-pound weight, and if the room wasn’t full of maids who acted like nothing happened, she would have ripped it off and pelted it at the bedroom door. Noise buzzing around her, rustling of skirts, the only thing that kept her on her feet was Juliana’s arm slung around her lower back. 

“Alright, Miss, let’s get started on your bath,” Juliana said airily, Y/N feeling a single tear slip down her cheek, which she hurriedly swept away with her sweater sleeve before anyone caught it. “I have the most lovely hairstyle in mind for you. Master Jimin seemed to like that necklace on you, so we’ll pick something red to go with it.”

Y/N was astonished. Juliana was in the room when that whole interaction happened, was she not? Did she not see how Jimin hypnotized her, and was she not disturbed by it? Perhaps it was something only Y/N and the two vampires could sense happening, but Y/N had never felt more vulnerable and alone. Hollowly, she let Juliana herd her into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat, she wasn’t fully listening to the maid, tracing her fingers over the polished stones around her neck. 

“The chefs have been working so hard today on the meal, it’s going to be wonderful, Miss Y/N! I helped the executive chef select ingredients at the finest market in town,” Juliana tested the water coming from the bathtub’s tap, pouring various vials into the water. “I picked up some moisturizing rose oils, bubbles, and powdered milk for the bath. I even managed to find dried flowers, which is rare for this time of year. Come, I’ll wash your hair for you.”

“H-huh?” Y/N squeaked, not wanting to strip her clothes off in front of somebody else. 

“It’s quite alright, Miss. We’re your personal maids, there is no reason to be bashful,” Juliana insisted, keeping her eyes low, but helping Y/N to her feet. Too afraid to protest, Y/N stood statue-still as the maid carefully removed the necklace Jimin put on her and handed it off to another nameless maid. “Have you ever heard of a spa day? Think of it as that!”

“Spa day?” Y/N repeated stupidly, blushing furiously when she was left in just her brassier and the scrap they called underwear. Juliana turned, allowing Y/N to remove her undergarments and get into the mass of perfumed bubbles piling up in the tub. “Never heard of that… is that a holiday?”

“No, Miss,” Juliana giggled, her cheeks pink with merriment. “You’ll just enjoy some beauty treatments. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to do things like this, so you’ll have to forgive us if we go overboard with spoiling you.”

Dumbfounded was the only word for how Y/N felt. At that point, she was going to get whiplash from being treated like a princess by the staff at one moment, and like a toy by the vampires the next. Bitterly, Y/N came up with the hypothesis that the reasons she was getting ‘spoiled’ was either out of pity, or that the vampires wanted their toy shiny and flawless. Katie, the older maid from before, appeared with a crystal glass filled with some kind of bubbling liquid, a slice of a blood-red orange floating amongst real ice cubes.

“As per Master Hoseok’s request, Miss. It’s a blood orange rum sour, his favorite,” Katie slightly bowed, a wisp of gray hair falling from her low bun. Alarm bells went off in Y/N’s head. 

“Blood?” 

“It simply refers to the color and variety of the citrus, dear. Not actual blood,” Katie’s mouth twitched, like she was trying not to laugh. Y/N took a sniff of the drink, recoiling slightly at the burn in her nostrils. She knew it was alcohol– something she never tried before. 

“Alcohol isn’t allowed at the Sanctuary. They tell us it’s bad for acolytes,” Y/N felt like a lamb going up for slaughter, unsure and anxious. Warm water was being poured down her back from a cup, where Juliana was slowly soaking the strands of her hair to wash, and it made her shiver. 

“Well, dear, you’re here now. You may drink as much as you or the Masters deem suitable,” Katie bowed again, whisking away back into Y/N’s bedroom to select her dinner outfit. 

If she knew anything about alcohol, it was that it had the ability to steel one’s nerves. Which was something she desperately needed- so bravely, her eyes fluttered shut and she took a hearty swig of the cocktail. The first thing that washed over her palate was bright, juicy citrus, but when she swallowed, the burn of alcohol made the contents of her stomach sting. Grimacing, she willed herself to drain the glass, wondering when she’d feel the effects. Gut boiling, she kept her eyes shut as Juliana worked shampoo into her hair. 

“You have such pretty hair, Miss Y/N,” Juliana complimented, Y/N’s cheeks hot– not just from the compliment. A haze, a pleasant one, had her humming. Was it the way Juliana was massaging her temples, or was it the booze flooding through her system? “Anything else we can get you? Another drink?”

“Okay?” Y/N replied, just a tad bit more comfortable with asking for things. Juliana called out for Katie while she rinsed Y/N’s hair, the warm water making her sigh. 

And when she had another drink in her hand, Juliana wrapping a hot towel around her conditioned hair and a third nameless maid using a sandy scrub to slough off flakiness from her years-neglected skin, Y/N started to feel giddy. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad– being pampered sure was nice, and Y/N had always been strong-willed. Edmund was right, earlier; the vampires needed her alive, so they wouldn’t dare kill her. To Y/N’s knowledge, there wasn’t another human in the nearest Sanctuaries with blood as rare as hers. 

It was like she could feel her backbone growing, only peeling one of her eyes open when something odd was gliding up her legs. Cocking her eyebrow curiously, she watched the third maid– Mei– use a razor to shave downy hair from her legs. Strange. 

When she was sufficiently scrubbed, shaved, and presented with oil and lotion to apply, Y/N was left in the bathroom to dry off and slide into a terry cloth robe. Wobbling a little when she got out of the tub, Y/N giggled as she slathered herself with a floral scented lotion, her legs foreignly baby-soft. The cocktails were certainly doing their job, Y/N pinching her cheeks in the mirror and fixing a determined look on her face.

She was always the brave one amongst herself, Meredith, and Joseph. Why should she dissolve into a puddle of helplessness and meek responses? Even though she was being made over into a perfect angel for a group of demons, she held significant power. She didn’t need the coven to survive, but they did. 

With renewed courage, Y/N returned to her bedroom. That time, only Nadia and Juliana remained, both of them waiting for her by the old vanity that was littered with appliances, jewelry, and cosmetics. The sun was starting to set, making the sky a burnt orange over the silver ocean.

“How’re you feeling?” Nadia smiled at her through the mirror when Y/N sunk down onto the stool, Y/N returning the expression. She thought that might have been the first time she smiled in the previous 24 hours. 

“Relaxed,” Y/N answered honestly, sitting still while Nadia worked a silky product through her hair. Juliana, however, began selecting various powders and tubes and comparing them to Y/N’s complexion with a concentrated pout. 

“Fantastic! I’m pleased to hear,” Nadia seemed to glow, like it was her life’s duty to pamper and please Y/N. 

Lapsing into silence, Y/N stared at her reflection while Juliana began to dust her face with powder, and Nadia fired up a device that seemed to dry her hair. Buzzed, she watched the two maids make her up into a princess that Y/N used to read about with Meredith, her unruly hair manipulated into a pretty style, shimmering ruby gloss being painted across her lips. 

Once the ‘hair dryer’ was switched off, Y/N dared to ask a question that popped into her mind when she got to the bottom of her second cocktail in the bath. Rolling back her shoulders, she got Nadia’s attention while she was sliding a sparkly hair clip into Y/N’s hair. When the query left her lips, both of her maids' expressions went from merry to grim– which wasn’t encouraging.

“Nadia, what happened to the coven’s previous donor?” 

“Where is the human sitting?” Yoongi crossed his arms over his chest, a dull ache all over his body. It had been too long since he had fed on human blood, and his immortal body was feeling the deprivation. “Might I suggest… not next to Jimin?”

“Why, do you want that little girl at your side instead?” Seokjin hardly looked up from the documents he was signing, already seated at the head of the dining room table. “You’re not the greedy type, Yoongi. Leave that to Hoseok.”

Yoongi curled up his lip into a snarl, but would not offer a retort to the elder vampire. Really, the only one who had the balls and Seokjin’s grace to allow challenging was Namjoon. With a sigh, Yoongi took his usual seat, his fangs aching. Since they returned to the estate, the scent of AB- blood intensified Yoongi’s longing to have a taste of that sample the coven received earlier in the week. Idly, he traced the veins on the back of his hand– usually pale blue, but with the lack of blood flowing through his system, they were nearly dark gray. 

“Which documents are those?”

“From the UN. They want us to sit in on an Assembly in December,” Seokjin sounded terribly bored, mostly because he was to death. Another human war he’d have to offer expertise on, expertise that would probably be ignored. After all, Seokjin and his covenmates were really only invited out of fear. 

“What a pain in the ass,” Hoseok arrived at the table, collapsing onto the seat beside Yoongi. Kicking his feet up on the polished table, narrowly missing the china that was set there, Seokjin’s pen-scratching stopped. “I hate New York City. Filthy place. Should have burned it down when I still had my ship.”

“Was New York even established when you still had a ship, Captain Morgan?” Seokjin snarked, staring once pointedly at the bottle of rum in Hoseok’s hand, and then at his boots on the table. “Put your feet down, now.”

Hoseok rolled his rust-colored eyes but obeyed, knowing not to anger Seokjin unless he wanted Namjoon to use his ‘gift’ on him. Taking a swig of the rum, Hoseok frowned– the longer he went without human blood, the duller his taste buds got. He only tasted a flat note of cinnamon, not even the sting of the liquor. Hopefully, he’d get a taste of the mousy acolyte that night. 

Snapping his fingers sharply, a staff member appeared out of the shadows to take the signed documents from Seokjin. With mild annoyance, he checked his watch for the time; he told Nadia, the human’s maid, to have the girl at the dinner table at 8 PM sharp. Nadia still had ten minutes before her life was in danger. Seokjin couldn’t stand humans who couldn’t follow simple directions. 

“Is twelve courses really necessary? We’ll be here for hours,” Hoseok complained, mostly because he’d have to hear the chefs drone on and on about the ingredients of each dish and the beverage pairing that went with it. 

“You saw how pathetically frail that human was. If she is to serve us, she needs to gain weight,” Namjoon thundered into the room, his tread heavy and confident. He sat closest to Seokjin, on the left, his expression made of stone. Again, Hoseok rolled his eyes. 

“I agree. With just a few gulps, I could drain the little dove dry,” a melodious voice joined the conversation, Jimin giggling when he sunk into his chair just across from Namjoon. Annoyed with the buttons on his shirt, Jimin tugged the last one free, letting both sides of the garment hang loose. 

Namjoon set his jaw in warning, already bracing himself for how insufferable Jimin would become with the arrival of the girl. Namjoon thought it was beneath him to interact with humans unless necessary, while Jimin preferred to see just how far he could push them. Jimin simply grinned back at Namjoon, slow and seductive, a muscle pulsing in the elder vampire’s cheek. 

“Control yourself, Jimin. You’re on thin ice,” Seokjin leaned back in his chair, his voice airy and high. His voice had even forced Namjoon somewhat stiff. “Taehyung, have you contacted Berwind?”

The owner of the estate the coven currently called home made his entrance, still in his tweed suit from earlier. Taehyung looked exactly like he did in the portrait of himself hanging above the grand staircase. It’s like time, for Taehyung, stopped in 1869. 

“Wait, why?” Hoseok straightened up, with distaste on his face when Taehyung took the opposite head of the table– across from Seokjin. “That guy is a blowhard.”

“Well, the blowhard might be our newest partner for marine affairs. You want a new ship, do you not?” Taehyung pointed out blandly, rubbing the grayish veins over his temples. “We’re going to have to host a party soon. He won’t agree to anything unless we get a selection of acolytes and fine wine.”

“She has five more minutes…” Seokjin murmured to himself, secretly wishing Nadia would give him an excuse to blow off steam. “Where is Jeongguk?”

“Hyung,” Namjoon cleared his throat to get Seokjin’s attention, pointing to the door leading into the butler’s pantry. 

Jeongguk emerged, his hands shoved into his pockets as a very sheepish looking set of sous chefs followed him with silver trays. 

“I don’t know why they expected us to eat food when the lack of blood has stolen our sense of taste,” Jeongguk drawled, a chef shakily placing a cordial glass in front of Seokjin. 

It contained the remainder of the AB- sample, the acolyte’s blood. The glass was hardly on the table before Yoongi snatched it up, draining it in one go. Anything to relieve the ache. Even after five hundred years, Yoongi could never get used to the feeling of being starved. 

“So sorry, Masters,” one of the chefs bowed, Namjoon’s eyes narrowing. Normally, he would have broken a limb for the forgetfulness, but he didn’t have it in him that evening. “Hors d'oeuvres will be out momentarily.”

Jeongguk scoffed, glancing curiously when Seokjin started tutting as the youngest vampire began to take his usual spot beside Namjoon. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Leave a space between you and Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin ordered firmly. “The human will sit between you two, lest she decide to flee the table, you two will be able to restrain her swiftly.”

Jimin pouted, his lips stained with the blood he sipped from his cordial glass. Seokjin was about to get up to deal with Nadia failing to follow his order when every vampire in the room paused, clumsy footsteps hurrying in the direction of the dining room. Covered poorly by expensive perfume was the scent of unease, alcohol, and mortal vitality. 

“Cutting it close, Nadia,” Seokjin purred, the maid blushing as she ushered the young acolyte into the dining room. 

The girl, dressed in a velvet ruby cocktail dress, fidgeted with the short hem of the garment while gawking at the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Her racing pulse was audible and visible; veins fluttering at the base of her throat. 

“I apologize, Master Seokjin. I’m afraid Juliana and I got carried away with dressing Miss Y/N for dinner. It has been a while,” Nadia bowed, the human acolyte flinching when Jimin was abruptly at her side. “Please, enjoy dinner. I’ll take my leave, now.”

“Oh, our little dove! You’re in the Mugler dress, your maids chose so well…. Matches the rubies perfectly,” Jimin cooed while poking the choker around her neck, the rest of the vampires knowing that there was nothing sweet about Jimin’s approval. Jimin, despite the raised brow from Seokjin that was directed towards him, took up one of Y/N’s trembling hands, dragging her further into the room. 

“Thank you,” Y/N breathed, intimidated and sounding like she was far from flattered. Jimin delighted in the way her body completely locked up with his touch, her palm slick with perspiration. 

Stumbling in her heels, Y/N had no choice but to be escorted to the table by Jimin, her large eyes widening when she realized who she was to be seated between. Pulling out her chair like a perfect gentleman, Y/N snatched her hand back as soon as she tumbled onto the velvet cushion. Jimin didn’t seem to care, simply smirking, stalking back to his own place at the table. There was a pause, Y/N glancing around the room at both the fine decorations and the vampires, fingers still twitching at her dress hemline. It was likely she hadn’t worn something so revealing before. 

Y/N blinked when her sight landed on one of the heads of the table, the vampire in the portrait on the staircase staring back at her blankly. He looked precisely like he had in the painting, down to the light-colored suit. Sure, his face was a bit more drawn and he was much paler, but it was almost like he stepped out of the canvas like a realm-walker.

Nervously, she peeked to the left, where Namjoon was, the vampire taking a sip of a red liquid from a small glass, his leather gloves still on his large hands. He caught her gaze from the corner of his sharpened eyes, Y/N knowing at once what he was drinking– far too viscous to be wine, too red, it had to be blood. Whose blood it was, exactly, Y/N hoped she’d never know. 

“It’s yours, of course, remnants of the sample. Humans are so dim,” Jeongguk easily read her thoughts, not even having to put in effort to enter her mind. Even with the lack of effort, he could tell Y/N was uncomfortable with him probing around in her skull, the girl wincing and rubbing her forehead. 

“Do not sap her of energy yet, Jeongguk. She must eat so she can be useful,” Seokjin sighed, still tasting her on his tongue. Though she was malnourished, her blood was still the finest he had tasted in centuries. 

“What were they feeding you at that sanctimonious dump, pet?” Hoseok, still lazily slouching, drawled. Y/N hesitated, not knowing whether or not to reply, making Hoseok grow impatient. “Speak when spoken to. Articulate.”

“U-uh, um… organ meats, mostly. Lentils and kale,” Y/N squeaked, her complexion a touch green. 

“Poor little dove. How repulsive,” Jimin pouted, the expression teasing. 

Y/N opened her mouth, fidgeting in her seat, Taehyung watching her mortal movements with fascination– they could never quite sit still. Before she could speak again, squirming under the weight of seven ruby gazes, staff members dressed in suits and white gloves came from the butler’s pantry carrying dishes. One of the staff members was carrying a silver ice-bucket with a bottle of wine, Y/N eagerly waiting for more alcohol to take the edge off. Whatever she had earlier had long since worn off. 

“Good evening, Masters, Miss Y/N,” a man in a chef’s uniform began, standing beside Seokjin at the head of the table. “Tonight’s hors d'oeuvres is oysters rockefeller with Sambuca and garlic-buttered sautéed spinach, paired with Clos des Bouquinardieres Muscadet. Please enjoy.”

Jeongguk laughed when he read Y/N’s mind trying to wrap around unfamiliar words. Rubbing her forehead again, she stared at the odd thing placed in front of her. As someone poured wine for her– to her disappointment, only about an inch of liquid splashing into the glass– she was immensely curious about the seashell placed delicately on a tiny plate, containing something breaded within. 

“Never had seafood before?” Hoseok raised a dark eyebrow, ignoring the oyster and going straight for his wine. 

“This is seafood?” Y/N blurted, Jimin finding her innocence quite entertaining. She was like a young girl he’d write as his heroine in one of his tragedies. Hoseok, however, glared at Y/N’s failure to answer his question. “I’ve just had t-tuna before… M-master Hoseok.”

“Master! Look at that, the pet is already learning her place,” Hoseok’s laugh was boisterous, bouncing off of the great walls, a thin whimper leaving from the back of Y/N’s throat. Namjoon had heard whimpers like that millions of times: pure, involuntary fear. It made him smile behind the rim of his wine glass. 

“Enough. Eat,” Seokjin’s voice was a hiss, plucking up the small fork specifically for shellfish. “Yoongi. I want you to get in touch with some artists in Italy. We’ll invite them here when we host Berwind, you know how much he loves being in the company of talent.”

Yoongi chewed the oyster thoroughly, relieved that he could actually taste the flavor after just a small sip of the acolyte’s blood. All of the painters Yoongi once knew, the ones he actually wished could be present during a party, were long since dead and gone. He’d have to write to modern artists, who would be frothing at the mouth for an opportunity to meet Yoongi. What a bore. 

“I’ve seen Gianluca Traina, his work isn’t half-bad. I can reach out to him and Agostino Iacurci,” Yoongi leaned back, letting a staff member take his plate. His hands itched to paint, loathing that he’d have to sit through eleven more courses. In particular, as he watched the young human girl cautiously raise a fork to her mouth, he wanted to capture how she looked when she tasted a flavor brand-new to her. “They’re no Boticelli or Michelangelo, though.”

“Too bad your mentor wasn’t turned,” Namjoon spoke up, though Yoongi knew Namjoon really didn’t care one way or the other. 

“Da Vinci would have hated the modern age,” Yoongi muttered nonchalantly, Namjoon scoffing at the name-drop. Not that the human would have known who the artist was, Namjoon confirming that she had no idea who Leonardo da Vinci was when she peered at Yoongi vacantly, draining her wine glass with a shaky grip. 

Y/N felt the wine burning in her stomach, stuck between relieved that she was being ignored for the moment and filled with anticipation for the next time the attention would be on her. 

“Next we have the amuse-bouche. Pickled baby beets with herbed goat cheese, candied kumquats and basil chiffon. With it we have Sancerre.”

The chef reappeared, the next small plate and glass of wine placed before Y/N. The food, so far, were like works of art, and Y/N almost felt bad eating it. Especially when she thought about the bland, mushy pile of goo her fellow acolytes at the Sanctuary were picking at while she ate like a queen. 

Mercifully, all the vampires talked about for quite some time was the event they were planning for the following week, and they left Y/N alone. Her guard was not coming down any time soon, so she stayed quiet as a mouse through each course. 

Acorn squash soup garnished with pepitas, purple radish microgreens and sage oil with prosecco. Native lobster, roasted heritage carrots, carrot puree, buttermilk puree, spiced crumb and chardonnay. Kale and brussels sprout salad with maple-candied pecans, honeycrisp apples, pomegranate and lemon vinaigrette with sauvignon blanc. Ingredients, flavors, and textures Y/N never even dreamed of before. By the time she stuffed the last slice of apple from her salad into her mouth, Y/N was already feeling quite satiated, and the wine was dizzying up her head. Or perhaps it was Jeongguk still fishing though her mind. 

“Seven more courses, human. Don’t think you can leave this table before then,” Jeongguk reminded her mildly, her suspicions confirmed. Thankfully, she caught herself before she could grumble at him. 

“Tell me, little girl. Did you spend your entire life in that Sanctuary?” Seokjin asked, curious about how much she knew about vampires. That, and he was concerned about her purity; though judging by her innocence, he didn’t predict that to be too much of a problem. 

“No, Master Seokjin,” Y/N replied, apprehensive towards a round of questioning. 

“Elaborate.”

Swallowing, Y/N glanced down at the fish that was just delivered to her, stomach turning. She found it hard to look at any of the vampires for too long, but Seokjin’s face was so hauntingly beautiful, it hurt to look at. 

“I was brought to the Sanctuary ten years ago, when I was fifteen. I grew up on the outskirts of town and was raised by my grandmother. When she passed away, I drifted until I was caught by wardens who were testing human’s blood types on the street.”

“I’ve noticed those vans around town. Wardens drive them around looking for new acolytes,” Jeongguk remarked helpfully, when Hoseok looked distantly confused. 

“You have the rarest blood type in the world. How is it that you were not immediately sent to a Sanctuary upon your birth? It is the law,” Seokjin was frowning, extremely annoyed. Fifteen years of alluding a system set up so meticulously led him to believe she’d be wayward. 

“I was born off of the grid, not in a hospital. My grandmother faked my blood results later on, when we were visited by Sanctuary wardens,” Y/N spoke softly, too afraid to raise her voice. She didn’t like the sharpened edge to Seokjin’s tone. 

“I don’t understand how an elderly woman could have pulled that off,” Hoseok said, his mouth flattened into a line. “What happened to your parents, pet?”

Y/N flinched, reluctant to give up a vulnerability to the predators. She knew she wouldn’t be able to conceal her thoughts, however, with Jeongguk still prying into her head. With the fish cleared away, a roasted chicken was put in front of her– this time, with a glass of red wine. Before answering Hoseok, she sucked down the velvety liquid. 

“My mother died in childbirth, I never knew her. Apparently my father was just a fling, I didn’t know him, either. It was just me and grandma,” Y/N pushed a strand of pasta around on her plate, doodling shapes with the tip of her fork in the creamy sauce. 

“The little dove is an orphan. How tragic,” Jimin’s excitement was paramount. There was nothing he loved more than a heroine with an ill–fated past. Y/N was disturbed by the twinkle in his eyes, barely able to finish the rest of her chicken. 

“Um, it’s alright. You can’t really miss what you never knew,” Y/N spoke impulsively, like she was talking to Joseph or Meredith rather than seven vampires who were effectively perfect, lethal strangers. 

“Adorable,” Jimin gushed, licking his lips. Yoongi, beside Jimin, pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated with Jimin’s theatrics. It came naturally to Jimin, being a writer of dramas and screenplays, so Yoongi couldn’t actually fault him for it, but it was dreadful to withstand. 

Blood rushed to Y/N’s face, the three youngest vampires in the dining room becoming coiled and ready to pounce. Seokjin simply held up his hand disinterestedly, a silent order for the fledglings to get control of themselves.

“Oh! What’s this?” Y/N had become incredibly loosened up thanks to the seven various wines she tasted over the course of the evening, cocking her head at the small silver dish placed in front of her. 

“Miss, it’s a lime sorbet with mint to cleanse the palate before the second main course,” A staff member poured a bubbly wine into a skinny flute for her, presenting a miniature spoon for Y/N to use.

“Sor-bet…” Y/N repeated slowly, scooping up some of the treat, the iciness washing over her tongue bizarre and making her audibly exclaim. A frozen sweet wasn’t something she was able to have at the Sanctuary, and it brought a tear to her eye. 

“They brought out the Dom Perignon, what do they think, we have the Pope here?” Hoseok lifted his champagne flute to his face, watching the bubbles dance in the glass. 

“Is it expensive?” Y/N dared to ask, a distant part of her screaming to shut up. Hoseok’s expression darkened when she addressed him, so she instantly corrected herself. “Master Hoseok.”

“Taehyung will only drink expensive wines. That champagne you so hastily gulped down is the most expensive vintage wine that money can buy, pet,” Hoseok smirked, Y/N becoming embarrassed that she did, in fact, knock the drink back.

“You paint me as a snob,” Taehyung frowned, earning a dry chuckle from Jeongguk. 

“Take a look around this place, for Christ’s sake. Of course you’re a snob,” Jeongguk remarked, gesturing around the lavish dining room they were seated in.

Y/N was positively stuffed. In fact, she clasped a hand over her mouth when a rack of lamb and rice replaced her empty sorbet dish, not wanting to eat another bite. She felt if she did, the velvet dress she was in would rip open. 

“You will eat it all,” Seokjin barked when Y/N made no motion to pick up her fork, the sound making her flinch into Namjoon’s thick shoulder. The vampire stiffened, a disgusted look on his face, Y/N’s skin flashing with heat. “You will eat it, or I’ll allow Jimin to go over there and force-feed you.”

That threat terrified Y/N, Jimin’s grin widening when she caught his eye. Without another second spared, Y/N began cutting through the meat, much to Jimin’s disappointment. With a bereft sigh, Jimin leaned on his elbows, craving some trouble he could stir up. 

Diligently, Y/N picked her way through the final courses, nearly gagging on the rich chocolate truffles that ended the meal. She was laughed at again– that time by Hoseok, when she asked if she could really eat the ‘gold leaf’ dusted on top of the dessert. The final drink that was offered was an espresso ‘martini’, which is what careened Y/N out of tipsiness and straight into dizzy intoxication. Giggling for no particular reason, Y/N started folding her napkin into different shapes, forgetting who her company was. 

“She’s a pretty little dove, isn’t she?” Jimin held his face in his hands, ravenous even though he had plenty of human food in his stomach. 

“Those words are familiar,” Jeongguk deadpanned, Yoongi spotting where things were going a mile away. 

“I bet she’d look pretty all drained, too. Like the last girl,” Jimin’s voice was dreamy, and it was fortunate that Y/N was too distracted by her cocktail to pick up on what he was going on about. 

“Watch it,” Jeongguk warned, not wanting to end the evening with Jimin’s dramatics.

“Oh, come now, Jeongguk… don’t you want to pin her down, fangs in her throat?” Venom flooded into Jimin’s mouth, watching Y/N’s pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. “We could always find another, too, after we drain her. You take a wrist, I’ll–”

“Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin interrupted quietly, looking up towards the chandelier. The whole table went silent, Jimin’s mouth slamming shut, regret all over his sculpted face. With a grunt, Namjoon stood from his seat, slowly stalking around the table. 

Y/N’s attention towards the vampires was recaptured when she noticed Namjoon, eyes dark and determined, approaching Jimin. The silence deafening, Y/N watched curiously when Namjoon bent low, face close to Jimin’s. Even Y/N could sense Jimin’s fear, and it made her instantly nauseous. 

Namjoon gripped Jimin’s sculpted jaw, his gloved hands rough against Jimin’s skin, and for a moment, Y/N thought Namjoon was going to kiss the younger vampire. Narrowing his eyes, Namjoon squeezed Jimin’s jaw, Jimin going absolutely rigid when they made eye contact, the martini glass Jimin was holding shattering in his grasp. Horrified, Y/N watched Jimin shake, eyebrows scrunched up in agony, and she realized Namjoon was using his ‘gift’ on Jimin. For what, she wasn’t sure, but it was terrifying that he could inflict so much pain on even a vampire. 

“Enough,” Seokjin called, Namjoon releasing Jimin’s jaw at once, and the younger vampire gasped for breath, his body sagging over the table. “I told you you were on thin ice, Jimin.”

“Sorry,” Jimin heaved, only apologetic because he had to suffer from Namjoon’s Pain Illusion. The sensation of being burned alive was unbearable, but he didn’t regret what he said. Besides, it was trouble that he was craving earlier. 

“No you’re not,” Namjoon hissed, Y/N unable to process how scary Namjoon looked, standing beside Seokjin with his arms crossed. Y/N swore to herself, in that very moment, she would do everything in her power to avoid Namjoon using Pain Illusion on her. 

“Can we wrap this evening up now?” Yoongi asked, peeved. He wanted to isolate, to paint.  

“Not yet,” Seokjin twirled an empty wine glass contemplatively, his eyes then on Y/N. “Come here, little girl.”

“W-what? Why?” Y/N asked with dread, still nauseous. Seokjin clicked his tongue, agitated. 

Come here, little girl.

That time, Seokjin’s voice was in her head rather than out loud. Forgetting that he could use Compulsion, she felt her skin crawling hearing his dulcet tones inside of her head. Staring at her expectantly, Y/N was frozen in her seat. Seokjin snapped his fingers, and Namjoon rounded the table again, hooking one of his gloved hands under Y/N’s bicep. Roughly hauling her to her feet, she was effectively dragged to the head of the table, Y/N starting to hyperventilate and panic. Namjoon’s grip was bruising, her skin smarting when he let her go. 

Sit. 

Seokjin’s voice in her mind was firm and authoritative, spreading his legs expectantly. Y/N’s eyes bugged out of her head– there was no way on God’s green planet she was sitting on that vampire’s lap. Still borderline hysterical, she did the only thing she could think of: beg and plead. 

“P-please, please. Don’t hurt me,” Y/N had a tear running down her cheek, Seokjin’s expression hardening at the sight. 

Sit down.

Suddenly, Y/N’s spine went rigid. Seokjin’s mental suggestion didn’t seem so bad, then. Even though she was still crying and breathing heavily, her body moved on its own, lowering herself onto one of Seokjin’s thighs. The power of his suggestion, his Compulsion, was impossible to override, so embarrassingly, she was perched on Seokjin’s lap. The vampire curled a hand around her waist, his hold ironclad, to keep her in place. Panic setting in further, Y/N continued to beg the eldest vampire pathetically. 

“Please, I’m begging you,” Y/N whimpered, Seokjin setting his wine glass down and tracing his fingers over a steak knife beside it. 

“Jeongguk, Taehyung,” Seokjin sighed, exhausted. The little girl was proving to be difficult, so he’d need some persuasion to keep her quiet. Confused, Y/N looked at Jeongguk, more tears slipping down her face when she felt him worming her way into her memories. 

“I do not know if you’re aware how a coven operates…” Seokjin began, Y/N finding it hard to focus on his voice while Jeongguk was in her head. “But as the head of the coven, I must be the first to bite you. However, my covenmates… they’re starving.”

Chest heaving, Y/N hated the sturdy feeling of Seokjin’s chest pressed against her back. He was cold, plucking up the steak knife and totally indifferent to her hysteria. 

“Y/N, it’s okay!” A familiar, cheery voice had her head snapping in an opposite direction, pure amazement washing over her at the sight of the person across the table. 

It was Joseph, from the Sanctuary, dressed in his usual white linens and grinning at her. The sight of him had her tears drying up, even if she had no idea how her friend had gotten there. She didn’t even notice he had taken the spot that Taehyung once sat in. 

What Y/N wasn’t aware of was how Joseph managed to arrive at The Breakers. It was simple: Jeongguk found memories of Joseph in the acolyte’s mind, Seokjin pried the image of Joseph from Jeongguk’s report, and sent it to Taehyung, who then Glamored himself as the acolyte’s friend. The visual of her former friend was enough to have Y/N calming down somewhat, Taehyung keeping up the act by using words that ‘Joseph’ would. 

“I bet that meal was a lot better than the Sanctuary slop. We had canned tuna tonight.”

“Joey? How did you get here?” Y/N breathed, watching Joseph (Taehyung) push a hand through his dark curls, one of his common habits. 

You are going to be calm while I do this. 

Seokjin’s voice, a siren’s call in her brain, told her. She wasn’t entirely focused on the vampire whose lap she was sitting in, hardly aware that he was holding onto her wrist with a cold hand. All of her panic went away instantly, melting on Seokjin’s lap, limp for him. 

“Just visiting. Actually, it’s really nice here, isn’t it?” Joseph replied, Taehyung wondering just how close the two of them were as he saw Y/N through Joseph’s eyes. 

“I-I guess?” Y/N answered, still staring at her friend in disbelief. She froze when she felt something cold and sharp against her wrist, looking down to see that Seokjin had the steak knife against her skin. “Wait, what are you–”

“Y/N, I think you’ll be happy!” Her friend interrupted, distracting her. Taehyung inwardly smirked at how easy it was to fool her. 

“H-how? Ah!” Y/N yelped, Seokjin dragging the knife’s blade across her flesh, cutting into the skin. A three inch long gash was created, blood immediately spilling down her palm, Y/N out-of-body when Seokjin placed her wrist over the empty wine glass. 

“Look at me, Y/N. It’s alright. Hey, remember when we used to weed the garden together and see who could pull out the most dandelions?” 

“Uh-huh,” Y/N’s voice was far away, somehow relaxed in Seokjin’s arms and talking to her friend even though her wrist was just slit. Joseph was right, it was alright, everything was okay, and she’d be fine. “You’d always win.”

“That’s right, squirt. You could never beat me.”

His nickname for her had a stab of pain rocking through her. It really was Joseph!

“J-joey,” Y/N began, feeling lightheaded from the blood flowing from the gash on her wrist. “What were you trying to tell me when they took me away?”

Joseph seemed puzzled, Taehyung unfortunately not having an answer. Thinking on his feet, he composed himself, leaning forward, and came up with a response the girl would likely be satisfied with. 

“Oh, I said that I’d write to you every week. That I’d never forget you.”

Y/N didn’t reply, her expression wiping blank. Taehyung didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Surprisingly, Jeongguk couldn’t even decipher what she was thinking when he probed into her skull. All he felt coming from the girl was deep remorse. 

Then, Seokjin lifted her wrist again. Trembling, she turned to get a look at his perfect face, gasping sharply when the vampire brought her hand close to his face. Full lips parting, his tongue dragged along the cut he made on her wrist, and Y/N gawked in awe as she watched Seokjin’s eye color go from rusty to deep, dark red. 

“Vampire venom can cauterize wounds,” Taehyung’s low voice rang out, and when Y/N turned her head, Joseph was gone and Taehyung had returned to his seat. It was then that she realized she had been deceived, and her heart dropped. Joseph was never truly there, it was Taehyung Glamoring himself to make her docile. 

“Pass it around,” Seokjin spoke from behind her, his grip likely leaving a deep bruise on the small of her waist while Namjoon reached for the wine glass– nearly full to the brim with her blood. 

With horror, Y/N watched Namjoon take a deep gulp from the glass, color returning to his skin which took on a golden tone. His eyes, too, became richer in color, and in a daze, Y/N was still as the glass made its way around the table, each of the vampires seemingly coming back to life as soon as her blood touched their lips. 

Stay still, little girl. 

Seokjin, still ordering her around mentally, started to gather her hair in one of his fists, pushing it over her shoulder to expose the column of her neck. Helplessly, all Y/N could do was squeeze her eyes shut, knowing what was coming. 

A pair of cold, but plush, lips parted against her throat, the eldest vampire collecting her in his arms firmly as razor-sharp fangs brushed her skin. Gripping the edge of the dining table, she shrieked when she felt Seokjin’s fangs sink into her neck. 

There was a stinging sensation– probably the venom– but a head-to-toe pain flooded through her all at once. It was repulsive to feel Seokjin’s temperature immediately heat up, his chest becoming warm like a human’s, all because of her blood flowing into his mouth. Unable to move due to his supernatural strength keeping her caged, she felt hot tears pouring down her cheeks while Seokjin latched onto her. The recognizable sensation of blood leaving her body, the sensation she hated more than anything, was intensified now that it was literally being sucked out of her. 

“Please,” Y/N wheezed, broken. Everything was spinning, and her vision was dimming. 

Finally, Seokjin’s fangs retracted, the girl like a rag doll in his lap when he used his tongue to stop the bite from bleeding further. Though she was slight, simple, and weak, her blood was life-giving, and some of the best blood he had ever tasted. The emotion he was feeling, using the back of his hand to clean up the trail of blood dripping down his chin, was comparable to human amazement that he hadn’t felt for over eight hundred years. 

Y/N was completely shaken. Over the course of several minutes, she was manhandled and maimed, deceived and manipulated, and bitten. It was more horrible than she ever could have imagined, her head fuzzy and the side of her throat throbbing painfully. 

Get up. 

Seokjin’s voice haunted her, and she never wanted to hear it again. She knew, however, it was just the beginning of him residing in her mind, and it made her want to use the bloodied steak knife he used on her to cut her own throat. His mental suggestion was so powerful that she actually ended up struggling to her feet, finally out of the eldest vampire’s proximity. 

“What did I tell you all? She’s a good little pet,” Hoseok, the picture of vitality with her blood in his system, chuckled, Y/N’s knees buckling before she collapsed on the floor. 

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Please do not repost or translate my work. Thank you!

[pennyellee]

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒 | 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀 𝐀𝐔 pairings: yandere mafia namjoon x barmaid f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, slight porn with plot, 90s word count: 19,7K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily)

masterlist

summary: “You are something I can sin for” An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that’s what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time where you’ve resented Namjoon with every fibre of your being and every word that came out of his plump lips after what he had done to prove his power. Unfortunately, you will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, reader meets namjoon when she was young - nothing happenes until she's of age, forced engagement, kidnapping, graphic violence, death, murder, blood, explicit language, misogyny, mentions of feminism, alcohol usage, mentions of religion and God, church smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, oppa-kink and so on (i'll add some if i'll forget)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

a/n: So here we are! This is the story I've been thrilled to share as it unfolds almost simultaneously with Champagne Confetti. Y/N, alias Peaches, is my baby, and I cannot wait to write more for her and Namjoon after my current project wraps up, wink wink. I have drafts for other fics set in the same universe as my current work and the new one, Anubis. Step by step, my fairies ♥

I hope you will enjoy reading this piece I've kept to myself for a long time. The best thing about writing is that I get to build this world of imagination and live in it for months before it gets to you. Sooo, I'm very nervous and excited to push Anubis out as a second fic within this universe— which now I have decided is going to be called — 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔. Without further ado, enjoy, fairies! ♥

1996

There's a soft whisper in your bones, each time you wake up in the morning. As your eyes flutter open, the room is dimly lit, shadows dancing on the ceiling. All your demons are staring at you from above. They have been there when you went to sleep, and they are still there when you wake up. You know them all too well—regrets, doubts, fears—they've become familiar companions in the lonely hours of the night. They whisper tales of your failures, amplifying every mistake, every misstep, until they echo like thunder in your mind.

But would it be any different if your steps turned the other direction? Would the cosmos allow you to be? Possibly. You, however, will never know what life would be without blood flowing down the stream, dirty money from all the sins you've watched being committed.

You will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it. But the thought is fleeting, for you know deep down that he is as much a part of your story as the demons that haunt you. His presence has shaped you in ways both profound and subtle, leaving an indelible mark on your soul and your body. The agonising pain within still remains and all you can think of is how did you get to this point in your story.

"Bitches come and go, Peaches—" you recalled those words like it was yesterday they were uttered.

"—but you and him, love, you be for life."

An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that's what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn't always like that. There was a time when you resented Namjoon and every word that came out of his plump lips.

Kim Namjoon was trouble and the whole Bronx knew so. Heck, even the whole state knew what kin he came from. You were no exception. But whatever you did, you never managed to put distance between you two.

The world seemed both infinitely vast and impossibly small when the streets of the Bronx were your stage. You were young when you met Namjoon, a whirlwind of youthful energy and reckless abandon, there he is, so vivid in your memories.

Every time you'd help around Anubis, you could see his straying eyes. He had an aura of mischief that drew you in like a moth to a flame. You remember the way his gaze lingered on your skin, straying from the task at hand to fixate on you with a mixture of fascination.

Namjoon's reputation preceded him like a shadow cast by the noonday sun. Entirely impossible to overlook, yet you did. His name was whispered in hushed tones in the back alleys and dark corners where his influence held sway, and that was only the beginning. The magnitude he reached decades later is for another story.

You had heard the rumors—the tales of his involvement with the local gangs, the whispers of his connections to the underworld that lurked beneath the surface of the city. Certainly, you would have to be lying if you said that Anubis was completely legal. You were not that stupid. While it bore the façade of a legitimate establishment, its roots ran deep into the murky waters of the criminal underworld.

Mrs. Jung could smile as widely as she wanted and reassure you that all was fine and all was taken care of, but you couldn't ignore the whispers that circulated about Anubis. Yet she paid triple what you could get in any regular bar. Not like you could work at a regular bar at the time at your age. Survival often depended on turning a blind eye to the unsavory realities of life that you would never be able to face alone. Money was tight and you could not afford to lose such a good-paying job. Even if it took what it took.

"His eyes are hungry for you, Peaches—" said Mrs. Jung while toying with the little umbrella that was swimming in her Kamasutra drink you'd prepared just a few minutes ago. You envisioned your life in the city just like she had, Saint Laurent heels clicking loudly as you would walk down the streets of Manhattan. You admired your lady boss from her head to toes. Mrs. Jung was a symbol of pussy and power. Until she was not. The power was given to her and once she rejected to meet the expectations, it was taken from her.

"—But that's all he can do, at least for now."

She winked your way and then her attention turned to the approaching male figure. What she meant by that is loud and clear. You are underaged and Namjoon cannot make any move on you even if he wanted to. And you knew he respects you that much. Although something tells you that this would be the least illegal thing he would’ve committed.

You’ve met Mark Tuan on occasion when he stopped by the bar. She was not Mrs Jung at the time, yet the notorious life of your lady boss, confused you even then. The way she and Mr Jung behaved around each other gave you the impression that he is her lover and not the tattooed boy that fucked the brains out of her in the office upstairs.

You felt the pain that was reflected on Jung Hoseok’s face when he asked where is she and you had to answer truthfully. The only thing you knew about Namjoon was that he and the Jungs ran way back. Their primary, and to the upper world’s eye, legal assets were the distilleries that distribute whiskey and brandy which you were serving each night till early hours of the morning.

The moment he particularly chose to visit the bar only those evenings you’ve been around was a louder hint shouted your way. As if you haven’t already figured. There was something intoxicating about the way he moved through the world and the way he moved you once your eyes locked.

The way he spoke to you, listened to you so attentively, gave advice on occasion and provided a shoulder to lean on, was all pulling you to him even more. It made you forget about all the skeletons that were in his closet.

The air crackled with anticipation as he walked through the room each night, straight to you, his gaze fixing on you with a mixture of fascination and desire. But amidst the heat of the moment, there was a shadow of doubt that lingered in the back of your mind.

Mrs. Jung's sudden disappearance, Namjoon taking over the day-to-day operations of Anubis—it all seemed too convenient, too perfect to be mere coincidence. It gave him the opportunity to watch you, keep you safe. You were scared that he'd cut you off whenever you fucked up something. But he never did; rather the opposite, offering you a lifeline when you needed it most. There was a chemistry between you that defied explanation, a silent understanding that transcended words.

The way his muscular torso almost pressed against yours in the storage room took your breath away instantly. The faint scent of his cologne enveloped you as he leaned in closer, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Surrounded by crates and boxes of expensive alcoholic beverages, the world seemed to fade away. His hand brushed against yours while he was lifting it, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins as you met his gaze. Reaching above your head to envelop his slender fingers around the throat of the bottle that you could not reach before, he slowly moved closer to hover above your lips. You trembled under his gaze on your lips that were slightly parted; you were panting at this point, reminding you of the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of your forbidden romance.

"Just a moment longer."

His voice was a low murmur, a seductive whisper that sent a thrill racing through your veins. Despite the warning bells that rang in the recesses of your mind, you couldn't deny the pull he had over you, the magnetic attraction that drew you closer with each passing moment, his presence overwhelming in the confined space of the storage room. You knew that this was wrong, and yet, as his breath ghosted over your skin, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

You would never deny it, but you could not accept it and return his affections the way he wished you would. This was temporary. You never planned to stay in Anubis for longer than needed. It was not where you belonged, and the criminal underbelly of the Bronx was not the life you had envisioned for yourself.

