Yoongi Talking About Turning 30 (trans. Cr.btstranslation_ And Tteokminnie)

yoongi talking about turning 30 (trans. cr.btstranslation_ and tteokminnie)

Things Bts has said that sound like incorrect quotes but it’s 100% organic. Whether you like Bts or not, these are funny you are welcome to enjoy.

back-burner | 01

sometimes you felt like you were the back-burner of a two-decade-long friendship. how could you ever compete?

PAIRING. min yoongi x reader

GENRE. sister's best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, sorta frenemies?to lovers!au, angst, *slow burn*, smut, fluff

WARNINGS. one-sided pining (?), longing, sibling jealousy, alcohol consumption, drunk rambling

WORDS. 2.8k

NOTE. hey ya'll!!! sorry for being a lil MIA 😓 things have gotten super busy recently but I managed to whip out a lil wip and plan for a lil drabble series hehe. I'll probably add the tags along the way so it's hard to say where this will go lol but I hope you enjoy!!

unedited :-( !!!!

back-burner masterlist | next chapter

"You're staring again."

Jeon Jungkook is a lot of things. Capable, talented, your self-proclaimed best friend, a multi-faceted nursing student, and handsome. What he wasn't, however, was helpful.

"Wow, thank you for letting me know. It's as if these aren't my own eyes that are doing said staring you speak off," you snap sarcastically, tipping the last bit of vodka and rum down your throat as you wince at the burn.

"That smart-ass mouth isn't going to shift reality," he retorts, snatching your glass away as you glare at him.

"Haven't you heard of manifestation? Speak it into existence, they say," you babble on, mumbling to yourself as you slump further down the plush leather seats.

The gala was beautiful, as usual. Rich and accomplished people alike were mingling with one another while their charming smiles reflected off marble surfaces to highlight their apparent brightness. It was both blinding and exhausting to constantly be surrounded by such greatness, especially to a point where people approached you thinking that you were equally as capable of it.

You weren't, and you don't think you'd ever be.

"Hm, sure." Jungkook rolls his eyes at you dismissively before he considers your words with his eyes looking upwards thoughtfully. "Maybe if you actually acknowledged your feelings then something could happen."

You scowl, drowning yourself lower to a point where your face is nearly squashed under the weight of your shoulders, your face morphed into an expression that's commonplace for you. You don't acknowledge the disapproving stares that a few of these socialites give you when they pass you, affronted to witness a woman like yourself allow herself to look as loose-ended as you were.

"Who says I'm not acknowledging it?"

"No one," Jungkook blinks before he's turning to where your line of vision ends, and you're bitterly reminded of what he was referring to when your eyes settle on them once more. "But the fact Yoongi's clinking glasses with Haerin in hand says something."

"So?" you snap, shifting back into a comfortable position before you're waving a waiter down for more booze. "They can do whatever they want."

"And if that's each other?" Jungkook asks with a raised brow.

You stomp on his foot as he yelps, sending you a lethal glare while you return his gesture with a sickly plastic smile. You don't bother listening when Jungkook begins muttering curses under his breath, and neither do you care about Yoongi or Haerin and how beautiful they looked together. Or how your heart was never with you when he was around, always two steps further than where it should've been. No. You don't care.

Jungkook pushes himself off the seat before shooting you one last once-over accompanied with a deep sigh before he's retreating to where the rest of his peers lay. You had no qualms of him leaving you, in fact, you appreciated the space. You rather be alone now, anyway.

"Another vodka and rum, please," you request from the waiter that bends ever so slightly to catch your order.

"Again, Miss ____?"

You don't appreciate the look of surprise on the waiter's face. You don't even remember if you've ordered from him previously, but the fact that he's sending you very judgemental eyes tell you enough; and your booze-hazed mind sends your mouth running before you can think of giving the man a break.

"Listen, Steve, my father didn't rent out this entire venue for you to micromanage my drinking habits, okay?" Your eyes narrow at him while his eyes widen.

"No Miss, that's not what—"

"Not what you meant?" you snort, "Come on. I've heard better. Just give me my damn alcohol and—!"