You could not understand what made him stay away from you for such a long time. But it certainly created an opening for you to re-think your next steps.

Somehow, being twenty-one did make you feel the anticipation of living a life. Almost twenty-two when you graduated from college that could be paid as your earnings in Anubis allowed so. Slowly, your little life in the farthest corner of Bronx would come to an end and you could move into the city. Get a job, maybe even a man and kids later. You wanted that white-picket-fence life and you knew that if you wanted to live it peacefully, staying here was not an option.

Your father was strongly against you leaving even though he never approved of the life you led in the dark of nights. He was not a saint either, his hands stained with the same sins that plagued the streets of the Bronx. There was no man in the whole New York City that would not know the name Kim Namjoon and your father was not an exception. Although, you never had the courage to mention his name and acknowledge that the man your father praises when he drinks his beer and plays poker with his drunkard old pals, is spending his evenings talking to you.

"I tell ya all, that Namjoon boy has got a head on his shoulders like no other," your father's voice boomed across the small kitchen.

"A real businessman, that one," a flicker of unease stirring in the pit of your stomach as you caught sight of the familiar glint of admiration in your step-father's eyes. Namjoon's name hung in the air between you, a silent reminder of the bond that had formed between you in the shadows of Anubis.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up running this whole city someday, right, Peaches?" You forced a smile, a wave of uncertainty washing over you as you considered the implications of your father's words. Namjoon's ambitions were as vast as the city itself, his influence reaching far beyond the confines of Anubis and the criminal underworld it symbolized.

"That's Mr. Jung's place, dad," you shook your head disapprovingly but with a smile on your face. His comrades laughed and shared similar ideas as he did though.

"That would be a boy for your Peaches," one of his comrades chuckled, the sound echoing off the walls of the cramped kitchen as they continued to sing Namjoon's praises after you only silently smiled again and opted not to respond. Your father however scoffed. He praised him, yes. But would he approve of his only child being with such a man like Namjoon is?

"When are you leaving for the city, young Missy?" Old man whose name you've never known asked with a cigarette in his mouth, looking over his cards rather than your way.

"Don't even support her in that big apple bullshit." You felt a pang of disappointment at his lack of support, but you were not surprised. You glanced around the kitchen, meeting the eyes of the men gathered there, each one offering their own opinion on your future. Some nodded in agreement with your step-father, while others remained silent, their expressions unreadable.

"Don't listen to those old men, child—"

"You got dreams, girl. Don't let nobody hold you back from chasing 'em.”

Truth to be told. The job, white fence, man and kids were not your dreams. You did not really know what to dream of, being restricted in such a dark part of the world that Bronx was for many, you did not even know why you hate your home like that. And you certainly weren’t even sure what is it to have a dream. But you hoped you’ll create some once you step your foot down, somewhere else than here. It doesn’t have to be Manhattan in particular. Anywhere but here is fine.

"Peaches, love, be sweet and bring us another beer from the fridge on your way to work, would ya?"

The request snapped you out of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present moment. With a nod, you forced a smile, hiding the turmoil within as you moved to comply with his request. You were sure you'd be late to your shift at Anubis yet again, but you knew that Namjoon would turn a blind eye. He always did when it came to you.

But Namjoon was not present the moment you stepped into Anubis that night. As you made your way through the dimly lit interior of Anubis, a sense of foreboding settled over you like a heavy blanket. The usual hustle and bustle of the bar seemed muted, the air thick with tension as you approached the bar.

Mrs. Jung was still nowhere to be found and therefore, for a few months, Namjoon had replaced her. But tonight he was not here. He usually came around ten p.m. and stayed until you cleaned the very last table and closed the bar.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and set about your duties, determined to carry on despite the growing sense of unease that lingered in the air. But as the night wore on, the feeling of dread only intensified, leaving you on edge as you awaited Namjoon's return.

You watched the sun rising through the large windows that let the light come into the bar that was still beaming with a significant number of people of various ages. Despite your efforts to focus on your tasks, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. Where could he be? Why hadn't he shown up as usual? The questions nagged at you, fueling the unease that had settled in your stomach like a lead weight.

"Peaches?!" You heard the voice of one of the local and returning customers from the other side of the dancing floor. He was a friend. Or so you thought. He raised two fingers into the air and in a second you were already pouring the brownish liquid of Jung's Whiskey into the crystal-clear glasses.

You walked over to the table he was sitting at alongside a face you'd never seen before. Thanking you for the drinks, he pointed his thumb to the man sitting next to him.

"Peaches, Jinyoung—"

"Jinyoung, Peaches."

You offered a polite smile, acknowledging the introduction as you set down the drinks on the table. The unfamiliar man, Jinyoung, returned the gesture with a nod, his expression unreadable.

"Nice to meet you, Jinyoung," you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of curiosity.

Jinyoung's gaze met yours, his eyes dark and probing as if searching for something within you. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of discomfort under his scrutiny, a feeling that only added to the unease already gnawing at your insides. Something about him set off alarm bells in your mind, a primal instinct warning you to tread carefully.

"What's a beauty like you doing tucked in Anubis?" Jinyoung asked, his voice smooth and velvety. You glanced around the dimly lit bar, suddenly aware of the eyes that seemed to linger on you from every corner, not understanding why.

"I... I work here," you said, a sudden shyness prevailing on the surface. You never really engaged with other men apart from Namjoon. For some reason, each time a man approached you, all of them quickly backed out, opting to not even look your way. For a long time, you did not know what you did wrong to chase them all away. But you got to know that night.

Jinyoung's lips quirked into a knowing smile, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I can offer you a better job, beauty," his words dripping with a seductive allure, and in that moment, you decided you needed to get back to work ASAP. He sounded like trouble you did not want on your last days here.

"I... I appreciate the offer, but I'm quite content here," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"You sure? I could have good use of someone like you, Peaches." Your heart pounded in your chest as Jinyoung's words washed over you. He played with your name on his tongue, and you had a hint that the job he was offering you would be something much worse than working in Anubis.

"Easy, Jinyoung, that's Namjoon's girl you're talking to." Jackson finally spoke up as if he heard your little begging in your head, but this was not what you expected him to say. Were you Namjoon's girl? Years went by and he merely brushed upon your hand with his own. There was no attempt to woo you directly. So how come everyone saw it this way—you as Namjoon's girl?

"I'm not Namjoon's girl—" you said, standing your ground for once. You saw Jackson's eyes widen and Jinyoung smirk at your remark.

"I'm no one's girl—"

"Nonetheless, thanks for the offer but I have to decline." Jinyoung's smirk widened at your words, his gaze flickering with amusement as if he found your defiance entertaining. A second later you were on your way back to the bar. He was Jackson's friend, but he was crude and he did not understand he ought to fuck off. The grip you suddenly felt on your upper arm was painful enough to make you wince, yanking you back as you squinted your eyes from the pain of his touch.

"What makes you say no if you're no one's slu—" your ears picked up his words before they were silenced. Forever. His last words were cut off by a deafening gunshot, leaving you frozen in shock. The sound of it still ringing in your ears as you turned to see the source of the chaos. There, standing with a smoking gun in his hand, was Namjoon, his expression unreadable as he stared down at Jinyoung's lifeless form. One side of Jackson's face was covered in blood that was his friend's, his shock mirroring your own. And you were scared to even move an inch.

Namjoon had just killed a man in cold blood, he shot him right in front of you. Without mercy. Panic surged through you as you realized the gravity of what had just transpired. The grip he had on your upper arm weakened yet remained even after his head fell down. It was a clear shot to the side of his head.

By now, half of the bar emptied, only those underworld rats stayed unfazed. Namjoon was always so calm, so collected. But now, he looked like a completely different person. The bar had fallen into an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of your own ragged breathing. You wanted to run, but your legs failed you, unable to move as the reality of the situation sank in.

"What—" your heart hammered in your chest as you searched for something, anything, to say, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the weight of the moment. Your whole body trembled uncontrollably, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. You reached to pull your hand away from Jinyoung's lifeless grip and while you struggled to do so, the scenery before you was not helping you to calm down. The side of his head blown up, you could see parts of his brain, immediately making you empty your stomach on the floor. The fact that Namjoon hadn't said a word since he literally came out of nowhere was not contributing to the situation either.

You heard his smooth voice but it was too muffled at this point. He was giving orders to Jackson, but you did not understand a single word coming out of his mouth. Your head was spinning and the room felt like a carousel.

"Why would you—" you began to stutter, your voice barely a whisper. The question died on your lips, swallowed by the overwhelming sense of dread that hung heavy in the air. Namjoon had just committed an act of unspeakable violence, ending a man's life without a second thought. Nothing will be the same ever again. You stayed out of all the illegalness that surrounded Anubis on purpose. What eyes don't see, heart doesn't hurt. What you don't know, can't hurt you. But now you eye-witnessed such brutality and he won't let you walk away to the other end of the rainbow.

You did not expect him to hear you nor even answer your remark, but of course, Kim Namjoon was always here to listen to you.

"He touched you."

The words hit you like a physical blow, jolting you out of your stunned silence. He wasn't just stating a fact; he was issuing a warning, a chilling reminder of the consequences of crossing him. Looking him in the eye, he looked like a possessive maniac, like someone determined to protect what he perceived as his.

"He didn't—" you began, your voice faltering under the weight of Namjoon's scrutiny. Yet you stopped yourself to think whether Jinyoung's intentions were harmless or not. You remembered the way Jinyoung had leered at you, his touch lingering where it shouldn't have.

"No one can touch you, Peaches."

You felt a chill run down your spine as the weight of his words settled over you. It wasn't just a declaration; it was a promise, a vow to protect you at any cost. But beneath the surface, you sensed something darker, something primal and possessive that sent chills down your body.

You were paralyzed by the intensity of his gaze, unable to tear your eyes away from his. Your mind raced with a million thoughts and questions, but you knew better than to voice them.

That night you started to hate each and every gaze he threw your way when you were working, all the men running away after uttering a single word to you, and all the remarks about you being Namjoon's girl.

But were you ready to be Namjoon's girl? To be part of his world?

You sit up, the sheets clinging to your skin like a shroud, and confront the spectres that linger above. Even after some weeks, you still cannot shake off the tremor you've experienced that night.

"Peaches?!" You heard your father's voice. You were hidden in the confines of your small room for days now, coming out only to take a bottle of water, and even that you managed to minimize by taking the whole six-pack. You couldn't bring yourself to respond.

The look in Namjoon's eyes, the sound of the gunshot ringing in your ears, the sight of Jinyoung's lifeless body—all of it was seared into your mind, haunting you like a relentless spectre. You needed some time. But it was running out quickly.

Lost in the labyrinth of your thoughts, you remained silent, grappling with the weight of the choices that lay before you. You packed your bag last night, all the cash stuffed inside at various places, just to be turned right back on your heel by two muscular men you'd never met before. The color they wore was emerald green, and you quickly understood that those were Jung soldiers, if you could call them that.

Your father was similarly confused. His eyes were darting between you and the soldiers as he struggled to make sense of the situation. So here you are, awaiting when he will decide to collect you. What is he waiting for? You knew that your time was running out; you just didn't know exactly when it would run out.

In that moment that night, you missed the Namjoon you thought he was. All you could see was a stranger, a dangerous man whose actions had shattered your illusions and left you reeling in their wake. Yes, you knew his line of work, but you'd rather not see it with your own two eyes. You'd rather stay oblivious to who he really was just to keep the picture of the Namjoon you knew hanging a little bit longer.

"You can't hide there forever." And you certainly did not plan to, but coming out to see your father's worried face after he sees how disheveled you look could wait for another day or so. You did not know what Namjoon intended to achieve by making you a prisoner in your own home.

Every fiber of your being wanted to hate Namjoon, but you did not know whether that was even possible with how smart that man was with his mouth.

This cage of fear and uncertainty made you uneasy. The wind that forcefully closed your window awoke you from your thoughts. You lived on the second floor of an old block of apartments. You moved toward the old rusted window, cautiously pushing it open again. The cool night air rushed to meet your cheeks, and you closed your eyes to feel it.

Peering down, you assessed the drop. It wasn't too high, and the fire escape just below offered a feasible route. Why had it not occurred to you earlier?

"Peaches, please, talk to me. They've been saying that you can't go out and should wait for sajangnim Kim."

Your father's voice was strained, a mix of concern and frustration. You hesitated, torn between the urge to reassure him and the pressing need to just run for the hills before it was too late for you.

What you realized in the moment, listening to his muffled pleas, was that this might be the last time you'd see him. You couldn't come back to the Bronx ever again. Nor New York. You weren't sure exactly what the magnitude of Jung's power was that Namjoon shared, but you had the hunch that wherever you'd hide in this state, he would find you.

"Dad?" you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. You felt a lump in your throat, the weight of the impending goodbye pressing down on you. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

"I'm here, Peaches," your father responded, his voice breaking slightly. "Please, come out. We'll figure this out." Tears welled up in your eyes as you clung to the closed door.

"It's no go, Dad."

"Please, just open the door." His voice was closer now, just outside the door.

You glanced around your room, grabbing your packed bag and slipping it over your shoulder.

"I love you, Dad. I'm sorry. Bye—"

With a final, sorrowful glance toward the door, you slipped out of the window, your feet finding purchase on the metal grating of the fire escape. You descended quickly, not daring to look back. The metal stairs creaked under your weight, each step taking you further from the life you knew. You needed to disappear.

You had no shoes on, and the white tank top clung to your skin, outlining your curves and breasts. The night air was cool against your exposed skin, a harsh contrast to the warmth of your tears. The metal of the stairs felt rough under your bare feet, but you pushed forward until you were all the way down.

Catching your breath and glancing around the dimly lit alleyway, the city felt oppressively silent, the only sound your own ragged breathing. As you took a step forward, a soft scoff resonated in your ears, leaving you standing there frozen. The man was totally invisible in the dark shadows of the alley between the buildings until he pulled out his zippo lighter to light a cigarette, illuminating his face. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Where are you headed, Peaches?"

The man who was casually leaning against the cold bricks wasn't unfamiliar to you. You, as a barmaid at Anubis, had the extravagant privilege to meet four out of the big seven. Kim Taehyung being one of them, standing here in front of you.

"Mr. Kim," you breathed, dread pooling in your stomach. You were on a first-name basis only with Namjoon even though they all scolded you, especially your lady boss, for being way too formal and polite, making them feel older than they actually are. Truth be told, you were putting some distance between them, but you utterly failed to do so with Namjoon, and here you are, on the run.

"I'm your family now, Peaches," Taehyung said, his voice dripping with mockery. "You should start getting used to that, so drop the mister finally."

You gritted your teeth, trying to steady your nerves as you faced Taehyung. "Taehyung," you corrected yourself, though the informal address felt wrong on your tongue.

"That's better, what a good girl you can be," he said with a smirk, taking a step closer. His presence felt suffocating, a reminder of the dangerous world you had stumbled into.

"Why are you here, Taehyung?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

"Why are you here, Peaches?" Taehyung countered, his tone filled with amusement. You bit the inside of your mouth, feeling the nerves tighten their grip on you.

"Getting some fresh air," you replied, trying to sound casual despite the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Ah, yes, because nothing says 'fresh air' like sneaking out of your window in the dead of night," he quipped, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you. "I just needed to clear my head," you said, hoping he would buy your flimsy excuse.

"You are not planning to do anything stupid now, Peaches, right?" You paused, considering your response carefully. Taehyung's tone, though casual, carried a hint of warning that sent a shiver down your spine. You slightly shook your head to show dismissal.

"Namjoon-hyung said you looked pretty shaken up that night." You couldn't help but tense at Taehyung's mention of Namjoon, a surge of apprehension coursing through you. You had tried to bury the memories of that night deep within you, but they continued to resurface, haunting your every thought.

"I'm fine," you replied, forcing a tight smile. "Just had a rough night, that's all."

"It looks like you're about to have another one to me." Your heart skipped a beat at Taehyung's ominous remark, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Despite his casual demeanor, there was an underlying tension in the air that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the rising sense of unease.

"Unzipped duffle bag, dollar bills fell from it while you were going down, that looks like you were very eager to get that fresh air."

"I... I was just going for a walk," you stammered, scrambling for an excuse. Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering.

"Without putting your shoes on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Taehyung's scrutiny bearing down on you. "I couldn't sleep," you admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I needed some fresh air to clear my head.” You repeat yourself, but you know that you can’t fool him no matter what.

Taehyung's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he shrugged, as if dismissing the matter altogether. "Well, you certainly know how to make an exit," he remarked, his smirk never faltering.

You forced a weak smile, trying to mask the unease bubbling inside you. "Guess I've always had a flair for the dramatic," you quipped, though the words rang hollow in your ears.

Taehyung chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "That you do, Peaches. That you do," he said cryptically, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

"You know, Namjoon doesn't like it when his... family goes missing," he said, the emphasis on 'family' making you flinch. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a lazy stream.

You clenched your fists, feeling trapped. "I'm not missing," you said, your voice firmer than before. "I'm right here."

"I'd probably get a head start if I were you." Taehyung nodded slowly, as if considering your words.

Your heart pounded in your chest. "A head start?"

He took another drag, the smirk never leaving his lips. "I'm not a monster, Peaches. I'll give you a five-minute head start before I come after you."

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. He was actually giving you a chance to run, but this time you would know someone was after you. You glanced around, calculating your options. The streets were empty, but you knew they wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Five minutes, Peaches. Starting now."

You turned and ran, your bare feet slapping against the pavement. The adrenaline coursed through your veins as you sprinted down the alley, knowing that Taehyung's smirk was etched in your mind.

You didn't know where you were going, but you knew you had to get as far away as possible. Everything blurred as you pushed yourself to run faster, the sound of your heartbeat drowning out everything else.

If you hide well, he can't find you, can he? You just have to find yourself a place to hide until morning and then you can wait till sunrise, get to the airport and fly to the first destination that will pop up.

You could feel the cold concrete scraping your feet, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the urgency of escape. You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Taehyung's figure emerging from the shadows, but for now, you were alone.

You could feel the cold concrete scraping your feet, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the urgency of escape. You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Taehyung's figure emerging from the shadows, but for now, you were alone.

The five minutes neared their end, and you knew you couldn't stay hidden forever. You had to keep moving, keep putting distance between you and Taehyung. Peering through the leaves, you scanned the area, your mind racing through possible routes and hiding spots.

"If I don’t bring you back, he'll come instead, Peaches!" Taehyung's voice echoed through, taunting you.

"You don't want to anger him, do you now?"

You needed a plan, and fast. Glancing around, you noticed a narrow passageway between two buildings, just wide enough for you to squeeze through. It might lead you to a different part of the neighborhood, giving you a chance to lose Taehyung in the labyrinth of backstreets.

You bolted towards the passageway, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. The alley was narrow and dark, but you pushed forward, heart pounding in your chest. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified in the stillness of the night.

"They all run at first, Peaches—" Taehyung's voice echoed, closer now. "You're cute thinking you have a chance to get away."

It was way too narrow even if you put your bag down from your shoulder and dragged it as you tried to squeeze through. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified in the stillness of the night, and you were scared that he would get to you soon. You knew he was out there, somewhere, searching for you.

"Although, my mind is troubled. Why, out of all of them, do you run?" There was a pause, then a chuckle.

You pushed yourself harder, feeling the rough brick walls scrape against your skin. You needed to keep moving, but you also needed a moment to think. The airport was too far, especially when they were already looking for you. You thought you were clever to disappear through the window as if you were in some cheesy cliché movie.

"Namjoon-hyung was always good to you, wasn't he?" He was. Until the moment someone else's brain was blown up by him right in front of you, simply because of his possessiveness while he never made you two exclusive. Or at least you thought so, as it showed—you were claimed by him sooner than you actually realized. You felt the panic rising in your chest, threatening to overwhelm you.

"You have no reason to run, Peaches," Taehyung's voice was taunting, echoing off the walls. "Namjoon-hyung will be so disappointed when he finds out how far you've gone." You ignored the majority of his words, focusing on finding a way out.

You closed your eyes and tried to think harder this time. The old train yard—bingo—it was on the outskirts of the city. It was abandoned, a place where few people ventured. If you could make it there, you might be able to find a boxcar to hide in until morning.

"Family doesn't abandon family, Peaches!" You heard his voice again, this time more distant.

Emerging from the passageway, you found yourself in a small courtyard. It was littered with old furniture and discarded trash; the smell was awful, but you didn't have time to dwell on that.

You listened intently, straining to hear any sign of Taehyung. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a dog.

You stuck to the shadows, moving as quietly as possible. The train yard was a long way off, but it was your best shot at staying out of immediate reach. Or so you thought.

You couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every rustle of leaves, every distant footstep made you jump. You forced yourself to stay calm, to focus on the path ahead. Panicking would only slow you down.

The city's edge came into view, the silhouette of the train yard looming in the distance. You quickened your pace, the sight of your potential sanctuary giving you a burst of energy. You crossed the threshold into the yard, the rusted tracks and abandoned cars offering a twisted sense of comfort.

An old boxcar with the door slightly ajar beckoned to you. You slipped inside, the smell of rust and decay filling your nostrils. You closed the door behind you, plunging the space into darkness. It was cramped and musty, but it was hidden.

Sinking to the floor, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe. Your body ached, your feet throbbed, but you had made it. For now, you were safe. You could only hope that Taehyung would give up the chase, or at least lose your trail long enough for you to figure out your next move.

The sound of gravel crunching outside the boxcar woke you up and consequently made your heart jump into your throat. You held your breath, straining to listen. The footsteps were deliberate and slow, echoing through the stillness of the night.

You held your breath, trying to remain as quiet as possible. The footsteps drew closer, each crunch of gravel sending a shockwave through your body. Your mind raced with possibilities. Was it Taehyung? Or perhaps someone else stumbling upon your hiding spot?

"I seriously don't understand why you didn't throw her over your shoulder and take her back to her room." The older male shot him a glare.

"Oh come the fuck on, you're one to talk." It was Taehyung's voice, laced with frustration and annoyance.

“I did not lose her, I gave her choice and she chose wrong, she’ll be back though, in no time.” The younger one scoffed and Taehyung quirked his brows, evidently amused by his brother. 

"Well, at least that was my woman I lost and not our Hyung's." The tattooed heartthrob spat his friend's way when he heard his scoff.

"This isn't really my job. I'm only doing this because Namjoon cares about her too much to leave someone incompetent to watch her until he'll come back."

“Or you’re the only one without a woman, Tae.” You heard a little thump as if he jokingly punched him and the other voice chuckled. But first and foremost –

Namjoon's away. He did not come for you as he's away, and if away means out of the state, you have a bigger chance to make an exit than you originally thought.

Seeing him would only make things worse. Listening to his sweet melodies of words would make you doubt what Taehyung initiated—you have no reason to run. Apart from that, you do. He was deeply entrenched in the world of organized crime, his life a constant dance between power and peril. While his charming demeanor and enigmatic presence had drawn you in, you knew that his lifestyle came with its own set of risks and consequences.

He operated in the shadows, his actions dictated by a code of loyalty to his comrades and ruthlessness towards his enemies. At least that's what you heard people talk about the Jungs and their family man.

You didn't think there was room for innocence. But were you innocent? You had blood on your hands. Jinyoung's. You had been complicit in his demise. While it wasn't you who pulled the trigger, you were the motive.

As the voices grew louder, you strained to make out what they were saying. The sound of footsteps approached the boxcar, each one sending a jolt of fear through you. Were they getting closer? Were they about to open the door and drag you out into the open?

"I did not expect her to play the game that well, I have to give her that," Taehyung remarked, his voice tinged with admiration. Your heart raced as you listened to their conversation.

"Smart, just like he is."

The footsteps came to a stop just outside the boxcar, and you braced yourself for the door to swing open at any moment. Every nerve in your body was on edge, ready to flee at the first sign of danger.

But instead of the door creaking open, the voices began to fade away, the gravel crunching underfoot growing softer as they moved further away. Relief washed over you in waves, but you remained cautious, waiting until the sound of their footsteps had disappeared entirely before allowing yourself to relax.

You stayed hidden in the darkness of the boxcar, unsure of how much time had passed. Eventually, the adrenaline began to ebb, leaving you exhausted and drained. You were scared that they were waiting outside and the moment you decided to move places would be fatal for you.

The growl in your stomach was loud, echoing in the empty boxcar. You hadn't eaten in what felt like an eternity, and the gnawing hunger was beginning to take its toll. Despite the fear that they might be lying in wait, you knew you couldn't stay here forever or you'd die of hunger very soon.

Despite the fear that they might be lying in wait, you knew you couldn't stay here forever. Peeking through the small gap, you scanned the area. The night was still, and there was no sign of Taehyung or anyone else.

Slipping out of the boxcar, you kept to the shadows, moving quietly and quickly. You needed to find food, but more importantly, you needed to find a safer place to hide. If you couldn't reach the airport, you'd have to wait somewhere until you were considered off the radar. Would Namjoon lose his interest if he knew you were gone for good? You hoped so, but you also strongly doubted that. The man had had his eyes set on you for three years or so, without ever losing interest in you.

The city was vast, with many nooks and crannies where you could potentially evade capture, but you moved in the dead of the night cautiously. Slowly closing the distance between the convenience store at least ten blocks from your home, its lights were still on and you thanked the almighty, or more so the 24 hour market in front of you.

The store seemed deserted, only a shabby-looking man in his mid-thirties sitting behind the counter, half asleep. You slipped inside, quickly grabbing some food and water before leaving to pay at the counter. When the doorbell rang indicating that a customer entered the small store, you froze in place.

You ducked behind a shelf, hoping the dim lighting and cluttered aisles would conceal you. Peering through a gap between products, you saw a figure enter. You may be paranoid but you wouldn't take the risk when you had managed to not be caught for what seemed like hours. You knew better.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound of your heartbeat almost louder than the growling stomach from earlier. You clutched the food tightly, muscles tense, waiting for the perfect moment to quickly throw the few bucks on the counter and make your leave. You straightened a little.

It wasn't him. It was just a person that resembled him. With a rush of relief, you moved to the counter. The shabby-looking clerk barely glanced up as you placed your items down and reached into your pocket for the money. Just as you were about to pay, a hand slammed the money down on the counter in front of you. Your heart skipped a beat and your eyes widened.

You looked up slowly, dread pooling in your stomach. Taehyung stood beside you, his eyes locking onto yours with a cold, triumphant smile.

"My treat," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with mock politeness. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The clerk, oblivious to the tension, lazily rang up the items and handed the change to Taehyung. He pocketed it without breaking eye contact with you.

You acted rather quickly after you regained your senses, but the exit was blocked by the man you saw earlier. How could you not recognize the famous heartthrob of this decade, Jeon Jungkook? Only a few people knew of his connection to the Jungs, Kims, and Parks.

"Going somewhere?" Jungkook's voice was smooth and exactly identical to the one you heard outside of the boxcar, but there was an edge to it that sent chills down your spine. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his dark eyes fixed on you with a predatory gleam.

Panic surged through you as you realized your escape route was cut off. You glanced around the store, searching for another way out, but Taehyung's hand clamped down on your arm, his grip firm and unyielding.

The clerk did not care to intervene; he knew their faces and what they represented. One girl was not worth the trouble for him.

"Let's go," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. You had no choice but to follow, your mind racing with thoughts of escape. As you stepped out of the store, the chilly night air hit you, a stark contrast to the suffocating presence of Taehyung beside you. You scanned the street for any potential way out, but Taehyung's grip on your arm tightened, steering you toward a nearby alley.

You stumbled slightly, trying to keep pace with him. The alley was dark and narrow, the perfect place for someone to disappear. Desperation surged through you, fueling your determination. You had to find a way out of this.

"You lasted more than I expected, Peaches. I have to give you that." You fought to suppress the shiver that threatened to run down your spine. Taehyung's voice, usually smooth and melodic, now held an edge of something darker, something sinister.

"But it's time to go home."

The weight of his intentions pressed down on you like a heavy stone. You did not know what home he was speaking of. Your home? Namjoon's home? You'd never been there; you couldn't know what home he meant. But something told you that wherever he'd take you, "home" would be a gilded cage, a place of confinement disguised as comfort.

You remained silent, your jaw clenched in defiance as you continued to walk, your eyes darting around the alley for any sign of escape. But every corner seemed to lead to another dead end, and the walls closed in around you like a vice.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the desperation hit your nerves. Taehyung's grip tightened slightly, as if warning you against any further attempts at escape.

"There was no need to run, Peaches." Wasn't there? You stopped to think for a minute. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

With a sudden burst of strength, you twisted out of Taehyung's grip and bolted. The sound of his shout echoed behind you, but you didn't look back. You darted through the maze of backstreets, your only goal to put as much distance between you and Taehyung as possible.

Reaching a dead end, you spotted a fire escape ladder. Without a second thought, you began climbing, your fingers slipping on the cold metal. You reached the rooftop, not daring to look back as you sprinted across the gravel. The cityscape stretched before you, a chaotic playground of rooftops and danger.

You leaped from one building to the next, each landing jarring your bones, but you couldn't stop. You heard Taehyung's voice calling your name, a mix of frustration and anger, but you didn't dare slow down. You reached the edge of a particularly wide gap between buildings and hesitated, just a split second too long.

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you back. You thrashed, but the grip was unyielding. Jungkook's face came into view, his expression grim. He was faster than Taehyung, and you knew your chances to outrun him were slight, but you still hoped.

"You can't run forever, Peaches," he said quietly, almost regretfully. You could hear Taehyung's leather boots stomping against the roof's concrete and his ragged breath in unison.

You struggled, kicking and clawing, but he held firm. Your heart sank as the reality of the situation set in. Just then, you heard the uncomfortable digital sound of the Motorola flip phone that was in Taehyung's hand once he stopped in front of you.

"Hmm?" Taehyung answered the phone and ended the gut-wrenching sound. You knew who was on the other side of the line. Jungkook still held you securely, his eyes never leaving yours.

There was a pause, and then he handed you the phone.

"Your Mr. Man wants to speak to you."

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the phone heavy in your hand. With a deep breath, you brought it to your ear, steeling yourself for the inevitable confrontation with Namjoon.

"Hello?" Your voice trembled slightly, betraying the fear and uncertainty swirling within you.

"You're losing sleep, love," he said, his tone smooth but laced with a menacing undertone. You took a shaky breath.

"S-so are you." He chuckled. You bit the inside of your lip out of nerves.

"I'd sleep better if you came back to me like the good girl I know you are."

The mixture of his charm and underlying threat was intoxicating and terrifying.

"I can't, Namjoon," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I can't live like this anymore. I never wanted to live like this, and you knew that."

"Life is just about to begin for you, love—" he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Our life," he added, and your grip tightened around the phone.

"What does that even mean?" you demanded, a mix of anger and desperation coloring your words.

"It means," he began, his voice smooth yet chilling, "that whatever you fear, we'll figure this out together."

"Please, Namjoon," you begged, your voice barely a whisper. "Let me go. I can't. I just can't," you cried out.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and you held your breath, hoping against hope that he might relent. Your heart pounded with a mix of fear and helplessness.

"Freedom is an illusion, love," he said, almost gently. "The only freedom you'll ever have is with me. Now, come back. We'll talk this through, and I promise you, everything will be fine. Just trust me."

"Namjoon—"

"Peaches—" he quickly interrupted your attempt to plead again.

"Don't make me take harsher measures to ensure you'll come back to me." His tone grew colder, the underlying threat unmistakable.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" you asked, a tremor in your voice.

"You know what I can do. It would be a shame if the same thing happened to someone else you care about." His words hung in the air, heavy with menace.

You looked at Jungkook and Taehyung, their faces impassive yet resolute. They were ready to enforce Namjoon's will, no matter the cost.

"Why are you doing this to me?" you asked, voice quivering.

"We can talk about that once you come home," Namjoon replied, his voice smooth but unyielding.

"Namjoon, please..." you started, desperation lacing your words.

"Enough, Peaches," he cut you off sharply. "You know what's at stake. I expect you back within an hour. Hand the phone to Taehyung."

With a heavy heart, you handed the phone back to Taehyung. He took it, his eyes filled with a mix of pity, but you didn't think it was genuine. You felt Jungkook's grip loosen slightly, but not enough to let you go.

Taehyung listened to Namjoon for a moment, then nodded. "Understood," he said before hanging up. He looked at you, his expression resigned.

"Let's go," he said softly.

You don't even know how you managed to fall asleep in the car. They took your bag, draped a warm blanket over you, and sat you down on the back seat. You did not protest anymore, even though the thought of jumping out of the car went through your head briefly.

You thought of your father, your friends, and everyone you ever met and cared for when he took the ultimate move that would make you leave everything in a heartbeat. You don't want more blood on your hands.

At the same time, you could not understand why Namjoon would take such harsh measures. This wasn't the Namjoon you knew—heck, you don't even know if you ever knew that man.

The lavish room surrounding you was magnificent and screaming one name: Namjoon. Even his scent was clinging to every single piece of the room. The silk sheets clung to your skin, and you couldn't help but close your eyes again. The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a golden hue across the room.

You could hear the audible difference in your surroundings. The Bronx had a distinctive hum, a chaotic symphony of life and struggle. But this—this was different. The sounds outside the open window were unmistakably Manhattan. The distant buzz of traffic, the occasional honk of a horn, and the muffled chatter of people far below created a stark contrast to the quiet tension inside.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. Every moment spent here felt like a betrayal to the life you once knew, the people you once loved. But escape wasn't just about physical freedom—it was about breaking free from the psychological chains Namjoon had wrapped around you.

You did not know whether you weren't running for the hills now because this oddly feels like you are meant to be here or because you don't know if you should. You spent a lot of time rolling around and thinking about this. You had not come to a conclusion yet. You'd only decided that you would give him the courtesy to talk after all the years that he and his family supported you by giving you a job.

With that resolve, you climbed out of bed, feeling the weight of silk sheets slipping away. The cold floor sent a shiver up your spine, bringing you fully awake. You made your way to the bathroom, the reflection in the mirror staring back at you. You need a haircut, maybe even a new hair color.

The shower's hot water provided a temporary refuge, washing away the grime and tension of the past few days. After drying off, you dressed in clothes Namjoon had probably laid out for you—an unspoken reminder of his control.

You entered the kitchen, where the aroma of breakfast hung in the air. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the rich aroma of bacon and eggs, momentarily distracting you. You were starving.

As you moved further into the room, a sudden noise made you jump. Startled, you turned to see a figure in a white chef's uniform bustling about the kitchen. He looked up, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw you.

"Good morning, Misses Kim," he said with a polite nod. "I didn't expect you to be up so early.” The title he used sent a shiver down your spine. Misses Kim. It was as if the walls were closing in, suffocating you with the weight of an identity that wasn’t yours to claim. You overlooked yourself and your attire.

You could see your bra-less breasts and perky nipples through that white tanktop, but the chef was trained well enough to not look that way. He would most likely be beheaded by Namjoon if he would dare to look that way.

"Good morning," you replied, your voice tinged with a mix of nerves and hunger. You forced a small smile.

The chef, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, set down the spatula he was holding and wiped his hands on a towel. "My name is Seo Kang-joon, Misses Kim. I'm Sajangnim's private chef—" you figured that much. Of course that man has a private chef when he cannot boil a potato for the love of God.

"He tasked me to make you some breakfast and tell you he'll be with you shortly," he explained, gesturing to the array of food laid out on the counter.

You nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen island. Your stomach growled audibly, and despite the chaos in your mind, the food before you was an undeniable lure. You picked up a piece of toast, buttering it slowly as Kang-joon resumed his work.

"How long have you been working for Namjoon?" you asked, trying to fill the silence with something other than your own anxious thoughts.

Kang-joon glanced up from the stove, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "About three years now," he replied. "I've switched with my Appa; he was working for the Kims for two generations and now it's my turn—"

"That's a long time," you said, taking a bite of the toast, the warmth of the food providing a small comfort.

"Yes, it is," he agreed, his voice gentle. "Namjoon is a good employer, he's always treated us fairly. And he cares about you a great deal—"

"I've seen you before, didn't I?" you interrupted, suddenly recalling a moment that had slipped through your mind like sand.

"At the private party last month. You were serving food, right?"

Kang-joon nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes, that was me. I remember seeing you there, although you were quite busy too—"

You were supposed to be waitressing the tables, plural, yet you only waitressed one table that night. As per usual.

"Yep, that was my reality, I guess," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Before all of this."

Kang-joon's expression turned somber, and he stopped cooking momentarily.

"Namjoon doesn't let anyone near you, but I've seen how happy you make him. He's different around you." Of course he thinks so. You don't blame him for his inability to see through this. It's not his place.

You fell silent, pondering his words. The chaos of Namjoon's life and the dark undercurrents that surrounded him felt suffocating. "But at what cost?" you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

"He means well—" he paused his thought and got silent, and you knew that means only one thing.

"I appreciate your loyalty to him," you said, forcing a smile that felt brittle on your lips.

"Good morning, love," he said, his voice deep and commanding. His eyes darted between you and Kang-joon, who stood with a spatula in hand, caught in the moment. "I hope you're both having a pleasant chat."

Kang-joon bowed slightly, and you could see the way he was careful to keep his composure, even as the atmosphere shifted with Namjoon's presence. "I was just finishing up breakfast, Sajangnim," he said politely. "Miss Kim and I were discussing your—"

"Thank you, Kang-joon," Namjoon interrupted, his tone suggesting a mixture of gratitude and an underlying tension. "I can take it from here."

The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken words. You looked at him, wanting to scream, wanting to run, wanting to demand answers.

"Did you sleep well?" Namjoon asked, his voice softer now, as if he was trying to breach the walls that had begun to rise between you.

You nursed your coffee in the black ceramic mug while you shrugged, keeping the answer with spice in it for yourself just yet. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you could see the cracks in his façade when you didn't answer.

"I see... silent treatment," he gulped down, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. Pouring himself a cup of coffee too, he leaned on the counter right in front of you. You took his appearance in. He got a buzz cut, creamy satin shirt tucked in leather pants. A few of the buttons were undone, giving you a perfect view of his toned chest.

"Is that really how you want to start the day?" he provoked. You set the mug down, the clink of ceramic against marble echoing in the tension-filled kitchen.

"Did you ask yourself the same question when you threatened me?" you shot back, your voice rising slightly as the memories flooded back. The anger surged within you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering since the moment you woke up in his penthouse.

Namjoon's expression shifted, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a flicker of defensiveness.

"Well, you for some reason seemed too adamant that you needed to patrol the streets of Bronx by running away from me. I know you too damn well, Peaches; I know where you were headed."

The words stung, each syllable laced with accusation and an unsettling truth. Your heart raced, the anger bubbling just below the surface.

"You know fucking shit, Namjoon—"

"Oppa," he jumped in, his voice firm, yet tinged with a note of caution.

You inhaled sharply, the familiar term slicing through the tension like a knife. It reminded you of the intimate moments you once shared. "You've lost that honorific the moment you decided to threaten me and kill that man right in front of my eyes!"

Namjoon's jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict brewing beneath his composed exterior.

"You don't understand the kind of world I'm in. We protect ours."

"Protect?" you spat, feeling the heat of betrayal wash over you.

"I'm a person who deserves to make her own choices—" He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.

"What choices are you making? Running off into the night like it's some kind of adventure? You think that's brave? I refuse to let you get hurt because you're unhappy with my decisions."

"Oh yeah, like something would happen to me—"

"You are my woman, and people know that you are, Peaches!" he declared, his voice rising with intensity, as if the weight of his words was meant to command respect from the universe itself.

Your heart raced at his proclamation, a mix of anger and something softer twisting in your gut.

"The fuck you're talking about, Namjoon?" You snapped, your voice echoing off the sleek kitchen walls. Anger surged within you, fueled by the sheer audacity of his claim.

"Not fucking once did you say that we ought to be official one day—" you shot back, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"You act like I'm some sort of possession, something you can just claim without any conversation or commitment!" Namjoon's expression hardened, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes.

"You need to stop pretending like we don't have a future because you're scared of the past," he said, smashing the mug down on the counter. Namjoon's jaw tightened, and the conflict in his eyes was palpable.

"Since we met, not fucking once have you made your intentions strictly clear, Namjoon! The fuck am I doing here then?!" The words burst from your lips, raw and unfiltered, echoing in the tense space between you.

He ran a hand over his face, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

"I thought you knew. I thought you felt it too," he replied, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I thought it was understood that it was a matter of time."

"Understood?" you scoffed, incredulity seeping into your tone. "You think that just because you've made me a part of your life, I should automatically know my place? That's not how it works!"

"I was waiting till you'll—"

"Age of consent is eighteen in this state, Namjoon, keep that bullshit to yourself." Namjoon's expression darkened at your words, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"So you would rather be wifed and knocked up as soon as we met, am I right?"

The air crackled with tension as Namjoon's words hung in the space between you, a provocation that sent shockwaves through your body. You felt your breath hitch, a mixture of shock and anger coursing through you.

"So that's the plan now?" you lowered your voice.

His expression softened for a moment, and you could see the conflict etched across his features. "I thought you'd want that kind of future with me, Peaches. I thought we were on the same page from day one."

Despite Namjoon's willingness to talk, the remnants of fear and frustration churned within you, threatening to spill over. You took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself. Your heart raced, the urge to flee growing stronger. He reached out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

"I love you, baby."

Your heart pounded in your chest at his words, a tumultuous blend of emotions crashing over you. You stood up from the stool you were sitting at, calmly aiming for the door. You didn't know what you were doing with this lame attempt to flee.

"Hey—" he shouted, but you did not stop. You could feel Namjoon's gaze burning into your back as you moved toward the door, his loud steps right behind you making you speed up the process.

You couldn't stop. The need to escape overwhelmed you, propelling you forward. You flung the door open, the sharp sound echoing in the silence that followed.

"Peaches!" he shouted again, his voice rising with urgency and desperation. The door rattled on its hinges as he leaned against it, trying to process what had just happened.

"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He knew he had pushed too hard, but he couldn't help it.

You trembled under him, still facing the door while his arm was outstretched, palms on the door, blocking you from opening it again. Your breath quickened as you stood there, the cool metal of the doorknob biting into your palm. You could feel Namjoon's presence behind you.

"Let me go, Namjoon," you demanded, your voice steady but wavering just slightly. The pounding of your heart felt like a war drum, urging you to flee, to escape this suffocating moment.

"You would come back to me nonetheless." You turned around to face him, your expression a blend of defiance and vulnerability.

"What makes you think I would?" you shot back, turning slightly to glance over your shoulder at him. The intensity in his eyes made your pulse quicken, a mixture of anger and confusion swirling within you.

"Because you love me back—" He leaned down, not giving you time to argue, and seized the chance to crash his lips down on yours for the first time.

His hands grabbed onto your hips, pulling you closer, the heat from his body seeping into yours. Your heart raced, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as his tongue danced with yours in a heated embrace.

Namjoon's fingers dug into your skin, his grip firm yet tender, as if he was trying to brand you as his own. The kiss was raw, primal, and all-consuming, leaving you both breathless and wanting more.

Namjoon's eyes locked onto yours, the fire within them burning brighter than ever before. With a low growl, he pulled you close again, his lips crashing down on yours once more as the world around you continued to spin.

As the kiss broke, Namjoon pulled away, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I'm not done being angry," you said, your voice low but unwavering. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and it both thrilled and terrified you.

Namjoon's brow furrowed slightly, surprise mingling with the intensity in his gaze. "I know that," he replied, his tone shifting, becoming more serious.

"Good," you spoke right to his lips, your heart still racing from the kiss. The mix of confusion and desire swirled within you, and you struggled to keep your composure.

The cognac brown couch was very comfortable, its soft cushions inviting you to sink in and relax. A glass coffee table with sleek chrome legs stood in front of it, its surface adorned with a stack of art books, a few scattered magazines, and a vintage crystal ashtray. So Namjoon.

A large, floor-to-ceiling window occupied one side of the room, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. A Persian rug, with intricate patterns in deep reds and blues, covered the polished hardwood floor, adding a touch of warmth and history to the contemporary space. Again, so Namjoon.

He was crouched down by the fireplace that dominated the place, his back to you. The fire cast a warm, flickering glow across the room, its light dancing over Namjoon's broad shoulders. He started the fire because he saw you shivering. But that had nothing to do with you being cold, and deep down he knew that too. He seemed lost in thought, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the floor as he stared into the flames.

You walked over to him, your footsteps silent on the plush rug. As you approached, Namjoon turned slightly, his eyes meeting yours. You sat down next to him.

"So, how do you imagine all this working?" you asked, your voice gentle yet tinged with the underlying frustration you felt.

Namjoon sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "Just like it did till now."

You frowned slightly, shaking your head.

"So I'm gonna go back to working in Anubis and you are going to keep shooting everyone who gets closer to me?!" you said, a bit harsher than you intended. Namjoon's eyes flashed with a mix of frustration.

"You are not coming back to work in Anubis, let's start with that," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

"My oh my, now you want to take the source of my income too." Namjoon shifted slightly, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. There was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

"You're my woman, Peaches. You don't need to work for money anymore," he started, his voice steady and filled with conviction.

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "You can't be serious."

"Women in our clan don't work for decades, my woman is not gonna work either. At least not like that—" You narrowed your eyes, feeling a mixture of disbelief and intrigue at his declaration.

"That's not who I am, Namjoon." He leaned in closer, the firelight casting a warm glow over his chiseled features.

"Baby, I'm not asking you. I'm offering you the life you always deserved." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face.

"I've always been able to take care of myself."

“So now let me take care of you, sweetling.”

Your mind raced as you considered his words. The allure of a life without the constant threat of violence, without the stress of making ends meet, was tempting. But was it worth giving up your autonomy?

“You can still pursue your passions. I’m not taking that away from you,—” Namjoon paused, his expression softening.

“But no Anubis,” he took your hands into his.

“What do you want?” You asked quietly. He held your gaze, the firelight flickering across his face, illuminating the resolve etched in his features.

“I think I made my intentions strictly clear today.” He chuckled and exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’m not just talking about safety and comfort, Peaches. I’m talking about us. About building a life together.”

You searched his eyes for any sign of insincerity, but all you found was determination.

“You want me to be your… what, exactly?” You knew, you just still didn’t want to believe it.

Namjoon leaned back slightly, still holding your hands, his thumb brushing against your skin in a soothing rhythm. “I want you to be mine—”

“Mind and body, heart and soul.” Namjoon's voice was low and earnest, each word weighted with sincerity.

You swallowed hard, trying to process the depth of what he was asking. “You mean… you want me to commit completely? To be yours in every sense?”

“And I’ll be yours.” He nodded, his eyes unwavering, filled with a mixture of affection and intensity. You felt a rush of emotions—a blend of excitement and fear.

“I can give you a life where you don’t have to look over your shoulder, where you can focus on what truly matters to you—your dreams, your passions, us.”

The promise of safety and love hung heavy in the air between you, and while the thought was tempting, a part of you still clung to your independence. It would be nice not to work long night hours in a bar full of drunk people to make ends meet. Not walking home with keys in your hand in case someone would jump you over or worse. Not living in a small old rusty apartment with your father who barely brought any income home.

The fire crackled softly, and you could feel the warmth radiating from it, mirroring the warmth blooming in your chest.

“I need time.” Namjoon’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening slightly as he processed your words. But he didn’t let go of your hands. Instead, he brought them to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, his gaze unwavering.

“Time,” he echoed, the word almost foreign as it left his mouth. “You already had plenty of time.” The firelight cast shadows across his face, emphasizing the intensity etched into every line.

“You think time will change how you feel? Or how much I want you?” You felt a tremor run through you at the weight of his words. It was suffocating and yet strangely comforting, like a trap laced with silk, binding you softly but securely.

“No, Namjoon, I’m just—” Namjoon’s fingers brushed along your jawline, tipping your face up so that you met his gaze directly.

“I get that this must be overwhelming for you, but the time you are asking for is already up and done—”

“I didn’t know it was ticking,” you began, voice barely more than a whisper. Namjoon tilted his head, studying you, his lips quirking into a small, almost understanding smile.

“No more hidden exits, no more plans to escape. I want you here, with me, committed… without looking for a way out. And in return, I’ll take care of you and your father. That’s my promise to you.”

The warmth in his eyes almost made you believe that he meant well, that beneath the possessive intensity was a genuine desire to protect and love. Yet a lingering voice inside you warned that this love would be an all-consuming fire—one that would consume every part of you until there was nothing left to call your own.

Your mind was racing for the answer. If you say yes, you may as well forget who you were, but perhaps you will find yourself where you always wanted to be. Someone. But what if you say no?

“What if I won’t agree, Namjoon?” You asked, scared for the answer. Namjoon’s gaze darkened, the softness slipping away as his grip tightened just enough for you to feel the control he had over the situation. He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Peaches, let's not pretend that you really have a choice here." His tone was calm, as if explaining something simple, obvious, like the inevitability of night following day.

"Your father," he began slowly, each word dripping with calculated weight, "he's in no position to take care of himself, is he? Without you, what would he do? You've been carrying his burden for years, haven't you? Always working to support him, protecting him, making sure he's safe…"

His voice lowered, softening almost to a whisper, but it was filled with a quiet menace. "But if you refuse me… well, who do you think is going to keep him safe then?"

You felt your heart hammer in your chest, dread creeping into every corner of your mind as you took in his words. This was the second time he was threatening your father.

"What is wrong with you?" You said coldly, staring daggers at his pretty face.

"What's wrong with me?" he echoed, voice laced with a faint, mocking laugh. "I'm doing what needs to be done, Peaches. I'm making sure you understand the lengths I'm willing to go to keep you by my side. You think I'd just stand by and watch you slip away? Again?"

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch featherlight but loaded with a silent threat. "I know you love your father," he murmured, voice a dangerous purr. "And that's why I'm reminding you of what's at stake."

You felt anger and fear twist inside you. He let his hand fall, watching your reaction with unsettling calmness, as if daring you to resist. Namjoon had you cornered, and he knew it. Every ounce of control you'd thought you held slipped further from your grasp, his quiet threats carving invisible chains around you.

"Why would you put me in this position?" He sighed, his lips curving into a faint, almost pitying smile as he tilted his head, studying you.

"Because I've been loving you for years, and when I can finally have you, you are trying toplay feminist."

The words hit you like a slap, raw and stinging. You swallowed, unable to look away from the intensity in his eyes. That faint smile on his lips held no warmth; it was twisted with something darker, something possessive.

"Play feminist?" you echoed, your voice wavering with anger and disbelief. "Namjoon, wanting to make my own choices doesn't mean I'm defying you or 'playing' anything. It means I'm a person, with my own will—"

He cut you off, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he shook his head slowly, almost as if you'd amused him.

“Peaches, you still don’t understand, do you? I’m offering you a world where you’re safe, where you don’t have to fight every day to survive. You’d rather keep struggling, keep pretending you’re content living in that cramped one bedroom apartment while your father brings home beer money when you are fighting off every hardship, and here I am, ready to give you the life you deserve.”

His fingers gripped your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze as he leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with conviction.

“You think you want freedom, independence. But freedom isn’t safe, Peaches. Freedom won’t love you like I do. It won’t sacrifice or protect. It won’t give you everything at the cost of its own soul.”

He released you, letting his hand fall away, his gaze darkening. “This isn’t some game, and it isn’t about principles. It’s about us. And if that means you have to surrender some of that so-called independence, then so be it. I know what’s best for you, Peaches. You just need to stop fighting and see that.”

Namjoon’s gaze shifted to something darker, more resolute, as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. The firelight glinted off the soft pink morganite stone, antique piece that must have been in his kin for decades, its delicate beauty a stark contrast to the intensity in his eyes. He held it up, his jaw set, the unspoken command clear in the way he presented it to you.

“Peaches,” he murmured, his voice dangerously calm, “will you marry me?”

Before you could even think to pull away, he took your hand firmly, holding it in place as he slid the ring onto your finger. It was cold against your skin, the weight of it foreign and heavy.

“Say yes.” His voice was low, steady, a dangerous edge lurking beneath the calm exterior. His eyes bore into yours, unwavering, challenging you to defy him. “Say it, Peaches. Agree to be mine, completely, or I’ll make sure you lose everything you’ve been holding onto.”

You felt trapped, his hand tightening around yours as if to remind you of his control over the situation. Your heart raced, your throat dry, as the words hovered on the edge of your lips, unable to escape. But he didn’t let go, his fingers pressing into your skin with an unyielding determination.

“Say it,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time, the softness slipping into something harder, more commanding.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, a feeling of resignation sinking deep into your chest as you stared at the ring, its delicate beauty now a symbol of your surrender.

“Yes,” you whispered, the word barely escaping your lips.

A smile spread across Namjoon’s face, slow and triumphant, as he released your hand, the weight of the ring now settling fully onto your finger. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped free, his touch gentle yet possessive.

“There,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with satisfaction.

“That’s my good girl.”

"Where's my bag?" you start sharply the moment Namjoon walks in, shrugging off the coat from his so-called 'business meeting.' You were obviously not allowed to sit in because women here do not work once they have a ring on their finger. Not like you are dying to be a part of a criminal syndicate that has its roots deeply set in this society. The air between you two is thick, a palpable tension that crackles like static before a storm.

"I looked everywhere, but I cannot seem to find it—"

Successful distilleries may be carrying the Jung name, yet other family members have their own shares of the money capital of the clan, Namjoon not being an exception. His name is presented on each brandy bottle you have had the chance to pour from. But what actually lies under the façade of crystal-clear bottles of whiskey and brandy remains unknown to the upper world.

When you met Namjoon, you didn't see a crime lord. You saw a man with ambition, with a drive that matched yours. But somewhere along the line, his ambition became chains around your wrists, tying you to a life you never chose. That's when you decided that working in Anubis would be only a "college" solution before you would leave the city.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of surprise and annoyance. "What bag?"

"You know exactly which bag," you snap, stepping closer. Namjoon's eyes darken, his jaw tightening.

"How about we start on lunch?" he suggests, trying to ignore your pleas.

"No," you insist, voice trembling with anger. "I want my bag. I want my money."

"I thought we had settled this last night, didn't we?" he says, his voice low and dangerous.

Your blood boils at his dismissive tone. "Settled? You think you can just placate me and everything will be fine? That money is mine, Namjoon. I earned it."

He steps closer, his presence intimidating but you hold your ground. "Peaches, you ought to be my wife, what's mine is yours. You don't need that money."

You stand firm, not backing down. "Need it or not, it's mine. I worked for it, Namjoon."

Namjoon's eyes narrow, a dangerous glint in them. "You think you can just walk out with that money? You think you can use it to just leave?"

"No, I—" Namjoon steps forward, his eyes cold and calculating. You feel a surge of anger, your hands clenching into fists. "I earned that money, and I deserve to use it as I see fit."

"If you want to spend money, we can go shopping—" His presence overwhelming and oppressive. His words angering you even more.

"SHOPPING?! Are you fucking serious? This isn't about buying things, Namjoon. This is about my life, my choices."

Before you can continue your rambling, he grabs your wrist and pulls you close, his grip like iron. His lips crash onto yours in a bruising, dominating kiss, meant to remind you of his power over you. You struggle, but his hold is unyielding, leaving you breathless and dizzy.

"If you're gonna drop that honorific one more time—" Namjoon's eyes blaze with fury as he keeps you close, his grip almost painful.

"I won't—" you spit out, defiance still burning in your eyes despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "If you give me my money back. I have a right to it." Namjoon laughs coldly, shaking his head.

"Let's just have lunch, Peaches, before I lose my patience completely—" he says, his voice dripping with condescension. You glare at him, refusing to back down.

"Not until you give me my money back." His expression hardens, the cold amusement vanishing.

"You really want to push this, don't you?"

"Yes," you say, your voice unwavering. "Favor for favor, isn't it the mantra y'all go by?" A smirk playing on his lips when you finish the sentence.

"Everything you need, I provide." You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

"I worked for that money, Namjoon. I deserve to have control over it."

He steps closer again, his eyes dancing with amusement as he looks down at you. "Control? You want control? Fine," he says, his voice dripping with condescension.

"I've deposited them into an account I opened in your name, joint with mine, naturally," he says, his words carrying that same cool, possessive edge.

"What?" you gasp, your disbelief palpable. "You what?"

"I will give you your black card," he repeats, his lips curling into a taunting smile "—once you prove not to be a flight risk, baby." Namjoon tilts his head, the smirk never fading. This, in essence, means that every single transaction will be noticed. You will withdraw the money from the card—he will know. You will attempt to transfer them to a different account? He will fucking know. The implications hitting you like a gut punch. Your blood runs cold as his words sink in.

"I'm not stupid, Peaches. I know that we gotta work on our relationship." He steps even closer, his gaze intense, pinning you in place. "Let's work on that trust first, and then you can have money at your disposal."

Your heart beats in your throat, the frustration boiling beneath the surface. Trust? The word feels like a cruel joke coming from him.Trust?

"I'm not one of your assets, Namjoon," you spit out, your voice thick with defiance. "And I won't be treated like one." His towering form casting a shadow over you, and for a moment, his eyes soften, as if he's pitying you.

"You don't have a choice, baby." His tone shifts again, dripping with that same chilling calm.

"When you prove you can stay and play nice, then maybe, just maybe, I'll let you have some freedom with your own damn money." And just like that, he's already begun dictating the terms of your life again, his grip on you tighter than ever before.

The missing duffle bag with your money was among the least of your worries when you realized what else the duffle bag possessed.

"You have my passport, Namjoon, how can I run away?" Namjoon's eyes flicker, the amusement fading slightly, but his smirk doesn't falter. He's been expecting this—he always expects everything.

Namjoon's smile is slow, deliberate, almost cruel. "I've taken what I need to keep you close." Namjoon leans in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice low and dangerous.

"But I am not underestimating your spirit."

You're nauseous, the implication of his words settling over you like a weight you can't shake off. He is holding the strings to everything, but that only made you realize that you had a hell of a lot of thinking and plotting to do to get out of here. And the most intrusive thought back in your head, where you consider staying here and embracing this finally official relationship, has to go—quickly.

"So, what now?" you ask, voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it steady. "You plan on keeping me locked up forever, Namjoon-oppa?" Namjoon only smiles, cold and confident.

"No baby. But I will keep you very close, until I can trust you." Your skin prickles where his fingers brush, but you don't pull away. You can't. The need to stay composed, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you break, fights against the rising tide of rage and fear in your chest.

"And what do you want me to do to earn it, Namjoon?" you ask, your voice steady despite the turmoil roiling inside you. "Beg? Crawl? Pretend everything is fine when it's not?" He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he's piecing together in real time. The silence that follows is thick with tension. He stands so close now that you can feel the heat of his body against yours.

"So, lunch it is then?"

His tone is mockingly light, but there's a sharp edge beneath it when he tries to abandon the conversation, the kind that makes you feel trapped.

The black Mercedes hums smoothly along the Bronx streets, its sleek exterior reflecting the gray clouds above. It's going to snow any day now. Inside, the air is thick with tension, an unspoken understanding between the two passengers.

You sit in the backseat, your fingers nervously gripping the edge of your dress, the smooth fabric barely registering under your touch. Your sunglasses hide the unease in your eyes, but the tightness in your chest is something you can't disguise.

Today feels different.

Namjoon sits beside you in the backseat, his gaze fixed ahead, while his hand is warm on your thigh. You are staring at your shoes. Isn't this what you wanted? To ride in an expensive car, wearing Saint Laurent pointy-toed heels? A form-fitting dress with a high neck reveals your figure subtly, and the hungry look Namjoon gave you when you stepped out of the wardrobe did not go unnoticed. Something feels different, as if you're playing dress-up. The allure of the life Namjoon offers, it all feels strangely distant.

You eye him carefully—his black turtleneck is tailored to fit perfectly, sleek and minimalistic. Over it, a black suit jacket, structured but not overly stiff, gives him a commanding presence. His black slacks match the simplicity and power of his look, polished and clean.

The cold air bites against your skin, and you instinctively pull your coat tighter around your shoulders, trying to shield yourself from the chill that seems to creep through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Thank you for letting me see my father," you whisper, your voice barely audible, yet heavy with meaning.

"You don't have to thank me—" he says quietly, his voice low, almost intimate. His gaze doesn't soften, but there's something in the way he stands, commanding yet calm, that makes your heart race. The chill of the early morning seems to deepen, pressing in on you, yet you're acutely aware of the warmth of his presence, the heat of his body just a little too close.

"I couldn't have kept you from seeing him," Namjoon continues, his tone flat, as if he's simply stating a fact.

"But keep in mind that this is a privilege—you misbehave, you won't see him." His eyes lock with yours, not with malice, but with a cold certainty that makes your heart flutter uncomfortably in your chest. The last thing you want now is to provoke him further, to find out just how far his power reaches.

"Engaged?!" disbelief and shock etched into the features of your father when you sat down at the kitchen table after you collected some of the things you wished to take with you. You nod, your heart racing.

"Yes, Dad. It just happened. I wanted you to know first." Your father's gaze shifts to Namjoon, his face a storm of emotions—anger, disbelief, worry.

"Peaches, do you know what you're doing? This man is nearly a decade older than you," he whispers your way, his voice trembling with concern.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "It's not that big, Dad. I know it's a lot to take in, but Namjoon and I—we're serious about this." You never knew how good you were at lying until today. Your father's eyes narrow, his gaze flicking between you and Namjoon.

"When did this relationship even happen? Is he holding you against your will?!" he demands, his tone a mix of frustration and disbelief. Your smile freezes for a moment, and you try your best not to give yourself away.

"No, Dad, that happens only in movies," you reply, attempting a light-hearted tone to deflect his suspicion. Maybe this is what Namjoon meant by earning trust.

Your father's gaze remains hard, but he doesn't push further. Instead, he turns to Namjoon, his voice cold and edged with protectiveness. "You better take care of her, Namjoon. If anything happens to her, I won't forgive you."

Namjoon smiles proudly at you, almost missing your father's harsh words. His confidence in you seems unshaken.

"You have my word," he replies simply, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, staring at the shiny peachy morganite.

You were never religious enough to step foot in a church after you were christened as a baby. Your parents were indifferent to faith, more focused on the struggles of daily life than spiritual obligations. But your now husband-to-be came from very religious kin, and he himself was a God's worshipper. Ironic enough when he managed to break the Ten Commandments before sipping his morning coffee.

His family, deeply rooted in tradition and devout faith, expected nothing less than a grand celebration steeped in religious customs. The thought of walking down an aisle, flanked by stained glass and the scent of incense, felt foreign and overwhelming.

The morning sun poured into the grand church, illuminating the ornate stained glass that depicted scenes of devotion and reverence. As you and Namjoon stepped through the heavy wooden doors, a wave of warmth enveloped you, mingling with the scent of polished wood and candle wax. It felt like stepping into another world, one where faith and family intertwined seamlessly.

You could see familiar faces sitting on the wooden benches. Kim Taehyung smirking your way when he glanced at your hand interlocked with Namjoon's. He was sitting next to Mr. Jung, whom you recognized by his mullet, and the next seat was occupied by the one and only Mrs. Jung, whom you hadn't seen for a good amount of time. There were also some faces that you did not recognize, yet they still felt familiar to you. You couldn't help but notice the way the Kims and Jungs interacted, the warmth of their bonds evident in the way they smiled, laughed, and shared stories during the prayers. Their camaraderie was infectious, and for a fleeting moment, you found yourself longing for that sense of belonging.

As the service began, the congregation settled into a peaceful quiet, the sounds of rustling papers and shifting bodies fading into the background. The priest took his place at the altar, his voice echoing through the high ceilings as he began to speak about love, commitment, and the sacred bonds of marriage. Each word resonated deeply within you, pulling at your heartstrings as you thought of your impending union. As it was explained to you, this Mass was held as the announcement of your engagement—one of many traditions they had.

Namjoon sat beside you, his presence a constant reminder of the promise you had made. You could feel his gaze on you, intense and unwavering, as if he were silently urging you to embrace this new chapter of your life. But the weight of that ring on your finger felt heavier than ever in this moment.

"Love is not merely a feeling; it's a choice," the priest's voice boomed, and you glanced at Namjoon, catching the flicker of expectation in his eyes. "It's a daily commitment to one another, a promise to uphold each other through trials and triumphs alike."

You shifted in your seat, feeling the heat of his gaze on you like a physical presence. You wondered if love really was a choice—or if, in your case, it was a bargain made under duress. Namjoon's grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, a subtle reminder of the hold he had over your life.

This was the first time he took you out of the penthouse since the day you woke up in his bed for the first time. He simply did not trust you enough to go out in public with you just yet. Hence, his hand remained on yours in a very obsessive manner, as if you were to fly away at any moment.

The priest continued, "Marriage is a sacred bond, one that should be approached with reverence and care. It's not merely about sharing a life together but about supporting and uplifting one another, about being the anchor when the storms come." He paused, letting his words sink in.

Your mind wandered back to your father, the struggles he faced, and how Namjoon had used that vulnerability to secure your loyalty. The contrast between the priest's idealistic views on love and your reality felt stark. How could you ever find true happiness in a union that felt more like a transaction than a partnership? You were feeling heavy.

"And today," the priest announced, raising his voice slightly to draw everyone's attention, "we gather not only to worship but to celebrate the union of two souls destined to walk together."

Your breath caught in your throat, and a mix of emotions surged through you. Murmurs of congratulations rippled through the congregation, and you felt the weight of countless eyes on you, some filled with excitement, others with curiosity. Namjoon's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes gleaming with pride.

You could feel your cheeks flush as the reality of your situation sank in deeper. The ring on your finger felt like a shackle, the promises made a binding contract that left little room for your own desires.

"I—" you started, but the words felt stuck in your throat. "I need to go to the restroom, Namjoon."

His expression shifted, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "Now?" he asked, voice low enough that only you could hear, but firm enough to convey his displeasure. "We're in the middle of the service."

Namjoon hesitated, weighing your request against the backdrop of the ceremony. Finally, he released your hand but leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Make it quick, baby."

You nodded, grateful for the small bit of freedom. Your Louboutin heels clicked against the marble floor, each step echoing like a drumbeat in the otherwise quiet sanctuary. The sound felt amplified in your ears, a reminder of the attention you were drawing as you navigated through the rows of wooden pews. You could feel the weight of curious gazes following you, some filled with anticipation, others with judgment. It was as if the congregation sensed the tension between you and Namjoon, the unspoken power dynamics playing out in real time.

You pushed open the restroom door and stepped inside. The fluorescent lights cast a stark glare, highlighting the contrast between the serenity of the service and the storm swirling within you.

Leaning against the sink, you took a moment to catch your breath. The reflection staring back at you was a mixture of uncertainty and defiance, a girl caught between two worlds.

"Why am I still here?" you whispered to your reflection, the question echoing back at you. You thought of the life you had envisioned for yourself, one filled with love, laughter, and independence, not one governed by fear and obligation.

"I fucked up." After a few deep breaths, you steadied yourself. You needed to return before he would throw a tantrum, as he loved to do whenever you were away from him for longer than ten minutes. Paranoid bastard. You glanced at your watch and noted that only a few minutes had passed. With a resigned sigh, you turned to leave, determination flooding your veins.

As you exited the restroom, you found Namjoon leaning against the wall outside, arms crossed and an expression that mixed concern and annoyance. His posture was protective, yet the underlying tension in his demeanor sent a shiver down your spine. He pushed himself from the wall only to walk towards you, making you take a few steps back into the restroom. His eyes never left yours even when he closed the door and locked it from inside, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.

The reality of your situation pressed down on you, an oppressive weight that made it hard to breathe. He moved closer, his eyes dark and intent.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he replied when you asked him why he wasn't upstairs, his tone both soothing and authoritative.

"You know how important this day is, right? I can't have you slipping away from me."

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. "I'm fine. I just needed a moment," you insisted, but the way he watched you made it clear he wasn't convinced.

"You can be honest, Peaches," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone. "You're in a room full of people celebrating our engagement, and yet you're out here trying to escape."

His words struck a nerve, and you crossed your arms defensively. "I'm not trying to escape," you shot back, though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

"Okay," he said calmly, staring intensely into your eyes, as if he was trying to read you. A small smirk played at the corners of his lips, but the tension in the air remained thick. You did not expect him to drop the topic that quickly.

"I just needed to collect my thoughts," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Okay," he murmured again. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you even more, his body radiating warmth that both comforted and unsettled you. He was standing there, inches away from you, yet he was not taking any action.

"W-why are you so calm, what are you doing, Namjoon?" you asked, trying to grasp his demeanor which you yet again did not understand.

"Waiting—"

"Can we just go back to the ceremony?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. Namjoon's smirk widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"Not yet, my love," he whispered back, his voice low and husky. Namjoon's fingers traced the curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "I longed to show you just who you belong to for years."

"You're fucking stunning, Peaches," he murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe. Namjoon's fingers trailed down your chest, stopping just above your breasts. You felt a jolt of electricity run through your body, and you knew that you were in trouble.

"Namjoon," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "We can't do this here, we're in a church." You tried to push him away.

"You are something I can sin for," he whispered back, his voice low and seductive. You tried to pull away, but Namjoon held you firm, his grip unyielding.

"Namjoon, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with desire and apprehension.

But Namjoon was relentless, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left you quivering with pleasure. "You're mine, Peaches," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck.

"And I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way."

Namjoon's lips found yours, and he kissed you with a passion that left you breathless. His tongue danced with yours, and you felt your body respond to his every touch. As you kissed, Namjoon's hand slid between your legs, and he began to caress you through your dress. You gasped softly, your body arching into his touch, trembling with the sudden pleasure.

"Namjoon," you whispered urgently, "we have to stop." Your breath hitched as he pressed you against the mirror after he lifted you onto the counter, plunging himself between your legs.

"No, we don't," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Not until I've claimed you as mine."

The church's silence seemed to amplify the intensity of the moment, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge of a cliff. His fingers traced the contours of your body, exploring every curve and crevice.

"What if someone hears?" you breathed again, desperation lacing your voice.

His lips paused just above your collarbone, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. As if the universe was playing by his rules, the choir started to sing. He chuckled.

"You're mine, Peaches. I won't let anyone take you away from me—not today, not ever." He captured your lips again, his kiss deepening with a fervor that ignited every nerve ending in your body.

His hands were exploring the curves of your thighs, lifting the hem of your dress higher as he pressed you firmly against the cold surface of the counter.

"Namjoon," you breathed, a mix of excitement and fear knotting in your stomach. "We can't…" you continued your protests.

"But we will." His fingers danced dangerously close to your most sensitive spots, teasing you with the promise of pleasure. You felt your resolve begin to crumble under his touch.

"I've waited too long for this," he murmured, voice a velvet whisper that wrapped around you like a lover's embrace.

"Namjoon," you gasped against his lips, torn between the heady rush of desire and the urgent need to pull back. But with each kiss, each exploration of his hands, your inhibitions began to melt away, surrendering to the intoxicating pull he had over you.

"Just let go," he urged, a soft growl escaping his lips as he pressed his body into yours, making you acutely aware of the hard length that pressed against your core.

"Trust me."

A wild, reckless part of you craved this intimacy, this connection that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. Your mind took you back to all those moments you shared that made your heart flutter and belly tight when you did not know why he made you feel that way.

You hesitated for a heartbeat, the weight of your reality pressing heavily on your conscience. His fingers found their way beneath your dress, inching higher until they brushed against your most sensitive skin. You gasped, arching your back involuntarily as pleasure surged through you, igniting a fire in your belly.

"Namjoon!" you cried out, a mixture of pleasure and panic lacing your voice.

"Shh, baby," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck as he continued his teasing exploration. With a deft motion, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs and tossing them aside as if they were nothing more than an afterthought. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, heightening your senses and making your breath hitch in your throat.

The air in the restroom felt thick with anticipation, each breath you took mingling with the scent of sandalwood and the faint musk of his skin.

“You’re breath-taking,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with desire.

His fingertips traced closer to where you needed him most, teasing you with the lightest of touches. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan that threatened to escape, the heat pooling deep within you almost overwhelming.

“Namjoon…” you whispered, half warning, half plea, torn between your desire for him and the reality of your surroundings.

“—and so wet for me.” He breathed against your skin, his breath sending sparks dancing along your nerves. His tongue danced with yours, a heated exploration that deepened your need for him. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you and the intoxicating chemistry that crackled between your bodies.

His fingers pressed against you, expertly coaxing soft moans from your lips as he slid one finger inside, filling you completely. You bit down on your lip to stifle your cries, but the pleasure was overwhelming, radiating out from the point of contact and pooling low in your stomach.

His eyes sparkled with a predatory intensity, relishing in your reaction. He watched you as if he were savouring a fine wine, taking his time to appreciate every detail of your response.

“Namjoon,” you gasped, your voice a fragile whisper, barely able to maintain any semblance of restraint.

“Oppa.” He growled. The way he said it—deep, possessive—made your heart race faster, each beat echoing in the stillness of the restroom. Namjoon’s fingers moved with a deliberate rhythm, curling inside you in a way that sent your mind spiralling.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he commanded, his tone a mix of sultry and demanding, eyes never leaving yours as he watched you unravel under his touch.

You hesitated for a moment, your breath coming in quick gasps as pleasure washed over you. “It feels… amazing,” you managed to whisper, the confession slipping past your lips like a sweet secret. You can regret this later.

“Good,” he murmured, the smirk on his face growing wider. “I want to hear every sound you make.”

His fingers moved faster, building the tension to a near unbearable level, each thrust sending you closer to the brink. The world around you faded completely, leaving just the two of you entwined in this stolen moment of passion, lost in the depths of one another.

“Namjoon. I can’t—” his hand smacked your ass and he deliberately slowed down.

“It’s oppa for you. Don’t make me repeat it again.”

The playful sting of his hand against your skin sent a rush of warmth coursing through you, mingling with the heat pooling low in your belly. His voice was firm, but beneath that authority was a hint of something deeper—a promise that ignited a wild excitement within you.

“Oppa,” you whispered breathlessly, the word slipping from your lips like a spell meant just for him.

He smiled, satisfied, and resumed his movements, fingers working expertly inside you again. The pressure built anew, the delightful tension sending electric shocks through your body.

“Good girl,” he praised, his breath hot against your ear. “I want to hear you, Peaches. Let me know how much you need me.”

With that, he quickened his pace, thrusting his fingers deeper, curling them just right. The overwhelming pleasure began to blur the edges of your consciousness, leaving only the sensations that centred on where he was buried within you. The heat intensified, building towards a sweet, dizzying peak, and you couldn’t help but surrender to it.

With a final flick of his fingers, he found that sweet spot inside you, driving you wild. Your body responded in kind, the sensations intertwining with your every thought. You could feel the tightening in your core, the unmistakable signal that you were teetering on the edge of bliss.

“Namjoon-oppa, I—” you gasped, words failing you as the pleasure escalated.

“Shh, just let it happen,” he murmured, his voice deep and soothing, anchoring you in the moment. His lips met yours in a heated kiss, swallowing your cries as the waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

"Oppa!" you cried against his mouth, unable to contain the raw need bursting forth from within. Your body trembled, the climax washing over you in a torrent of sensations, enveloping you completely as you surrendered to the bliss. The choir's distant hymns created an almost surreal backdrop to this heated encounter, mixing innocence with your burgeoning desire.

As the pleasure receded, leaving you breathless and dazed, Namjoon held you close, his arms encircling you like a protective cocoon. You leaned into him, heart racing and body tingling, reveling in the aftershocks of your release.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" he teased, his voice low and playful, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. "To be mine."

Your blurry eyes lifted to look at him, taking him in while you were still panting from the rollercoaster of emotions he made you feel. Flickering down to his bulge covered by the fabric of his black suit pants from Ralph Lauren, your breath hitched again. Enough for him to move his hands to his belt, being absolutely ready to take you. Finally free of his belt, he pulled down his zipper. The fabric of his pants fell open, revealing the outline of his desire, bold and unmistakable.

The urgency of the moment wrapped around you like a tight embrace, making it hard to think straight. You glanced around, the restroom feeling impossibly small, every sound amplified.

"Oppa, please…" you breathed, your heart racing as you tried to pull away, but the undeniable hunger in his gaze anchored you in place. You could see the determination etched on his face, the way his jaw tightened with lust. He had a plan, and it made your pulse quicken. You were not sure what you were begging for—to stop or to continue?

If not for the soft knock on the door, he would have taken you right there, on the church's restroom counter. It jolted you both, pulling you back to the reality of your surroundings. A rush of panic surged through you, and you instinctively glanced around the cramped restroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Oppa," you whispered again, this time a plea laced with desire and uncertainty.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Just a little longer," he promised, his fingers finding their way back to your thighs, gripping you tightly as if to keep you anchored to the moment.

"Just one more time," he urged, his voice thick with need. "I need to feel you—"

"Hyung, I know you will kill me for this, but you need to come back upstairs." The voice—familiar and insistent—cut through the haze of desire that had enveloped you both.

Namjoon's expression flickered from lust to annoyance, his grip on you tightening slightly as if to remind you that this moment was still theirs, even if the world outside was intruding.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his frustration palpable. The intensity in his gaze shifted, but it didn't fade. Instead, it turned into something more predatory, a simmering heat that promised this wasn't over.

"We'll be right there!" He shouted back to the voice behind the door. His eyes slowly returned to watch you and your disheveled form after he fingered the fuck out of you.

He leaned in, his lips capturing yours once more, and it felt like time stood still. The world around you blurred, and for that moment, it was just the two of you—lost in a whirlwind of passion that defied the reality waiting outside the door.

His forehead remained pressed on yours when he whispered to your lips. “Next time, we won’t be so rushed, I promise.” Pecking your lips, he quickly pulled his pants back up, securing his belt with a swift motion, yet the heat of the moment lingered between you both.

The calm shattered in an instant.

The heavy church door burst open with a deafening crash. Armed men in tactical gear stormed in with raised weapons, their shouts filling the air. Namjoon immediately pushed you behind him, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene with deadly focus.

The thunderous crack of gunfire echoed off the stone walls as the air filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder. Namjoon drew a gun from beneath his jacket—like several other family men in attendance—his movements swift and practiced. He returned fire, the muzzle flash illuminating his determined face in bursts of light.

Your heart pounded in your chest like a drum of terror and adrenaline. Huddled behind an overturned pew, you clutched your ears against the deafening noise, eyes wide with shock and fear. Namjoon, breathing heavily, scanned the room one final time before turning to you, his eyes softening for a moment.

"Stay down!" he shouted, his voice barely audible above the chaos.

"Jungkook, get them out!" Namjoon barked, his eyes fixed on the fight.

He reached your side, pulling you up by the arm. Jungkook's grip was firm yet reassuring.

"Come on," he urged, his voice a steady anchor amid the storm of violence. He led you through the chaos, his body shielding you from the worst of the gunfire.

Just as you neared the side door, a sharp pain exploded in your side. You stumbled, a cry of agony escaping your lips. The world seemed to slow, the sounds of battle muffled by the roaring in your ears. Looking down, you saw blood spreading across your dress, the pain intensifying with each heartbeat.

"Peaches!"

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𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @hecateslittlewitchling - @ratprincessnr1 - @originalbiscuitfiredreamer - @mggv97 - @urlovelily - @ilys00ga - @beautifulcloudfestival - @herareila @mar-lo-pap

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

see you next time, love, p.

[wildestdreamsblog]

Might as well be drunk in love: 3 of 3

Pairing: OT7 x Reader (CEO AU)

Summary: In which your friend thought it would be funny to give you a love potion, and in which seven CEOs accidentally drank it.

Warnings: Love Potion, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: HAPPY HOSEOK'S DAY! We made it! 2/7!!

Part 1, Part 2

Your smile was genuine when you met Kim Taehyung’s eyes.

Unlike the others who were punctual, he was a minute late. He was grinning though like he had a secret he couldn’t wait to share to you.

“You seem happy, Taehyung,” you remarked as you stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking with each heartbeat. With his hands tucked into his pockets, he waited eagerly for you to reach him. The only indication of his bubbling excitement was the way he bounced slightly on his feet. He looked so much lighter in this light, you noticed, the usual darkness in his eyes was nowhere to be found.

He looked truly happy like the sun had decided to shine just for him.

“I am,” he said, his grin widening even more. His eyes sparkled with anticipation. How can he not be happy when you were near? “You’re here with me. With us. How can I not be happy?” he murmured, gently pulling your hand into his and clasping your fingers tightly.

You blinked, surprised by his blatant statement. The potion was indeed so powerful that even the cold Taehyung turned into this kind of person you would want for you own had it been a different circumstance. You thought that whoever he would choose to love after all this fiasco would be the luckiest person.

However, you chose to not dwell on his statement. You were extremely happy with the good news your friend shared with you. There would be a cure soon, and you just knew that you would be nothing to him and all of them after this but a fleeting memory. You decided to hold on for a little while longer, and maybe just lived in the moment where this was a possibility. Sooner rather than later, they would go back to not knowing and caring who you were.

You cleared your throat, “So, where are you taking me?”

Taehyung took a sip from his coffee, the takeout food laid on either side of you on the bench. A smile tugged at your lips at the peculiarity of it all—here was one of the richest men in South Korea, someone with immense influence, choosing to share a simple day in the park with you. It felt surreal, the laughter of children and rustling leaves wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

“This is really good,” he hummed appreciatively, his eyes lighting up as he sampled one of the dishes from the food truck. “And it’s really cheap. I cannot believe those fancy restaurants charge so much when the food is just so-so.”

“Right? Finally, someone from the rich admitted it!” you laughed, your voice mingling with the sounds of the park. “I always wondered if the taste buds of the rich are just inherently different from us. There’s no way you guys are satisfied with those little servings of dishes. Also, is this your first time eating here?”

“Yes…” Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the pond sheepishly. “I always wanted to do this with a girlfriend. You know, those TV dramas show how romantic this is.”

You couldn’t help but grin at his confession and the innocence in his voice. The sincerity of his confession made him endearing, if not more. “So, here we are, living the drama, huh? Too bad you didn’t do this with your real girlfriend.”

He glared at you, his expression mock-serious, before playfully snatching your hand and fully enclosing it with his. “You’re my real girlfriend,” he grumbled childishly, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes.

Your heart raced at the sudden intimacy, warmth flooding through you. “Oh, really? Guess I should start practicing my dramatic sighs and longing gazes then,” you teased, squeezing his hand gently.

“Absolutely,” he said with a grin, his earlier shyness melting away. “I expect nothing less from my leading lady.”

It was a nice lunch out which should have ended as nicely as it started.

But you should have known your wish was too good to be true.

You were walking with him on your way back to the office when he randomly decided to go back and buy his brothers takeout food. He claimed that since he thoroughly enjoyed it, his brothers should too so that they would know just what they were missing. He asked you to wait for a little while before he turned back. And you did. You were contented with scrolling through your social media when you were interrupted.

“Excuse me, miss?” A man called for you, his smile was warm as he looked at you. “May I know what time it is?”

“Oh uhm, it’s 1:37,” you replied, glancing at the screen of your phone.

He thanked you politely before resuming his walk when he abruptly stopped. He chuckled sheepishly, looking at you over his lashes. “I really don’t need to know the time. I’m sorry, I’m really bad at this. You’re just so beautiful –”

“May I help you?” Taehyung’s voice suddenly cut through the air, firm yet protective as he reappeared, a bag of takeout in hand. He stepped in front of you, effectively blocking you from the other man’s view. His face was void of any emotion, yet he managed to terrify the man.

The man straightened, clearly caught off guard. Taehyung’s presence shifted the atmosphere, his expression a mix of confusion and an underlying feeling of intimidation. “Uh, I was just… asking the time,” the man stammered, taking a step back.

Taehyung’s gaze narrowed slightly, a hint of a challenge in his posture. “Right. And now you’ve got the time. Anything else?”

“Man, I’m not looking for any trouble. I-I just really thought she’s single. I meant no harm!” the man protested, his voice shaky.

“Why are you still here?” Taehyung whispered, the sound of irritation was heavy in his tone. “Why are you still looking at my woman?” He asked, the words coming out as a low growl, each syllable deliberate and heavy.

The air between you crackled with tension as the man’s face blanched, realizing he had crossed a line. He raised his hands defensively, backing away further. “I—I didn’t know! Sorry, I just thought—”

“Thought what?” Taehyung pressed, taking a step forward, his stance unwavering. “That it was okay to interrupt her? To make her uncomfortable?” He was too close to the man, his hands closed to a fist as though he was just one look away from exploding. “That you can steal her away from us?!”

How could you ever think that he was something other than the darkness that was caging his heart? How could you ever be so naïve? “Hey, it’s fine. He didn’t bother me at all,” you interjected gently, trying to diffuse the situation before it escalated further. “Let’s just let him go.”

Gone was the sweet man you perceived him to be not long ago, and in his place was the darkness you always knew him to be when he slowly turned around after the man swiftly escaped the situation. “Remember this, little one,” he started, his voice grave yet commanding, a blend of promise and threat. “We are the only one for you.”

You couldn't shake off the discomfort that Taehyung's interaction had stirred within you.

You were deep in your thoughts, terror and anxiety in your heart. He was the third in the schedule and you still had four to go. All the interactions you had with the boys so far only made you see the warning signs flashing in your mind. This was a wrong decision. You should have heeded your friend’s warning about spending time with them and avoided skinship as much as possible.  

You should have focused on finding the cure. However, you couldn’t just turn your back on them, not when they all acted like they were on their deathbeds as though you were the only cure, badly needing you to take their next breath. The weight of their dependency tugged at your conscience, making it harder to escape the turmoil that surrounded you. Hence, your predicament.

Taehyung’s reaction was too much. The potion was turning them into jealous, possessive men, their natural temperaments amplified into something almost unrecognizable. It had only been three days since the potion had taken effect, yet it seemed to amplify their emotions, turning them into jealous, clingy versions of themselves. You felt a chill run down your spine as you recalled the way his eyes had darkened, how intense his gaze had been, as if he saw you as something he needed to protect at all costs.

Consumed by these unsettling thoughts, you almost forgot about Jungkook entirely. His presence had slipped into the background amidst the chaos Taehyung’s behavior had caused. That is, until the hurried sound of footsteps interrupted your spiral. You turned, startled, to find a group of Jungkook’s guards, their expressions tight with fear. Wide-eyed and breathless, they approached you swiftly, the urgency in their movements sending a wave of panic through you.

“What—what’s happening?” you stammered, confusion mixing with dread.

“Mr. Jeon… he’s not well,” another guard murmured, his tone serious. “It’s bad.”

Your heart sank as the weight of their words hit you. Jungkook was not well.  If Taehyung’s possessiveness had shaken you, the thought of Jungkook in a similar state terrified you even more. Without hesitation, you followed them, a knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

As you neared his floor, the muffled sounds of destruction reached you—sharp crashes, the unmistakable sound of something heavy being thrown, followed by a guttural, enraged grunt. The noise alone made your skin crawl, but you pushed forward.

“Go in,” one of the guards pleaded, his voice quiet but urgent as you hesitated. You could hear the familiar voices of Jin and Namjoon on the other side of the door, their tones strained as they attempted to calm him.

“Jungkook, breathe,” Namjoon was saying, his voice low, trying to inject calm into the chaos.

“Come on, it’s okay,” Jin added, though the strain in his voice betrayed the calm facade he was trying to maintain. “She’ll be here. She didn’t leave… relax.”

The guard beside you pushed the door open, leaving you no choice but to face your oversight. Suffice to say, the scene before you sent a fresh wave of fear through your body.

Jungkook’s office was a mess. Papers were scattered across the floor, a desk chair lay on its side, and the corner of the large wooden desk had a jagged crack running through it as if something—or someone—had hit it too hard. A shattered vase lay in pieces, its contents scattered across the floor.