"Sorry, Steve." A voice interrupts apologetically as you recognise it immediately. Your body tingles with warmth at the low baritone of your newly joined guest, but you're still a little too drunk to comprehend it. "I'll take care of her."

Steve leaves, bowing apologetically before shooting you an annoyed expression that you think was meant to be kept to himself. You're just about to climb out of your seat to give him a piece of your mind before a large hand wraps around your waist to drag you back to your seat.

"What the—?"

"Having fun?" When you look up, Yoongi's shooting you an amused smile. It's nothing ostentatious, but it's Yoongi. A little cold but genuine nevertheless. You hate that despite your alcohol-fueled mind, your heart still flutters.

"Go away, Yoongi," you grumble.

"Can't do," he chuckles before he's releasing his grip around you.

You scoff. "Go away. I don't need you micromanaging me either."

"Not micromanaging," he hums, right as he occupies the vacant seat that Jungkook's left. "I care about your liver."

"Do you," you sneer.

"Matter of fact, I do. And so do your parents so I'm doing them a favour by not giving them a heart attack when they find out you're hospitalised because you had alcohol poisoning," he says pointedly as you scowl, "Did you even eat?"

"Yes," you lie.

"An entré from two hours ago doesn't count," he deadpans.

You sigh before you're glaring at him through your drunken eyes.

Yoongi doesn't look mad. You don't think he's capable of being anything but the tempered person he was. Rather, he looks amused, as if your clear distaste for his assistance humoured him than annoyed him like any other person. But Yoongi wasn't like everyone else. You disliked people in general and you didn't like Yoongi.

And unfortunately for your stupid, puny heart, it was the exact opposite of what you felt.

"Come on," he urges you with an extended hand, "You got to eat."

"Who are you, my dad?" you groan.

Yoongi levels you with an unimpressed look before he's making an effort to wrap his palm around your arm himself. You shiver at the contact, distracting yourself from the way your heart stammers in your chest to shoot a menacing glare at the man before you.

"No, I'm your friend and I care about you," he says easily before he's bringing you up with him when he stands up.

You yelp, dizzy on your feet as you stumble into his chest. Yoongi already has his arms extended, prepared for your inebriated stance when his palms rest on your waist to balance you out. He's warm. Cosy like your favourite blanket while all you wanted to do was snuggle deeper into his embrace. But when you peer up at him and see his concerned stare, one that was undoubtedly platonic, you feel yourself scowling at the harsh reality check.

"Aren't you busy?" you sneer bitterly, cocking your head to the side from where you remembered him and Haerin engaged in a rather amorous discussion.

"With your sister?" he raises a brow, "Your father called her over."

You scoff.

Of course. The only reason he was here and the only reason he ever spoke to you was that your sister wasn't available. It was always as if you were the second option, a convenient emblem to gravitate towards when he couldn't get the real thing. It was a bitter thought, that you only ever knew of Yoongi because of Haerin.

You would never be anything more than what you currently were to him.

Yoongi was older than you, as old as your older sister and that meant you watched him graduate before you, get his drivers license before you, attend prom before you. All of the things that you considered milestones in your life. And the worst part was that he did it all with Haerin by his side. The proof of their blooming friendship was there in the pictures of her room, on her social media pages and the friendly relations that both your families had with each other.

You first met Yoongi after a particularly strenuous day in middle school. You were just getting to know the concept of teenage angst and responsibilities when you came back home, exhausted from the load of homework your teachers had assigned you right before your final exams.

Haerin was already at the dinner table at that time, caught up in her senior assignments while she typed away on her laptop.

That time, Yoongi appeared.

You remember stopping in your tracks when you spotted the new guest, dark fringe covering his forehead while a beanie rested on his head. He had a large hoodie on that covered his rather narrow build, but he was still taller than you and your sister. You didn't know who he was, but you weren't blind. He was gorgeous. The prettiest boy you've ever seen and you befriended enough band kids throughout your life at that point.

When Haerin notices you awkwardly hovering by the door, only does she offer you a small smile as a greeting.

"Hey." It's friendly enough, but when she looks over to Yoongi, then to you, you gulp. "This is Yoongi. We're working on a project together."