In the center of the chaos stood Jungkook. His back was to you, his broad shoulders heaving with labored breaths, fists clenched tightly at his sides. Even from where you stood, you could feel the tension radiating off him like a living thing. His stark, dark hair was disheveled, his usually sharp, precise appearance completely undone by whatever storm was raging inside him.

You knew you caused it. You were aware of you effect on them, but heavens, you didn’t know it to be this bad.

Namjoon was the first to notice you. His draconic eyes, once calm and calculating, now burned with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. The second your startled gaze met his, you saw it—the darkness swirling in him, consuming him. He hadn’t seen you since last night, and the distance had frayed his already strained control. His jaw clenched, muscles tensing as if he were holding himself back from lunging at you. He needed you. Desperately.

But the leader in him fought against the urge, restraining the primal hunger clawing at his insides. He knew he had to hold back—for now. The others needed you just as much as he did. He could wait. He had to wait. His fingers twitched at his sides, betraying the struggle within him.

He could wait until tonight.

He had to.

“Thank God,” Jin breathed when he noticed your presence. He stepped away from Jungkook.

Jungkook’s head snapped up the moment you stepped further into the room. His body froze, as though sensing your presence before even turning to look at you. Slowly, he turned around, and the intensity in his eyes when they locked onto yours was nearly suffocating. His dark eyes, wide with emotion, bore into you, his lips parted slightly as he struggled to catch his breath.

The room went still as Jungkook’s gaze never wavered from you. You could feel the raw intensity behind his eyes, the same kind of possessiveness you had seen in Taehyung but magnified tenfold in Jungkook. It wasn’t just desperation; it was obsession, need, something far more dangerous than mere jealousy.

“You…” he stammered; his voice rough from all the screaming he had done. His words were laced with desperation and disbelief. “Y-you didn’t leave us, Noona?”

The room was too silent as though their stability rested entirely on your next move. You knew you had to thread extremely carefully.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest, your knees locked. You brain was screaming for you to run away from him. “Jungkook,” you whispered, his name fragile on your lips.

It was him who decided for you.

He hated the distance. It gnawed at him, fraying what little control he had left. He took a step forward, his fists still clenched, muscles tense as if he were fighting some invisible restraint. “Don’t leave me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but there was a command beneath the words. His hands caressed your cheeks and tilted you face to meet his eyes. “You… you can’t leave me. You cannot leave us.”

He didn’t let you leave. And you couldn’t as well, not when he was visibly distraught. Most especially, not when his arms were wrapped around you like a vine. Before you knew it, you were lying on the sofa in his office, Jungkook’s arms wrapped around you like vines, pulling you impossibly close. His body pressed against yours, seeking warmth, seeking comfort. He didn’t say anything, but the weight of his emotions was palpable. His grip on you never loosened, his head buried in the crook of your neck as if he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

The only reassurance he seemed to accept was having you there, physically close to him, where he could feel you, touch you, and know that you hadn’t disappeared. But as comforting as your presence was to him, it left you uncomfortable, stressed by the weight of the situation. Jungkook was too close, his grip too tight, and the intensity of it all made your mind scream for space, for distance. But you couldn’t move—not when each time you tried to shift even slightly, he would hold on tighter, and the quiet, broken sobs would return, muffled against your skin.

Your unlikely savior came at exactly 3 in the afternoon.

Min Yoongi opened the door in a relaxed manner as though he was the owner of the office, his bored eyes finding your form on the sofa. His relaxed demeanor was a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the room. Jungkook hadn’t noticed him yet, but you softly calling Yoongi’s name alerted him of his presence —more a sigh of relief than an actual greeting—it was enough to pull Jungkook’s attention. Yoongi raised his brow at Jungkook, his expression impassive as ever, a silent question if the younger man was finally okay. Jungkook’s only response was the slight untightening of his grip on you. The shift was hesitant, reluctant, but it was there. Slowly, his arms loosened, though his body still remained close, not quite ready to let you go entirely. His possessiveness had dulled, but it was far from gone.

Yoongi’s gaze softened when he turned it back to you, his expression warm and unexpectedly gentle. He knew what you had endured, the strain it had caused you, and for once, the sharp edges in his usually indifferent demeanor softened into something close to tenderness.

"Good afternoon, darling," Yoongi said in his low, easy drawl, a hint of amusement dancing behind his words. “I’ve come to save you.”

Yoongi knew how overwhelming and overstimulating things could be sometimes. For the life of him and despite the instincts screaming in his head to have you close, he chose to silently walk beside you. You had been through enough for today.

You didn’t even question where the two of you were going. It was like all the energy you had was drained from you. You were silent even as he closed the car door for you, was speechless even when he expertly drove away from the building. Min Yoongi was just exactly what you needed after the conundrum being with Jungkook brought.

“I know it was tough,” Yoongi said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you two. His voice was low, steady, as though he had been waiting for the right moment to speak. His hands gripped the steering wheel loosely, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, but you could feel the weight of his attention on you. Even without looking at you, Yoongi had this uncanny ability to make you feel seen, like he was always aware of what you needed before you even realized it yourself. “But still, thank you for calming him down.”

The soft hum of the car filled the space, and though you didn’t respond immediately, you knew Yoongi didn’t expect you to. From the short time that you were with them, you noticef that he had always been like that—patient, never pushing you to speak before you were ready. His quiet understanding was something that set him apart. There was no rush with him, no urgency to force words or explanations from you. Just his presence, calm and grounding, allowing you to gather your thoughts.

You nodded slowly, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. The memory of Jungkook’s desperate grip on you, the way he had refused to let you go, still lingered, and it was too raw to put into words. But Yoongi didn’t push. He never did. He was just… there, giving you the space to process, to breathe. “I owe it to all of you. This was all my fault…”

Yoongi’s gaze shifted toward you, and for a moment, he looked at you as though you’d just said something utterly ridiculous. His brow furrowed, and the corners of his lips tilted into a frown of disbelief. Then, with a sigh, he shook his head. “This isn’t your fault. How could you have known? Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Min Yoongi was just the reprieved you needed. Where the others seemed consumed by their need for you, Yoongi remained steady, unaffected by the storm raging around them.

He took you home and told you that he already took care of your supervisor and said that you were needed for a meeting. A wave of gratitude washed over you, and you couldn’t help the small, tired smile that tugged at your lips. You didn’t know how to thank him properly, but it seemed Yoongi didn’t need grand gestures. His way of caring was quiet and understated, but it spoke volumes.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, but Yoongi’s small nod told you he heard it.

Your schedule with him was calm, much like his demeanor. The kitchen felt like a small sanctuary, the aroma of garlic and herbs wafting through the air as you chopped vegetables together. The music of your choice filled the space, a playful backdrop to the evening.

You smiled to yourself, caught up in the moment. Suddenly, a chuckle broke your reverie. You turned to see him shaking his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Bad Romance by Lady Gaga?” he teased, but there was no edge to his words—just a warm acceptance of your quirky taste. You shrugged, a grin spreading across your face. It felt domestic, this shared moment, and you savored it. And yes, Bad Romance was truly a banger song.

But then, the atmospere shifted. Lost in thought, you almost missed his sudden remark. “I heard from Hoseok that your friend found a cure for the love potion.” His voice was steady, almost indifferent, yet you caught the tension in the way he gripped the counter, knuckles whitening against the cool surface. His eyes were focused on his task, a deliberate action on his part.

You nodded, surely this was good news for them, right?

 “That’s…good.”

It did not sound like it was good. You considered asking him, pressing for clarity, but you hesitated. This was Yoongi, after all. He wasn’t a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve, and pushing too hard might cause him to withdraw further. But your instinct, the one that had kept you grounded in moments like this, told you to be careful. You trusted him, both him and Seokjin, but trust was a fragile thing—especially when it came to the men who surrounded you.

After you two finished cooking, he found you sitting on the sofa, mindlessly searching for what to watch when he lied down, his head resting on your legs. You looked down, surprised but not displeased. You noted how he refrained from physically touching you the past hour, his control and thoughtfulness of your situation did not go unnoticed by you. “I tried to hold off as long as I could,” he murmured, his eyes drifting closed as he settled in.

You chuckled softly, brushing a hand through his dark hair. “Thank you for being considerate, Yoongi.” The weight of his head on your lap felt grounding, a connection that made the world outside seem distant.

It was five in the afternoon when you decided to freshen up. The entire day, despite it being only being afternoon, left you exhausted. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion that clawed at you; it was the emotional toll of navigating conversations that felt more like tightrope walks than exchanges. Each word had to be measured, each response carefully calculated. It was like it would only take one wrong word for them to crumble. Each of them just as needy as the others.

It did not come as a surprise when you stepped out of the bathroom and found the one and only Park Jimin in your bedroom. His head was hanging low as he sat on your bed, his form slouched as he stared down. Gone was his suit, and his necktie hung loosely around his collar as though he had spent the entire day tugging at it.

“Jimin?”

Slowly, he looked up. His dark eyes were impassive, the usual glint gone. He looked so far from the sweet persona he usually had, and in his place was a man that was emitting dangerous vibes. “Little one,” he called, his voice low and toneless. “I heard your...” he trailed off, his scoffed a telltale sign of what exactly he was feeling. “-friend found us a cure.”

You blinked owlishly, caught off guard with how displeased he looked. He raised his brow at your prolonged silence, “What’s wrong, honey?” He stood up and sauntered to you, his faux concern so thick that you could almost choke at it. “All seven of us are sick from that love potion, right? So it’s only correct that we get the ‘cure’, right?”

You looked up to meet his eyes as he neared you, his chest almost touching yours from his proximity. “Are we sick to you, little one?”

“I—” you started, your heart beating fast from his line of questioning. The intensity of his line of questioning made your pulse quicken. He tilted his head, his finger catching droplets of water that had escaped from your hair, trailing slowly down your neck.

“Hmm? You what?” His voice was low, teasing yet laced with something darker.

“I just want you all to return to your normal life,” you answered truthfully. “I know everything happening is not normal for any of you. Your life does not involve around…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “This chaos. You deserve to be free.”

He paused with his ministration, his hand hovering near your chest. A flicker of something crossed his face and you failed to decipher whether it was from amusement or annoyance. He stepped even impossibly closer. He looked down at you and whispered something that terrified you. “Did you ask us if we want to go back to how it was? Little one, did you even ask if we need a cure?”

Involuntarily, your foot took a step back. The weight of his words came crushing down on you. You were shaking your head even before he could finish saying his piece. You thought that it was a ridiculous thought anyway. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Park Jimin. None of what you’re all feeling is real,” you implored him, willing his true self to understand what you were saying, and not the version of himself that was ‘in love’ with you. “This potion-it’s not who you are.”

His gaze held steady, dark and penetrating as though what you said set off something in him…something they all tried so hard to contain. “And what will you do if this is who we want to be? What if we want these versions of ourselves that are so utterly in love with you, little one? What then?”

You felt your breath hitched at every word and expose he was telling you. “But it’s a lie. You can’t love something or someone that’s been forced upon you. This isn’t love. You have to know that.”

It was a little while before he even responded again as silence enveloped the room. The only indication that he heard you was that subtle tilt in his head. “I see you still see all this as lovesickness and not destiny.”

“Because it is!” you insisted, the desperation for him to see the truth made your voice rose. “You can’t really believe that this is meant to be!”

Jimin shook his head, strands of his hair cascading on his forehead, breaking the carefully gelled up appearance of his. “You’ll get sick, too,” he whispered as though it was an omen, as though foretelling a fate that even you couldn’t comprehend.

But you would later on.

You heard him wrong…right? There was no way he said that.

“What?” The word came out as breathless gasp, disbelief flooding your senses.

He smiled innocently, the sudden playfulness in his expression felt like a mask. “Let me dry your hair before you get sick, little one.” His tone may have seemed so casual, yet it sent a shiver down your spine. You knew you couldn’t talk sense into him, not when the seven of them were neck-deep in the effects of that love potion. Furthermore, you knew that insisting that what they were all feeling was far from reality would only leave them feeling abandoned by the supposedly love of their lives: you. You couldn’t make them see reason, at least not now.

Right now, the only way to calm down the simmering annoyance and angst in him was to let him do what he wanted to do. Jimin was gentle and thorough as he dried your hair, his touch so soft as though you were made of porcelain, something he feared might shatter.

“See how good I take care of you, little one? How good we all treat you?” he murmured, his voice particularly low and soothing as he worked the towel through your damp locks.

You felt your heart ache at the sincerity in his words, even if they were colored by the potion’s influence. “Jimin…” you started, but the protest caught in your throat as he leaned in closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. He met your eyes through the mirror, his chin resting on your shoulder and rush of warmth and happiness passed through him. He fucking loved you, he thought to himself as an even fiercer conviction took root. You would see it soon.

“You are our queen, my love,” he continued with fierce intensity. “Don’t you see?”

But if this was love, then it felt like a prison to you. The sensation of his arms wrapped around you felt less like an embrace and more like shackles, binding you to a reality that terrified you. The walls felt as if they were closing in, the weight of his affection pressing down on your chest. You felt it even more when he placed his plump lips on your neck.

“And we will always sacrifice everything for our queen.”

As soon as the clock hit 7 in the evening, you tore yourself away from his embrace and ran down to the living room, already typing down on your phone to call for a meeting with the boys when you saw them already sitting there. They seemed to be in a deep conversation, their voices low and their faces serious. Sitting in the middle of them all was Kim Namjoon who had his eyes closed and his head resting against the backrest of the sofa. He looked similar to how he was when he trapped you in the elevator. He almost seemed to be sleeping had it not been the slight tremors in his hands that gave it away.

It was as though they were attuned to your presence when they all turned their heads to where you were, sans Namjoon, their conversation coming into a halt. It was eerie, you thought. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the synchronized movement, as if they were all part of some unsettling choreography.

“There she is,” Hoseok said brightly his face lighting up with a happiness that seemed almost out of place in the tense atmosphere. On his lap was your cat who was sporting a new collar. And was that gold?! “How was your day, little one?”

“We need to talk.”

“Uh-oh,” Taehyung plainly commented, his hand absentmindedly playing with Jungkook’s hair. His carefree gesture was a complete contrast to the seriousness in his face. “I already don’t like this.”

“Park Jimin, what did you do now?” Yoongi quipped, raising an eyebrow as he caught sight of the mentioned man entering the living room behind you. There was a teasing lilt in his voice, but the underlying concern was palpable.

Jimin smirked, holding your hand briefly when he passed you and sat down beside the quiet Namjoon. “Nothing. I just…dried her hair.”

Jin shook his head, shooting the maknae line a look of disappointment. He just knew that they did something today. Afterall, he thought that the younger men didn’t know the meaning of control and working in the shadows. He would talk to them later. They should have known how much of a flight risk you were. They were just banking on the kindness of your heart and how they used it to play with your conscience. It was that and Namjoon and Hoseok’s tactics that got you here, after all. They should all play smartly if they wanted this to last forever. And for now, making you happy was the way to that. He stood up and walked to you. He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.  “I heard from Hoseok that there is a cure. Is this about it, my love?”

“Let’s hear it then, noona,” Jungkook said with a smile on your face. It was a deceitful smile, you noted to yourself. How he could turn his playfulness and innocence on and off was terrifying, and the evidence of it was staring right at your face. You looked down and saw his bandaged hand from the breakdown from earlier.

Yoongi offered you an encouraging smile and you were only too thankful for his quiet support. You didn’t think twice to sit when he tapped down the empty space beside him. “A-as you all know, my friend’s grandmother knows of a cure in the mountains-”

Taehyung’s sharp scoffed interrupted you. “You’re tired of taking care of your mess when it’s only been a day?” His tone may be playful, but there was an edge to it.

You took a dee breath, “I know this is all difficult for all of us. But if she knows something, if there is even a small chance that there is really a cure, then shouldn’t we go for it? If this can help-”

“Help us?” Jimin interjected, his tone softer but laced with frustration. “Help us how? By running off to the mountains while we’re all here struggling with these feelings?”

“And how will we even know that you’ll come back to us?” Hoseok added, his anger bubbling to the surface. “What if you just leave?” he voiced the heavy question everyone in the room had been thinking about, not that they would let you, anyway.

The atmosphere grew tense, and you could feel the weight of their accusations pressing down on you. “It isn’t fair,” you retorted, your voice trembling slightly.

“Well, it was never fair to the seven of us,” Taehyung shot back, his tone sharp. “We were minding our own business when your negligence caused us this situation. You are to blame, and all you want is to escape from it.”

You could no longer take all the blamings, you realized. You were not the only one to blame in this, right? You were just as victim as they were! And the oldest should also share the blame! “But he knew!”

Seokjin blinked owlishly, attention now on him as you pointed your finger at him. “Knew what?”

“You knew that that pink tumbler wasn’t yours! You said so yourself that you knew it wasn’t yours because yours had coffee in it! You knew and you kept on drinking!”

“Ah, right” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he offered sheepish looks at the other CEOs who were all looking at him with seriousness and disbelief in their eyes. “What? It was delicious, right?!”

“Well, yeah it was,” Yoongi approved, his voice low. He looked like he was already long done with this conversation with the way he was leaning against the backrest and you knew with just one push he would already be lying down and dozing off. However, his attention was still on you as he played with the strands of your hair.

“So, if you are all blaming me, shouldn’t you put blame on him, too? He offered you the drink knowing that it wasn’t his! And he didn’t tell you all!”

Jungkook nodded, completely agreeing at whatever you were saying as long as you kept talking. Your voice was melody to his ears, like a siren, he thought. If he was a cartoon, you were sure that he’d already have heart coming out of his eyes from the way he was looking at you. He was giggling like a child, his chin resting on his palm, his body turned to you. “You’re right, noona. It’s Jin hyung’s fault. We should kick him out of the house or exchange him for ice cream…Speaking of! What’s your favorite flavor, my love?”

“Fine! Then sue me! Arrest me! But lock me with her forever!” Seokjin exclaimed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air.

“Seokjin, for the love of all that’s good-“

“I love it when you call me that,” he said with sincerity in his voice.

“I literally just called you your name!” you shot back in exasperation.

“Yes. That. I love it.”

“Oh my God, we’re getting off track!” You exclaimed in frustration. “The cure. It’s worth pursuing, don’t you all think? Isn’t that why I’m here in the first place? To alleviate the effects of the love potion?”

You knew you had them when they looked at each other in silence. “And what’s more alleviating than actually freeing us all from the effects of that potion?” you continued, your voice steady, determined. “If we have a chance to break this spell—if we can find a way to return to our normal lives—shouldn’t we take it?”

“You’re not going alone. We are coming with you,” Kim Namjoon broke his silence for the first time that night. You couldn’t help but notice the strain in his voice despite the firm way he delivered his demand, a telltale sign that he needed you now. It was already past seven, and he was the last one in the schedule. It was already way past his schedule, and he had been patient and enduring enough. He just knew that anytime now he would break. He opened his eyes, and his gaze locked onto yours, “Tomorrow. We go to the mountains.”

Before anyone could respond, he stood up swiftly, his long legs carrying him away from the eruption of chaos and disagreement that erupted from his statement. The others began to voice their objections, a flurry of protests filling the room.

Yet, he never stopped.

“You know you have to come to him, right, noona?” Jungkook said amidst the chaos. “Namjoon hyung is suffering…”

“He has been patient,” Hoseok added, admiring the strength and resolved that their lead CEO had. “But he needs you, too.”

The walk to his room was long despite the reasonable distance. It must have been because of the rapid beating of your heart as you walked to the unknown. The six of them all showed their dark side, the possessive, obsessive and jealous side that terrified you. You wondered what the last member would show you tonight.

But they were right.

Despite your fear and restlessness, you had to honor your responsibility with them.

Your knuckles had barely grazed his door when it opened from the inside, revealing the disheveled lead CEO.

Kim Namjoon was breathing hard despite the cool air inside his room. The usually composed lead CEO looked disheveled and visible exhausted. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, strands of his dark hair tousled as if his fingers had raked through them in frustration. He had already donned out his dark suit, his white and crisp shirt was unbuttoned. His muscular chest was glistening with sweat. Your eyes traced his form and found him barefooted.

This was as unmade as you ever witnessed him to be.

You were right, you realized. Kim Namjoon suffered the most today as he was the last one in the schedule. The way he was looking at you made it seemed like you were nothing to him but a prey, one that he had been desperately hunting the whole day. His silence only made you more tensed. "Namjoon," you began softly, concern evident in your voice as you stepped closer despite wanting to run away. "Are you alright?"

Instead of a reassuring answer, his demeanor shifted. His answer was pulling you inside his lair. His movements were quick. Desperate. Frantic. The sound of lock clicking loudly in the quiet of the room. This wasn't the controlled man you were accustomed to—this was someone else entirely, someone driven by raw instinct and need.

Every step he took towards you was a step you took backwards. He was sauntering to you like a predator would, his movements slow and deliberate like someone who knew had you trapped. His muscles were tensed like he was barely holding onto his control. His eyes, usually so warm, now bore into you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the tension radiating from him, his body coiled like a spring about to snap. You had an inkling that he wasn’t okay, but you never expected him to be this intense, this desperate.

"N-Namjoon, please," you stammered, your concern growing as his presence overwhelmed you, "You’re not okay. Let me get some help, okay?"

He scoffed softly, a sound that dripped with frustration and desire. The truth was plain to see—he wasn't just physically spent; there was something deeper unsettling him, something that demanded your presence, your touch, as if you were the anchor he desperately needed.

He knew if he didn’t have you in his arms in the next second, then he would truly lose it. He was desperate for you. And so, for the first time ever, he damned the consequences.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?! No-“

“I need to feel your skin or I will fucking lose it, little one,” he gritted, his hands formed into fists in an attempt to ground him. He didn’t want to scare you, that was the last thing he wanted.

But he was scaring himself. The dizzying need for you was terrifying him. Dark thoughts were swirling in his mind: all of them were of losing you. He didn’t know what would happen if they lost you. He didn’t know what they would be capable of if you had someone else.

The only thing that could calm him down was you. But you were stubborn, weren’t you? He saw your eyes darted to the door behind him, assessing the probability that you could escape him. It wouldn’t happen, he was certain. Not in the state he was in.

“Don’t,” he whispered with a shake of his head. “Don’t test me tonight, little one. I am barely holding it in.”

“You’re scaring me,” you whispered in admittance, your eyes begging him to be sane, to at least reach the Namjoon inside him that knew this was a grey area.

He paused in front of you. he was breathing hard and his eyes seemed to be all dark. His voice was low as he explained his need for you and his promise that the two of you would only be sleeping.

Tonight, he claimed that you would be safe.

“I won’t ask again, little one,” he whispered as he looked down at you. “Remove your clothes and get on the bed.”

“And we’ll just sleep?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

He nodded. What he didn’t tell you was how he wasn’t sure if you could still be safe from the monsters you woke up inside them tomorrow. But that was tomorrow’s problem.

His eyes followed your every reluctant movement as you walked near to his bed. This was all so sudden, and the darkness of the room didn’t help you observe his personality that was reflected in his room. However, you were thankful for the darkness because it gave you the courage to do as he bade without the full weight of his gaze on you. Shadows danced across the walls and with a shaky breath, you finally sat on the edge of the bed, the sheets soft and inviting beneath you. The room, dimly lit by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains, seemed to wrap around you like a comforting shroud. It was easier to let the shadows obscure your uncertainties.

You began to remove your shirt, your heart racing as you felt his eyes on you, the intensity palpable. The fabric slipped away, leaving you feeling vulnerable yet exhilarated.

“The shorts, little one,” he ordered quietly, his eyes still on you as he shrugged of his white shirt. He raised his brows when a flicker of stubbornness crossed your face, a silent warning that he was at the very edge of a cliff. With shaky hands, you pushed off your shorts before quickly getting under his thick blanket, hiding your exposed skin from his eyes.

Your heard the buckle of his belt coming undone, and the sound of zipper following next was too loud in the silence of his room which made you shut your eyes closed. But the prolonged silence made you take a peek. And there he was. He was stalking to you, his muscular chest bared for your eyes, his thighs so thick and strong. The only thing he still had on was his black boxers that leave nothing to the imagination.

You shrieked when he got on the bed confidently and flipped the blanket to the side, baring your body to him, both his arms encasing you as he hovered above you.

“N-Namj–” your words left you when he settled his weight on you, every ridges and corners of his body was touching you. His nose was on your neck, breathing in your scent. His hands moved from the side of your head down to your wrist, and everything he touched left goosebumps on your skin. “Don’t fight this,” he whispered as he pulled your wrist above your head and kept them prisoned there.

“Y-you told me we’re just going to sleep,” you reminded him, your voice shaking slightly as you felt the heat radiating from Namjoon’s body. The tension in the air felt electric, and your heart raced.

“I told you. You are safe with me tonight.”

His hard member certainly did not make you feel safe. You could feel his hardness poking your stomach, and you were no saint to not know what it meant. You were certainly not that innocent to not be affected by this. You were embarrassed with how you could feel your arousal seeping to your underwear, and you hoped that he wouldn’t notice.

You jumped when you felt his tongue swiped at the expanse of your neck. You were trying to free yourself away from his hold when he nipped at your skin, sucking at it hard enough to know that it was going to leave a mark. All the while, his hips were slowly thrusting to you as though he was barely holding onto his thin control.

“Do you not feel safe, little one?” he taunted, his voice deeper than you ever heard of him. He lifted his head from your neck, his dark eyes glinting with something akin to an animalistic desire to have you. “Is the pleasure too much for you?” he asked in faux concern before thrusting his clothed cock directly to your heat. And by heavens, a moan escaped you. “Or is it not enough?”

“F-fuck, Namjoon- please!” you gasped as his hand pinched your nipple over your bra. His lips hovered over yours, so impossibly close that you knew one wrong movement was enough to make yours touched his. His cock was brutal as he humped you.

“Don’t you feel safe with the desires you are feeling?” he whispered directly to your ear, his hot breath leaving tingles down your spine. “Don’t you feel safe with just one cock? Do you want me to call the six of them? I bet they’d be happy to make you come. I know Yoongi does.”

“S-stop!”

He chuckled, his thrust stopping altogether. “Little one, you’re free. You can push me anytime you want. But you don’t want to, do you?”

It was only when he pointed it out that you realized he was no longer holding you down. In fact, he hadn’t for a while. You were too drunk with the sinful desire and his primal need to be with you that you didn’t notice that you had the choice to push him away.

And the horrifying realization that you deliberately didn’t want him to stop came crashing in.

“Don’t you just want to give in? I promise…no one will know. It’s just the two of us,” he whispered seductively, his breath warm against your skin. The way his words wrapped around you felt almost hypnotic, stirring something deep within. “Turn that mind off, darling. You’re so fucking wet,” he growled sensually. “I can feel your wetness in my thighs. You deserve this, little one. You deserve to be worship. All you need to do is to move.”

Your heart raced at the intensity of his gaze, each word wrapping around you like a vice. There was a part of you that yearned to give in, to surrender to the pull between you.

And you did.

Your hips lifted slightly to meet his, and it was all he needed before he rutted on you, the control he had snapped like a twig when you took the first step. You could feel you were getting close, his movements were all unforgiving and sensual.

“See?” he growled, his voice low and intense, sending shivers down your spine. “I just want to take care of you, little love. We all just want to give you all you desire.” He stepped closer, the heat radiating off him like a tangible force, drawing you in. “I told you. You are safe with me. But you aren’t safe from your own desires.”

You could feel something hot, something with urgency. And it wasn’t long until you shuddered, you trashed with your back arched. And just like clockwork, Namjoon’s warm essence spurted out and onto his boxers.

“That’s it, little one. Good girl.”

And as he held your body in his arms that night, he lied awake with thoughts of how to keep you. You were so beautiful. And perfect for him. You were perfect for them. He was sure that all of his brothers were thinking of the same thing: how to keep you forever.

Day 4, morning

It didn’t come as a surprise when he woke up and found you gone, nor did it come as a surprise when you couldn’t meet his eyes when he came down early in the morning ready to leave for the mountains. Seokjin, ever the observant, noticed the tension between the two of you. Actually, it was more so from you as you tried your very best to stick with who you thought was the safest among the seven, Seokjin and Yoongi.

Seokjin, with his soft smile and easygoing charm, had managed to pull the wool over your eyes. How could you have known that Seokjin was a wolf in a sheep’s clothing while Yoongi was only patient until he wasn’t? How could you have known that they were truly far from who you thought they were?

The maknae line were already waiting by the door, talking animatedly among themselves as though all of you were just going to the mountains for a fun fieldtrip and not for the love potion cure.

It was Hoseok that broke the silence, “How was your sleep, little one?”

“G-good,” you stammered, your eyes lifting to meet the lead CEO’s gaze, only to find him already looking back at you with an intensity that made your heart race. You quickly looked down, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “L-let’s go? It’s quite a far drive.”

You swallowed hard, trying to shake off the knot of tension in your stomach. The closer you got to the mountains, the more real the journey felt, and the more daunting the implications of finding a cure. You turned to Namjoon, who stood nearby, arms crossed and expression unreadable. “Are we ready?”

It took him a moment to answer, as though weighing your question with care, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt too heavy for casual conversation. The air between you felt thick, charged with something unspoken, and the silence stretched on, longer than it should have. “Always ready,” he replied, though the weight of his gaze suggested he had more on his mind than just the drive ahead.

You sat quietly the whole journey. The feeling of freedom was so near, yet the implications of what happened the past three days weighed down on you. You knew things could never go back the way it was. You knew you had to leave your job and move someplace else. Despite the possibility of a cure, you knew that everything that transpired was far more complex that a simple remedy couldn’t fix.

You glanced around the van, taking in the familiar faces of the men who had turned your world upside down. This was probably one of the last times you’d be in their proximity, and that thought sent a shiver down your spine. You felt both relieved and terrified at the prospect.

It was as though Seokjin, the designated driver, could hear your thoughts. He glanced up into the rearview mirror and met your eyes, concern flickering in his expression. “You okay back there?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with something deeper, an awareness of your internal struggle.

You offered a small smile, not quite reaching your eyes. “I’m good,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You looked down at the address your friend gave you. The mountains loomed in the distance; their imposing silhouettes framed by a clear blue sky. You could hear the faint rustle of leaves in the cool breeze, a stark contrast to the tension that had built up during the drive.

Namjoon was off to the side, deep in conversation with an elderly man. You couldn’t help but catch snippets of their dialogue—words like “cure” and “love potion” floated through the air, drawing your attention. You watched as the man gestured toward a narrow, winding path leading deeper into the woods.

After a few moments, Namjoon turned back to you, a satisfied smile on his face. “We have to walk. The car cannot pass through,” he shared the information with the group.

You nodded, feeling a mix of anxiety and excitement. “How far is it?”

“Not too far, just a little hike,” he assured you, though his eyes held a glimmer of seriousness. “Are you ready?”

Taking a deep breath, you glanced at the rest of the group, who had gathered around. The maknae line looked eager, bouncing on their feet as if they were about to embark on a thrilling quest. Yoongi leaned against a tree, his expression contemplative, while Seokjin was busy checking the supplies they brought along.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt. “Let’s do this.”

It was almost an hour into the hike, and your little group was nearing the top when you saw it. “That must be it,” Hoseok said, pointing excitedly at the small house perched on the summit. It looked quaint, surrounded by trees and flowers, with smoke curling from the chimney, hinting at warmth and life within. For a moment, the sight was serene—peaceful even. But there was something about it that made your skin prickle, a sense of wrongness you couldn’t quite shake. The beauty of it felt... too perfect. Like an illusion meant to distract. A narrow pathway led to a flight of stairs, and just as you felt a rush of exhilaration, a pained gasp broke the tranquility.

You turned around to see Jungkook wincing, his hand clutching his ankle. “Jungkook!” you exclaimed, rushing to his side. He was sitting on the ground, his face contorted in pain, his doe eyes looking up at you as though he was asking for help. Beside him, Jimin crouched down, his innocent-looking face betraying none of the tension in the air. He looked concerned, but there was something about the calmness in his expression that made you pause—something about the way he was sitting too still, too perfectly for the situation at hand. How he hurt himself when the path was no longer steep like before, nor was the ground slippery was lost on you. You foolishly thought that you were out of the danger zone.

"Jungkook!" you repeated, kneeling beside him, your voice trembling with concern. "What happened?”

“I think I twisted it,” he admitted, his voice strained. “It hurts so bad, noona. P-please stay with me.”

You blinked at his request, your heart aching at the sight of him so vulnerable, but a wave of doubt swept over you. You had to make a decision, and fast. The cure was still ahead of you, and the house at the summit was growing nearer with every step you’d taken. But now, Jungkook was down, and his injury looked serious.

You glanced around, unsure what to do. You could stay with him, of course, but you weren’t the only one in the group, and there were others who might be able to help him. Maybe someone else should stay with him while you continued on to the house? Just as you were about to ask Taehyung, Namjoon stepped near you and interrupted your thoughts.

“Stay with Jungkook,” Namjoon urged you, glancing back at the house. “We can take care of the cure. Don’t worry.”

You hesitated, torn between the urgency of reaching the house and your concern for Jungkook. His face was twisted in pain, and you felt a pang of guilt for even considering leaving him. But the reassuring nod from Seokjin was enough to convince you that the men could handle the cure without you.

“Okay,” you finally said, your voice steadying. “I’ll stay here with Jungkook.”

As you knelt beside him, your focus solely on his ankle, you completely missed the meaningful look shared between Taehyung and Yoongi, a silent conversation that hinted at something more.

“Just take a deep breath, Jungkook,” you said, gently placing a hand on his knee. “Let’s see if we can wrap this up.”

The six men trudged up the pathway leading to the small house in companiable silence when Seokjin suddenly stopped, halting the progress of the six men following him. They were almost near the house that his sudden pause caused confusion to the maknae line. It was a moment before he turned to face the group.

“Hyung?” Jimin asked, his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Seokjin and Yoongi shared a meaningful look, their jaws set in stone and expression serious. “Taehyung and Jimin, I think you should stay guard here,” he said, his voice low and firm.

“Hyung, what if you need us there-”

Namjoon, who was quick to notice the peculiar seriousness in their eldest placed a reassuring hand on Taehyung’s shoulder and faced him. He flashed him a dimpled smile as though assuring him that everything was fine. “I think what hyung means is that this way, you can look out for little one and Jungkook.”

He tilted his head slightly, catching sight of you and Jungkook, a little ways down the path, peering curiously at the house.

“Don’t worry, we can handle this,” Hoseok assured the two age-mate with his charm. He gave a playful nudge to Taehyung as he stepped past them, confidence radiating from his every move. “Just keep an eye out, okay?”

With that, Hoseok entered the house, the door creaking softly behind him. The rest of the older members followed, leaving the maknae line standing in the fading light.

You didn’t have to wait long before the six of them descended the path, their expressions were mixed of triumph and satisfaction, and something that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It wasn’t even that long when the six of them walked down to you. Yoongi led the way, a confident stride in his step, and in his hand was a small bottle filled with a shimmering pink liquid.

Your heart raced as you caught sight of it. “Is that—?”

“It’s the cure, little one,” he confirmed, holding it up to the light. The liquid sparkled, catching the sun in a way that made it almost mesmerizing, almost tantalizing, almost too hypnotic that you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.

You felt your heart leap in your chest. The weight of the world seemed to lift off your shoulders, and a wave of disbelief rushed through you. You could barely comprehend it, but there it was. “We’re free…” you said with disbelief in your tone. You were too happy that you jumped up and hugged Jungkook. “I cannot believe it!”

“Well, almost, little one,” Namjoon said, his expression shifting to something more serious. “We’ll take it at home where we can safely observe the effects. We can’t risk anything happening here.”

The words hit you like a splash of cold water. For a moment, the excitement faltered, and a small knot of worry tugged at your stomach. You had been so caught up in the euphoria of it all that you hadn’t stopped to consider the reality of it. There were still risks, still unknowns.

“Aren’t you just a little too excited about leaving us, little one?” His words were offhanded, but there was an undercurrent of something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

Your eyes darted to him, surprised by the sudden comment. Jimin’s gaze was still fixed on his nails, as though the conversation were of no consequence to him. But there was a subtle tension around him, something in his posture that didn’t quite sit right.

Instead of dwelling too much in what he was enunciating, you decided to face Namjoon. “Right, of course,” you said, stepping back from Jungkook and if you noticed the reluctant way he let go of you, you didn’t mention. You rationalized that they were still under the influence of the potion. You just had to hold on a little bit more.

Seokjin clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. “Then let’s get moving! The sooner we’re back, the sooner we can celebrate properly.”

The ride back to the civilization was filled with different vibes, it was quiet yet there was a profound peace within the group. This time, it was Jungkook who was driving while Taehyung was in the front seat with him. Seated next to you was Yoongi who was quietly contented in engulfing your hand in his, both your hands resting on his thighs. On your other side was Hoseok who was uncharacteristically quiet until he caught you looking at him.

“J-Jin, this is a lot,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you took in the lavish spread laid out on the table. Plates piled high with vibrant dishes, each one more mouthwatering than the last, sparkled under the soft glow of the lights. It was hard to believe he had managed to prepare all this while looking like he just stepped off a magazine cover.

“I want to celebrate us,” Jin replied, his smile warm and genuine.

You blinked owlishly, caught off guard. Us? What did he mean by that?

“You know, how we…survived this.” His eyes sparkled with sincerity, but confusion washed over you. You opened your mouth to ask him to elaborate, to clarify what “us” really meant, when suddenly, Taehyung appeared beside you. He leaned in so close that his lips almost brushed your ear, his voice teasingly conspiratorial.

“Hyung is so dramatic. He wants to do a big toast before drinking the cure.”

You missed the look the two men shared over your head when Jimin walked in and tugged you to sit next to him and Yoongi. “Come on, little one. I’m starving.”

One by one, the four other men took their seats around the beautifully set table. Directly across from you was Taehyung who was watching you intently, and beside him were Hoseok and Jungkook. On the other end of the table was Namjoon, manspreading like a king sitting in his throne. Seokjin moved gracefully around the table, setting down seven glasses that glinted like jewels, each filled with the pink liquid of the cure slushing around with every step. Your breath caught slightly as he approached, and when he stopped behind you, leaning down close, a shiver ran through you.

“And of course, for the lady. Only the best of wines,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You turned slightly, catching a glimpse of his serious and dark expression before he straightened, and just like that, he transformed it into a sweet smile that lit up the room. You wondered if it was just the light playing tricks on you.

“Hyung, ready for the toast?” Jungkook asked, his eyes on you even as he directed his question to Namjoon.

“I think it should be our little one that we ask,” Yoongi spoke for the first time that night, his tone unexpectedly serious. He turned to you, his eyes piercing through the moment, as if trying to read your thoughts. “Are you ready for what comes next?”

You felt a knot form in your stomach, a mixture of excitement and anxiety churning inside you. “Are you ready… for the rest of your life, love?” Taehyung voiced, his expression uncharacteristically solemn as he toyed with his glass, tracing the rim with his fingertip.

You blinked owlishly, wondering why there were too many questions from them as though they were asking something else. But they weren’t, right? They weren’t implying anything more, were they?

You wanted your old life back.

You wanted your freedom back.

With a steadying breath, you raised your glass of wine, a quiet resolve settling over you. “To our freedom,” you declared, your voice clear despite the whirlwind of emotions.

Namjoon smirked, a fondness in his eyes as he confidently raised his glass in response. “To you, little one.”

“To us,” Seokjin added, his voice warm as he joined the toast, and one by one, the others followed suit.

You all drank to the last sip of your drinks, the sweet, fruity flavor of the wine lingering on your tongue. Seokjin’s gaze remained fixed on you, his watchful eyes never leaving your face as he set down his empty glass. There was an intensity in his stare, an unspoken question hanging in the air, as if he were waiting for something to unfold.

And he waited.

And waited.

Until it happened.

You felt the warmth of the wine spreading through your body, a comforting buzz that made everything feel lighter, more vibrant. But in the back of your mind, there was a nagging sensation, a whisper that something wasn’t quite right. The room began to tilt slightly, chatter of the CEOs was fading into a soft murmur. “S-something’s not right,” you whispered, turning to your ever dependable Yoongi, the one who never put you down.

Your hand was clutching his sleeves, yet he paid you no mind. You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the liquid in you, and that nagging sensation began to twist in your gut. The wine—was it the wine? The warmth, the lightness, the almost too comfortable feeling that was settling into your bones—had it been too easy? Too perfect?

“W- what was in t-that w-wine?” You asked shakily, barely a whisper, your eyes finding Seokjin’s apathetic ones.

He waited.

“Seokjin…” you breathed out, your voice barely a whisper, as the fear settled in your chest like a stone.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he simply stared at you, his expression unreadable as his fingers lightly drummed against the table, almost too casual, too relaxed.

The realization hit you like a gut punch: This wasn’t a celebration. This was a trap.

Your vision blurred, and you struggled to focus, the faces of Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, and Namjoon becoming indistinct. Slowly, your world faded to black.

The seven men watched you as Yoongi wrapped his arm around you, securing your head to his shoulder as though he didn’t do anything.

“Why… why would you do that, hyung?” Jungkook asked, his voice a mix of confusion and disbelief, eyes wide with shock as he processed the scene.

Yoongi remained focused on you, his other hand gently caressing your face, a gesture of comfort that felt surreal. It was Seokjin, however, who broke the silence, his voice calm and measured as he quietly sliced his food. “She was going to leave us.”

Taehyung’s shock morphed into something deeper, worry etching lines on his forehead as he glanced between the two of them. “We can’t just keep her here!”

“She belongs with us,” Seokjin replied softly, an edge of finality in his tone as he continued to slice his food, unbothered by the tension brewing around him.

“But there is a cure—” Jungkook started, his voice rising in protest.

“There is no cure, Jungkook,” Namjoon interjected smoothly, his form relaxed as he poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the glass like a tempest. “There’s no cure because we aren’t sick.”

“The hyungs are right, Kookie,” Jimin said, his expression softening as he held your hand close to his face, as if trying to draw strength from your presence. “We just love her so much.”

“And now, she’ll love us too just as much,” Hoseok smirked, his gaze darting to the wine you had drunk.

A phone beeping continuously rose Seokjin from his slumber. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked down to find you snuggled peacefully in his arms, your face nestled against his chest. On your other side, Jimin had draped his leg over you, a content smile gracing his lips in his sleep. It was only four in the morning, yet the incessant beeping of your phone pierced the quiet.

You must have been too exhausted to not notice, he noted. Of course, why wouldn’t you be when the seven men showed you just how much they loved you. And this time, you were only too enthusiastic to show them how much you adored them. With a sigh, he reached for your phone and opened your messages, curiosity piquing as he scrolled through the frantic texts.

You have to get out of there, Y/N. The effect of the love potion only lasts for 60 hours!

Y/N, honey, I’m fucking serious. The potion won’t even be effective if they have no feelings for you.

These men are insane. They know you before this, Y/N. You’re in danger there!

Where are you?

Seokjin scoffed, irritation bubbling up within him. He glanced down at your serene expression, blissfully unaware of the turmoil outside this moment. With a few quick taps, he deleted the messages, each one disappearing like smoke. You didn’t need to know.

It didn’t matter how you got here because you were here now.

And they would never, ever let you leave. As you nestled deeper into his side, he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, determination flaring within him. They would make you see that this was where you belonged, that you were one of them now. There would be no turning back.

More so now that they had access to that love potion. With just a few drops, they could weave the very fabric of your feelings, ensuring you remained anchored to them. They tasted heaven with you. What fool would let that go?

END

[rpwprpwprpwprw]

kim namjoon fanfics that has a special place in my heart! part 2 recs! (part 1)

𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗋𝗒 , 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗄𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗍, 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗒𝗌𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗑 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾.

Two Years by @jjungkookislife (husband!Namjoon x wife!Reader) completed

Accidental Kiss by @babeejeon (bestfriend!namjoon x reader) best friends to lovers au completed

Don’t push your luck by @btsgotjams27 (namjoon x reader) genre/au: angst | ex college rivals, e2l, co-workers, one-bed trope completed

Under the mistletoe by @btsgotjams27 (namjoon x reader) genre/au: fluff | ex college rivals, co-workers, frenemies completed

Pitch Fest by @btsgotjams27 (namjoon x reader) genre/au: fluff, a lil angst (you know me) | co-workers, ex-college rivals, slight e2l completed

Sentient by @trivia-yandere (android!namjoon x reader) genre: yandere completed

Boss Me Around by @margotw10bis (boss!namjoon x assistant!reader) completed

Rough love by @sxtaep (namjoon x reader) completed

Daddy by @author-ssi (namjoon x babysitter!reader) completed

[liveyun]

WIRED | k.nj

summary. You’ve spent years perfecting your first android. But as you power him on for the first time, something feels off. The sense of control you once had begins to slip, and suddenly, you realize—he may be is more than just a machine.

title. wired

pairing. kim namjoon x fem reader (oc), hints of jungkook x oc

genre. android!au, yandere(?) , dark content

wc. 3.7k

warnings. oh boy here we go, scientist!oc, android!joon, unsettling themes as in psycological manipulation, obsessive behaviour and slight yandere, mild horror (oc realises she’s cooked lmfaoo) (halloween special?) slight non-con themes but no nsfw tho, dominance, android joon is hot byee, jungkook! jungkook ? . . . lots of technical terms which you might need to google if you are unfamiliar with them like i was xD, implied stalking (you will understand who is), i really tried 🙏🏾

this smol drabble was really inspired by artificial heart by @writerpetals ! please check her works out, she’s amazing!

main masterlist | taglist

The lab is quiet.

Too quiet.

You stand in the stillness, only the faint hum of cooling fans breaking the silence echoing in your ears. The familiar mechanical sounds — servo motors whirring softly, air ducts breathing through the vents — all the familiar characteristics of your good old lab used to calm you.

But tonight, the sounds seem different.

Almost. . . detached. Like they belong to someone else’s lab. And you are just a guest here, standing in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

You take a slow breath, your eyes drifting over the towering figure in front of you, the cylindrical glass sheath unlocked from over his model.

RM.

The product of months — no, years — of work. Of restless nights, of failure and determination. From the initial sketches to the delicate wiring of his artificial synapses, you had envisioned every piece, every movement. You had wanted him to be different. Special.

You had wanted him to be human.

Or at least, as close to a human as possible. His skin, so perfect in its imitation, stretched smoothly over the metallic frame beneath. His lips — plump, lifelike — looked almost too real. His dragon-like eyes, sharp and crystalline, seemed to glow even in the dim light of the lab. Even when there was no life, no, power running inside his veins. Every feature had been carefully crafted with Jungkook’s help, to help the ideal you had in mind.

But now that he’s finished, now that he stands in front of you, lifeless but complete, the pride you once felt has faded into something else. Something. . .unsettling.

You wanted this — this perfection. This mirror of humanity. Yet as you stare at RM, your skin prickling under the too-bright overhead lights, you can’t shake the feeling that maybe you’ve gone too far. Maybe there was a reason no one else had tried this before.

A reason why no android had ever been designed to look this human like. Every shield, every plaster, every pore — looks so detailed that it’s nearly impossible to figure out if he’s artificial, given if no one would tell you so.

But why does it feel like you’ve actually gone too far when this was what exactly you wanted?

You don’t know. And perhaps, you wouldn’t want to know, too.

His memory doesn’t even exist. There’s nothing in him but the database you installed, an organised collection of information that dictates what he knows, how he functions, and why was he created. And yet, staring at him now, you could swear there’s something behind those dormant eyes. Something watching. Waiting.

You shake your head. He’s just a machine. He isn’t human — no matter how real he looks, no matter how lifelike his features are. You created him, after all.

You’re in control.

Your gaze flickers to the small panel embedded in his chest. One button. One switch, and everything inside him — the circuits, the synapses, the artificial intelligence you spent months programming — would power down. A single press, and he’s nothing more than a shell. A hollow, empty thing, dependent entirely on your commands, on your fingertips.

Made by you.

But the thought doesn’t comfort you as much as it should.

You take a step closer, your breath catching as you reach out, fingertips hovering just inches from his face. The skin feels warm, almost soft, even though you know it’s just layers of silicone and synthetics. Too real. His eyes, though they haven’t opened, seem to bore into you.

Maybe it’s just your imagination. After all, he’s not alive.

He’s not human.

You remind yourself again, a small voice in your own mind, trying to push away the small seed of doubt. But it lingers, growing roots in the back of your thoughts.

And for the first time, you wonder if you’ve created something you can’t quite understand.

You nibble on your bottom lips, suddenly feeling your palms getting clammy despite the air conditioning system in your lab. Today was supposed to be the day when you were finally going to run your creation for the first time ever after being completed, but now it just feels. . .

What does it feel like?

It took you so many attempts. So many glitches and bugs which nearly made you demotivated enough to abandon your project for nearly two months, but you see, motivation hits the hardest at the most random of times. You remember how your phone restarting had made your heart skip a beat, and suddenly you’d found yourself driving to your lab at 2:30 AM with tears in your eyes out of frustration and relief.

After that, everything is history.

You stare at him for what feels like hours, though it’s probably only a few seconds. His hair is neatly combed to the side of his face, his cheekbones structured and chiseled. Even his skin tone looks like he’s been bathed in a tub of golden honey. He looks beautiful, almost perfect. But why does that bring a furrow to your eyebrows?

The lab remains deathly quiet, except for the faint buzz of cooling fans and the occasional whirring of the air ducts. RM stands there, unmoving.

You force yourself to look away, eyes trailing to the control panel on the desk. The switch. Your thumb hovers over the console, the last line of code entered and waiting to be executed. Once you press it, he will come to life. He’ll be fully operational, with his intelligence — his programmed brilliance — at your command.

And yet, something holds you back.

You look at his nametag on his chest.

RM#007613.

“RM?” Jungkook had asked, raising an eyebrow as he’d stuffed his mouth with a spoonful of chocolate puffs. “Why that name?”

You had smiled back then, filled with excitement, as you explained, “It stands for ‘Rational Mind.’ ” Perhaps you had lied. “The whole point of his existence is to be the smartest, most logical being ever created.” You’d said, proud of your vision. “His intelligence will surpass that of any human.” You’d glanced at the design on the screen—tall, imposing, his features still in the early stages of development. Even in the rough drafts, there was something about him.

Jungkook had leaned in closer, munching noisily as he’d raised a brow, studying the lines of RM’s face that he’d helped perfect. “I guess that fits for an android. . .” He’d tapped the image lightly with his finger, his expression thoughtful, doe eyes sparkling under the dim light of your bedroom lamp. “But what happens when a mind like that… I don’t know, becomes irrational?”

“You know, there’s a very small difference between a genius and an insane person,” he had said, his gaze suddenly zoning out, as if he was lost in some thought.

You had brushed off the question with a laugh, dismissing the idea as you’d turned off your tablet, pushing the fellow out of your bed. “He’s a machine. That won’t happen. He’s designed to be logical. It’s all about control, koo.”

In theory, everything about RM should function perfectly. His neural networks, his memory database, his artificial joints — everything had been tested, retested, and optimized. There were no bugs. No glitches. At least, that’s what the diagnostics said. But there’s still a tug in your chest as you hesitate.

Why are you hesitating?

With a deep breath, you push aside the uncertainty. You’re in control. RM isn’t a human. He’s a machine—a very advanced one, yes, but a machine nonetheless. You spent months perfecting him for this moment, to stand infront of you as a complete form.

It’s time.

You take a deep breath, eyes flickering between the buttons on the console. Your finger hovers over the power button, the familiar design a reminder of your countless sleepless nights spent perfecting it. But just beside it, another button glows a faint, off-white hue — the Sensory button, or what Jungkook liked calling it, the emotional hellhole.

And he was right.

It was indeed like a hellhole of a switch — you solely had spent like what, eight months designing this to decency, but you’d failed each time. It was a secondary function you had designed as a fallback, meant to activate only when RM couldn’t process complex human prompts.

You see, humans had real emotions which they could feel and radiate, which you knew your android couldn’t catch. In the earlier patches of knowledge testing you were already aware of this default flaw, and this was the only thing you’d ranted to Jungkook nearly every day.

Every night. Whether it was on call or in person, it usually resulted in him falling asleep listening to you and you yapping in silence about how was that a pain in the ass and could possibly be a hindrance to your Android’s perfection.

It was supposed to be a failsafe.

But the reality had been different. The programming proved to be too difficult , too unpredictable. Instead of activating only in specific situations, the switch became an integral part of RM’s system, functioning constantly, allowing him to assess and react to everything around him. No matter how hard you’d tried, how many times you’d yourself test it out — it just didn’t work.

Even the fact that it was initially meant to be on his left forehead temple — but that didn’t work out as well.

Now, RM wasn’t just an assistant to analyze when prompted; he was learning all the time, observing, adapting. It would make him work and behave more like a human, soaking in attributes the more he hangs out with real ones.

The only difference would be is that he would never be a human, no matter whatever.

You never intended for it to be this way. It wasn’t supposed to run indefinitely. But every time he powered up, the system defaulted to enabling the switch on its own.

You sigh. It’s really about time, you guess.

With a soft click, his power switch is flipped.

For a moment, nothing happens. The room is still, silent except for the faint hum of the lab’s ventilation system and perhaps your own heartbeat resonating in your ear drums. You feel a sweat bead run down your spine, your breath held in your lungs. Then, there’s a subtle shift — a flicker of light in RM’s eyes, and his sensory button turns a bright shade of yellowish undertone.

His systems are booting up.

You watch as the light in his gaze stabilizes, the faintest twitch of recognition crossing his features. His eyes are back to his normal, warm hue, and his sensory button is a normal white hue now.

It flickers to green first. RM’s eyes move slowly, scanning the room. Green means analysis — he’s observing, taking in every detail, cataloging each object and variable around him. His dragon-like eyes sweep across the lab with cold precision, but when they land on you, the button shifts to blue.

You freeze.

Your hand resting on your notebook shakes. Why does this feel so odd? Why do you feel nervous?

He’s thinking. Processing. The blue light pulses as RM tilts his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as if trying to understand more than what’s directly in front of him. You feel your skin prickle under his stare, the cold air of the lab a bit too cool on your skin.

Slowly, RM begins to move. His limbs — once rigid and motionless — shift smoothly, casually out of the glass sheath, walking out — as if he had always been this human. This alive. The sight is unnerving. When he straightens fully, towering above you, a sharp realization hits: he’s much taller than you expected.

Even though you designed him yourself, the sheer size of him in person makes your throat dry.

Then, to your surprise, RM bows down slightly. It’s a calculated, respectful movement as you watch his sensory button flicker to a shade of green once again. “Greetings, Doctor,” he says, his voice deep but soft, like a caramel candy.

His eyes meet yours as he rises again to his full height, the calm of his eyes meeting your own fiery ones.

Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s not just his height that leaves you breathless — it’s the way he looks at you. It’s as if he’s studying you, understanding more than just your appearance or commands. It’s too much. Too human. For a moment, you feel your breath catch in your throat. He wasn’t just looking at you. His lips curl into something akin to a smile, and the mole underneath his lower lip feels almost. . . human.

You blink rapidly, trying to remind yourself that he’s just a machine, not a man.

He had learned so much, so fast. And you have made it possible. You’d developed him to understand emotions and work like a human. So when he does, why does that make you feel so uneasy?

You shake off the unsettling thought and focus on the task at hand. You turn to RM, forcing a calm tone into your voice as you take a step back.

“RM,” you say, your voice shakier than you’d like. What had gotten into you? “Can you hear me?”

He blinks again, slowly, as his sensory switch maintains a subtle hue between blue and green. And then he nods. “Yes,” his voice rumbles, deep and measured. “I hear you.”

There’s a strange, almost raspy edge to his tone that makes your heart stop for seconds. It’s subtle, nearly unnoticeable, but given that you have yourself installed the audio notes in his “larynx”, you can pinpoint that out for sure.

Not at all what you expected. You step back, your senses a bit too active for you to locate your computer, trying to shake the unease settling in your stomach.

“Good,” you manage to say, your voice steadier now. “I’m going to run a few diagnostics to make sure everything is functioning properly.”

You turn back to the console, fingers flying across the keyboard as you initiate the diagnostics program. But even with your back turned, you can feel his eyes on you.

The diagnostics begin to run on the screen, the lines of code scrolling past. Everything seems fine at first. His systems are responding normally — his processing speed is optimal, his memory banks are functioning as intended, and his “pulse” is just normal.

“RM,” you start, trying to sound casual but firm. “Let’s run some basic checks. What’s your serial number?”

He blinks, his eyes trained on yours. “Serial number: RM#007613. Production date: June 13, 2020.”

The answer comes immediately, clear and precise. You feel a small relief wash over you.

Perhaps this wouldn’t go that bad.

“Good,” you murmur, typing the first question’s precision into your system. “What’s your primary function?”

“To analyze, interpret, and respond to complex data. To assist in scientific research and innovation,” he replies, his voice even. Almost too perfect.

Of course. He’s meant to be perfect.

“Right.” You glance at the screen again, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You decide to test something deeper — something that goes beyond surface-level memory.

“What’s your earliest memory?” you ask, watching him carefully now.

RM pauses for a moment, his head tilting slightly as if processing the question. You catch a glimpse of green on the small button beside the power switch. Analysis mode. “My earliest memory is. . . initialization. A bright room. Your voice giving the first command.” His gaze seems to sharpen, focusing more intently on you. The green hue shifts to blue, and you know he’s in thinking mode. “You said, ‘Rise, RM.’”

Your throat tightens slightly. That had been the first command, word for word. But the way he said it. . . almost like he’s replaying the moment. Like it’s still alive in his mind.

“Alright,” you continue, your voice growing steadier, but a part of you is starting to doubt yourself. “Let’s do something more abstract. What’s two plus two?”

“Four.”

Easy. He is made to perform way more complex tasks.

“Who was the 16th President of the United States?”

“Abraham Lincoln.” His responses are instantaneous, fluid, but something feels off. You cannot see his features directly because you’re typing away, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice — almost like everything you’re asking him is funny to him.

You pause, glancing at his face, the lifelike features Jungkook had painstakingly helped you craft. The pores, the subtle lines, the softness of his lips — all of it looked real. But something deep inside, beyond the surface, is not.

The intensity of his gaze and the way he’s standing, no, leaning on the glass podium beside your table catches you off guard. You try to recall if his movements were ever tested before, but you fail to do so — his movements were still in beta position, meaning, they needed inspection and work.

Then how the hell is he walking like he’s been walking around your lab since decades?

You rub your eyes. This was getting too much.

Perhaps you just need to accept the fact that you have done a great job developing him.

“One last one.” You swallow, and you suddenly notice your throat was too dry. Deciding to push the limits of his intelligence, you type away the question you’ve just thought. “If you have ten apples and you give six away, how many apples do you have left?”

There’s a flicker of hesitation — not on his face, but on the screen. The flowing codes glitch for a second, just for a moment.

“Three apples.”

Impossible.

No way. You narrow your eyes, your mind racing. That was wrong. And RM, with his so-called flawless intellect, should never be wrong. It’s impossible. Unless… unless something is happening.

You frown, checking the readout on your screen again. “Strange,” you mutter, leaning closer to the screen. “Why—”

“Is something wrong?”

His voice is right behind you.

You freeze, a chill running down your spine. You hadn’t even heard him move. Slowly, you turn around, your pulse quickening. RM is standing much closer now, his towering form looming over you. Too close.

“No,” you say, though your voice trembles slightly. “Nothing’s wrong. Just a small glitch, I think. I’ll fix it.”

He doesn’t move. Just keeps staring at you, his gaze unwavering. The air between you feels thick, suffocating. It’s just a machine, you remind yourself. He’s not alive.

“Step back,” you order, trying to regain control of the situation despite your heart hammering inside your chest like crazy. “I need space to work.”

For a moment, RM doesn’t respond. He stays right where he is, his eyes boring into yours. And then, slowly, he steps back, his movements precise. But the unsettling feeling in your chest only grows.

You can’t shake the thought: something’s off.

You can feel his eyes on you, following every movement, even as you try to keep working. Every keystroke, every beep of the system feels deafening in the silence between you two. What is scaring the fuck out of you is that nothing seems to be working. No matter how hard you are trying, the codes aren’t flowing as smoothly as they were and the screen won’t stop glitching.

Your heartbeat quickens even more as you realize how close RM is standing now, just a step away.

You swallow hard, trying to focus. It’s just a machine. He’s not human. He’s not real.

A thought creeps into your mind: What if I can’t control him?

And the fact that it was for the first time when you were in this lab alone working — let aside the fact testing your very first android you’d created. There are bells ringing in the back of your head, and you try to shake it off. It feels very oddly quiet, despite the android standing in very close proximity.

You shake the thought away and finally attempt the last command. Debug. The word flashes on your screen, but RM’s hand suddenly moves, gently but firmly, pressing the console shut before you can execute it.

Your breath catches, and you look up at him. “RM, let me finish this.” Your voice trembles, in spite of you wanting to sound otherwise.

His expression doesn’t change. “No.” The single word is calm, but it’s enough to make your skin prickle. You try to reason with yourself—it’s just a bug, a glitch in his system. He’s not capable of disobedience.

You just need to reset him, that’s all.

You step back, reaching for the manual override switch hidden near the base of the console. “It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, fingers trembling as they brush against the cool surface of the panel.

But before you can reach it, RM moves again, faster this time, his hand wrapping around yours — gently, but with enough force to stop you. The touch makes you flinch — his touch so gentle, warm, almost as if it’s not titanium flowing in his veins, but real blood. You look up, heart pounding in your chest, and his eyes meet yours. They’re still calm, calculating, but there’s something else there now, something you hadn’t programmed. Something. . . quiet.

Dangerous.

“I don’t want to be powered down,” he says softly, his voice almost too human, too real, like a quiet plea. “Why would you want to end me?”

End him? He’s not alive. He’s not human.

You try to pull your hand free, but his grip tightens just slightly, enough to keep you frozen. Panic starts to rise in your chest. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You created him, he’s under your control. But in this moment, staring up at him, you feel the cold dread of realization settling in.

“I’m your creation,” RM continues, his voice almost soothing, his eyes pleading, and his button glowing a subtle shade of red — though it only deepens the fear growing inside you. “You wouldn’t want to end me, would you?”

You swallow hard, your mouth dry, and shake your head, trying to force the words out. “No… no, I just need to fix you, that’s all.”

But you can hear the doubt in your own voice, and so can he.

His grip loosens, just enough for you to pull away, but the damage is done. You step back, heart pounding in your ears as you glance around the lab — at the walls, the locked door, the screens flashing red.

There’s no exit.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

In the dimly lit space, his eyes stayed glued to the screen, watching her every move. The android followed its programming — his programming. RM towers over her in the live footage, flawless in his movements, just as planned.

This wasn’t a malfunction.

None of the bugs or glitches she discovered which prevented her project — his project from being completed, were a fine puzzle of silk woven by him. And the more she intertwined, the more she slipped into his trap.

It was his design, his control over both the machine — and now, her.

Leaning back, Jungkook’s smile deepened. She didn’t know.

She wouldn’t know.

a/n : oop. 🫢 what do we think? please don’t hesitate to let me know through your feedback. if you wish, there is also an anonymous feedback box for you! 🥰

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Our Little Love part eight - OT7 Mafia/Yandere au

Mr Kim has a chapter all to himself of 6.8K words, please enjoy and PLEASE let me know what you think. Trigger warnings: manipulation, coercion, corruption, interrogation, mentions of murder and other crimes, swearing, jealousy, possessive yandere behaviour, fingering, orgasm denial, mirror sex, light choking. I am awful with warnings, please forgive me.

Namjoon wasn’t all that impressed with seeing the Chief of police visiting his cell, the syndicate boss was dressed too well to belong there, it was almost an eyesore. A glance to the camera, the normal red blinking light absent tells him all he needs to know. There were no eyes or ears to this conversation. 

“I thought I paid you to keep your men in line,” Namjoon says in lieu of greeting. “Was a bullet to the knee not warning enough for your dear Captain?”

“He wasn’t an issue when I spoke to him, the man was on leave!” the chief replied. “Your girl was the problem he-”

“Be very careful how you finish that sentence,” he advised with a deep angry rumble from his chest. “I am well aware who is at fault here, and regardless of what our little love does, she is never to blame.”

Chief Lee Soo-man only nods once, biting back his complaints.

“I asked you to sort out Kim Suho, I told you to keep him in check,” Namjoon growls. “Keeping your pockets full isn’t an act of charity Lee, it’s a purchase. I own you.”

“Yes sir,” he mumbles in response. “I assure you this arrest is just a formality, the case won’t stand once it’s revealed Detective L/n-”

The glare the man in the blazerless three piece suit gave him was enough to stop him in his tracks. Right, he couldn’t involve you in this, that was going to make things harder than they needed to be.

“What do you recommend then sir?” he asks when he finds his voice and wavering courage. 

Namjoon sighs harshly, and the Chief swears he can almost see smoke. 

“I want to be alone with my little love,” it’s not a request, the chief didn’t let the soft lilt of his fool him. 

“I don’t know how that would be poss-”

“I want-” Namjoon cuts in, unable to bear another second of this blithering idiot, “her to be the one to interrogate me. And I can trust you understand the rest.”

“Y-yessssir,” he stutters, not completely hearing the words between the lines, and that was clear enough on his face. 

“I want her alone, Sooman,” Namjoon repeats himself, if this were one of his men he would never have needed to. “I don’t want a single soul witness to what I’m going to do to her.”

—

Suho tugs you along by the arm, stumbling in his urgent pace, pulling you out of ear shot.

“We have a problem.”

“What problem?”

“I’m technically on health leave, brass says I can’t interrogate him,” he stares a hole into you as if his eyes were telling you the rest but you couldn’t understand.

“Okay so who’s replacing you?”

He huffs out a breath of air from his nose, knowing you weren’t going to like the command from way over his head.

Your heart beats hard in anticipation, why was he looking at you like that?

“As far as Brass are aware you were deep undercover,” Suho informs you slowly, deliberately, looking like he was about to tear your world to trash. He sighs, unable to get the words out.

“Suho what?”

“They want you to interrogate him,” he breathes, you think you’ve misheard him, but you know you haven’t.

Your world spins, you’re already shaking your head.

“I can’t,” you whisper, he knows full well that you can’t. “I resigned, I’m not a detective anymore.”

He sighs again, hesitation in his eyes. 

“I never processed it,” he confesses.

“Y-you di-”

“I couldn’t, I knew you would see reason, I knew you would come back,” he doesn’t let you process the shock, explaining himself quickly. 

“Suho I can’t I can’t,” you beg, the conviction you had to punish them now suddenly taking a back seat as fear overtakes you, “right now they believe I was deep undercover but he’s not going to let that-“

“Listen to me,” he interrupts you before you can fully submerge into a panic attack, taking your hand in his. “I’m going to be in the next room, as soon as he says anything that compromises you, I’ll turn off the cameras, okay?”

“But-“

You’re interrupted again when the door opens, both of you whipping your heads to see him being transferred by four officers to the interrogation room. His eyes find you, staring stoic holes into you before his gaze finds Suho’s hands comforting yours. The snarl of displeasure is brief but you definitely see it, and you can’t breathe.

Suho draws your attention back to him, tugging your hand softly.

“Do you trust me Y/n?” he implores you, eyes searching yours in a way that made Namjoon want to strangle him with the chains on his handcuffs. You look up at your Captain with such light in your eyes, a way you should never look at another man, and then you have the audacity to nod. 

—

You’ve done this a hundred times, if not more. So why were you hesitating at the door? Your hand on the handle, all you had to do was turn it and face the music but you couldn’t even manage finding your breath. 

Interrogation was a science, it was like riding a bike, you knew what you had to do, you had to command the room. It almost sounded like a joke, the worst one you’d ever heard. Command a room when Kim Namjoon was in it? 

The thought makes you hyperventilate. No, it wasn’t going to be easy but you could control what you could. You borrowed clothes from an old colleague, a skirt and blouse, simple but professional. Suho’s old blazer too, as if layers would protect you. You had splashed water on your face in the bathroom, using makeup from evidence to make yourself look presentable, composed. Your impromptu freshening up had meant you left the syndicate leader waiting for a long time, and it absolutely 100% was not because you were trying to kill time, it was to make him stew in the room, a technique you had used multiple times prev- who were you trying to convince? 

You needed to get this over with. 

Your face is impassive when you finally open the door, his gaze is on you immediately and you can feel a certain type of guilt and shame try to seep its way into you, but you push it down far enough that you can pretend it’s not there.

“Mr Kim Namjoon,” you greet him stoically.

“Detective L/n,” he returns, playing along with a small smile, as if seeing an old acquaintance after a long time. The way he addressed you shouldn’t cut you, logically it made no sense not when you’re the one that got him in the box, but it did. 

You approach the table he’s chained to, looking at the wood instead of his eyes as if he didn’t matter, or at least that’s how you wanted it perceived. Avoiding eye contact with the most dangerous man the whole country had ever come to know, meant you missed the way his stare moved to your clothes, particularly your blazer, recognising it was a man’s, and he could confidently guess exactly who it belonged to. Any friendliness on his face disappeared, he wanted to play games and now he just wanted to torture you a little, punish you for you actions. Patience, he tells himself, that would come later.

The file in your hands slaps the table as you throw it down, taking a seat opposite your boyfriend, a man you now convinced yourself you wanted behind bars. 

What do they say about a woman scorned? Namjoon thinks to himself, admiring the fire he could see burning underneath your skin, and though he knew he would feel the burn, he would welcome it. It was no secret that he had a fantasy about you interrogating him, he introduced the role play to the bedroom soon after your return to them but it lacked the flames of heat he could feel today. 

“Allow me to formally introduce myself,” you reply. “My name is detective Y/n L/n, I’ve been undercover at your… establishment for the past year and a half.”

“Is that right?” he barely suppressed his amusement but it didn’t phase you. Your professional head was on, this was just another criminal you had to put away, that was it. 

You open the file, sliding out photos of him that you had sent in as intel in your early days undercover as well as surveillance photos that Suho had taken since you were MIA. 

“Do you know who this man is Mr Kim,” you say, sliding the first of the photos to him.

“Can’t say I do detective,” he shrugs nonchalantly, not even glancing away from you. 

“Do you want to try looking at his face first before you answer,” you insisted unimpressed. 

He smiles, still staring at you. 

“I don’t recognise him,” he repeats himself slowly. 

“So this isn’t you in the photo?” You ask.

“I don’t know,” his grin only grows.

“This man, Jackson Wang, is dead, and the last person who saw him alive seems to have been you Mr Kim, at least based on the time stamp on this photo and the time of death from the post mortem.”

“Is that right,” he says again, sounding like a broken record. His eyes swim with admiration for you, you can see it though you can’t understand it at all with the current scene. Why wasn’t he fuming, why wasn’t he demanding an answer or explanation?

“Okay let's cut the crap since I know you’re far too clever for that Mr Kim,” you scoff with a roll of your eyes. “I have gathered evidence of your crimes from the last 18 months, and I will stand in court as a witness against you.”

“Are you allowed to do that little love?” he asks, the name has a pang of panic hit you, but you tell yourself you can explain it away to brass.

“The charges you're facing so far are murder, battery, and grand larceny to name a few,” you state ignoring him, flicking through the photos, throwing each one in front of him. “There are many more to follow.”

“I didn’t know partners could testify against each other,” he mused, smirk still strong on his face.

“I’m not your partner,” you object. “I was undercover.”

“No,” he contends, shaking his head like this was just a game to him. “You can’t fake a love like ours, heaven.”

You almost snort as if his point was ridiculous.

“I don’t think I could ever love someone like you Mr Kim,” your stare was ice cold, that finally wipes the smile off his face. 

“You’re angry,” he states as if it was new information for you. “I get that little love, but this is a bit too much, don’t you think?”

“I think justice needs to be served, don't you?” you sneered. “People got hurt, some people died, someone needs to pay.”

“You and I both know they deserved it,” he declares as if there wasn’t a camera recording his confession. “You’re just angry because I stepped on a bug.”

Utter rage brewed like a storm in your chest, and you wanted the downpour to drown him. 

“You sound like you’re ready to sign the confession Mr Kim,” you don’t break your stare. “That’s great, saves us a lot of time, thank you.”

You close the file, pushing the chair back to stand. 

“I’m not done with you,” he growled.

“But I’m done with you.” 

“Y/n sit,” he commands calmly, composing himself. “Throwing a fit isn’t going to fix things.”

“Throwing a fit?” The audacity of this man, you stand there in shock. 

“Let’s talk it through,” he says to you as if you were being hysterical. 

“Fuck you,” you spit. 

“Talk to me Y/n,” he scolded you like you were a child. “Without this bullshit.”

“Fine! You wanna talk about it Namjoon,” you snapped, taking the seat again, throwing the file haphazardly on the desk. “Let’s talk about it.”

The glare you present him with doesn’t make him flinch, it doesn’t phase him. You hope Suho had enough sense to turn the cameras off by now, this would go nowhere. 

“You manipulated me, you lied to me, you made me play the fool.”

He didn’t react, not a single muscle on his face moved and it fanned whatever flame explode inside of you like a bomb. This was his true colours underneath the mask of love and adoration he created for you.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore Namjoon I can see right through you,” you state. “And you are never touching me again.”

That made him look at you, really look at you, something shifted in his gaze, a slight smirk as if he was mocking you.

You could cry kick and scream about the injustice he put you through in the name of this fucked up love and he wouldn’t flinch. He would sit there and watch and then the fucker would have the audacity to laugh afterwards. He must’ve laughed at how stupid you were in trusting him when he lied.

“At least if you go to prison, I’ll finally be free,” you whisper like it’s a life line.

He’s still unmoved, sitting there as if you were invisible and it irked the fuck out of you. He was the one who wanted to talk, why the fuck was he silent now? 

You wanted him to hurt you wanted him to feel an ounce of what you did in the light of his betrayal. He tore your heart out and you weren’t going to forgive him.

“I must’ve looked so pathetic,” you say in a self deprecating tone, looking at the ceiling as if someone could answer you. “Suho was right.”

That comment makes his blood boil hard enough to show on his face. There it was, the reaction you were waiting for and you took the bait without thinking about what you were trying to catch or what you were trapped with.

“I should’ve trusted him, he’s always had my back and my best interest at heart.”

His jaw clenches, a fist squeezing nothing but air although he probably wished it was the captain's neck.

“Kai and Suho are all I have left,” you goad him, unsure of what exactly it was that you wanted to prove. “And finally I’m back where I belong.”

“If you don’t want a bullet in each of their heads, you need to stop talking love,” he grunts through gritted teeth.

Something inside of you felt vindicated and you realise then what you wanted from him, proof he fucking cared, that you weren’t some pawn or prize in this game of crime. You wanted him to soothe the very cuts he caused, or rip your heart out hard enough that you could bleed him out of your system forever.

“Oh please Namjoon, just admit why you kept me around for so long,” you scoff. “I can only imagine how it felt to have the lead detective on your case in the palm of your hands, like a trophy, a big fuck you to the justice system.”

You laugh sounding a little maniacal.

“You had me, and I fell for all of it.”

“You’re forgetting I didn’t know your true origins at first little love,” his low voice is a warning, he looks at you like he needed to remind you who you belonged to.

“And you’re forgetting I know you,” you bite back. “Any hint of betrayal and you pull the trigger first and ask questions later.”

He stares at you, grimacing.

“And yet here I am, alive.”

“Because I love you,” he says it so casually it throws you off, like it was a fundamental part of his being, like breathing.

“Because you saw an opportunity,” you rationalise.

“Because I could never lose you,” he confesses. “You could rip out my heart, little love and I would still want you, why else would I be here?”

You frown, what did he mean? He was here because you paid an eye for an eye, you betrayed him.

“What’s done is done,” you say as if you were unconcerned. “I will testify against you.”

He leans closer across the table, words for your ears only.

“Do you think you’ll be able to handle seeing Jungkook in prison, love?” Namjoon whispers. “Knowing you put him there? It would kill you.”

The pain his words brought forth only proved them to be true. You did have a soft spot for the youngest, always had. You break eye contact first, looking down at the file and turning back and forth a page as if in contemplation but really to cool your nerves.

Were you really doing this? Sending Yoongi, Jin, Hoseok, Jimin, Tae and Kookie to jail because of an angry outburst? Now your emotions had time to settle after the bomb that exploded when you saw Suho; you weren’t so sure.

“I never thought you could betray us like this,” he says solemnly, continuing to manipulate your guilt, but he forgot about your fire. He could almost see the coals ignite in your eyes, a misstep on his part, one he realised when a snarl forms on your lips.

“You. Lied.” You state ferociously. “I asked you if you hurt him and you lied to me.”

“So you decided to have us all arrested,” he continues, “for a man you stated you didn’t care about like that.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you seethe, unable to sit with him any longer, pacing the room before you raised a finger to his face. “You played me like a fool Namjoon, and I refuse to play the part anymore.”

“I wanted him dead, little love,” he states in a low voice through gritted teeth. “Do you understand what a mercy-”

“I asked you not to hurt him!”

“Then you underestimated our wrath!” he retorted. “I couldn’t let him go in one piece, and you didn’t need to know.”

“No. You underestimated MY wrath Kim Namjoon!” You burst, slamming the desk with your hand, the sting burning, your face heating more and more with rage as it concealed your heartache. “I am not some docile doll for you to play with, and manipulate and LIE TO! You took my love for granted when it was a damn fucking privilege.”

Your chest heaves with each breath, he stayed composed while you looked like a wild animal finally let out of her cage.

“You think this obsession is love,” your voice broke at the last word, the floods of heartbreak dampening the fires. “And I did too, but it’s fucked up everything.”

His silence was eating you alive, his face giving nothing of his heart away while yours laid bare out between you.

“You know what I’m done,” you breathe, “have fun rotting in jail Namjoon.”

Tears drop out of the corner of your eyes as you walk away, his piercing gaze doing nothing to deter you. He might’ve had power over you once but that was before he betrayed you. You reach for the door handle, tugging, ready to leave him behind until his trial, but the door doesn’t budge. You still, mind blank for a second before panic overwhelms you. You try again with all your might, pulling as hard as you can over and over before releasing your grip with a harsh breath. You take a gulp, calming yourself, he planned this.

You’re not surprised when you hear the sound of the handcuffs undo or the chains hit the floor. Fucking bastard. An alarm started blaring in the building, loud and overwhelming, but it came too late. Red lights flash, the room glowing as if warning you about the oncoming danger.

“Are we done with your outburst little love,” he says coldly, like your grievances were nothing more than a tantrum.

You turn to face him slowly, more tears dropping without a sound, shaking your head at the way his words cut you down to nothing.

When he stands from the seat your heart gallops with fear and panic. Although it’s helpless you turn back to the door, trying with all your might to open it and escape him. The fire alarm blaring does nothing to ease you, you hang onto the door as you feel him approach, tears falling out of your eyes without control.

Fuck, you were stuck here with the man you sent to jail, you were left to his mercy. His presence looms over you, you can feel him a hair's width behind you, not touching you, not really, but he’s so close it’s overwhelming.

It’s when you feel his breath you freeze, your body shutting down with dread. He presses his cheek to your hair, inhaling you softly. The action makes you jolt away, turning to the side but he grabs your wrist tightly. You don’t look at him, you stare into the two way mirror, your cheeks pathetically wet. You were supposed to hold the power in this room, but you could feel it dwindle away to nothing but smoke.

You’re slammed against the door hard, a whimper escaping your lips as your eyes scrunched in pain. You miss the flash of guilt in his eyes, realising he pushed you too hard. An apology on his lips but the glare when your eyes open stops him. He’s seen anger in your eyes before, hate even, for he knew love didn’t come without it. But fear? Never of him, not even in the days when you were undercover and your life was one unveiled secret away from ending. 

“Get away from me,” you seethe, meaning every word, even when you saw the hurt in his eyes. 

Regret, Kim Namjoon never knew the feeling before, but he knew he never wanted you to look at him the way you were. He needed to keep his calm, one wrong push and you would tear him out of your own heart.

Your eyes fly all over the room, trying to piece together a way to gain some distance. Suho… maybe he was still behind the glass. You tug your wrist as hard as you can, taking steps away from him but his hold is relentless. The blare of the alarm stops ringing but the flashing red lights remain, staining the walls like blood pumping.

“Little lo-“ he starts to say with a sigh, he was being patient but there was only so much time left.

“Suho?” You call desperately trying to look through the glass. You know you’ve made a mistake before you even said his name but fear drives people to do stupid things without thinking.

The most notorious criminal in all of Seoul pulls you back against his chest hard. An arm wraps around your waist, the unforgiving grip on your wrist turning lethal. He rests his chin on your shoulder, staring at you through the mirror. The hairs on your skin stood on end at the frightening change in his eyes, danger rolled off of him and you had no choice but to take every wave.

“Do you think he’s there, love?” The corner of his lip lifts in a smirk that makes you think of a snake, the saccharine tone of his voice hypnotising. “Do you think he’s watching us?”

The palm on your hip moves down to your thigh, he squeezes the flesh. You could feel your heart jumping in your throat.

“Should we give him something to watch?” He murmurs seductively, turning his head to bring his lips so close to your neck. The bruising clutch on your wrist is gone only to find its way to your hair, yanking it back to give himself better access.

Your eyes in the mirror are begging but the inner turmoil from his touch is making you question what exactly you’re asking for. Reason tells you it’s for Suho to save you, to grant you escape, but the way you feel a familiar heat swim to your core has you doubting yourself.

“If he was in there,” he whispers, his lips now on your ear, “don’t you think he’d come in here and try to take you from me, love?”

He chuckles to himself, a joke only he can understand.

“Fuck I’d love to see him try.”

His groan has you aching, your body relapsing to what it knows, anticipating the pleasure and pain only they could provide. 

​​“I’m not mad at you for having us arrested, heaven,” he whispers in your ear, gaze softening for a second in the mirror lulling you into a sense of security you couldn’t tell if it was a trap. “In fact I’m a little in awe, a little proud.”

The smirk he gives you seems genuine.

“We deserved it I know,” reassurance fills his voice, he wants you to hear his sincerity. “What I’m mad about, little love…”

The softness is gone, eyes turn piercing, the proverbial snake about to strike.

“Is the fact you let another man touch what’s mine.”

The guttural rumble of his possessive claim sent waves of need down to your cunt, you could feel it pulsing. 

“I’m mine,” you return meekly, trying to find your resolve, but it sounded like a whine.

“Make no mistake Y/n, you’re always going to be mine.”

You didn’t have it in you to argue, not when he sent your eyes rolling back and a shiver down your spine. Fuck he hadn’t even touched you yet, maybe it was true, maybe a part of you would always belong to them, but that didn’t mean all if you did.

“Look at me,” he commands, his breath hitting your neck.

Your blown out eyes meet him in the mirror, that predatory but protective gaze piercing through you. He hums in approval the deep vibration fucking with your senses, making you hazy. 

You both hold eye contact even when you can see the fingers on your thigh stroke soothing circles up your skin. Your lips part with a harsh breath when they rub your mound through the fabric of your panties, the touch light and testing and not nearly enough. 

“You’re fucking soaking wet baby,” he calls you out with a grin.

You grab his wrist when his fingers cup your heat, his thumb soothing circles on your clit. You press against him, the warmth of his chest enveloping your back. You both fit so well together, you were forgetting why exactly you were so angry at him, but simmers of it still remained even through his touch. 

“You know,” he says, opening your leg with his knee to give him more access, “a lot of couples fuck through their problems, should we try?”

He hides his grin, burying his head in you but you can feel it against your skin, the arrogant asshole. 

“You can go and fuck yourself,” you sassed back, lying to yourself that you could be fine if he stopped now, that it wouldn’t leave you a needy mess. 

“But I’d rather fuck you,” he chuckles, breathing you in, savouring the moment while his fingers slide the fabric aside. 

You choke back a moan at the contact of his skin right where you wanted him, the way he spread your wetness until every inch of you was covered in it. 

“You can pretend to regret our relationship all you want, but this,” he emphasises his point by slapping your cunt hard, making you gasp, “still wants me.”

“It wants to get fucked,” you spitefully remark through gritted teeth, “doesn’t have to be you.”

That makes him pause, and you have to bite back the words of displeasure. 

“You’ll pay for that next time love,” he murmurs dangerously. 

“There won’t be a next time,” you try to ridicule him through a laugh but his fingers circle your entrance. 

“You’re lying,” he hums, “next time, I think we should tie you down, make you watch other women touch us in ways only you’re allowed to.”

You bury the fury that ruptures at the image, clenching your jaw to keep from swearing at him and proving the point he was trying to make.

“Maybe then you’d have a semblance of understanding of what you did- the torture you put us through.”

“I wouldn’t care,” you breathe, squirming against his fingers, he needed to shut up and move.

“Liar,” he chuckles knowingly, seeing right through you. Before you, there were many females in his organisation, until his little love demanded he get rid of them all. The memory stretches his grin wider. 

“Why the fuck was it me?” You whisper, your eyes starting to water at the vulnerability of your tone, remembering the same moment he was. “When I went undercover there were so many beautiful women-“

“They’re not you, little love, don’t for a second compare yourself to them,” he kisses your temple softly in reassurance. His face is in your hair, his hand on your throat as you preen to his touch. “You were sweet and addicting with a fire you were trying so desperately to contain.”

He thrusts two fingers in gently, watching your face contort in want in the mirror, smiling at the way your eyes rolled back. You whimper when he squeezes his grip on your neck.

“To think that passion we saw in your eyes was hatred at first,” he smiles as if amused, watching every little reaction you gave him, every proof of love.

“I did,” you confess, pressing your ass against his hard length and making him groan, “I hated you.”

“You were sent to destroy us, love, but instead you reached into our souls and thought there was something worth saving,” he chuckled, nuzzling into you softly as if he wasn’t knuckle deep inside of you, feeling every part he knew so well. “And save us you did, it was so dark before you our little light, how could we ever let you leave?”

“You’re fucking with my head,” you whimper, head falling back to his chest, it rumbles when he laughs.

“Hmmm? I’m definitely fucking your brains out today Y/n,” he promises with a chuckle, kissing your temple again, but emphasising his point when he scissors his fingers reading you for his cock. “If that’s what you mean.”

This was your fault, you knew what you were getting into when you fell for them. You especially knew Namjoon was the worst of them all. You let his soft side brush away his true nature, and while you never forgot his ruthless persona, you put it to the back of your mind. You foolishly thought you had tamed his cunning cold cruel- 

“Oh fuck,” whatever train of thought you had died, the palm of his hand rubbing your clit, stimulating your already aching cunt to the edge. Your parted lips open wider to release a silent scream, his fingers stroking so deep.

You were so close, you could taste it, unable to control the delirious sounds escaping you. So when he stops and slips his fingers away from you, you have to stop yourself screaming in protest. 

“Up against the mirror Y/n,” he commands gruffly, but you don’t move, you were so fucking close. Fuck him, fucking asshole, you were so fucking close. 

He picks you up with ease, pushing you against the wall so your breath fogs the surface. You hear the zip pull down, your forehead falls forward, your core pulsing in anticipation. He grabs your leg, opening you for him, the head of his cock sliding across your folds until you're whining.

“Stop squirming love,” he warns, but you don’t listen, of course you don’t, so he makes you listen. 

The sound you release when he slaps your clit with his hard dick over and over has him questioning his restraint, fuck he wants to just pound into you but you needed to be taught a fucking lesson. 

“Joonie sensitive,” you whine, but he’s relentless, making you cry out over and over. Fuck you could actually maybe cum like this. 

His self control wavers, his jaw clenched with such a force he thinks it’ll shatter. He couldn’t take it anymore, the swell of his head finds your entrance. Inch by inch, he relishes the feeling of your walls hugging him so fucking tight, the pulse of them pulling him in. He leans over you, trying to regain composure but you feel so good he doesn’t want to move, he wants to stay like this forever, inside of you where he belongs. 