When Yoongi finally looks up, his eyes are warm and friendly, but they hold a rather cold edge to them. One that sends a shudder down your spine as you quickly blurt out an introduction of your own before you're scampering off to your room.

From then on, the rest was history.

You and Yoongi grew closer the more Haerin and his friendship bloomed. What started as a group project eventually blossomed into a friendship that they labelled as 'forever'. Yoongi was always kind to you, offered to drop you off places, gave you advice when you were the one dealing with senioritis; explained 'adult' concepts like taxes and insurance to you when you were curious; fixed the engine in your car for you when it failed you in the middle of nowhere, and he even was the one that accompanied you to get your wisdom teeth extracted.

Yoongi wasn't just Haerin's best friend, but yours too. The difference was that the two of them were clearly more than that while you were forced to watch.

So when you return back to reality, eyes slightly unfocused when they rest on Yoongi's face, you're disgruntled in the reminder of where you stood, and who you were to him.

"Of course," you say with an eye-roll before you're pushing yourself off of him, "Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

Yoongi frowns at your stubbornness, especially when your words don't ring true when you take a shaky step away from him, ready to establish distance. Your head still spins but you rather get away from everything when you were loose-lipped than have Yoongi hold his friendship with Haerin over your head like a silent victory.

"Clearly not," he sounds displeased when his hand wraps around your bicep to turn around, "You're drunk."

"And you're being annoying," you snap, "Just—go—back."

You emphasise your points by shoving your finger into his chest, and now when your rage clears your mind ever so slightly, you nearly groan at how devastatingly handsome he looks tonight.

Suits complimented Yoongi's physique beautifully. Especially ones where his dress shirt was tucked in his pants, paired with a silver-toned belt that cinched his waist. The goddamn YSL black blazer that drapes over his shoulder only makes him broader, and you curse the Gods above for making him frequent the gym more recently.

"Don't be stubborn," he sighs, tightening his grip on your bicep.

"Don't be pushy," you throw your words back, huffing while you scowl at him.

"You're drunk," he reminds you gruffly, "Your sister would kill me if I let you go off like this."

And there it was.

You shove his grip off you with as much force as you can as you seethe. Yoongi's eyes widen at your blatant display of strength, especially when your eyes are livid when they rest on his stunned expression.

"Of course you're doing this for Haerin," you scoff bitterly while Yoongi just looks confused. "Guess what, Yoongi? I don't want you doing shit for me because you feel obliged to my sister to take care of her little sister. I'm responsible for myself and not for this hero complex you have, or if you want to impress her. Go fuck yourself and leave me alone."

"What are you saying," he says levelly, unimpressed.

This is the first time you've seen Yoongi look rather ... displeased.

Sure, he's looked annoyed before. He was only human. But this expression on Yoongi looks nearly blazing, and if you were any soberer, you'd drop it. But you weren't, and your mouth moves at its own accord.

"What I'm saying is that you have your head so far up her ass that you don't see anything in front of you!" you exasperate, throwing your hands up in the air. You're mildly aware that your voice is rising and that a few other people were beginning to take notice of your developing argument with Yoongi.

"Listen, let me take you home and—"

You interrupt him with a deprecating laugh, mostly to yourself as you shake your head in disappointment.

"Are you stupid? Do you not know how to take no for an answer?" you ask in disbelief, and Yoongi actually glares at you at your clear jibe at him.

"____, don't test me," he warns.

You snort, waving him off just as you see Jungkook enter your peripheral. Your friend looks rather alarmed and he's making his way over in a hurry, but you're quick with your words.

"Ooh. I'm so scared," you pout, peering up at him through your eyelashes before you're rolling your eyes at Yoongi's stone-faced expression. "Fuck off, Yoongi. Go back to my sister because that's clearly where you belong."

"____—" you hear Jungkook approach you with worry, voice a pitched higher before he's attempting to intercept your and Yoongi's conversation.

"I can deal with it," Yoongi says bluntly.

"Hyung, she's drunk and she's not in her—"

"Oh, I know. But whatever she wants to say to me she can say it to my face," Yoongi laughs tightly before you're scoffing at him.