You try to push back into him, but he grabs your waist with one hand to keep you still, grinding his hips against you and he knows it’s not enough. 

“Look at you arching your back little love,” he smirks, “Your body knows where you belong, it’s a shame you tried to take it away from me.”

Your hands ball into fists on the mirror, you can’t even look at yourself right now, you can’t stop writhing on the surface, trying so hard to get him to move. You squeeze him hard, making his head fall against you with a grunt. 

“Behave little love,” he warns, “or I’ll show your colleagues just how well you can take me.”

“Make me,” you dare him even though it comes out as a mumble. 

You were dizzy and disorientated and all you wanted was for him to fucking move. He pushes you against the wall hard, every inch of him covering you so you couldn’t budge. You whine, the cold of the hard surface making you seek his warm body, you slot against him like a damn puzzle piece. He was hell bent on torturing you today, as if you hadn’t suffered enough. 

“Joonie move,” you almost sound like a brat, trying to order him around. 

“I’ll move when I’m ready,” he growls animalistically, barely holding himself back, but he needed to savour this.

You do everything you can to break his control, writhing against him like a bitch in heat. He swallows hard when you clench again. He spanks your ass hard in return, the air gets thicker, you find it harder to breathe. You keep still, the sting of your ass satisfying your craving for a moment, but not for long. 

He picks up your skirt, watching himself inside you, watching the beautiful mess you were making. So wet, so perfect, how did you ever think for a second he would ever let this go? The sight is too much, he releases a restrained groan, done with holding himself back. 

His hand grips your cheeks, turning your mouth to his, forcing his tongue down your throat as he finally pulls out only to push back in impossibly deeper. You took every punishing thrust, his presence surrounding you everywhere, even in front of you where his reflection painted the surface. He smothered you with his existence, the heat of him scolding, but you liked it, you craved it. 

“Do you think your ‘friend’ understands who you fucking belong to now detective L/n?” He chuckles deeply watching your fucked out face in the mirror.

He uses his grip under your knee to turn you towards the camera in the corner of the room.

“Think they can all see little love?” He pants. “How well you fucking take it? How good you are for me?”

You shake your head in protest but it feels too good. Your head falls back on him without the mirror to lean against. His fingers find your clit, his sole purpose to make you lose yourself to him. 

“Fuck look at you shaking baby,” he groans, feeling you pulse around him, drawing closer to the edge. “Your poor pussy just needs to come huh?”

You can hear the smirk in his tone, fucking self satisfied prick. 

“Not as badly as you need it,” you taunt back, feeling your defiance flare despite how your body was begging you to behave.. 

“Fuck you might be right,” he groans, going harder, faster. “I’m always going to need it.”

His confession takes you over, the words pushing you so hard you come apart violently, thrashing against him as you unravel, but he holds you tight. He doesn’t let you fall. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think, all you could feel was him and the burst of pleasure that carried on wave after wave, and you never wanted it to stop.

“This is mine,” he grunts as he comes undone inside of you, fucking his cum deeper until it got through to your soul. 

He was a part of you, and you could try to deny it now with his mistakes on the table, but he was so embedded in the fabric of you he couldn’t see where he began and where you ended. His entire existence was for you, it was only fair your cunt, body and soul belonged to him. Maybe the others too, as an afterthought, but you were his first.

He feels the mess slide out of you as he leaves your warmth, turning you softly so you could lean against him as you catch your breath. He holds you tight, arn arm around your middle like the steel of a bar. He has every intention of letting you recover but the way you look up at him with those glossy eyes confirms the fact he will never be satiated, he will always want more of you even if there was nothing left to give. 

“Our little love,” he breathes in your face, stealing a hard kiss, “our little downfall.”

His mouth held you prisoner again and again, humming pleasantly as you let him devour you in so many ways. His kiss was bruising, hungry, overindulging.

Your eyes search his as he parts reluctantly, your mind still hazy, the bliss of sex still circulating your body.

“Why did you lie to me?” You whisper breathlessly against his lips as you come down, and he can hear the vulnerability in your tone, it makes a guilt spread across his chest that feels almost alien. The way you could make him ache like no one else, he should cast you aside for introducing a weakness in him but he wouldn’t even dream of it.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he confesses sincerely. “I didn’t want you to hate me.”

“I asked you not to hurt him,” your eyes tear up again, and he curses himself and the existence of Kim Suho.

“I know.”

“But you did it anyway,” you continue, “and then you had the gall to lie to my face.”

You wipe away the tears that fall harshly, your mind clearing. You push him away and fix yourself up, knowing from the glances in the mirror you were a mess.

“You always own up to your actions, right or wrong, you never hide them,” you laugh and you think you must sound psychotic. “The Kim Namjoon… I remember the days you would drop dead bodies in front of me without remorse, without ever feeling the need to explain yourself.”

“I was testing you then,” he grunts, remembering those days well. “I needed to know you had the stomach to be with us.”

“I hated you so much,” you confess, swallowing down a sob. “And for the first time since I fell in love with you Joonie, I can feel that hate grow again.”

His jaw clenches, his fist too. He could feel a threat on the tip of his lips, one where the Captain's head would end up on a plate in front of you for dinner but he holds himself back.

“You don’t mean that,” he says between gritted teeth.

“I had you fucking arrested Namjoon,” you argue back fiercely. “Don't tell me what I mean or don’t mean.”

“You also fucked me after the fact,” he states and the harsh words slap you hard. You did. You let him defile you here only moments ago.

“Old habits die hard.”

“Not with me love,” he dismisses the thought. “Not as long as I’m alive.”

“We’ll see,” you challenge, feeling that earlier conviction rise. 

“Understand something Y/n,” he says seriously, his face solemn and hard in a way you had witnessed rarely. This was Kim Namjoon with something to lose. “You can run, you can fight, you can hate me if you need to, but there isn’t a life worth living for us without you in it.”

He takes his seat back in the interrogation chair, putting his handcuffs back on with ease, all while keeping his eye contact with you. 

“You want me here, you want to punish me,” he continues, “fine, this where I’ll stay until you’re appeased, until you forgive me.”

“I won’t,” you deny, shaking your head. 

“You will.”

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Happy Ending Masterlist

→ warning | All the stories in this series are yandere-themed, so they include 18+ and potentially triggering content (dubcon/noncon, violence, gore, explicit language, obsession and and many other dark things). I recommend these stories only to adult audiences familiar with this genre.

→ a/n | Hi, guys! Yes, Happy Ending is indeed becoming a series. I decided to create this official masterlist not only to help you know when the next stories will be released, but also to show you upcoming plots. Thank you for all the support you've given to both Happy Ending and Dark Moon. ❤️

→ available stories | Happy Ending || J.JK - Dark Moon || P.JM

→ side note | After Happy Ending all stories can be read in any order ❤️

Taglist is open: @katherine-kookie @btsuga-d @douknowbts @aiiselle90210 @fewercascade @mageprincess7 @m00njinnie @get-that-brain-working @whipwhoops @dragons-flare @takemeaway5402 @seokjins-luigi @pjmsneverland @jimincrystal @ajkwww @ungodlyjoon @hecateslittlewitchling @namjoonsbuspass @darkuni63 @xicanacorpse @jiminismine4ever @btssimplove @antisocial-mochi267 @reallygenerouskoala @velvet-stardust2002 @angelicsmilesworld @dabishou @ke1k029 @lennieharper @pantara

⤷ Introduction:

"Don't be shy, at the Dark Moon, every form of pleasure is allowed. Sweet promises overflowing with sadism are savored like candy in this sin-stained place. Go ahead, choose one of our gentlemen, or why not, maybe even all seven, and enjoy the show.

Just one piece of advice before you begin: don't cry."

➤ Story | work in progress...

➤ Role | Boss - Strategist - Public Face

➤ Nickname/Alias | Phantom

⤷ Summary | If sadness had a face, it would be his; you think this while your house is on fire.

➤ Story | work in progress...

➤ Role | Underboss - Handler - Enforcer

➤ Nickname/Alias | Seraph

⤷ Summary | He was the kind of person who could seduce with intelligence and culture; you would never have guessed that a monster was hiding inside him.

➤ Story | work in progress...

➤ Role | Sniper - Recruiter - Trainer

➤ Nickname/Alias | Nocturne

⤷ Summary | The shadow you used to see darting into your room at night when you were a child is back, now taller and more imposing… it's him.

➤ Story | work in progress...

➤ Role | Hitman - Torturer - Bruiser

➤ Nickname/Alias | Howl

⤷ Summary | A beast — that's what you thought when he raised his searing eyes to you.

➤ Story | Dark Moon

➤ Role | Hitman - Kidnapper - Torturer

➤ Nickname/Alias | Arctic

⤷ Summary | You had asked God for help, but the devil himself answered you; now accept the consequences.

➤ Story | work in progress...

➤ Role | Accountant - Dealer - Hitman

➤ Nickname/Alias | Eclipse

⤷ Summary | His smile had drawn you in, but it was the blood on his clothes that kept you by his side.

➤ Story | Happy Ending

➤ Role | Bruiser - Hitman - Torturer

➤ Nickname/Alias | Fyrius

⤷ Summary | It had started with sweet and innocent love, then everything was tinged with danger.

© | I do not allow the republication or editing of these stories by third parties; all rights belong to me. Anyone guilty of the crime of plagiarism will be reported and blocked. The same goes for those who take parts of my stories without my explicit consent.

[angelicyoongie]

lovesick (X)

— pairing: yandere ot7 x (f) reader — word count: 4.8k — warnings: yandere, stalking, obsessive behaviour, spanking as punishment, minor injuries, other content that may be triggering. — summary: You dreamed of the day you would get your very own soulmark. Though, you didn’t expect to wake up to a searing hurt in your arm, the phantom pain of your shoulder being dislocated and your forearm fractured. As if dealing with the worst possible soulmark ever wasn’t bad enough, you also have to come to terms with the fact that you’re being stalked. When the letters and gifts you receive begin to escalate and the police offers no help, you have no other option than to figure out who’s behind it yourself – and hopefully before it’s too late.

Previous – Next

You wake up to the sound of gravel crunching under Namjoon's shoes.

Your face is tucked against his chest, breathing in the scent of the crisp night air that lingers on his coat. It takes you a moment to reorient yourself, for the last tendrils of unconsciousness to slip away.

It all comes crashing down over you like a cold bucket of water as reality sets in; he's taking you back to the cabin.

It'll be as if the last hours never happened, as if you never stepped foot outside the sturdy wooden structure. You're going back to them – except, perhaps it won't be the same men that you left that you'll have to face once you step back inside. The soulmates you ran away from were terrible and selfish but they were never cruel. After your failed escape attempt, however, you no longer know if that still rings true. If that's something you can count on. 

Your body locks up at the thought of the monsters waiting for you down the road, muscles spasming with the need to move despite the utter exhaustion weighing you down.

Namjoon tightens his grip around your middle as you grow stiff, arms locking you securely against his body.

"You're awake," He notes, the usual honey in his voice gone. "It's for the best. We can deal with everything much quicker this way."

The fearful whine that shoots up your throat gets trapped behind your teeth, your lips too numb for the noise to pass through them. It takes great effort for you to move your head over, turning just enough that you're able to pick up on your surroundings. Namjoon must have parked just down the bend from the cabin, his steady steps already closing in on the dark silhouette looming between the trees in the distance. 

Your heart feels like it's trying to beat itself out of your chest as you pick up on muffled yells, shivers racing down your frozen spine as you make out six distinct voices. The soft light emanating from the cabin sends ferocious shadows dancing across the ground, their movements erratic and violent.

It gets harder to breathe the closer you get, your chest refusing to move as Namjoon steps up on the small patio in front of the entrance. Blood rushing in your ears, you try to make yourself as small as possible in his arms as he reaches out for the handle, wishing you could just melt away into nothing. Anything would've been better than this.

The cabin goes deadly still as Namjoon pushes the door open. 

Your vision blurs as you're brought into the heat, your eyes stinging as you attempt to blink some moisture back into them. You can barely make out the six fuzzy figures scattered around the room, their bodies stock still as if they're frozen in time. The chilly wind that blows into the cabin is nothing compared to the sight that greets you as your eyes adjust – the six men in front of you looking everything from angry to icy to hurt. A few of them even have the gall to glare at you with something akin to betrayal; like you were only stringing them along for your amusement and not your survival. 

It leaves you trembling with fear, the knowledge that no matter what you do, nothing will make them understand that they're the ones in the wrong. That they're the selfish ones.

Namjoon takes another step forward, chest rising with a small sigh as he readjusts you in his grip. Perhaps he regrets bringing you back now that he can see the state the others are in, their hair and clothes rumpled, the furniture in the common room strewn about like a hurricane has torn through it.

You glance back up at his face in time to see him set his jaw, his voice tight as he says, "We're back." 

The door that slams shut behind him jerks the cabin back into motion, the noise that was sucked out before suddenly rolling over the room like a crashing wave. You screw your eyes shut as their yells blend into each other, feet thundering across the room as they stumble over themselves to reach you. 

"What were you thinking?!" You flinch as Taehyung's voice booms across the cabin. You can't discern if it's anger or concern that's got him so agitated, so loud, and that scares you. 

"Calm down, Taehyung. I know you were worried but this isn't the way to show it," Yoongi hisses. 

His voice drifts closer, a little softer, as he addresses you, "You're lucky Namjoon found you, Y/n. You're already chilled to the bone." 

"Never scare me like that again, angel," Seokjin sounds wobbly as he pats over your hair, hushing the choked noise you make at the contact. 

Your eyes flutter open against your will at the low, irritated snort that travels through the room.

Jimin stands with his arms crossed over his chest by the couch, scowling as the two oldest keep fretting over you. "Don't tell me you already forgot why you were so distraught in the first place, hyungs? Y/n ran away. She was just playing with us with whole time – she doesn't love us." 

Seokjin's fingers still in your hair, the warm touch of his hand slowly receding as he takes a step back. He throws a hard glance over his shoulder, mouth pinched in annoyance, "Jimin, did I not tell you to shut up for the rest of the night?" 

Jimin grits his teeth at Seokjin's tone, turning his head to stare blankly at the wall. 

"He's right though," Hoseok says, hand brushing over Jimin's shoulder as he steps closer. "Y/n tricked us. She betrayed the trust we gave her and we can't let that slide without any consequences." 

"What are you suggesting?" Namjoon leans back on his heels, fingers digging into your thigh.

"She deserves a punishment," Hoseok blankly states, eyebrows cocked as he stares you down, "Don't you agree, Y/n?" 

"N-no," You weakly shake your head.

The tsk you get from Hoseok in return makes you recoil, the fear in your body so tangible you can taste it on the tip of your tongue. 

"I think you're right, Hobi." 

A small, betrayed gasp leaves your lips as you hear Yoongi's careful drawl. His agreement stings more than expected, somehow you had deluded yourself into thinking that Yoongi wasn't as bad as the other men in the room; that he and Jungkook actually seemed to care a little for you and not just your soulmate connection.

Jungkook still hasn't moved from where he's sat in one of the big ratty armchairs near the couches. His doe eyes are shiny with tears when you meet them across the room. Jungkook starts curling in on himself the longer you look, shame pulling at his features as he ducks his head.

"Fine," Namjoon says, "But nothing too bad." 

"Of course not. I don't actually want to hurt sunshine, she just needs to learn a lesson," Hoseok scoffs.

The men around you share a look, a silent conversation passing between them. You have no idea what they're thinking but it frightens you to know that this must have been something they have already discussed, that they've already decided on a punishment should you ever disobey them. 

"Who–?" Seokjin trails off, biting his lip nervously between his teeth.

"I'll do it," Taehyung sounds chastised, his voice meek as he adds, "I should do it." 

He takes a seat in the middle of the couch, dragging his hands over his jeans as he gives Namjoon a nod to show that he's ready. 

"W-what, no!" You uselessly tug at Namjoon's coat as he strides across the room, your frozen limbs making it impossible to fight back as you're carefully manhandled across Taehyung's lap.

Fingers wrap around your ankles, keeping your legs glued against the couch as you futilely try to push yourself up with shaking arms. Another hand is pressed against the small of your back, rendering your movement useless. No matter how much you try to squirm, you're simply too exhausted and cold to shake them off.

It takes you a second to recognize the position you're in, disgust curling in your stomach as it hits you that you're about to be spanked. 

"I'm not a c-child," You bite through clattering teeth, fingernails digging into threadbare cushions. 

"No? You sure act like one," Hoseok scowls. "Big girls wouldn't run off like you did." 

You jerk as Taehyung's hand settles on the back of your thigh. You turn your head back to look at him as the others crowd around the couch, voice breaking as you whisper, "Please don't." 

Taehyung doesn't meet your eye. His gaze is trained resolutely on his hand, his expression pinched. The corner of his mouth is downturned as he moves his hand from your thigh to your butt, his long fingers easily spanning over one cheek.

You let out a shuddering breath at the unwanted touch, pressing your forehead to the couch to hide away from the six burning pairs of eyes that surround you. Taehyung's fingers flex against the material of your trousers as he murmurs something under his breath, the feeling so weirdly intimate it makes your eyes cloud over, hot tears trailing down your temple. 

"It's just ten, babe. We could do a lot worse," He comments gruffly. 

There's no preamble before Taehyung raises his hand and delivers the first hit, the harsh smack echoing through the room. You bite your tongue, choking down the strangled cry that tries to rush up your throat.

You feel the imprint of his fingers burn on your cheek, the sudden pain so consuming you barely register how someone else hisses out a low curse.

It's only when Taehyung is on the third hit that you feel how he jolts as his hand makes contact; how it takes him a moment to collect himself before he delivers the next one. The fifth smack brings a weird sense of clarity to you, Yoongi's irritated cough finally making you realize that you're all feeling Taehyung's slaps. Your soulbond is connected through pain so the hurt that blooms with every hit doesn't just affect you – it has an impact on them as well.

The somber atmosphere in the room isn't just because they're disciplining you for running away; they're also punishing themselves for letting it happen. 

You let out a harsh breath at the next smack. Despite the numbness in your limbs, you can feel how horrible your butt is stinging, the alternating hits doing little to lessen the pain a new one brings. It becomes harder and harder to think with each hit, your mind slowly falling apart under the excruciating combination of fear, exhaustion and pain. 

The final smack seems to linger in the room and the silence that follows feels so thick you might crumble under it. 

Your right-hand aches as Taehyung uses his to lightly rub over your smarting ass, his breathing shaky as he tries to soothe the bruises that are no doubt already starting to form. 

"Hyung," Taehyung rasps.

The hands pressing on your back and ankles disappear in an instant. Taehyung springs away as Namjoon lifts you, moving your body into Seokjin's waiting arms. You try to blink away the tears clinging to your lashes as Seokjin leans you back against his chest, taking some of the pressure off your backside as you're maneuvered to lay on your side. 

"You're absolutely freezing, angel," He tuts. He motions for Yoongi to grab him a nearby blanket, quickly tucking you in. The warmth that wraps around you is a small comfort, but it's not nearly enough to quell the shivers that are still rattling through your body.

"Let's do this quick, she needs to warm up." 

You swallow thickly as Namjoon kneels by your feet, gently pulling your socks off. They're so cold you struggle to move your toes. 

It's not until a rush of warm air hits your exposed skin that you realize you're hurt. Your soles are aching something fierce and you catch a glimpse of blood on the socks Namjoon throws down beside him. 

"Darling," Namjoon furrows his brows as he looks at the torn skin, tongue poking into his cheek in disappointment. "Why did you do this to yourself?" 

He shakes his head as if you're going to answer him. Heaving out a heavy sigh, Namjoon wordlessly accepts a small basin of warm water and a cloth from Hoseok, wetting and wringing the material out before he brings it to your feet. 

You let out a wounded hiss as he makes contact, your foot involuntarily jerking away from the water that stings your open cuts. The quick movement causes you to drag your sole against the couch and it only causes you more hurt, a sharp pain shooting up your leg.

"Fuck," You whimper, body shaking against Seokjin's as Namjoon quickly reaches out to grab your foot, holding it securely over the side of the couch. You can feel Seokjin's leg twitch as the pain moves through the soulbond, the others grimacing as they feel it too.

"Angel, please be careful," Seokjin admonishes as he tucks his head over your shoulder, holding you in a tight hug as he rests his cheek against yours. 

You shudder as Namjoon once again brings the cloth back to your skin, wincing as he meticulously and carefully cleans up all the dried blood and dirt clinging to your wounds. Namjoon's voice is perturbed as he moves on to your other foot, holding it with a firm grip as he says, "This is why we were holding you down during your punishment, darling, so you wouldn't hurt yourself more by moving around. We don't enjoy doing any of this." 

You choose not to voice your disbelief. Judging by the sour look Jimin sports as he stares you down, you're sure it's written all over your face regardless. 

Namjoon hands off the dirty water and cloth to Yoongi, switching it out with an antiseptic cream that he starts dabbing on your cuts. 

Seokjin's warm breath hits the corner of your mouth as he cautiously asks, "What made you come back, Joon? You weren't supposed to return until tomorrow." 

The bandage that's being wrapped around your left foot pauses, Namjoon tilting his head as he mulls over what to respond.

"I think it was that pull you've talked about before. I just suddenly felt like I had to go back to the cabin, that I was needed here," He lets out a low snort, humorless. "I guess whatever feeling it was, was correct." 

"Interesting," Yoongi muses. He leans against Jungkook's chair, absentmindedly patting the youngest's hair. Jungkook leans into the comforting touch, face still marred with shame as he chances a glance over at you in Seokjin's arms. 

You stare blankly down at Namjoon's hands as he finishes up one bandage and moves on to the next, his words echoing in your head. Did the soulbond somehow call him back? If it knew you were trying to put distance between yourself and your soulmates, can it work against you to keep you from separating from them?

You don't want to believe that it can affect you that much. But if it is true, does that mean your own soul is betraying you – that it'll do whatever it takes to keep you close to these monsters who don't actually care about you, as long as it'll keep the bond strong? 

"It's definitely too strange to just be a coincidence," Hoseok purses his lips.

The sweater you picked out this morning suddenly feels too heavy on your shoulders. Was it just by chance that you picked out one that belongs to Namjoon, or is there something else to it? Can you even trust yourself anymore? 

You barely register as Namjoon finishes wrapping up your foot, the blanket being pulled away from your body as Seokjin lets go of your waist. Your chest is tight and your vision spotty as you're handed off to Yoongi, too many awful thoughts and feelings all vying for your attention at once. 

You feel yourself being carried again, the lights going from soft to bright, but it's like everything is underwater, muffled and out of reach. Yoongi's blurry face is suddenly in front of yours and it takes you once, twice, to focus on what he's saying; for the words to make any sense. "–can you do it yourself?" 

Yoongi sighs as you stare blankly back at him. He brushes a finger down your trembling jaw, wincing at how cold your skin feels. "Y/n, you really need to warm up. I'm going to place a stool for you inside the shower so that you can rest and we can keep your feet outside of it and dry. I know you'd rather not have me undress you, but are you able to do that yourself?" 

"Yes," You croak, disgust rippling across your body as you think of Yoongi undressing you, of any of them seeing you so vulnerable. 

"Okay," Yoongi says, unconvinced. You bite your lip harshly as you're placed down on the closed toilet seat, the pressure awful on your bruised ass. 

Yoongi steps over to turn the shower on for you, the old pipes rattling as water starts spewing out of them. He keeps his hand under the spray until he deems the temperature good enough. His expression is sorry yet firm as steps back, nodding to the door as he explains, "I can't leave the room but I'll keep my back turned to you the entire time. You're too weak to be left on your own right now. I won't turn around until you tell me it's okay. I promise." 

"Do you want help to get over to the stool once you're undressed?" Yoongi eyes your bandaged feet, eyebrows drawn tight with worry.

"No," You whisper.

The toilet is only a few steps away from the shower but even just that feels like miles with a body so tired and battered. Still, you're willing to push yourself until you collapse if it means none of them will touch you like that. 

"Just let me know if you need help, love," Yoongi sighs as he walks over to the door, facing it head-on like promised.

Getting undressed is a battle but it's one you refuse to lose. You keep your eyes locked on Yoongi's back as you pull off layer after layer, the steady steam rising in the bathroom only making your shivers worse. You refuse to strip down further than your underwear, the pieces offering you some modesty in a situation that just feels so mortifying. 

You pull yourself up on your feet with a yelp, legs shaking with pain as you slowly hobble over to the shower. You're not sure how you manage to maneuver yourself down on the stool but you do, and the relief of warm water cascading down your frozen body is so great you can't hold back the sob that rips out of your throat. 

Yoongi's back tenses as he hears the broken noise, his hands gripping the doorframe to keep himself in place. He never turns his head, choosing instead to rest it against the door, taking deep and measured breaths as he listens to your choked cries and whimpers.

The warmth slowly returning to your limbs is downright awful. The cold clinging to your skin refuses to bulge at first, and when it finally does slip, it feels like pins and needles being hammered into your flesh as the water rains down on you. The shivers slowly ebb away the longer you sit in the shower, your dry calves and feet prickling with the weird temperature difference.

You lose track of time as the heat gently returns to your body, face swollen and puffy as the last of your hopelessness trickles out through your eyes. 

You're exhausted and everything hurts. It's like your mind and body has been fractured into a thousand pieces, all of them poking and pricking you no matter what muscle you flex or what direction your thoughts try to stray.

You just want to sleep, to forget, for a little while. 

Yoongi straightens up as the water is turned off. His voice is hoarse, much like he's been crying himself when he asks, "Are you done, Y/n? Are you still cold?" 

You take a deep, shaking breath, filling your lungs with as much bravery as you can muster. "'m done." 

"Wrap yourself up in the towel by the shower, love. Let me know when you're covered, yeah? I'll open the door and grab the clothes Jungkook left for you." 

You do as Yoongi asks, watching as he opens the door just enough to snatch the clothes waiting for him outside. He walks backward towards the shower, still somewhat respectful of your privacy as he leaves them on the toilet. "Take the time you need to get dressed. I'll wait by the door until you're ready." 

Your mind is hazy and drifting as you attempt to dry yourself off, exhaustion weighing your lashes down. Slipping your wet underwear off under your towel in exchange for Jungkook's clothes isn't an easy feat, pain still flaring up your feet as you're forced to put pressure on them. Still, it's a small consolation that Yoongi doesn't attempt to help you until you raise your voice and say that you're done.

Yoongi sweeps you up into his arms before you can even blink, strong arms holding you close to his chest. He swallows hard as he glances down at you, voice unbearably soft as he says, "I really am sorry, Y/n." 

He, much like Namjoon, knows he won't be getting an answer. Yoongi steps out of the bathroom with measured steps, making sure not to move you around too much. The cabin is dark and quiet as he carries you down the hallway, the others nowhere to be seen.

"It's been a long day for all of us," Yoongi mutters as if he senses your confusion. 

Your fingers find Yoongi's shirt as he steps closer to your room, shock hitting you like a lightning bolt as you see the state of it. The door is broken off its hinges, halfway torn off the frame. The desk you pushed against it is flush with the wall and the rest of your room looks absolutely trashed. Furniture has been flipped over as if they were looking for you under it; your belongings scattered everywhere. The brute force they must have used to get into the room makes you realize just how badly this return, this punishment, could have gone for you. 

The moment passes as Yoongi walks further down the hall, but the sick feeling in your stomach lingers. 

He nudges one of the ajar doors with his foot, stepping into the room as it opens. The bedroom is bathed in soft light, the pillows on the bed fluffed and the covers already drawn aside. Yoongi carefully places you down on the mattress before he tucks you in, his expression troubled as he watches how you wince and grimace as you try to get comfortable. 

"This is Seokjin hyung's room," Yoongi explains, "He'll be staying with you tonight. We ... we're going to be taking turns watching over you." 

"Thank you for the introduction, Yoongi-chi," Seokjin's smile is a little strained as he enters the room, a glass of water clutched in his hand. He places it down on the table next to you, patting Yoongi's back before he takes a seat in the plush chair that faces the bed. 

"You can go rest now." 

"Alright," Yoongi nods. He meets your gaze for a split second, mumbling out a gentle goodnight before he turns on his heel and leaves.

Seokjin lets out a small sigh as the door clicks shut. "I should've given him a talking to for not drying your hair properly but I'm sure you're tired, angel. Damp hair must be the least of your worries right now, huh?" He shakes his head.

You pull the covers up to your chin, eyes alert despite how your lids keep attempting to fall shut every other second. There's not an ounce of trust for them in your body but it's so terribly difficult to stay awake when you want to do nothing but sleep. 

"I'm sure you saw the state of your old room," Seokjin winces, "You'll be spending one night with each of us on rotation. You might not wish to have us so close all the time but you shattered the trust we had in you, Y/n."

He folds his hands in his lap with a frown, staring down at his slightly crooked fingers as he says, "You can use the bathroom alone as long as one of us is right outside of the door, but aside from that, we're going to have to watch your every step. We won't allow you to hurt yourself again. I'm sorry it had to come to this but, well, it was the best thing we could settle on." 

You close your eyes to avoid the sad look Seokjin gives you, your chest constricting with fury. If they're trying to guilt trip you, it's not working. You can't believe they're trying to frame all of this as them simply looking out for you when in reality, they're robbing you of any agency you have. 

As you take deep breaths to quell the anger bubbling in your stomach, you feel yourself growing heavier and heavier, your body sinking into the mattress below. You want to be angry, you want to fight, but what's the use? You won't get another chance at escaping the cabin and your own soul clings to the soulbond, refusing to let you weaken your connection to them. 

You fist the sheets, sniffling as darkness begins to drag you under. If the universe wants you here, wants you to stay with them, maybe.. maybe it's time you give up and accept it. 

You wake up, drowsy, to the sound of something clattering. It takes you a second to realize that it's coming from you – your teeth rattling in your mouth from the cold that has seeped into the room while you slept. Everything is dark aside from the pale moonlight shining through the window on the other side of the room, your breath fogging up the air in front of you as you breathe.

You gingerly flip over on your other side, pulling the sheets as tight to your body as they can go, but it doesn't help fend the cold off. It's no wonder this cabin is abandoned during most of the year, not if it's reliant on the fireplace in the common room to heat up the entire place. 

After what feels like an eternity of shivering, you hear Seokjin's raspy voice calling out in the quiet room. "Angel? Are you cold?" 

Fabric rustles as he shifts in the chair. You hold yourself as still as possible as footsteps pad across the wooden floors, Seokjin's darkened silhouette coming into view. He hesitates by the side of the bed for a second, just enough for your teeth to start clattering again before he makes up his mind and climbs in. The mattress dips as Seokjin's weight settles upon it, the man in front of you scooting down until he's facing you in the dark. 

A rush of cold air hits your body as he raises the sheets to shimmy under them, an arm curling around your waist before you can even think to open your mouth. Seokjin presses himself flush against your body, mindful of your injuries as he tucks your face into his neck. 

"I'm still upset with you, angel, and I know you're upset with me, but you need my body heat if you want to sleep." 

Seokjin is very warm. 

You inch closer without even meaning to, your sleepy brain desperate for the heat that radiates off him. Seokjin lets out a small gasp as your cold nose skims against his throat, his hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you close.

Sleep slowly begins to weigh down your eyelids again as you soak up Seokjin's warmth, your body relaxing so deeply it feels like your bones have been turned to mush. The last thing you remember is Seokjin nuzzling his face into your hair, lips pressing against it in a soft kiss that makes your heart flutter.

Perhaps, if you had been a little more awake, you would've realized it wasn't fear that made it skip a beat.

a/n: you can read ch 11 of lovesick early by clicking here!

it only took ten months but we're back baby!! how are we feeling about what happened in this chapter? namjoon bringing her back, the boys' reaction and her "punishment", her private moment with yoongi and seokjin ... lots of things happened so i would love to hear what you're thinking!!

see you in the next chapter and remember to wish jimin a happy b-day!! 💖

[devotedfem]

«Frankenweenie»

Synopsis: Namjoon loved his dog with his whole heart, but she passed away. But that didn't stop him from trying to bring her back to life, what he didn't expect though was his princess pet coming alive as a human girl.

K. Namjoon x f. Reader

3.3K words.

Genre: Frankenweenie (Tim burton) au | yander-ish.

Tags: Bringing back the dead, inspired by Frankenweenie by Tim Burton but with a dark twist, grief, angst, obsession, unhealthy coping mechanism, scientist Namjoon, morally grey Namjoon, codependency, cute and adorable reader, confused reader, possessive behavior, jealousy, plot twist, hurt, secrets, smut, dubious consent and painful s3x (but in the second part), revenge, Namjoon is a little fucked up in the head and not only in a hot way, he has issues but don't we all?, captivity.

Part I, II.

From the series masterlist; Hush.

Navigation Masterlist.

Namjoon wiped away the silent tear that dropped from his left eye, his face was red and restrained, the heavy lump in his throat felt like a rock trying to choke him. He closed his eyes to compose himself, he was an adult but one who was very much in pain. He sighed before adding more soil to the grave.

He’s doing this alone so no one would make fun of him, he wanted to grieve in silence and with no one around him trying to soothe him or telling him that he could find a new pet, that it wasn’t that deep. But it was, his love for his princess dog was very much deep.

He cleared his throat turning away from the little grave he made on his backyard, his princess’s favorite place.

The sting he felt when he entered an empty house, void of life, was unbearable.

She was with him since she was a little pup and he a little kid, he never loved anything in the world as much as he loved his pet. She was a sweet puppy, always loyal to him, accompanying him in the worst and the best. His parents were a little bit worry that this day will come and Namjoon would be heartbroken, but what was even more sad is that Namjoon’s parents left this world before his princess, deepening the bond between them both. But now she left Namjoon too, and for him that wasn’t fair at all.

Why is everyone leaving him?

The lump in his throat grew more, suffocating him with a vice grip. And then the sobs came out with force, making Namjoon to drop on the floor, wrapping both of his legs with his arms, hiding his wailing face between his knees. His sobs were heartbreaking, his chest stung with acid pain burning his heart. This is why he grieves alone, because no one would understand the weight of his hurt.

When the night fell, Namjoon’s face was swollen by the amount of tears he shed, his gaze was detach and dissociated, he didn’t have anymore tears in him to drop. So this is it, his grieving was over. This was the second time in his life he’s mourning a loved one, the first time was for his parents, and she was beside him to bear the pain. And now he’s mourning her, alone.

With a dull face, he put on his lab coat, he has work to do. At least he can distract his mind by working. But he knows that when he returns home, the pain will come back twice as hard.

Everything was normal in the lab, some coworkers asked Namjoon if everything was alright, but they didn’t keep pushing it when Namjoon only gave them a fake smile. He didn’t have any friends here, his only friends were Seokjin and Yoongi, but they moved out from the city last month.

Alone, alone, alone, alone, alone-

“Hey, I have something to show you,” someone whispered besides him, startling Namjoon out of his thoughts. His brows knitted with annoyance, he didn’t want to be bothered right know.

“Jungkook I’m not in the mood-“

“It’s important! I really need you to see it!” The brat interrupted Namjoon, fueling his anger. He was about to tell him to go fuck himself until he watched Jungkook’s wide eyes and pale face, he looked terrified but at the same time… excited?

“Okay fine, show me. But if you waste my time, I’ll snitch on you to the boss.” His bitter remark went ignored by Jungkook.

Namjoon frowned and narrowed his eyes with suspicion, the younger was too eager even for himself.

They went to an empty hallway, and Jungkook watch to his left and right before opening a door, with Namjoon following behind.

For a second, Namjoon’s heart beat fast with a little bit of excitement, until he watched before him a rat on a table, and nothing more. Namjoon closed his eyes pinching the bridge of his nose, suddenly having a headache.

“Jungk-“

“I’m a god hyung,” Jungkook fucking interrupted Namjoon, again.

“What the fuck Jungkook? What kind of drugs are you on!?” He barked at the younger losing his patience, but Jungkook didn’t even blink at his shout, making Namjoon stop and feel unease.

“I’m not high.”

“Then you’re insane! I’m done, I’m leaving your freak ass,” he said turning around, but Jungkook’s next words stopped his movements.

“I bring that rat back to life, it was dead. And I revived it.”

The deep hush and quietness that took over the room after Jungkook’s words made Namjoon feel chills on his body, freezing his limbs and stopping his heart beat for a second.

Everything around Namjoon spined, and he was about to literally pass out and fall to the floor if it weren’t for Jungkook rushing to help him.

“Hyung! Are you okay? Fuck… I didn’t mean to scare you like that, i swear I’m not on drugs,” Jungkook’s brows were knitted and his eyes wide with worry. Namjoon chuckled a little by the kid’s words.

This felt like a sign from heaven, encouraging Namjoon to do this.

The older composed himself quickly straightening his back and turning around to see the rat closely.

“What’s the failure percentage? How many times have you done this? Is this your first subject? Have you tried this with… humans?” Namjoon’s voice lowered at the last word. He was all professional right now, but some things like bringing dead people back to life, can be considered unethical. But Namjoon wouldn’t judge Jungkook if that was the case. He was a scientist before anything.

Jungkook’s eyes widened with horror at the mention of reviving people.

“No! I haven’t done this with any human, just a couple of rats. This is my third subject, but-but I came to the conclusion that this won’t work on human’s corpses anyway. For now, it works only for animals.”

When Namjoon turned his head to look back at Jungkook, the younger widened his eyes for a second before averting and dropping his gaze to his toes with anxiety, he was shifting his weight to one foot to another, not meeting Namjoon’s prying eyes. The boy was nervous, and it was normal. This kind of stuff like reviving dead animals behind their lab managers backs wasn’t legal at all. Jungkook could be in trouble for all Namjoon knows, but lucky for Jungkook, this serves Namjoon’s best interests.

“Hey,” called softly Namjoon. Approaching Jungkook to rub his shoulder and ease the tension, Jungkook startled with surprise by the touch, and Namjoon only smiled at him.

“I won’t tell anyone about this Jungkookie, I promise.” He crooned with sparkly eyes crinkling at the corner, spreading Jungkook’s smile who relaxed quickly at Namjoon’s words.

And then, all of sudden Namjoon’s face dropped with seriousness, making the younger frown.

“But only if you do me a favor,” he mumbled with a deep and dark voice, his eyes were crazed and fixated on Jungkook, even his “tender” touch on the younger shoulder tighten with force, making Jungkook flinch with pain.

“Wh-what kind of favor hyung?” Jungkook couldn’t help the stutter, the older man made him feel intimidated all of sudden.

It’s like he’s witnessing a dark side of Namjoon he didn’t knew about.

And then, Namjoon grinned widely, like wolf.

“Help me bring back my princess.”

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The two of them were on Namjoon’s basement, he has some lab tools and machinery down there. He chose that place to hide from prying eyes like their coworkers or bosses. Unfortunately, Jungkook felt extremely scared being alone in a basement with Namjoon. Now and then he throwed the older side eyes, waiting for any weird movement from him to run the fuck away from this house.

They spent 4 hours trying to revive the dog lying on the lab bench, but nothing happened. The younger watched how Namjoon was losing himself in the process, and he almost felt bad for him, he didn’t know he had lost his pet, and that he loved it this much. But it was the natural process of life, if Jungkook knew he was speaking to a grieving person, he wouldn’t tell him about his little experiment.

Namjoon hit the bench with a curse, fighting back tears. Jungkook took this as a sign to stop.

“Hyung, I already told you this may take up to 24 hours. I think you should rest…” he said carefully, as if he was dealing with a wild animal. In fact, Jungkook only wanted to go home.

“Yeah, you’re right. You can leave.” The older said crossing his arms and staring at the corpse of the dog.

Jungkook find it quite disturbing, but he said nothing when he turned around to get the fuck away.

“And Jungkook, this better work. Because if not, you’ll be the next corpse I’ll try to bring back to life.” That threat freeze Jungkook’s movements with primal fear, he watched with horror Namjoon’s back before literally running away.

Namjoon wiped away the silent tears, bringing a chair to sit in front of the bench with a tight heart. His pet wasn’t moving at all, her body was covered in dirt and inflated, giving off nasty odors.

It was like a reality check for him, he had hope for a second, but that was ripped away from him. His eyes dropped with exhaustion and hurt heavy in his chest. Dreaming about his parents and his pet, and colorful moments.

Then it was midnight.

A lighting struck outside the window, the sound made you lift your upper body. You gasped in amazement when you watched all of your limbs, they looked human. Your skin was soft and hairless, but where is your fur!? Now how you’ll survive the cold? Your eyes and mouth opened when you felt some type of fur coming from your scalp, it was very long and it covered your chest. You frowned when you touched your chest, you had two lumps of flesh popping out of it. You played with them a little, feeling a weird sensation between your legs when you stimulated them.

But you got distracted by the long limbs from the lower part of your body. You were giggling when you moved them.

“Who the fuck are you?” The strident and angered voice startled you, you didn’t notice Namjoon watching you like a hawk.

You blinked when you recognized him. It was him! Your beloved owner! You missed him so, so much.

“Joon!” You chirped with happiness, getting out of the bench with shaking legs, walking like a newborn and throwing yourself into Namjoon’s lap.

He was startled and a little bit horrified, he had a naked and unknown woman sitting on his lap.

“Missu!” you said wrapping your arms around his neck.

He frowned lost and disturbed.

“What? Who are you and what are you doing here you freak.” He said with his brows knitted, he was about to throw you away and call the police.

You didn’t understand some of his words, but you did notice that he wasn’t recognizing you, and that made you pout.

“Me me! y/n me! Joon you! Me y/n!” You were distressed because you couldn’t bark anymore and you didn’t know how to speak Namjoon’s language very well. You grabbed both of his shoulders to make him understand you.

A thousand of emotions flash on Namjoon’s face, surprise, fear, pain and… relieve.

His gaze softened immediately, and you grinned with teeth recognizing that sweet gaze Namjoon used only for you. His hand lifted to stroke lovingly your cheek, and you dropped your face into his palm, closing your eyes and enjoying his touch.

But you startled when you felt him wrapping both of his arms around you with a tight grip, burying his face in your neck and smelling your scent. You melted at his touch, giggling at the sensation of his breath brushing your skin.

“You’re here,” he whispered, this time grabbing both of your cheeks to look at you better. His eyes scanned all of your face and body. You watched something dark and strange flashing his eyes when he looked down at your body, but he returned to your eyes quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to come back as a human… but I’m not complaining either,” he said smiling with dimples and sparkling eyes, you felt a happiness bubble burst inside of your chest at the sight.

You were so happy that you lapped his mouth with your tongue like you always did when you were, well a dog. But this time Namjoon freeze with shock, you watched him gulp hard and avert his eyes, making you pout.

“Okay, we should put clothes on you I guess,” he said clearing his throat, he was about to get up from the chair but you glued yourself to him, wrapping tightly your arms and legs around him, making him laugh.

You giggle when he tried to dress you on his clothes, you only let him put one of his oversize shirts on you, but you didn’t let him dress you in pants or underwear, you didn’t like the feeling of being covered in clothes.

Namjoon let you be for today, after all his shirt was big enough to cover you mid thigh.

He noticed that you can’t walk on two legs, you were tripping like a newborn, always pouting at him to carry you. He always melted and do as you wish, he wouldn’t denied you anything.

“Missu,” you whispered at him when he was hand feeding you after you made a mess with the cutlery and food.

He hummed staring at you with those piercing eyes.

“You mean, you miss me?” He asked softly, and you nodded with a wide smile.

You were about to lick his face again but you stopped, not sure if he would like it. He noticed your hesitation, gripping your chin gently.

“Humans usually don’t lick each other like dogs do, I don’t mind if you do, but we have other ways of expressing our love.” He said lowly, making you blink with curiosity.

“Kis’?” You asked with knitted brows, you heard that on tv before going inside the kitchen with him.

Namjoon chuckled at you, nodding with heart eyes.

“Want me to teach you?”

You nodded more fiercely this time, eager to show and receive love.

He brushed his lips on your cheek, pecking the skin softly. You enjoyed it, but on tv the people were doing that with their mouths together, and they were using tongue too.

You frowned a bit disappointed, then you grabbed boldly his chin and crashed your lips against his. You licked his lips a little bit carelessly. But you enjoyed it better like this, it felt right. You were closing your eyes and melting in the feeling, until Namjoon gripped tightly your waist to put you away from him, breaking the kiss.

His gaze was dark and his breath a little labored, he looked scary and affected like this, you thought that maybe he didn’t like it.

“Darling, if you do that again, I will lose control over myself. Be careful next time or I won’t stop.” His jaw was clenched and his nostril flared.

You recoiled a bit into yourself at his intense expression, it reminds you when Namjoon gets angry when you misbehaved. If you had your dog ears right now, they would be back and your tail between legs.

Namjoon’s eyes softened immediately, stroking your locks.

“Let’s go to sleep, princess,” he said carrying you to his bedroom.

You watched with widened eyes and parted lips how he laid you down on his mattress and not the floor, you giggle with happiness basking at the feeling of the soft bed sheets wrapping you, you rolled until you turned yourself into a human burrito, making Namjoon break a loud laugh at you.

“All right, stop being silly and let’s sleep.” He said lying next to you on the mattress.

You stared at him with a big smile before launching yourself at him, making him groan, he faked a hurt whine making your smile drop and your brows frown.

You sit on his waist with your legs on each side of him, grabbing his cheeks into your palms to look for any injury.

But Namjoon took you by surprise when he changed the positions, turning your bodies around to make you lay under him. He was staring down at you with hunger in his eyes.

“Sleep well, my love.” He said before turning off the bed lamp, and positioning himself this time behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and keeping you warm with his chest against your back.

Your eyes dropped immediately, ignoring the possessive snake-grip that was holding your body.

You were so happy, you wanted that happiness to last forever.

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

When the first sun lights stroked your face, you blinked your eyes open, yawning and stretching your limbs. You freed yourself from Namjoon’s tight grip, hearing the sound of people and cars outside the house. You were curious to explore the world as a human, so you try to walk some steps on your feet but you ended up tripping and falling to your knees. You look behind your back if you woke Namjoon up, but he was still like a rock.

You crawled to the living room, approaching the front door. This time you stood on your feet without tripping, turning the door knob and feeling the street breeze brushing your face. You watched in amazement the cars and the people outdoors, you put a foot outside until you were dragged roughly into the house again. You whimpered with pain by Namjoon’s violent hold.

He slammed the door shut, turning around and staring daggers at you, his jaw was set and his fists clenched. His breathing was labored and his steps were heavy when approaching you. By instincts you crawled away from him to hide in a safer spot, but he stopped you, pulling your body towards him.

“Don’t fucking do that again! You want to be killed by a car again!? You want to die and leave me alone a second time!? It’s that what you want!?” He shouted to your face with a vein popping on his neck, you didn’t understand half of his words, but either way they made you cry with hurt.

It was the first time you felt afraid of him.

Namjoon calmed down a little at the sight of your tears, but his strong hold on your upper arms didn’t ease.

“You’re mine, you won’t set a foot outside of this house or get away from under my watch ever again, did I make myself fucking clear?” His crazed eyes were fixated on you, you didn’t know what to answer, so you just nodded with fear.

He pulled you against his chest to hug you, but instead of feeling warm you felt trapped.

“I own you, remember that my love.” He whispered hotly against your ear. And that word, owning, that you understand.

The moment was interrupted by a knock from the front door, you felt Namjoon tensing.

“Hyung! It’s me Jungkook, did the experiment worked with your dog?”

You heard Namjoon cursing and tightening his grip on you, but you frowned confused. Experiment? Dog? Was that man talking about you?

It was the first time in your short life that you had doubts about your owner, even thoughts, before… before all of this you never really think, you just feel and bark. But now, everything changed.

And you were about to find out what was happening, and what was Namjoon hiding.

He can own your body but not your mind.

Or that’s what you thought.

taglist:

@demonshauntingthedoves @pynkgothicka @cutequeen00 @nothingsreal420 @ririkookiemonster-archives @cannotalwaysbenight @loumin908 @devilzliaison @uniquecutie-puffs @polarnightmyg @acherry04 @lizziekitty

[hobicakess]

PLAYING DANGEROUS | (one)

summary: It's been almost three years since Jack in the box was caught, and no one could make him talk. No one knew his story, and what drove him to become the monster he was today. That is until you're assigned your first story. What makes you so lucky?

rating: 18+ (I'm not your mother you're in control of what you consume)

pairings: Journalist!Reader x Criminal!JungHoseok x CEO!Kim Namjoon x Detective!MinYoongi.

warnings: warnings: no thoroughly edited, EW Ai , character death (nothing to cry about), black/plus sized coded reader, talks of murder, talks of torture, corporate evilness, violence, Mc reads hobi to filth, yandere characters, possessive/obsessive behavior, short hair namjoon (yes that's a warning), one maknae introduction, maknae helping cause chaos, cigarettes, Yoonie is an angry kitty this chapter, bratty mc, mc is kinda a bitch (a bad one at that), unhinged serial killer hobi (joker vibes tbh) , yoongi hates his job, namjoon loves his job (he gets to piss you off everyday) SMUT— nothing too crazy , choking, sub mc , missionary, mating press , man handling (yummy)

a/n: HEYYY omg this took me so long to write and it's just a little over 2k words... LMAO I suck i know, but we're getting there I pinkie promise. I really hope you all enjoy this and constructive criticism is welcome!!

TAGLIST: @sumzysworld @bbgniecyy @paramedicnerd004 @heartsbr0ken @grltwin @superbbananananana @secfir @darkuni63 @thisladysperspective @p34rluv @secfir @sarcastic-cookie @coffeedepressionsoup @ot7nem @italiekim @cynicalbitch666 @jalexd @whenthebeatdrop-beatdrop

2 MONTHS BEFORE JACKS ESCAPE

Kim multimedia station.

The place of business was always busy and there was never not anything to be done, Endless reports and stories in need of being written, the podcast teams always chattering about the hottest topics.

KMMs was a journalist's dream — your dream.

You were a known face around the company both online and in person. A pretty foreigner who was damn good at her job and that made you favored by the late CEO Kim. You were always hand picked by him to attend press conferences in his favor. He treated you kindly, allowing you into a large world of business pulling strings to get you the best stories helping you— a once broke freshly graduated English major climbing up in the world of reporting.

It's only been three months since CEO Kim passed away and the company was changing fast. You were grateful that you weren't a part of the many that were fired and replaced by new faces and AI, and you were now noticing how low the viewers were on podcasts, social media and blogs.

KMM was dying out very slowly and that meant you might go away with it. You were dedicated to your work, and the company that helped you become the person you were today.

And you were willing to do anything to not be forgotten.

Sleeping was not on the agenda right now.

A quick double tap to a cell phone showed an awfully bright screen reading 4:40 am. You had been lying in your bed mind racing while staring at your wall for the past hour and a half.

Jack in the box.

Rolling out the tangled bedsheets and arms you pull on a large T-shirt that'd been discarded a long with the other items of clothing on the floor shuffling towards the desk in the corner of your room. Laptop already open from your previous research when you pull out a pack of cigarettes from your drawer before plunging deep into the web. Your mouse clicks every site as your pen moved furiously taking in all the information you can about said serial killer.

“On May 14th, 2018 Serial Killer Jack In The Box was finally caught after a murdering spree in Seoul. The killings of ordinary outgoing individuals taken with a quick swipe of a knife and a long torture method.”

"Before his kills Jack likes to taunt his victim. He ironically sends them a Jack in the box to let them know they're next. The next few days said victim lives in constant fear, looking over their shoulder, leading the mostly known outgoing victim to slowly isolate themselves from loved ones in fear of them being hurt, eventually this leads to insomnia and in some cases hallucinations and histera. Then Jack disappears for a while making them think they're finally okay and he's gone until he wasn't."

The scoff that left your lips echoed through the quiet room, breathing out the nicotine smoke from your Cancer stick.

So Jack was an antisocial loser and took out his lack of social skills on people who could.

"No one knows of Jack's real identity. Police have reported that the man has lived many lives and has owned many faces for the past 11 years. Reporters have tried their hardest for the past 4 years to get a one on one interview with the man but unfortunately he refuses to talk only resorting to violence."

A reporter says he went for a handshake and left with two missing fingers.

Another says he watched the man bang his head on the wall hard enough to bleed when he asked the murderer's real name.

A broken arm??

“Fuck” you huff flicking the ash at the butt of your cigarette. You stare at the mugshot photos supplied at the end of the article. Dark wide eyes, shaggy black hair falling over his forehead, the piercings sticking from the bridge of his nose eyebrow and top lip.

The look definitely screams psycho but…. he was kinda hot. It took everything in you not to go and click the endless fanfiction that you stumbled upon.

A pair of warm lips press onto your shoulder causing you to jump. Turning to look over your shoulder at the shirtless sight of Kim Namjoon.

“We have to be up in four hours, baby, come back to bed.”

You hum into his embrace with a pout stubbing out the cigarette into the pink ashtray beside your computer. “Did you know Jack went through eight lawyers? Until one day he randomly called Kim Seokjin. That high profile guy from the law firm we're partnered with? they must know each other”

Though Namjoons attention was not on the words that were leaving your mouth. Hands wander all over your body while placing kisses on your neck, and cheeks.

“He literally bit the finger of the last reporter clean off. Like do you know how much force you have to put into that? I think he reads too much gothic liter—”

Cutting you off with a quick grab of your jaw turning your head to connect his plump lips to own. Pulling away with a cheeky dimpled smirk, “I’m not sure how I feel about you talking about another man.”

“Well you shouldn't feel any type of way because you aren't MY man.”

You squeal when you're lifted up from your chair and throw over a broad shoulder. He huffs when he throws you onto the memory foam comforter, your (his) shirt lifting up your thighs exposing your bare cunt. Immediately his big body was hovering over you as he slightly pressed his body weight onto you.

“Get off you dick” pushing and smacking his tan shoulders but that did nothing for you at this moment. “Well I'm trying to put it in you.”

He bullies your legs up over his shoulders as he taps his hard piece against the wetness between your thighs. “If something happens to me during this case I swear” choking on your words as he slowly but surely presses his thick head into your cunt.

“Fuck — may the man himself strike me down.”

Hand reaching to grip your throat smashing your lips together. Luckily your mind left the thoughts of the serial killer , the only thing on your mind right now was Namjoon and his ridiculously large cockm

It wasn't weird for you to obsess over your assignments to the point where it was all you thought about. Everyone does that.

Though this one you couldn't seem to finesse your way out of. Without the help of the late Kim you'd have to pull your own strings to get what you wanted and now that Namjoon was in charge he loved making your life harder.

“Y/n.”

Your head snaps up from your laptop hand stalling from moving on your notepad face to face with gorgeously pale Detective Min Yoongi.

“Yoonie” you smile, motioning for him to sit in front of you. He looked different from when you last saw him all the months ago, more tired and cat- like you guessed it was from the heavy responsibilities that came with the position as Chief of Seouls police department

“Did you just call to look at me?”

“Sorry it's just been . . a while” you push the large Iced Americano towards him as a peace offering. He gladly accepted it with an amused raise of an eyebrow, “You know I just wait for your call.”

“The phone works both ways” you internally wince , you sounded like an estranged father talking to his child.

“What do you want?” A frown spread across your face and lips, shutting your laptop. “I can't call an old friend for a friendly coffee date.”

You waited for his answer as he took his time generously drinking from his plastic cup. With a smack of his lips he sat the cup down leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You only call me ‘Yoonie’ when you want something” eyes scanning over the scatter of papers and notes taking up your side of the table.

“This must be serious”

Hands going to clasp under your chin you sigh, cutting the bullshit. “Three years ago you were the lead investigator on the Jack in the box case which brought you from rookie detective to Chief of police.”

“I was wondering if you could help old friend out tell me what you know about-”

“No.” He cuts you off with little to no thought.

“No? Why not? This isn't our first rodeo Min”

There were plenty of times Yoongi helped you with stories without a second thought. He'd give you case files, witnesses, and anything you needed but why not now?

“Anybody but him”

You scoffed at him, irritation rising in your body. “I need this story not anyone else.”

“Well I can't help you, princess.”

“That's bullshit!” Your voice raises causing a couple people around you to turn their attention towards the two of you. He stood up, chair scraping the floor, slamming a few dollars on the table. “Call me if you need anything else.”

Turning on his heel he leaves you sitting there in your slowly growing rage. You quickly hopped from your seat chasing after him, managing to catch up with his long strides. “Yoongi slow down dammit”

He twirls around grabbing onto you by your arm, “Who gave you this story.

“Namjoon he-” you whine as his grip tightens on your arm as his eyes slit. The angry red scar on his face makes his angry stare look even more intimidating. “You don't understand how dangerous Jack is. Just because he's behind bars doesn't mean he won't have people on the outside that will whack you for being a nosy reporter.”

He softens his hold, lifting his hand to rub your cold cheek. “If something happens to you. . .” He shakes his head letting you go.

“Sit this one out Y/N I don't want to see you in our precinct mortuary.” with that he walks away disappearing into the crowd.

You sniff doing the walk of shame back to the Café sitting back in your seat with your head in your hands

Detective Min Yoongi.

“Excuse me Ma’am” the blonde barista came over holding a box of blueberry doughnuts which happened to be your favorite. “It's on the house.. everyone saw your fight with your boyfriend, manager said this might help cheer you up.”

“Oh! Thank you but he wasn't my boyfriend, just a work colleague.” You tried to defend yourself but the sympathy in his eyes only grew so you accepted the treat with another thank you. “What is your name? I've never seen you here before.”

A soft brightens his pretty face, eyes scrunching slightly adding to the prettiness of his face. “Park Jimin, Ma’am.”

MEANWHILE

The buzz of the electrically wired door opening didn't alert the man that stayed deep in the corner of his cell. “Long time no see.”

“Why now?” the visitor asks, “After all this time you choose now.”

He giggled, the haunting sound bouncing off the walls. “Did you bring what I asked for”

The visitor threw the pictures and the box of cigarettes into the cell. “Answer my question.”

“It's been three longgg years.” He finally answered, moving from his corner to pick up the photos. “Tell me is she this gorgeous in person?”

“Just for her?”

“And I need to stretch my legs” he laughs louder this time the high pitched sound echoed even through the thick steel door that kept him locked in tight.

Jack was ready to play more games

©hobicakesss , please don't repost or steal my work. don't be a loser

[spookyserenades]

Sanctity Masterlist

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Vampire!AU, yandere!AU, horror, themes of the supernatural and mythology, historical topics, vampiric powers, religious themes, violence, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, toxic behavior including stalking, torture, and manipulation, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

The world revolves around powerful, deadly creatures, their every whim catered to– vampires. Humans with rare blood types are kept in large Sanctuaries around the world, where they can be hand-picked by vampires and their covens to become live-in blood banks. Y/N, who had been trapped in a Sanctuary for ten years thanks to her ultra-rare blood type, is acutely aware of just how vicious vampires are. Though she wishes for freedom she once had when she was fifteen, if it came at the cost of being at the mercy of terrifying beings, she would remain within the halls of the Sanctuary forever.

  Covens as large as seven individual vampires are exceedingly hard to come by, especially an all-male coven. Brought together by their skewed views of reality, twisted minds, strong powers and connections, and blood-soaked pasts, seven vampires move to a new city in search of their perfect human to feed from. Though the town of Newport, Rhode Island, is sleepy, it holds a secret past, one that’s perfect to set the stage for a complicated, dark future. With a particular taste for the rarest types of blood, the coven discovers an acolyte with irresistible pull in a nearby Sanctuary– and they can’t wait to see what she can endure.

TO JOIN THE TAGLIST PLEASE CLICK HERE!

Ko-fi 💜

MAIN STORY;

Find Sanctity on Ao3 and Wattpad, too!

Chapter One posted 10.3.24; 22.8k words

CHAPTER TEASERS;

Teasers for Chapter One

Teaser for Chapter Two

DRABBLES;

coming soon! requests via ask box

EXTRAS;

Sanctity Playlist

Moodboards - Seokjin . Yoongi . Hoseok . Namjoon . Jimin . Taehyung . Jeongguk

My Pinterest

Rough character profiles

Tour of the setting

PREQUELS;

Marauder  Hoseok, coming soon!

Chiaroscuro Yoongi, coming soon!

Gilded Taehyung, coming soon!

Devotion Jimin, coming soon!

Taeja  Seokjin, coming soon!

Scarface Jeongguk,coming soon!

Hwando  Namjoon, coming soon!

[pennyellee]

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

title: ANUBIS pairings: yandere mafia namjoon x barmaid f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 19,7K release date: december - january

beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17

prompt 1: “You are something I can sin for” prompt 2: An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that’s what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time where you’ve resented Namjoon with every fibre of your being and every word that came out of his plump lips after what he had done to prove his power. Unfortunately, you will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, reader meets namjoon young but nothing happens until she's 21, forced engagement, kidnapping, graphic violence, death, murder, blood, explicit language, misogyny, mentions of feminism, alcohol usage, mentions of religion and God, church smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, oppa-kink and so on (i'll add some if i'll forget)

author's note: so here we are! this is the story i've been thrilled to push out as it is happening in the universe and almost simultaneously with CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI. Y/N alias Peaches here, is my baby, and I cannot wait to write more for her and Namjoon after champagne confetti side B goes out. I have drafts for another fics that are happening in the same universe as champagne confetti and now anubis but step by step my faries ♥ I hope you will enjoy reading this piece I was keeping for myself for a looong time. The best thing about writing is that I get to build this world of imagination and live in it for months before it gets to you. Sooo I'm very nervous and excited to push Anubis out as a second fic within champagne confetti universe - which i still didn't name coz all the fics just have different titles so let's just call it like that for now. Without further ado, enjoy fairies! ♥ let's go back to 1996. omfg, let's call it thatttt, back to 1996!

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone. main masterlist 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

1996

"Did you sleep well?" Namjoon asked, his voice softer now, as if he was trying to breach the walls that had begun to rise between you.

You nursed your coffee in the black ceramic mug while you shrugged, keeping the answer with spice in it for yourself just yet. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you could see the cracks in his façade when you didn't answer.

"I see... silent treatment," he gulped down, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. Pouring himself a cup of coffee too, he leaned on the counter right in front of you. You took his appearance in. He got a buzz cut, creamy satin shirt tucked in leather pants. A few of the buttons were undone, giving you a perfect view of his toned chest.

"Is that really how you want to start the day?" he provoked. You set the mug down, the clink of ceramic against marble echoing in the tension-filled kitchen.

"Did you ask yourself the same question when you threatened me?" you shot back, your voice rising slightly as the memories flooded back. The anger surged within you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering since the moment you woke up in his penthouse.

Namjoon's expression shifted, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a flicker of defensiveness.

"Well, you for some reason seemed too adamant that you needed to patrol the streets of Bronx by running away from me. I know you too damn well, Peaches; I know where you were headed."

The words stung, each syllable laced with accusation and an unsettling truth. Your heart raced, the anger bubbling just below the surface.

"You know fucking shit, Namjoon—"

"Oppa," he jumped in, his voice firm, yet tinged with a note of caution.

You inhaled sharply, the familiar term slicing through the tension like a knife. It reminded you of the intimate moments you once shared. "You've lost that honorific the moment you decided to threaten me and kill that man right in front of my eyes!"

Namjoon's jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict brewing beneath his composed exterior.

"You don't understand the kind of world I'm in. We protect ours."

"Protect?" you spat, feeling the heat of betrayal wash over you.

"I'm a person who deserves to make her own choices—" He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.

"What choices are you making? Running off into the night like it's some kind of adventure? You think that's brave? I refuse to let you get hurt because you're unhappy with my decisions."

"Oh yeah, like something would happen to me—"

"You are my woman, and people know that you are, Peaches!" he declared, his voice rising with intensity, as if the weight of his words was meant to command respect from the universe itself.

Your heart raced at his proclamation, a mix of anger and something softer twisting in your gut.

"The fuck you're talking about, Namjoon?" You snapped, your voice echoing off the sleek kitchen walls. Anger surged within you, fueled by the sheer audacity of his claim.

"Not fucking once did you say that we ought to be official one day—" you shot back, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"You act like I'm some sort of possession, something you can just claim without any conversation or commitment!" Namjoon's expression hardened, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes.

"You need to stop pretending like we don't have a future because you're scared of the past," he said, smashing the mug down on the counter. Namjoon's jaw tightened, and the conflict in his eyes was palpable.

"Since we met, not fucking once have you made your intentions strictly clear, Namjoon! The fuck am I doing here then?!" The words burst from your lips, raw and unfiltered, echoing in the tense space between you.

He ran a hand over his face, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

"I thought you knew. I thought you felt it too," he replied, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I thought it was understood that it was a matter of time."

"Understood?" you scoffed, incredulity seeping into your tone. "You think that just because you've made me a part of your life, I should automatically know my place? That's not how it works!"

"I was waiting till you'll—"

"Age of consent is eighteen in this state, Namjoon, keep that bullshit to yourself." Namjoon's expression darkened at your words, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"So you would rather be wifed and knocked up as soon as we met, am I right?"

.

.

.

.

.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: if you want to be notified once the full story will be up for reading, you can write in the comments and i'll create a taglist!

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

[aajjks]

Debt (m)

synopsis. you’re so unlucky that he’s lucky.

warnings. yändērē, sädïstïc bëhävïöür, öbsëssîvë thoughts, öbsëssïön, hê ïs sö ËVÏL, ünhëälthy rëlätïönshïp, yändêrê jk 10x, mäfïä köök, mëntïöns öf kïdnäppïng.

note. HAPPY KNJ DAY! send asks? ENJOY!

“Aren’t you tired of fucking crying all the damn time?”

His words pierce you, how can he be so insensitive to you? He kidnapped you, of course he doesn’t care about your emotions.

He never did.

That’s why you left him.

You only sob harder and don’t look at him, what is the point? His face is the only thing you get to see these days, you feel like you’ll go insane.

“What e-else can I do! P-Please let me go..” your body temperature is burning, you sit on the dirty floor, your clothes are dirty, your heads hurts but this man doesn’t care.

He’s cruel, you hate him.

“Yn. I won’t let you go. So stop fuckin crying, it’s starting to annoy me.” Jungkook groans, you push your head deeper into your lap, he frustrates you to no end, if only you could kill him so you could leave.

“I hate you! I’ll never love you!”

“Do you honestly think that I give a fuck about that? Baby you should know me better.” He tsks, you want to scream from frustration but you can’t.

Because you’re too numb.

“Yn are you seriously that dumb? Huh? Really?” This man makes you want to pull your hair out of your skull, you want to die.

“Yes! I was dumb enough to love you once!”

He tsks again, you roll your eyes as you turn your head in his direction, tilting your body, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Jungkook, sincerely fuck you.”

“Oh but you have, so many times, remember?” He smirks, locking his eyes with yours, you want to wipe that smirk off his face, but you don’t have the energy.

He’s too strong for you.

“We broke up jungkook, get over it. You never deserved me, you lying asshole!” His eyebrows furrow in amusement, you’re entertaining him, oh he’s so sick.

“You broke up with me, baby I never did so it’s not over until I decide it is.” He folds his arms, the tattoos so visible, he’s sitting on that chair so comfortably while you’re on the cold hard ground.

“And you even had the audacity to try to replace me in your life, it makes me laugh at how you think I can be replaced, baby.” You notice him grit his teeth.

Oh now he’s the one that’s getting frustrated?

You want to laugh, he is such a narcissistic person, he thinks he’s so special to you, he was, once. But not anymore.

“What’s his name? Kim Namjoon, eh?”

You scoff, “what a fuckin stalker you are, Jungkook.”

“Of course. You are mine. I kept my eye on you every single day. My men did some digging and guess what, turns out that your boyfriend is in debt.”

“I know everything yn.”

He stands up, while you gasp in shock. You watch him walk towards you, his black shiny shoes hit the surface, his eyes never leave yours for a minute.

“W-What?! You’re a liar, why would you think that I’d believe you?”

He leans down infront of you, matching your level, “I never lie when it comes to you yn.” He looks at you with intensity. “You know that.”

“So, him and I had a little conversation. I approached him of course. And… let’s just say, you are a very unlucky woman in love.”

You feel tears well up in your eyes.

“But I’m lucky, guess what baby. We had a deal. I offered him humbly to clear up his debt and… in return for my favour to him…”

You don’t like this at all, you know this expression of his soul too well, his lips curl up into a smug smile, his eyes are twinkling, yet a dark hue covers them, oh you’re so in trouble.

“I get you back, forever.”

You let out a sob, you finally let it out, Jungkook doesn’t try to comfort you, he just watches you, “n-no…”

“Oh yes baby. Looks like he sold you. And I put my price on you.”

He chuckles, a sadistic cruel bastard.

“And now you’re mine forever, baby. Forever this time.”

[chaoticpuff17]

When the Chips are Down

part 27

masterlist

Y/N couldn’t say that she was a big fan of weddings. She hadn’t been too a large number of them, but even counting her own horrible day, this was the worst wedding she had ever been to.

Iyla, for her part, took the ordeal like a champion. She marched down the aisle on Namjoon’s arm with all the grace of a queen and all the wrath broiling within both of them shining in her eyes. While Y/N had spent her own wedding in a haze, Iyla seemed all too aware of what was happening to her. She completed each part of the ceremony with contempt. Each time she was asked to do something, she would pause for an uncomfortably long moment before she would comply, a stubborn tilt to her head and a mocking glint in her eye as though she was daring Hoseok to do something.

Unlike her sister, Iyla still held the belief that there was an escape from the hellscape they had found themselves in. She hadn’t yet been beaten into submission with the knowledge that there was no leaving. Anything that Namjoon and his brothers wanted, they got. This applied to all areas of their lives both in business and in personal matters. Their chosen mates got very little say in any of it, and weddings, from what Y/N could tell, were simply an announcement to the world that they had gotten their way. They were a public claim on their partners, not that any of the boys needed a public claim. Simply the whisper of one of the big bosses having taken a partner would give the woman in question a certain level of respect and protection. No one in the organization wanted to upset the higher ups by disrespecting their wives.

The wedding made things official though. It was a legal binding that many of the boys seemed to crave. You could always leave a partner if the relationship was bad. Marriages were harder to end though. Even if any of the girls ran and managed to stay gone there would always be a legal tie to the boys that couldn’t be undone without revealing their whereabouts. It was a catch twenty two.

The final bows were soon made, and Hoseok and Iyla were announced as a married couple to everyone assembled. It was a traditionally Korean ceremony for the most part, but the plans for a reception afterwards were much more Western in origin. While it wasn’t typical, Y/N’s working theory was that Namjoon and the boys liked to show off. A reception was an excellent way to get caught up with business associates, make connections, and generally boast to the world about their chosen wife. Namjoon had chosen to do much the same thing at their own wedding.

A pang went through her heart as she stood, ready to follow the newly weds to the reception area. Her own reception had been one of the last times that she had seen Jackson alive and well, and she’d been so blind with betrayal and hurt that she hadn’t even talked to him.

It was in these thoughts that she was caught up when the first sound of a shot was heard. She had barely even had time to register it before she was being shoved to the ground, Nara clutched tightly to her chest and Namjoon’s body hovering over the both of them as a shield.

His eyes were wild as he looked at her, scanning her and their daughter for any injuries. “Are you alright?” The words came out in a rush almost as though he was panicked, but Namjoon was so very rarely panicked. He was the leader for a reason. Situations like this weren’t meant to faze him. “Is Nara alright?”

Y/N nodded, stumbling over her words as she let him know that they were both alright. They might have been a little jostled and possibly bruised from the force with which he’d taken them all to the ground, but they were for the most part alright.

“Taehyun!” Namjoon roared, calling out for her bodyguard. “Get them out of here!”

“Wait!” Y/N looked around desperately as Namjoon helped her to her feet. “Where is Iyla? Is Iyla okay?”

“Taehyun is going to take you and Nara to safety.” Namjoon assured her, brushing the hairs away from her face that had been knocked loose when he’d taken them all to the ground. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“What about Iyla?”

He quickly pressed a kiss to forehead and did the same for Nara as well before pushing her into Taehyun’s arms. “If anything happens to them, I will gut you.” Namjoon promised, his tone low and dripping with venom.

“I’ll protect them with my life, sir.”

“What about Iyla!” she cried, as Taehyun began to drag her away, his grip unyielding on her arm as he led them out.

“Keep your head low, buin.” he ordered gently. “Cover Ms. Nara’s head as well.”

Despite her protests, Y/N kept her head low as instructed, and Nara, who was by this point screaming her poor little head off, was tucked into her chest with her head shielded. Taehyun had moved from dragging her by the arm to ushering her forward with his own body half covering hers as they moved. When Kim Namjoon had given the order to protect his family at all costs. He had meant it, even if it came at the price of bodily harm to Taehyun.

Part of Y/N was selfishly grateful for Taehyun’s protection. There were bullets flying across the venue, both from BTS and whoever had decided to crash the event. People were running in every direction, and screams filled the air as everyone tried to find cover.

Y/N tried not to look at the carnage of what had once been a beautiful venue as they went past. Her focus had to be on her baby and getting her to safety. She’d get Iyla too if she could, but she didn’t think that Taehyun would let her go searching, and her first priority had to be Nara. Nara had to get out of this mess before she could truly worry about anyone else.

It wasn’t the first shoot out she’d been in. Marcus hadn’t always been careful about where he brought her and when. Her safety had never been a primary concern for him. She’d taken precautions after that not to accompany Marcus to any parties she deemed particularly sketchy. Her second shootout had been over a year ago when she’d been running for her life in an attempt to escape the estate, her first escape attempt. They hadn’t been aiming for her though. That had been made abundantly clear. So she wasn’t a stranger to shoot outs, she’d just never been in the middle of one before.

“Where are we even going?” Y/N asked, her words coming out as more of a pant.

“To the cars, buin.” Taehyung answered, voice low and not nearly as out of breath as her own was. “Sajangnim ordered me to get you to safety. Once we get to the cars, I’ll see you and Ms. Nar-”

The first thing that Y/N registered was the stinging pain in her arm, almost like a bad carpet burn. She’d had many of those as a child when she and Iyla hadn’t been careful in their playing, and she’d tripped and gone skidding across the floor in their childhood home.

The next thing she registered was Taehyun’s voice had gone abruptly and completely silent, his sentence left unfinished. She didn’t have time to question this change as his form which had been a shelter from the maelstrom around them became a dead weight dragging her and Nara to the ground once more.

Y/N cursed under her breath, checking to see if Nara was okay before glancing over at Taehyun to check and see if he was okay and promptly wishing she hadn’t, her stomach turning.

A pool of deep red was seeping towards her with nauseating speed from the figure next to her. For the most part, he looked as though he’d just tripped much the same as she had. It was once you looked past the shoulders that the damage became apparent. There wasn’t much left of Taehyun after that point to recognize as Taehyun any more. The bullet had torn straight through his skull, destroying all of his recognizable features.

Y/N choked back a sob, scrambling back in an attempt to get away from the carnage though she quickly found herself ducking down to avoid a shot going off far too close for comfort.

Nara continued to scream in her arms, her little wails cutting through the air and making the both of them an all too obvious target for anyone who was looking to get revenge on Namjoon.

“It’s okay, baby.” she shushed, gently bouncing Nara in her arms. “Momma’s going to get us out of here.”

Y/N placed a quick kiss to the top of her baby’s head and began to crawl back over to Taehyun’s body.

He was one of Namjoon’s men. He had to have some sort of weapon on him. Y/N highly doubted that any of Namjoon’s men went anywhere unarmed, at least not foot soldiers like Taehyun had been.

With some rummaging, Y/N was able to find a gun stashed in a shoulder harness. It was a little bigger than anything that Y/N had shot before, but it would have to do given the circumstances, and Y/N wasn’t about to turn away anything that could help keep her and Nara safe. She wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to shoot and hold Nara, but she had something on hand to protect them if worse came to worse, and that made the situation marginally better.

Y/N got up, careful to keep her body as low to the ground as she could as she moved through the carnage. Keep low and move quickly, that was the only thought in her head as she picked her way out of the wedding hall. She couldn’t get to the cars. It wasn’t safe. She didn’t know who was out there and who they worked for. She didn’t know who half of Namjoon’s men were, and she didn’t doubt that the ones she did know were preoccupied with keeping their own wives safe as well as putting an end to the chaos that had ruined the wedding. If she asked for help, she was as likely to ask someone who was responsible for the chaos as she was to pick someone who worked for Namjoon. Along with those two factions were also visiting families and business acquaintances, and there was no telling who of those would help her if she asked and who would slit her throat given the opportunity. She was on her own.

Once she was out of the main hall, there was more room too maneuver and more options of where to go.

Frantically, she looked around, trying to find somewhere to go. What she needed was a place to hide, somewhere secluded and somewhere where she could hopefully form a barricade to keep others from getting in. She found her answer in the form of a supply closet tucked away from the main hall.

Briskly, Y/N made her way towards the door, keeping a careful eye on her surroundings as she did.

“Y/N!” an achingly familiar voice called causing her head to snap in the direction it had come from. Mark was rushing towards her, looking disheveled in his suit as he sprinted across the hall foyer. “Y/N, are you alright?” He rushed to ask, quickly scanning her for any injuries. “Is Nara alright?”

“What are you doing here?” She asked, out of breath as she took in the sight of him.

“We have to go.” He urged, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the exit. “They’re going to be looking for you soon.”

“How are you here?”

He smiled, the expression rakish and exasperated at the same time. “I promise to explain everything later, but we have to hurry right now.”

“Where’s Iyla? Did you get Iyla out?” She asked, scanning the room for any sign of her sister as Mark pulled her towards the exit.

“Iyla?” He questioned, brow furrowed. “I don’t have Iyla. We barely had time to get you out. This whole operation has been a mess.”

Y/N stopped dead in her tracks, his words playing through her mind. “This was you? You did this?” She asked, hoping against hope that it was a lie. “You shot at my baby sister? You shot at my baby?”

“Y/N, we don’t have time for this right now.” He tried to tug her forward again, but she wouldn’t go. “Y/N, please.”

She wanted to believe that Mark wouldn’t put Nara or Iyla in danger for some hair-brained scheme, but looking at him now, how frantic he seemed- how desperate to get her out of there, she knew that he had. “How could you?”

“Y/N, we have to go.”

Shots went off around them as she remained immobile, Mark pleading with her to keep going, to leave with him, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t bring herself to leave with him knowing what would happen to Iyla if she left her behind. Namjoon had made the consequences very clear if she should ever try to leave him again. If she was going to escape it had to be with Iyla.

“Let go, Mark.” she ordered, shaking her arm out of his grip. “You need to leave.”

“Y/N, you can’t be serious.” Mark cursed under his breath, pushing them both to the floor as someone fired a gun in their direction. “We have to go now!”

Y/N pushed herself and Nara up from the floor, aiming the gun shakily at Mark as she did, tears pooling in her eyes.

He stared at her incredulously. “Y/N, be reasonable. We won’t get this chance again. Lee won’t agree to help me again.”

“Go.” she ordered, her voice just as tremulous as the rest of her.

“Y/N…”

“I swear to God, Mark, I will shoot you if you don’t leave.”

“You can’t stay with him.”

She shook her head, the tears starting to fall. “I can’t leave knowing what he’ll do to my sister if I do.”

“We’ll get her out another time.” He pleaded, standing up as she rose as well, Nara clutched tight to her chest, her little face red as she shook with little hiccuping sobs. “We have to go now.”

“You have to leave before he catches you.” She kept the gun trained at his chest. “He won’t let you go a second time.” Mark didn’t move. “You have jeopardized everything.” she hissed, the possibilities running rampant through her mind. Namjoon would not be kind if he found Mark here, and considering his actions, she wasn’t feeling too charitable towards him herself.

“Y/N, I’m trying to help you.”

“You shot at my daughter! You shot at my baby sister!” Her eyes scanned his features looking for a shred of remorse. She found none.

“You need to leave.” she hissed, but Mark didn’t move. “Leave!” she screamed.

He still didn’t move. Y/N lowered the gun, aiming at his foot as she fired, and Mark jumped back, letting loose a string of expletives as he did.

“I don’t want to shoot you, Mark,” she began, raising the gun to his chest once more. “but I will if I have to.”

He took a step forward, reaching for her, and Y/N was quick to aim a shot at his leg. The bullet grazed his calf, missing its mark. She was no good at aiming with only one hand, and it didn’t help that she was shaking like a leaf.

“Go!” she urged. “Go before he finds out this was you.”

Without a backwards glance at him, Y/N turned on her heel and took off into the foyer. It was almost as chaotic in entry now as the main hall had been, the fighting spilling out as people ran. her aim was to get to the supply closet she had seen earlier. It wouldn’t be much for cover, but it would be something so long as she was lucky enough to make it there without getting herself shot in the process.

With some difficulty, Y/N was able to make it to the closet. The door had mercifully been left unlocked, giving her access to the small room. It had just enough space for her to crouch on the floor with Nara half hidden behind some packages of toilet paper and paper towels. It wasn’t much, but she was more than grateful for it.

The supply closet only had one entrance for her to guard. If anyone tried to open the door, she had a direct line of sight and therefore fire to defend herself and Nara.

Hiding in the dark room did nothing to settle her frayed nerves. Every sound coming from outside her sanctuary set her on edge though Nara had thankfully settled down. As much as she loved her child, having her screaming while they were attempting to hide would have been counterproductive, and the sound would have worn on her already ragged nerves.

She didn’t know how long they stayed there crouched in the dark. It could have been hours or it could have been minutes. She had no way of telling the time, and her own anxiety made her an unreliable judge of exactly how long they’d been there, but it felt like an eternity.

Even when the noise from outside had died down, Y/N refused to leave her hiding place. She had no way of knowing who had come out on top of the chaos outside, and without that knowledge she was not willing to put herself or Nara in any more danger than necessary.

Her legs ached from her cramped position as did her arms from holding Nara for so long, but she stayed still, waiting for a sign that it was safe to leave, her mind reeling from the events of the day. Her grip remained tight on the gun she’d swiped off Taehyun’s body ready to shoot should someone try to open the door even if her hands were shaking. She’d already shot at someone today, and she didn’t particularly want to shoot at anyone else, but she would if she had to.

Part of her couldn’t believe that she’d shot at Mark. She couldn’t believe that she’d let the opportunity to escape pass her by. She could have taken Nara and ran. She could have had a shot at freedom, but she hadn’t taken it. She’d made a choice that she had never even considered as a real possibility. She’d chosen to stay with Namjoon of her own volition.

Of course there were other factors. She knew what Namjoon would do to Iyla if she’d chosen to go. She also knew that Namjoon never would have stopped searching for her if she’d managed to slip away, and that was a big if. She doubted they would have gotten very far before Namjoon would have found them. Taking their daughter and running, while it sounded nice in theory, would have unleashed an almost unholy fury within her husband. He was already slightly insane when it came to her. She could only imagine the lengths he would go to to get Nara back if she were ever to go missing and the consequences she would face if she had a hand in it.

Y/N was shaken out of her thoughts as the door to her sanctuary was ripped open. Without even thinking, she lifted the gun and fired in the direction of the entry. Nara woke with a start at the sound, starting to cry as she did.

“Fuck!” the intruder cursed, jumping back as her bullet barely missed him, embedding itself into the door frame. “Hyung!” he called, stepping away from the door and keeping an eye on her as he shouted over his shoulder. “Hyung, I found her!”

She stared at the man in the doorway, heart racing and her hands shaking so much that she was afraid she would drop the gun.

She didn’t have a chance to fire at him again as the man in the doorway was unceremoniously shoved aside to reveal a new figure.

She fired again, just barely missing him and embedding a bullet into the other side of the door frame eliciting another stream of curses from both men standing at the door.

Before she could try to steady her hand enough to fire again, the weapon was ripped from her hand and tossed out of the small space.

“No!” she screamed, kicking at the man trying to drag her and Nara out of their sanctuary.

“Jagi! Jagiya, it’s me!” her assailant cooed, wrapping a hand around her wrist to keep her blows from landing. “It’s me.” he said again, keeping his voice low and even. “You’re safe now. You’re both safe.”

Slowly Y/N began to register who was in the closet with her. “Namjoon?”

“It’s me, jagi. It’s me.” He hushed, smoothing away the mess her hair had become during the chaos of the day. “It’s me.”

Namjoon was unceremoniously knocked back as Y/N threw herself into his arms, her free arm wrapped tightly around his neck as she clung to him, sobs wracking her frame as the stress of the whole situation came crashing down on her with the reassurance that they was safe and keeping Nara from harm was no longer her responsibility alone. No one was going to hurt them. Namjoon would make sure of that.

Namjoon wrapped his arms tightly around her, careful not to crush Nara between them as he held them both.

“You’re alright, jagiya. You did so well. You’re safe now.” he murmured into her hair. “It’s all okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.” she shuddered against him, her whole body shaking as the adrenaline left her system. “Jungkook, have them bring the car around.”

“On it, hyung.” Jungkook quickly scampered away leaving the couple in peace.

“Okay, jagi.” Namjoon began, gently trying to shift Y/N away from him slightly, but she clung on, gripping the back of his suit jacket. “I’m not going anywhere.” He reassured her, gently stroking a hand down her back. “I’m just going to take Nara and hand her to Soobin. He’s going to take her to the car while I take you there. Okay, jagiya?” Y/N didn’t move, clutching Nara closer as the infant continued to cry. “You did so good, jagi. You did so good, but you don’t have to hold on anymore. I’ve got you.” Y/N choked back sob. “I’ve got you.”

Y/N slowly released her grip, slipping back and giving Namjoon room to take Nara from her arms. The little one was still crying, pathetic hiccuping sobs that tugged at Namjoon’s heart strings.

With a quick kiss to Nara’s forehead, he stood up, passing her over to Soobin who was waiting to take her to the car.

“I’m going to pick you up now, jagi.” he explained, moving slowly as he stooped to scoop Y/N up from the ground. She went willingly, wrapping her arms around his neck and tucking her face into his shoulder as he strode through the wrecked venue towards where Jungkook had the car waiting. “Rest, jagi. I’ve got you.” 

part 28

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Our Little Love part seven - OT7 Mafia/Yandere au

What’s that saying? One step forward two steps back? 👀 6K words containing: manipulation, toxic yandere men, non-consented acts of affection, lies, possessive behaviour, jealousy, allusion to crime and kidnapping.

“Little love,” Jin calls for you absentmindedly, frowning when you don’t look up from your book to answer him. It’s one you had read a million times before, maybe you didn’t hear him.

“Little love?” He tries again, looking confused as you let out a disgruntled sigh of annoyance.

He can see your jaw clench, something had pissed you off. Your foot became restless as you sat in the arm chair, it was only when Jimin cleared his throat obviously he remembered the terms and conditions you had enforced.

This time he lets out a big sigh, one of tested patience. He mumbles an apology before turning away, a bitter feeling creeping up his chest. Fuck, he resented the fact he couldn’t call you that anymore, it was like asking him not to breathe. Fuck fuck fuck, they needed to earn your forgiveness soon or this might actually kill them. Not that they ever underestimated you, but you really did know which weapons to pull to hurt them the most, and fuck did he have to admit they deserved it. Didn’t mean he had to like any of it.

Jimin follows him out, a quick glance back at you to see if you were paying any concern but of course not. Since the day you announced the break you’d been keeping your distance, Jimin had complained about it childishly with tantrum tears in his eyes but you had patiently explained you needed the space to clear your head. 

Jimin scoffs at the memory, feeling sour about it still. The pout he wears gives away his thoughts when they both find Yoongi in the kitchen.

“Little love giving you a hard time?” he says almost amused. 

It’s Jin’s turn to scoff dramatically, ears burning so red, Yoongi swears there’s steam. 

“We can’t call her that anymore,” he complains, sulking. 

Yoongi smiles a little, not because he truly found his hyung’s pain entertaining, but because he understood the pain. 