Jungkook looks panicked, eyes darting in-between the both of you as you find power in driving Yoongi up the wall. Especially when this is the first time you've ever seen him anything less than composed.

"Really? Let me start, then," you smile plastically.

"Do enlighten me," Yoongi blinks.

"Guys I think—"

"You're an annoying asshole," you sneer, poking his chest while your eyes stay trained on his unchanging expression. "You act like you care about me when all you really care about is making yourself look like a good man in front of my sister."

"You're drunk—!" Jungkook hisses, squeezing your shoulder in warning as you drunkenly shove his hand off of you.

Yoongi remains blank in his face and that only irks you even more.

"You always come in and rescue me when you think I need saving but you don't care if I get into trouble! You never do! All the shit you do is cause—cause you want to fuck my sister, want to be this big macho saviour—"

"Okay, that's enough," Jungkook snaps, clamping a mouth over your mouth as you thrash in his hold.

The look on Yoongi's face is menacing. Your eyes widen when you note that it's terrifying that he doesn't move an inch, not even when his eyes slowly drift onto Jungkook's figure attempting to silence your muffled shouts under his palm.

People are staring, but you couldn't care less. Not when Yoongi raises one lone brow that has you shuddering.

"Let her go, Jungkook."

Jungkook freezes, and you take that moment of weakness to bite his hand as he yelps and retreats his palm.

"Ha! See? You're trying to embody this alpha male character," you snort as you feel Jungkook melt helplessly behind you.

"Am I," Yoongi blinks, unamused.

"Duh," you say obviously before rolling your eyes. "You know what. Just fuck right out of here and leave me alone. Let me know if you get into my sister's pants for what you did to me, yeah?"

"Follow me."

Jungkook freezes. You freeze.

And it's all because Yoongi has never sounded like that before.

Like he's threatening you.

"W-What?" you stammer, eyes rapidly blinking.

"We're going to talk," he says calmly, taking a deep breath before he's turning on his feet.

His back is turned to you when you gawk at him. "W-What makes you think I'm going to listen to you?"

Yoongi stops for just a beat, hands stuffed in his pockets when the silence quite literally makes your throat dry.

"Because ..." he says in a low tone as you feel your breath hitch, "The shit I'm going to say and do to you isn't going to be in front of an audience."

He throws you a cold look over your shoulder as you nearly cower at his gaze alone.

When he strides forward, you feel compelled to follow. And you hate that your mind decides that you are.

When you turn to Jungkook, he's as pale as you are, but all he can offer is a weak pat to your shoulder.

"Good fucking luck."

Big Bad Wolf | KNJ (M)

🔴 Summary: Your mom has always warned you not to venture too deep into the forest, for legend has it, in it lives vicious, man eating wolves. You’ve always listened to her words until one day when your love of animals gets the better of you and you end up in the woods, chasing after a wounded cat. When you stumble across a secluded cottage in the middle of the forest and meet one of these “Big Bad Wolves,” you learn that maybe not everything is as it seems.

🔴 Pairing: Wolf Shapeshifter!Namjoon x Human Female!Reader

🔴 Genre/AU: Angst, fluff, smut, fantasy, strangers to lovers

🔴 Rating: 18+ | R

🔴 Warnings: profanity, non-descriptive talk of murder, mention of guns/a gunshot wound, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, knotting, marking

🔴 Words: 19.7k 🥴

🔴 Note: It’s finally here - my fic for @hobeemin​’s Bangtan Grimm Event!! The fairytale my fic is inspired by is Little Red Riding Hood. Full disclosure here, this is my first half human/half animal fic so to anyone that reads this that is much more seasoned with hybrid-esque fics, it’s not the same as others you probably have read lol. 

Thank you soooo much to @lavienjin​ for this amazing banner!! ❤️❤️ ENORMOUS thank you to @playmetheclassics​ for literally being my hero and beta reading this chonker of a fic in a few hours after I finished it 🥰🥰

This fic has been a journey to say the least. Writer’s block has had me in an absolute chokehold these past few months, but I’m so glad I was able to finally finish this! Please enjoy my longest fic to date 😂💖

Keep reading

Love this!! Need to know what happens next omg thanks a lot for this one!💗💗

most undesirable || (M)

Spring has sprung and engagement is on the forefront of all of Regency London's young ladies' minds. All except for yours, of course– the Queen's niece who a certain notorious author has named the Ton's most undesirable.

pairing: lord!jungkook x lady!reader

word count: 5k

genre: BRIDGERTON AU, regency era, angst, eventual smut

warnings: cocaine usage (not oc or jk), oc has dead parents

A/N: this fic was commissioned by the lovely Baby. As per her request, it features me and our beloved izzy! please do let me know if you would like a part two, i have big plans for whats to come next ;)

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PART ONE **UNEDITED**

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A word of profanity left your painted lips as the outsoles of your lace-up boots danced across the limestone floor of the palace, making haste but not in a manner that was unbecoming, your head held high despite your mood running low.

You reached the door of Her Majesty's room with purpose, hands fiddling with the satin of your dress to make sure it covered your shoes. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate the influx of garments your dear aunt had gifted you upon your arrival. Still, the heels Her Majesty had deemed in style this season were particularly uncomfortable. She would no doubt grow sour to see you parading in countryside shoes in her home.

"Your highness." One of the oldest guards snickered, his eyes flicking towards you knowingly as he and another guard moved to open the grand doors to their Queen's private quarters.

You crunched your nose, "Shh." 

Of course, the guards had already read the paper… Rotten gossips.

Willing a smile onto your face, you were let into the room. Your aunt sat at her sofa, the furniture floral in design, its fabric dyed a luxurious red. Between her hands were the source of your dismay, the newest Lady Whistledown papers fresh off the press. 

You hadn't had the pleasure of reading this week's issue personally, but word traveled outrageously fast in the palace; both maids and guards suckers for a good scandal. You knew quite intimately the matter of its content as you were the matter of its content.

"Ah. Niece. There you are.” The Queen called you over, setting the paper down beside her unceremoniously.

You walked closer stiffly, "Aunt Charlotte, you wished to speak to me?"

"You know I adore you, don't you? You're like a breath of fresh air in this miserably dull palace."

Your once tense shoulders relaxed instantly, taking comfort in knowing she hadn't called you in for a scolding.

"It is you that lights up every room you enter, your Majesty." You bowed your head slightly, knowing well that flattery was your best line of defense should the tides change against you. 

"I do, don't I?" She agreed with a grin, before it fell off her face suddenly. "Sorry– whatever were we talking about?"

"Um–"

"Ah, yes! Well, there's no point mincing words. I'm sure you've seen it by now. I mean, can you believe it? That sorrowful sow Whistledown attempting to soil the reputation of my bloodline with such a frivolous title as… as…" She snapped her fingers, forgetting the word she was looking for.

The sound echoed throughout her enormous chambers, currently barren as your aunt was in the process of renovating.

"Ice Princess." You reminded her quietly. She tutted her tongue in recognition.

"How tactless, how tasteless! It is me who sets reputations. Not her. No, no, this simply won't do."

You watched in silence as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Remind me, darling. Why weren't you at the Danbury Ball?"

You shifted, thinking back on the excuse you had given her, "I was… ill."

It was a lie, of course. You had been feeling quite well actually when notice of the ball came 'round. But could anyone fault you? Ballrooms and gowns weren't exactly your area of expertise.

Growing up, your mother and your aunt couldn't be more different; you often heard stories of the two sisters butting heads from your grandfather. One sister went on to marry the king of England, the other a humble traveling merchant. One stood throne in England; the other lived simply in France's countryside. Despite their differences, it was no secret that your aunt loved her older sister dearly, writing to her often in hopes of convincing her to come move to England. When she learned that your mother was with child, she even went as far as to purchase land for her sister and soon to be niece.

But your mother was every bit as stubborn as she was kind. She loved her husband and the life she had built with him, staying by his side until she passed last year. Your poor father was grief-stricken; by eight months, the stress on his heart had become too much, dying nearly a year after your mother.