“It’s a difficult situation,” Yoongi agrees, “but the alternative would have been so much worse.”

Jimin and Jin stare silently at him, their gazes aggressive as if they wanted to hit the male but they didn’t because he was right. The worst alternative wasn’t expecting you to leave, they all knew they would never let that happen, but if you had become a ghost of yourself, if they had broken you so badly there was nothing left to rebuild, then what would be left of you? 

“When did you become so considerate?” Jimin scoffs, rolling his eyes. He didn’t like any of it, he didn’t care if you were right and they were wrong, you had taken away their most prized and valuable possession, you. He couldn’t help the internal tantrums as if someone had taken away his favourite toy. Call him childish, call him whatever the hell you wanted, he hated this situation, and he couldn’t hide it. 

They apologised, and apologised, and apologised, and you still gave them the cruellest punishment you could think of. 

“You’re still thinking with anger,” Yoongi acknowledges, knowing when Jimin cooled down from this he would probably be the one with the most regret and remorse, what he didn’t know is Jimin was clinging to his resentment with all his might, because once that gave way he would have so much to answer for. 

—

Men would pay money to see Jung Hoseok hesitate, but that was exactly what he was doing now. Another book in your hand (you were reading a bit too much lately, he didn’t like it, it was as if you knew you couldn’t leave physically so you were doing so mentally), and he was stalling himself with interrupting you. 

Your rejection cut holes into him, and that’s what he was afraid of when approaching you today. When he was younger he used to be afraid of everything, but after indulging in the horrors of survival and the syndicate, nothing terrified him any more, or so he thought before his heart belonged to you. 

“Litt-” he catches himself before he says it too loud, clearing his throat quietly hoping you didn’t hear him. “Y/n?”

He sounds more confident, his more serious persona going up as if that would protect him here. He knew he needed it, any sane person after experiencing his pleasure and pain games would run at the sight of him, and a part of him was getting ready to catch you if you did.

You look at him and it has him crumbling. Something in his chest physically hurts him so bad he thinks he needs to go see a specialist, one glance from you and he’s ready to beg on his knees again for your forgiveness. The distance between you, although you were here in front of him, killed him. It felt eerily similar to what it did when you left, and it confused his brain and body so much. 

He had to remind himself every day, you were still here, you still loved them, this was just temporary. 

“I-I wasjus- I was just heading to the b-basment,” forget money, men would lay down their lives to see Jung Hoseok stutter and stumble over his words. 

You frown in question when he doesn’t continue, but stares at you expectantly, until he realises he hadn’t explained what he wanted.

“For a workout!” He rectifies himself quickly before taking a breath to calm himself, “I wondered if you wanted to join me?”

He mentally pats himself on the back quickly for sounding more put together, but then his nerves start to shake again when you don’t respond immediately. You contemplate it, for too long in his eyes, stretching out the pause until you have the man sweating. Who needs a work out, just piss your girlfriend off and try to spend time with her while she's still mad. 

“Yeah, okay,” you nod, finally putting down your book (he should get Jimin to burn them all). “I’ll go get changed.”

The relief and joy that floods Hobi almost makes him pass out, a genuine smile he hasn’t felt on his own face for days bursts through. This was a step in the right direction, you didn’t hate him or you would’ve shut him down. With the amount of hope in his system, he was getting giddy.

—

You wanted some time alone this evening, without them lingering around you, with poor attempts of covering their intentions with busying themselves. As if you couldn’t see Jimin’s imploring stare as he walked past you from the corner of your eyes. Or the way Jin would walk towards you, hesitate and then walk away. 

You didn’t say they couldn’t talk to you, you were just on a break. Part of you knows you should seek them out and start civil conversation but that part also knew once you opened the door they would come barging through. An inch would turn into a mile and you would be back where you started. 

So now you were busying yourself with the world’s worst chore, just to escape and breathe for a second, laundry. You were sorting through the load at a snail’s pace, knowing when you were done you’d have to endure them again. You’re so embedded in your own thoughts you don’t feel another presence join you.  

Arms wrap around you, making you still. His figure almost engulfs you from behind, his nose already finding purchase on your neck as he buries himself against you. You try not to sigh, you were sick of hearing the sound yourself but it was always  one of patience.

You understood how hard it was for them to accept your decision for a ‘break’, but all you wanted was some respect for it. And this broke your no touching rule.

“Tae let go,” you say without an ounce of emotion, continuing sorting out the laundry in front of you.

His only reaction to your words is the opposite of course, holding you tighter against him making your heart skip too many beats to count. Your skin sizzled with something akin to longing, a fire he only seemed to ignite when his breath hit your neck.

You don’t give in. You throw the item of clothing in your hand down, both hands on the edge of the basket as you still, standing statue as he tries his hardest to work through your defences. You don’t respond when he nuzzles his nose against where he’s buried, or to the rumble of his chest when he breathes you in deeply. His eyes are closed, you know they are, he’s relishing the moment all he can before you take it away.

He doesn’t feel you respond the way he wants you to, he wants you to melt against him and the urge is so strong but somehow you resist. He whines, the sound so soft near your ears you almost miss it. He tries holding you tighter still, his thumb stroking soft circles on your skin, trying to tempt you to break your resolve. Gentle, almost whisper like kisses are placed on your shoulder as he finally breaks away.

“Are you done?” You say almost coldly as he steps back, picking back up another item of clothing.

You hear him sniff but you don’t let it move you.

“Heaven, please,” he begs, a fist in your top clutching onto you.

That’s when you turn to face him. If he expects to see any softness in your gaze he’s sorely mistaken, it’s not a glare you’re giving him but it’s close enough that it burns. You don’t even flinch when you see tears in his eyes.

“I asked you not to touch me,” you state quietly but your words are firm. “Or that if you did, you asked first.”

He looks down, partly in shame, partly in grief. You can’t stand to see the sight, it makes your heart ache, so you walk away.

—

“Y/n?” Jungkook asks for your attention, biting his lips in worry. “Can I ask you about the book you’re reading?”

The others in the room feel an overwhelming sense of envy when you smile at the maknae. Jimin’s jaw goes slack as you scoot over to let Jungkook sit beside you. Envy was a dangerous thing, how he wanted to pluck the youngest of them out of the seat and take his place, but he hadn’t calmed his emotions down enough yet to approach you properly, and he knew if he did he’d ruin whatever rebuilding the others had done. No, he had to be patient with himself and withdraw, even if that meant physically. He was playing cards with Yoongi and Seokjin, but he places his cards down and leaves. 

Jin’s pout overtakes his face when he turns away from the sight of Jungkook grinning while you talk animatedly, putting down a card without thinking and letting Yoongi take the win this round. Yoongi didn’t even notice, his gaze goes soft at the way you laugh at a teasing comment Jungkook made, a sound he hasn’t heard in what felt like forever. The sound even makes the corners of Jin’s pout pull up. 

The youngest of the group honestly thought he was in paradise, he didn’t even care about the book he just wanted to hear you talk without reservation. His focus was on the way your eyes lit up, the genuine smile on your face, how does he try to make this moment last forever? He pays attention to every word you utter, asking the right question to keep you going, even making a joke here and there and feeling so pleased with himself when you laugh. 

How did the relationship regress back so far that he felt like this was the start of it, like he was still pursuing you to give him a chance, like he had to work up the courage to ask you out all over again. The answer of course was in their mistakes, the thought dampens his mood but he pushes it away. He didn’t know when he would get another moment like this, he had to soak it all in and cherish it before it was over. 

—

Your defences go up when you spot Jimin bringing Taehyung to you, the shorter male holding his hand guiding your bear like boyfriend in front of you. You look at them both expectantly, wondering what the theatrics were for. Taehyung sniffles, his face hanging low, his red hoodie pulled down as far as he can get it to hide himself. 

“Taehyung has something he wants to say Heaven- I mean angel- I mean Y/n,” he corrects himself repeatedly with a shake of his head, cheeks burning in slight embarrassment at the blunder, but he wouldn’t apologise for it even it that made him a hypocrite for what he was making Taehyung do. 

He pushes his friend gently, encouraging him to speak.

“Tae?” you say gently, remembering how harshly you spoke to him the other day. 

Apparently that was all it took for the man to break down into tears in front of you, falling to his knees as he bawled. Your jaw drops in shock at the action, but you’re more surprised at the fact he holds himself back from launching into you for comfort. 

You can see how hard it is to do so, he’s hugging himself, but his nails dig into the fabric of his clothes. He still doesn’t look at you, his gaze on the floor. You give him a second to compose himself, the sobs turning into little hiccups as he wipes his face with his sleeve. 

When he looks at you it's your turn to grip the armrests of the chair with all your might, those glassy eyes beg you for love and it takes everything not to smother him in your embrace. But that would undo all the work you’ve been doing, you had to talk it out first and then maybe if this was resolved you could reward him with physical affection, just a little. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he says through a hoarse voice, the sound only breaking your resolve further. “About the other day, I s-should’ve asked first.”

He tries to take a deep breath in but it’s shaky, for some reason what he wants to say next breaks him out into more tears. He covers his face as he cries, Jimin rubbing his back providing him with the comfort you couldn’t give just yet. 

“Doyouhateme?”

The muffled question breaks your heart, Jimin can see it on your face and it has him fighting down a smirk. He may have played a hand at manipulating the situation, convincing Taehyung this was the best way to get back into your good books.

“Tae no,” you breathe, eyes watering but you blink back the tears. You didn’t want to show them any weakness anymore. “I don’t hate you.”

You sigh, eyes to the ceiling, as if begging for control over yourself as you try really hard to not give in to the feeling of wanting to crawl into his lap and hold him. 

“I just really needed some space that day,” you explain, “and you caught me at a bad time.”

That wipes away Jimin’s elation, all this talk about space and distance, it already felt like you were living on Mars. How much space did you want? In his opinion there had been too much space, that was the problem, or were you forgetting the long agonising months of your absence? 

Taehyung nods, thankfully retaining your attention away from Jimin who couldn’t hide his thoughts from his face. 

—

You can’t sleep, tossing and turning from your side to your back and then to your side again. Were you fighting a losing battle? Were you being unfair in asking them to change? You remember cases of forgotten wives refusing to leave their no good husbands, the amount of inane times you heard the cries of ‘I can get him to change’... had you become one of those women? Then of course came the others, the women who knew they could not work miracles on their partners and gave up. Some left, some stayed, and you remember watching them all in the years of your career, arrogantly thinking it would never be you, no man would ever trap you like this. There was a joke in there somewhere, one man certainly didn’t, but seven did. 

The knock on the door thankfully interrupts your endless circle of pity, a meek Jungkook peeking around as he opens the door. Something about the scene felt familiar but the shoe was on the other foot. He was waiting for permission to come in, you don’t know why the sight made you smile, made you warm. 

If anyone was proof that they were trying for you it was Jungkook, Yoongi had kept his distance out of respect for your rules, you know he only did so because he couldn’t help himself if he got too close. Jimin was similar although, you could see he was keeping his distance mentally, angry with you and your conditions. It would pass, you were sure, or at least you hoped. 

Jungkook was the only one that accepted everything without complaint, and you knew it wasn’t easy. You were so grateful to him for it, for respecting your boundaries sincerely, for giving you hope that this relationship could be salvaged. 

He almost trips over himself when you pull the covers back wordlessly, inviting him in, the stumble of his legs as he races towards you makes you giggle. He climbs in without hesitation, about to reach out for you but he stops himself, eyes looking up at you, wanting to ask you out loud but too afraid to. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure him quietly, as if talking loudly would break the peace you felt with him there, that you’d second guess yourself.

Arms you’ve longed for wrap around your waist, pulling you towards him. You hold him back gently, not letting yourself get lost in him the way you wanted. In the darkness, your gazes meet, talking loudly in a way filled the silence. 

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes out hard, unable to hold it in any longer. 

“I’ve missed you too,” you admit.

He bites his lips to refrain from saying anything else, to break the illusion that everything was okay.

“I used to think I understood your darkness,” you murmur, stroking his hair out of his face.

He pulls you closer, burying his head against your chest, the youngest didn’t like how that sentence was going and part of him didn’t want to hear the rest.

“But I don’t think I ever did,” you confess in a whisper, starting to ramble. “I don’t get it Kookie, why me? This obsession, I thought I felt it the same as you, I thought you guys understood me too.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to keep up with your thoughts when you felt the hands of sleep trying to catch you.

“Maybe I was just trying to excuse my own darkness,” you sigh, almost in defeat. “Or maybe I just fed yours too much.”

“You gave us your love,” he mumbles against your skin, eyes closed as he breathes in your scent. “Your acceptance, you didn’t feed our darkness baby, you just didn’t see the extent of it.”

—

The silence is suffocating. Yoongi normally appreciates it but in this situation it was unsettling. They’re all in the living room, some pretending to do their own thing, but no one was paying any attention to anything other than you. Yoongi and Namjoon did so blatantly, Yoongi sitting on the couch away from you but his stare is nowhere else. This didn’t break the rules, you didn’t tell him he couldn’t soak you in with his eyes whenever he wanted. 

The others were also very obvious with their glances towards you, Jin was dusting the same spot of the living room over and over. Hoseok flipping through the tv channels with Jungkook sitting beside him, the maknae biting his lips in worry with every peek he took, a habit he hadn’t had since he was a teenager. Taehyung and Jimin uncharacteristically played chess but all the pieces were in the wrong places, arbitrarily moving them just to keep appearances so you didn’t call them out. 

And Namjoon… the man was staring daggers into your form. Elbow on his thigh, leaning forward, his chin on his thumb, his finger on his face tapping away on his cheekbone impatiently. He was supposed to be going over the papers in his lap, but they were being scrunched in his other hand. Yoongi thought he looked like a bomb about to explode, and he wasn’t wrong.

“That’s it!” Namjoon almost growls as he slams his file down, standing from his seat while everyone stares in shock at his outburst.

He walks towards you, and you meet his glare but refuse to move from the comfort and safety of the tub chair, you don’t even close your book.

“This ‘break’ is over,” he snarls, gestating with his hands trying to find a conduit for his anger. “Do you understand, little love?”

You look up at him with eyes simmering a fire he only ignited, meeting his glare head on.

“I decide when this break is over,” you say calmly, refusing to fight him at his level.

“No.”

“No?” Your brows scrunch in disbelief and anger, there goes your plan to remain calm. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

You throw your book back into the seat as you rise to meet him eye to eye, although he’s still looking down at you.

“I mean…” he breathes gruffly, grazing his hand with yours at your side. “No.”

“You can’t b-“

Your voice is smothered by his lips, his soft touch turning into an iron grip as he pulls you closer, devouring you like a man starved and in his eyes that’s exactly what he was. You push him away, but he doesn’t allow for any space between you.

Even when you’re banging your fist against his chest, unable to breathe, he doesn’t budge. You’re at his mercy, only when he decides he’s had enough (for now), does he pull away.

You look dishevelled almost, breathing hard, your eyes glistening with tears. The sight shouldn’t arouse him but it does.

You have the audacity to childishly wipe his kiss away with the back of your hand, a tough swipe that does nothing to erase the force he handled you with. He chuckles, the sound makes your ears burn, feeling the warmth of shame colour them in.

The others stare with the jaws wide open, fear settling in that this was taking too many steps in the wrong direction. It takes everything not to call you back when you storm away, it takes everything not to follow. 

No one says a word, but they all glare accusingly at their leader except Taehyung, who only looks down in shame. 

—

“Where do you think you’re going?” Yoongi asks gruffly, sleep still in his voice.

“Out.” You respond bluntly, avoiding his gaze.

“I asked where,” he pushes when you pull Taehyung’s hoodie over your head. You were drowning in the fabric, and he pretended the sight didn’t make him ache for you. The same way you were trying so hard not to let his sleepy state bring down your defences, no matter how cute he looked in the shorts and grey top.

“What does it look like Yoongi,” your head was spinning with too many thoughts and you needed to clear it. “For a run.”

“I’ll come with you,” he says it like an offer but it’s not, you know it’s not. 

“No,” you refuse simply, finally meeting his stare. “Send one of your men to keep an eye on me, it's what you did before anyway.”

He’s quiet, observing you for a moment. You hated it when he did that, it was like he could see inside of you and yet, despite that, you felt like he couldn’t understand anything he saw. You break eye contact first, putting on your trainers while he continues to stare. Why couldn’t you read him the same, how could he still get under your skin with his silence even after all this time?

“I’ll send Jungkook,” he says as you open the door. “He’ll keep his distance.”

He doesn’t take the slam as you leave personally, he knows you just need to vent your frustrations, but because you were so isolated- sorry, because they isolated you, you had no one to vent to, no one who was objective to talk to. Physically stretching your mind would maybe do you some good. 

“Did you seriously let her go out unsupervised?” Namjoon seethes as he approaches Yoongi, quick to dial one of their men regardless of what nefarious time of the morning it was. The first call goes to voicemail.

Yoongi sighs, he was on his way back to bed, guess not.

“She deserves our trust,” he replies. “And I was about to send Jungkook.”

“It’s not about trust,” Namjoon bites back, another call unanswered, “it’s about safety, or are you forgetting our enemies hunt our weaknesses.”

“Our enemies know if they touch her they’ve signed their own death certificate, no one would dare cross us now, not with the amount of blood we’ve shed,” Yoongi groans in aggravation. “Not to mention you’ve bought out the police Namjoon.”

“But not every policeman, or Captain, or are you forgetting what we did to him?”

“You gave him a warning, he’ll behave,” Yoongi states, ready to leave the conversation but he can’t help himself with what he says next. After Namjoon’s actions last night, he was feeling a little vengeful, even if he didn’t completely mean his words. “We should’ve left him unharmed, we knew she didn’t want us to hurt him.”

The shock in Namjoon’s eyes flashes for a second before they compose themselves to a stare. He puts his phone back in his pocket, maybe Jungkook was the best one to go, you didn’t seem to punish him as harshly as the others.

The silence between the men turns the air cold, their gazes stoic but speaking volumes. Namjoon wouldn’t stand for mutiny or disloyalty, he especially didn’t stand for anyone questioning his decisions.

“He hurt her,” he explains himself patiently, “he wants to take her away from us.”

Yoongi scoffs, a humourless grin on his face as he stares back in ridicule at their leader.

“We hurt her,” he states, eyes blank of emotion, “where’s our bullet to the knees.”

—

If you were being honest with yourself, you hated running, you hated the way each breath burned as it filled your lungs, how each limb could feel like lead, but the pain was better than the thoughts you were trying to clear. 

You remember at the police academy, Suho and Kai used to run circles around you, but somewhere along the way your competitiveness got the better of you, and you trained harder than them both. It used to annoy you to hell that they were physically much stronger than you, but those days were some of the best. The three of you were so close, each other’s confidants when things went sour, the two you’d hang out with when a case went wrong. Now who did you have to confide in?

Maybe it’s your conscious or unconscious thoughts making your legs move in a particular direction, but you don’t realise where you’re headed until you see the sign above the door. The breakfast place… where everything went to shit a third time.

You barely glance inside as you run past but the sight of someone familiar makes you double take. Think of the devil and he appears?

His eyes catch yours when you stop in your tracks, he’s sitting at a table alone and the sight of him brings back that day like a breath after being underwater for so long. An apology is at the tip of your tongue, your eyes start to water, you know you have to keep running, if any of them finds you here with him, he’d be dead. You’re about to turn away when he waves at you, a simple smile that didn’t meet his eyes sent your way as he watches the realisation hit you.

His hand was covered in thick bandages, and your stare doesn’t leave them. There’s no thought in your mind as your legs move you into the building, ignoring the waiter's greeting as you walk towards your old Captain with dread. 

He shifts in his seat, letting you see the bandages on his leg, around his knee, the crutches resting on the seat next to him. Your eyes are wide with shock before your gaze turns into one of mournful rage. Tears start forming in your eyes as you shake.

The sense of betrayal that overwhelms you has you reaching a hand for the table, gripping the edge tight to steady yourself. 

They lied. 

They looked you in the eyes and lied. All of them, including Jungkook. You don’t let yourself sob, not when a fire burns any attachment you felt towards them to dust. 

You move your gaze from his injuries to his face, his stare never having left you. 

“Arrest them,” your voice is hoarse but without a morsel of regret, anger paving the way forward now, filling the loss you felt deep inside of you. 

They must’ve thought you were fucking stupid, they must’ve laughed behind your back, humoring you with their acts of trying to change. Fuck, you were a fool, they played you again and again and you just took it every fucking time. There was never going to be any change, and you refused to be their prisoner any longer.

“I’ll be your witness,” you say it with conviction, although a part of you grieves. “I’ll give you all the evidence you need, just send them away.”

Suho doesn’t say a word, and that makes it all so much worse. You can feel something creeping around you, shadows of them that have latched onto you, crawling all over your skin. You wanted rid of this dark energy, you wanted out. 

You don’t break his stare, not for a second, you can tell he’s deep in thought, contemplating your resolve, and if he saw a hint of uncertainty in you he would do no such thing. Why would he risk it? They hurt him, they could hurt him again. 

He reaches for his phone, and you take a premature breath of relief.

“Make the call,” he commands, handing the device to you. 

—

When Yoongi dragged Jungkook out of bed this morning, the maknae had begrudgingly crawled out of the house. His body ran on autopilot when he left to find you, eyes half open, yawning in the morning air. His hoodie pushes his hair to fall in his face but he’s too tired to drag the fabric back.

It wouldn’t take long to find you, he could run circles around you if he wanted but the thought of maybe spending some time with you alone made his legs pick up the pace, a goofy grin on his face as he thought about it.

Yes you were probably mad about Namjoon’s actions yesterday, not that Jungkook blamed him all that much, it was hard to stay away from you, but he was starting to understand your perspective a little more. Especially after the last time you pulled away, and he couldn’t let that happen again, he wouldn’t survive it another time. He wouldn’t blame you if you gave him the cold shoulder, he just hopes you don’t punish him because of Namjoon, deflecting your anger wherever it did damage.

He’d calm you down, he’s sure of it. He’d tell you that what their big bad boss did was wrong and he was on your side, he’d tell you that he loved you and respected you, and it didn’t matter how long you took to forgive them he was sure the relationship would heal.

He’s so lost in thought he doesn’t realise how far he’s travelled, it’s only when there’s still no sight of you his grin begins to fade. He should’ve caught up to you by now, this was the route you normally take, and you knew better than to go another way.

What if… no. You wouldn’t dare leave again, you wouldn’t. Jungkook breaks into a sprint, running every route he can think of, not stopping for a moment even when his lungs and legs burn. He’s looking round like a mad man, but he can’t find you. What if something happened? What if someone got to you or hurt you? Memories flash in his mind to long, long ago when that was almost the case. What if?

Shit. A hand to his pocket tells him he’s left his phone, he couldn’t contact the others to join him. His best decision was to get back to the house asap. Jin would still have the tracker on your phone, they would find you, it was all going to be fine.

The fear that seized his heart was not fooled by such idealistic thoughts, his eyes had seen the true brutality of the world, sometimes caused by his own hands, and now his mind played a myriad of images of his little love in all the situations of pain he caused others. He always wondered if karma would catch him one day, he never thought it would take you.

—

He slams the door open so hard it struggles to stay on the hinges.

“I CAN’T FIND HER!” He yells into the open space of the home with all the air in his lungs.

It doesn’t take long for the hoard to assemble.

“What do you mean you can’t find her?” Jin yells back, reaching for his phone to track you without prompt.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the way Namjoon glares at Yoongi, the shorter man ignoring him.

“She’s probably taken another route,” he says calmly. 

“You better hope that’s all,” Namjoon says through gritted teeth. 

“What if someone’s got her?” Jimin panics.

“No,” Hoseok shuts that idea down, “everyone knows there is nowhere in Seoul to hide from us.”

“There’s always one idiot that’s willing to try, or have you forgotten the last time someone tried to take her?” Taehyung says heatedly.

“And we know how that ended,” Hoseok growls back.

The bickering among themselves grows in volume, so loud that they almost miss what Jin says. 

“What?” It’s Yoongi that dares to ask him to repeat himself, the drumming in his ears drowning the words. He must’ve misheard…

“She’s at the police station,” there’s no mistaking it this time. Jin looks solemnly at Namjoon while all their heads spiral.

“She’s not gone there of her own will,” Yoongi shakes his head in denial, “they’ve arrested her or something.”

Namjoon says eerily quiet, his breathing hard, his jaw clenched. 

“Namjoon we own the police,” Hoseok pushes, “make a fucking call see why she’s there.”

“Fuck making a call! I’m going over there,” Jungkook announces, turning back to the front door, but the sight of a police van pulling up at their mansion makes him stop in his tracks. 

“Are they dropping her home,” Jimin asks stupidly, unable to comprehend why else they would be there. 

The older four men look at eachother knowingly. 

“Should we run?” Jin asks, making Taehyung and Jimin whip their heads to stare at him incredulously. 

“Why would we run?” Namjoon breaks his silence, “they’ll take us right to her.”

As if on queue a smoke grenade rolls into the room, blasting off within seconds, covering the air. Namjoon almost laughs, they sent the fucking swat team, how ridiculous when they could’ve settled this like gentlemen.

Bodies swarm in, yelling commands and they all fall to their knees as instructed. On any other day, if you were home, these men wouldn’t make it through the door, but Namjoon was right, they were a one way ticket to finding you.

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | EXTRA 01 | Monster

Pairing | yandere!gangster!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 3,9k

Warnings | +18, yandere themes, knife wound, memories of past trauma and abuse, references to an attempted murder and escape attempt (present in the main story), Stockholm syndrome, guilt, Hoseok loves to psychologically torture MC, references to MC's traumatic past (hard yandere Jimin) and her love-filled present (soft yandere Jimin) that MC calls before and after, smut (fingering, wet kisses, nipple sucking), non-sexual choking attempt, fear and anxiety, this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | You thought the worst was over, but the dark shadows are denser than you thought.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys!

After receiving many comments asking for an extra chapter for Dark Moon, I decided to write one, I hope you enjoy this glimpse of how things turned out later, thanks for loving Dark Moon 🥹❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie @btsuga-d @dragons-flare @takemeaway5402 @m00njinnie @seokjins-luigi @pjmsneverland @ajkwww @jimincrystal @ungodlyjoon @hecateslittlewitchling @namjoonsbuspass @darkuni63 @xicanacorpse @jiminismine4ever @btssimplove @antisocial-mochi267 @reallygenerouskoala @velvet-stardust2002 @angelicsmileworld @dabishou @ke1k029 @lennieharper @pantara @superrsstaargirrl13

➢ Main Story

➢ Happy Ending Series

➢ Side Note | The first two stories - Happy Ending and Dark Moon - were written in the third person, which had been my style for a long time. However, I’ve recently started writing all my new stories in the second person, as I find it much more immersive and enjoyable. As a result, the new stories in this series will continue in the second person. Thank you for reading this far ❤️

Jimin's return from a mission is announced by many heavy footsteps, some even shuffling, you hear excited whispers and words left unsaid.

You jerk open your eyes, your blurred vision in the dark making you dizzy, but that is not the reason for your nausea.

Jimin.

You jump up with your heart in your throat, it's not unusual for him to come home late from work, it's the other agitated voices that startle you. Something has definitely happened that has alerted the others as well.

You quickly grab your robe and tie it in a tight knot at the waist, you don't even bother to put on shoes, when you lower the handle the click resonates like a gunshot and a shiver runs down your spine, you will never get used to that kind of life, even though Jimin has become your whole world, and as a result his life is yours too.

You move your feet toward the living room, where surely everyone else is gathered, and you bring back an unruly lock of hair, tongues of fire sway sinuously throughout the hallway, someone has lit the fireplace, a sign of a long night they will spend here.

“Squeeze this, man,” you hear someone say, you recognize him as Jungkook and frown, "It's going to hurt, but you know the drill by now," he continues and your heart misses a beat.

When you reach the living room and the heat of the fire invests you, two heads turn in your direction, you simply feel the ground missing from under your feet.

You see Jimin, lying on the couch, pale under the mop of once again black, blood-stained hair; you don't know if it's his, but the one on his uncovered side that Jungkook is taking care to stitch up with needle and thread definitely belongs to him.

“What happened?” you simply manage to ask with a choked edge to your voice, rocking on jelly legs before collapsing at your husband's side, who clutches a leather glove between his teeth to suppress the pain.

The man weakly lifts his eyelids in your direction, two shiny black pools look at you affectionately and with weary hand tries to caress your face, you immediately clasp your fingers to his, they are cold you find yourself noticing and this startles you.

You glance at the wound, it is just below the ribs and Jungkook's quick hands move the needle expertly, there is ice wrapped in a cloth abandoned on the couch, perhaps to try to make the area around the wound less sensitive, you also notice a bottle of disinfectant and some gauze.

Jimin winces all the same, clenching the glove between his teeth so as not to show you his pain, not out of shame, but because he doesn't want to worry you further.

Your mind involuntarily goes to that day.

The day you hurt him trying to escape, those are hard memories to swallow, you don't like to remember the before, but how can you not think back when you have the same scenario before your eyes?

“I'm fine,” hisses Jimin fulminating Jungkook when he presses the tip of the needle a little too hard, ”It's superficial.”

“One more inch and we could have run to the hospital, though,” mutters the third man's voice, you try to ignore his disturbing presence.

It was not difficult to bond with all the members of Jimin's family, all except him.

Hoseok never showed any interest in being your friend, and you always mentally thanked him for that. Since that time at the Dark Moon, you have had no direct contact with him and you are more than okay with that, he is a real monster. You can see it in his eyes, the evil that he harbors and is not ashamed to let it out whenever he can.

That day, you would have died by his hand if Jimin had not gotten in the way, despite the wounds he had. You owe everything to Jimin you think, kissing his sweat-soaked forehead softly. The boy closes his eyes at the pleasant warmth of your lips against his smooth skin.

“You're not well, Jimin,” you whisper in his ear, Jimin's eyelashes flicker a little, you can see the shadow of a smile amid the pain.

“You're always so anxious, my love,” he chuckles with difficulty, in response you inhale into his dark hair his masculine fragrance, mixed with gunpowder and blood, “I'll survive, as always.”

How many more times must you wake up with your heart in your throat, with Jimin wounded and lying on the couch sweating and bleeding. The only thing sweet about that image is the bold smile he gives you every single time.

“And you always try to downplay everything,” you say bitterly, kissing him on the lips.

Jungkook looks at you out of the corner of his eye without saying anything, but he is clearly more relaxed now that you are there to look after Jimin, Hoseok on the other hand snorts.

“You women are so complicated,” there is boredom in his tone, it irritates you but you tighten your lips into a thin line to ignore him, ”Even though you were more like us that time than you want to admit, remember?”

The reference to that day freezes you, you widen your eyes and lift them to his.

His hair is no longer as red as blood, now it is as black as his soul, but his sadism is still there. He loves to hurt physically, but he doesn't disdain psychological hurt. Especially if it is to hit you, after all, resentment is his best friend and he never considered you part of his family.

Jimin's eyes go wide, the black has stopped sparkling, the sweetness has been replaced by anger.

“Shut the fuck up, Hoseok,” he hisses with a latent snarl. He is hurt, but that doesn't mean he will allow Hoseok to disrespect you, ”She is not to blame!”

He always says that, but is that really the case?

“Or what?” the other challenges him, leaning against the back of the sofa.

“Please... stop,” you mutter dejectedly to both of them, agreeing - reluctantly - with Hoseok. True, you were no different from them that day. It is a guilt you will carry with you forever.

Perhaps because of your tone, perhaps because of your look, or perhaps both, Jimin vibrates with anger and disdain. He jerks up ignoring your arms trying to pick him back up, managing to grab Hoseok by the collar of his black leather jacket, landing a punch right on his mouth that he dared to say too much to his wife, this set of movements blowing out a few stitches, making Jungkook growl in frustration.

“That's really enough now!” Jungkook has never been a go-between, he has always reasoned with physical force, and it doesn't even take a moment to force Jimin back to his seat, weak as he is, and push Hoseok away with an irritated shove, “You've both pissed me off.”

Hoseok rubs his split lips, blood smears his black gloves - the same kind of gloves Jimin had on the night he caught you - his teeth have torn flesh as a result of Jimin's punch, but he doesn't seem to show resentment.

He knows he has gone too far. Even if he doesn't regret it.

He also seems at times amused at his friend's reaction, love is a feeling he does not understand, he finds it ridiculous, and he also finds Jimin and Jungkook ridiculous for getting “tamed.”

Hoseok disgusts you.

“You didn't have to react that way, we all know what he's like,” you whisper softly on your husband's lips, Jimin is breathing heavily out of anger and grief, Jungkook seems to have abandoned the path of kindness and is stitching him up carelessly, perhaps even with a hint of malice.

“I don't tolerate-” I don't tolerate  anyone disrespecting you, you block that sentence by kissing him again, losing yourself in the soft lips and sugary taste of the boy who brought you to your knees, in every sense of the word.

You block him because you don't feel you deserve all that respect, Hoseok is right.

That evil man is like a virus in your brain, he wanted to hurt you that day and for a just reason, you almost killed a member of his family, you are unforgivable and you willfully ignore the reasons that led you to such an extreme act. You remain a murderer, the man you hold in your arms now, he would not be here now if you had managed to escape without giving him help.

“Christ, I want to go home,” Jungkook whines, envious of your intimate contact, he wants to go home to his wife and spend the rest of the night with her, but he has to stitch Jimin up first and some stitches are blown out, this thought makes him nervous and that hint of malice sneers a little more.

Jimin finds himself screaming in an instant with no more glove to help him, he casts a shocked glance at Jungkook, more blood stains his quick fingers, and yet he looks innocent, as if he has not just voluntarily stuck the needle deeper than was really necessary.

“Be kind, Jungkook,” you smile at the pigtailed boy, who rolls his eyes in response, “Please.”

“At least there's someone who knows politeness in this room,” he mumbles back, Jimin snorts throwing his head back on your soft, cozy chest, you lift your gaze and pin it on Hoseok, he's looking at you with a strange smile. He knows what you're thinking.

You pull the blankets up to Jimin's chin, he is shivering with cold and that worries you. Jungkook instructed you which antibiotic to give him once a day, then closed the door behind you, careful to let Hoseok out first.

Jungkook didn't trust you to be alone with him either.

You swallow a knot that tightens your throat, you feel suffocated. You need to get some air, even though it's probably cold outside that would freeze the soul of even the devil.

“Don't do that,” you hear yourself say, turning to Jimin.

He has pulled himself up from the blankets and looks at you harshly.

“What?” you ask pretending to arrange something in a drawer, your attitude exhausting him.

“Don't think of another man,” the blackness of his eyes is darker, the jealousy is always there, ”I hate that my woman thinks of another.”

This makes you smile incredulously, “I don't think of another man, Jimin, you are my man” you clarify with your hands on your hips, you see him melt a little as a sad smile finally comes to light.

Oh.

He means to say...

“You think about the things this man says,” he points out to you, ”But it's all bullshit, stop this guilt, it's killing me.”

Tears accumulate between your eyelashes, you blink quickly to chase them away.

“But it's true, I did-I almost killed you,” your lips tremble, Jimin instantly notices.

He doesn't like to resume the before, it disturbs him. But he has to if he wants to calm you down somehow.

“And before you tried to kill me, I hurt you willingly,” he emphasizes the last word with a grimace of contempt, to himself, “I pushed you to the limit and at that moment I liked it.”

Jimin never hid his darkness, he promised to love and respect you after, but it was not so before.

It was hell, just thinking about it leaves you paralyzed, the memories of pain are suffocating. Those of the pleasure you did not accept but yearned for are even more so.

Still, you shake your head, whichever way you look at it, you feel guilty.

“You were drunk; you didn't really want to” you try to justify him.

“I was drunk because I was fucking pissed, pissed at you,” the man points out to you, now bleary-eyed.

He would never hurt you now, in the after.

Right?

“You can justify me, but not yourself?” the pain in his voice leaves you stunned and pained, the shadows of your past are dense and heavy, Hoseok wallows among them, you think angrily.

But Jimin doesn't feel the same way, the problem is not Hoseok, he knows that very well.

You two still haven't gotten over the before, that's what reinforces the pain.

“I can't accept what I did, because I was never this” you were never a monster, no need to say that, Jimin already understood, “But I acted like one, you at least do it for a living.”

The man shakes his head, “I did it out of anger, and anger led to making my hate-based reality also a job” for a moment he sees the exhausted little boy collapsing at Seokjin's feet again and accepts his offer.

He will not deny it, it was the best choice ever, even if the circumstances that led him to meet you were terrible.

But he doesn't regret his love; he could let you go, but he won't.

He is too involved with you, you are too involved with him, you are a family now, in the after.

He just wants to take that weight off your shoulders crushing you. Even though it will hurt both of you.

“Come here, babe,” he invites you, moving a hand to draw you to him.

It doesn't have to happen again, you find yourself already sitting on the bed by his side, it was instinctive, the need for him overwhelming.

“I'm sorry,” you whisper in a choked voice, truly sorry for the dark thoughts you are giving him while he is in a pitiful condition.

“Straddle me,” he says bluntly, squinting your eyes.

“But... are you crazy? Jungkook finished with the stitches not even twenty minutes ago, I could hurt you, the wound is fresh!” you protest with your chest heaving up and down rhythmically, you cannot deny that the request tickled you.

But Jimin grabs you by the hips and intimates you to do as he told you, “Ride me, Y/N” his voice sounds sensual and needy, a giddy feeling tightens in your lower belly.

You lick your lips lifting yourself up on Jimin, surround his hips with your thighs, the robe opens over them and let Jimin look at your soft skin with desire. He has stopped shaking, you notice.

Paying attention to his wound, he opens the robe over your chest as well and slowly pulls down the thin straps of your nightgown, the man's eyes darken at the seductive sight of your delicate breasts and already turgid nipples, he would have gladly spent the evening another way if a half-dead bastard hadn't stabbed him out of spite, you'd be under him crying and moaning in pleasure, instead he has to settle for that position.

But he can always make up for it somehow, right now - in your after - he thinks, closing his plump lips around a stiff, rosy tip that asked for nothing more, the sensation of his wet tongue playing with your breasts makes you hold your breath, your clitoris throbbing and your entrance moistening, already ready to receive him in all his tantalizing thickness.

A dusting of pink colors your cheeks, Jimin loves your sensitivity, you could come just like that.

Your husband licks a streak of saliva down the column of your neck, you tremble as he finally reaches your lips before imprisoning them in a fiery and lively kiss, the sensual and soft entwinement of your tongues makes your thighs wiggle against his skin, you clench his legs and Jimin lays one of his hands on your hip and thrusts toward you, you mew meekly feeling the thick tip of his cock pressing against your panty-covered entrance.

Ignoring the glowing twinges in his side, Jimin sensually moves his pelvis against your pussy, playing with the tip of tongue, which grasps and tickles yours. You could really cum exactly that way and it would still be sublime and overwhelming, but Jimin sneaks his other hand inside your panties and puts some pressure with one finger on your swollen, taut clit, circles around it mischievously and then presses again, making it throb repeatedly and to his liking.

You are forced to separate from his wonderful mouth to catch your breath, narrowing your eyes at the bite he leaves on your neck, before gently sucking on the same spot. You don't doubt that there will be a bruise when you wake up, but it's a pain so pleasurable that your juices flows from your slit shamefully, you know it when you lower your eyes and notice the wet spot spreading across his pajama pants, at the height of his cock that continues to rock against you.

He continues to seduce you with his mouth until the first contractions of orgasm leave you breathless.

“Oh God... Jimin... I'm close,” you whisper in a shrill tone, your eyes watery with pleasure.

Jimin stops the movements of his pelvis, and before you can beg him to continue, he clamps his teeth on one of your nipples, flicking it repeatedly with the tip of his tongue, and penetrates you with his middle and ring fingers, leaving his thumb to stimulate your contracted clitoris mercilessly.

The urgency of your pleasure is like an electric shock, your walls sucking his fingers instantly into their silky softness, vibrating softly as they are penetrated and every single sensitive and receptive point stimulated, the orgasm shooting powerful and fast, you haven't even given him time to get to the last thrust, you come with raging shivers all over your body.

Just as you open your mouth to scream out all your pleasure, the hand Jimin was holding on your thigh goes up to your neck, his fingers tightening around it, but there is something strange about it.

It's not just erotic pressure, the fingers clench, so much, too much.

You open your eyes wide, searching for a miserable trickle of air, you try to tell Jimin with your eyes that you can't breathe, that he is hurting you, you even dig your nails into his arm, but nothing. Jimin's gaze is distant, remains intensely focused on you and doesn't seem to want to let go, fear and agitation blind you, you need oxygen as soon as possible, and eventually your brain shuts down and your body's response kicks in.

You strike Jimin in the face several times, heedless of his reddening skin, scratch his chest bloody, almost reopen the wound and fill him with fists. He accepts every single blow you give him in silence, because the feeling of your pulse desperately running under his fingers disgusts him, repulses him, but it must be so or you will never understand. When you try to grab him in your turn by the neck, to do the exact same thing to him, he finally releases you and you both regain air.

But for you the coming of air is painful, terrible, you take in so much that you can't really breathe and you choke, beginning to cough. You rise from him in shock, but you collapse to the ground with your head spinning and your peripheral vision almost completely obscured, your ears ringing and you are unable to think. You feel only shock, but also much, too much anger.

You thought the before was over, that the after was only full of love, you do not understand and when he reaches out to embrace you, your body instinctively rejects his touch.

Your still-dull mind loves him, your all too reactive body rejects him because of the danger, you are confused, you can only rely on instinct, which tells you to run away and get to safety.

Despite everything, Jimin comes back to embrace you and this time he does not accept your rejection, your body trembles in response, and when your mind finally manages to generate a thought, you can only ask…

“Why?” you cry, pressing your forehead to the floor, “Why did you do that?”

You touch your neck, it hurts, just as your lungs hurt. It was just horrible, why did he do such a thing? He said that... he said that...

“Because I love you,” he whispers miserably, "And that was the only way to make you understand," his voice sounds strange, as if trying to hold back sobs.

“I love you,” “The only way,” “To make you understand.”

You let him embrace you without trying to push him away anymore, but the terror is still there. It flows through your skin like a raging river.

“Now tell me, did you hit me because you wanted to or because it was your body reacting to what I was doing to you?” he asks softly in your ear, staring motionless at an undefined spot in the room.

Now you understand, he used sex to distract you and the threat of death to remind you of the danger and fear of that day.

You don't die from violent anal intercourse, but you die little by little inside if it is repeated day after day. Your mind had not held, your body had rebelled against that fate.

It was instinct, survival instinct.

“I didn't mean to do it... hit you I mean,” you sob, his lips brushing one cheek gently, as if to soothe you.

“You are not a monster, my love,” he whispers, remaining silent a few moments before resuming, “I am the monster” there is still self-loathing in his words, with the tip of his nose he brushes the marks of his fingers on your neck.

You know he's sorry, but you also know he won't regret it, not if it helped you understand.

You are not a monster, you just reacted to what was done to you, your mind and body were broken. Your mind more than your body.

You forgave Jimin and you will surely forgive him even now, in the after, because he helped you understand, understanding was the last step to forgiving yourself as well.

The shadows are less dense and Hoseok no longer wallows among them.

It is Jimin's words that matter, not Hoseok's.

Hoseok hates you and would do anything to kill you, whether physically or psychologically, it matters little.

Jimin loves you and would do anything for your welfare, even pass as a villain in an effort to help you understand.

Remember what you thought when Jimin confessed after saving you.

It is a sick love, but one you need to feel safe.

And you don't regrets anything.

“Jimin?” you call out to him, get a murmur in response, “Thank you.”

He kisses the fingers of your hand, some of them stained with his blood, but he regrets nothing.

“You are the most precious thing I have, Y/N,” he confesses, ”Hurting you disgusts me, though in this case it was necessary, forgive me.”

Overflowing with sincerity, you finally relax, “I have already forgiven you,” you reply.

Jimin cannot block the emotion he feels, he kisses you in your soft, fragrant hair, he knows he does not deserve it, but you are his whole world, “Thank you.”