It was your aunt who had reached out first, offering her deepest condolences and, far more noticeably, all the money you could ever need and your very own suite in the palace.

You weren't exactly sure why you had agreed to such a lucrative proposal. You, much like your mother, adored the countryside and the small town you grew up in. And perhaps that was why you agreed, not to move in, but instead to visit. She was family, after all, something you didn't have very much of left, though you have since come to know of a cousin Friedrich, recently married to an Edwina Sharma that your aunt raved on and on about.

In the week you had been here, you had come to know far more about British aristocracy than you ever wished to know, entirely out of your element amidst the corsets and personal maids. Only recently had you managed to lower your number of attending maids to two, a far cry from the original seven you were greeted with.

You did your best to fit in, but you were no fool. You knew nothing of soireés– or how to dance for that matter, so the moment your aunt spoke of a ball, you knew you had to conjure up some excuse as to why you woefully must decline.

"Exactly! For heaven's sake, you were ill. How dare Whistledown suggest otherwise." She gestured at the staff in the room as though they were her audience.

The sound of the Queen's chamber doors being thrown stole the attention of everyone in the room. Unsurprising to you, two young maids barreling in, tripping on each other.

"S-Sorry, Your Majesty!" The blonde stuttered out.

The brunette nodded in agreement, "Our apologies, Your Majesty. We didn't know where her highness had gone–"

"–We came running as soon as we realized she had snuck off."

Isabella and Roselia. Of course. Your two personal maids. You had only just managed to shake them from your trail when you heard the news that the Queen had sent for you. You should have figured they'd inevitably catch up with you.

They were pleasant enough company, the duo were quite funny, actually, but the constant shadowing was something you learned you rather detested. You understood they were under strict orders by the Queen to ensure your every need was attended to but still… surely even nobility understood the concept of wanting to have a moment alone?

"Oh— Are we interrupting something?" Roselia's cheeks went pink, eyes running over the room as she took note of the Queen's pursed mouth. "We'll just… we can wait outside actually."

"Outside, right! We'll be just outside." Isabella chimed in, heading bowing as the brunette maid yanked her back and out of the room.

"Sorry for the intrusion!"

You stifled a snicker, watching as the young maids slipped back out of the Queen's chambers, shutting the grand doors as they went. Your aunt merely rolled her eyes at the bumbling maids.

Suddenly, her Majesty sniffed, and it was as if a switch had been flipped. All her maids ran towards her, offering handkerchiefs as if their life depended on it. You nearly laughed at such a ridiculous display of servitude, but seeing as you had spent well over a week in the palace, you had become accustomed to such theatrics.

"Whistledown is right about one thing, you know." Queen Charlotte said as her nose was blotted at. "Everyone needs to meet you. And meet you they shall."

In surprise, you pulled your eyes from the doting maids, "They shall?"

"Certainly. We shall have a ball. Here in the palace, of course."

You felt your stomach plummet into your leather-bound boots, your aunt's words echoing.

"All of London's marriage-minded ladies and lords are to be invited. We'll show Whistledown just how splendid you are. Oh! How glorious if you were to find a suitor! That certainly would put to rest that frozen title once and for all."

Just faintly, you could make out the sound of white noise buzzing, mixing with the words the Queen spoke. Anxiety flooded you, deafening your brain's attempts to self-soothe and rationalize that this wasn't the catastrophe you felt it was.

"Aunt Charlotte," you tried to swallow, but your mouth felt stripped of all moisture, "I… I'm not sure if that is wise–"

But it was as if she hadn't heard you, rambling on as if you hadn't objected, "I'll be arranging for etiquette and dance lessons since my beloved sister undoubtedly failed to do the same for you. Are you free this afternoon, darling?"

You stood for a moment, no doubt looking foolish as you struggled to get your words out, "I… I suppose I am…"

"Dear, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Are you feeling well?" The Queen cocked her head at you, eyes sizing you up with concern.

"I… I am not feeling my best." You admitted.

"That's the second time now. Growing up in the countryside— all that sun and dirt— it's made you weak of constitution. Hm. Very well. We'll wait until you're feeling better. In the meantime, I will begin planning!"

You averted your eyes politely as she bent over suddenly, inhaling a white powder off her tea tray through a nostril. She sat up with an exhale, eyes fluttering open with a smile.

"Oh, how I love having you come to stay in the palace for a change. I'm terribly bored these days, you know." She sighed. "Did you care to assist me with planning?"

Despite how you felt seconds from unearthing your already digested lunch, you managed an apologetic smile, "I'm not sure I'd be of much help. I'm afraid I've never hosted a party before."

"Yes, my dearly departed sister never cared much for such things, did she? Such a shame she raised you out of the aristocracy." She said.

A furrow found your brow.

"You're wrong, you know." You disagreed before you could think to hold your tongue. And just like that you had become a magnet, all eyes in the room snapping towards your frame.

"Oh? About?" The Queen offered you a pointed look.

"About the way I was raised. I wouldn't change a thing about it. My mother didn't fail me… she loved me. I had a mother and father who loved me. That was worth more to me than any new dress could ever." You said, gesturing to the gifted garment you adorned today, with perhaps a touch more spite than you should've.

Of two things those in the palace knew to be true. One— Her Majesty was not wrong. Ever. Her opinion was the first to seek and the only to matter. Anyone was someone because she said so, whether explicitly or subtly.

And two— her love for her niece ran deeper than even she anticipated, as watching you stand before her defiantly didn't fill her with rage as the staff in the room assumed, but rather with melancholy. 

You looked like your mother just then. It seemed you reminded her of her sister more and more as the days rolled by.

"Your mother would be pleased to hear that." She merely replied, wondering if her sister might be looking down on you both at this moment. At her words, your entire demeanor softened.

"Very well. Off you go." Your Queen sniffed, a handkerchief at her nose within seconds.

Bowing, you moved to exit the room.

"And niece," she called one last time, causing you to turn around, "must you wear such unsightly footwear under your dress?"

You felt your face grow hot, muttering a quiet apology before exiting the room altogether.

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"Chin up, darling." Your aunt reminded you.

You followed her instructions coolly, hoping you didn't look nearly as nervous as you felt.

It was undoubtedly a soirée for the books; every square inch of the ballroom was gilded in gold, the chandeliers' gleam diffusing luxuriously as it bounced around the room.

Eligible men and women of all shapes and sizes had come from far and wide, donned in their absolute best; every possible hue of pink, blue and purple on display for Her Majesty. The ballroom looked akin to the royal grounds, you thought; the cool-toned dresses reminding you of upside-down bellflowers, floating across the marble floor in a synchronized dance.

Flocks of the most noticeable families and town figures had swarmed their way to the royal estate, drowning themselves in champagne as corseted woman fluttered their eyes at the Ton's lords.

But despite their poised smiles, neither woman nor man spared you more than a cautious glance and courteous bow. As the hours ticked by, you couldn't help but feel increasingly uneasy. Was it fear of Her Majesty sitting beside you that kept them away from you? Or was it the less than auspicious picture a certain faceless author had painted for them about you?

"It's rather hot in here, wouldn't you say?" The Queen spoke to you suddenly, looking larger than life from her magnificent throne.

"I suppose." You agreed absentmindedly, far too occupied with how a group of ladies' eyes flickered your way.

She continued, "Perhaps some champagne will cool you down. Why don't you fetch yourself a glass, dear?"

The meaning behind her words was clear. Go. Socialize.

"A splendid idea." You concurred.

Granting yourself one final shaky breath, you straightened up, walking towards the table where drinks were being freshly poured.

"What shall it be, my lady?" A servant greeted you politely as you reached it.

"A glass of champagne, please." You smiled, grateful for a friendly face, perhaps the first of the night.

The servant nodded, moving to open a new bottle.

"She doesn't even hold a title, you know. That Ice Princess."

You blinked, growing still as your ears caught wind of a conversation between party goers not far from you.

"But she's the Queen's niece?"

A sinking feeling washed over you, the kind that made all the other noise in the room disappear. You flirted briefly with abandoning your spot in the room altogether, but the bubbling pour of golden liquid into a glass kept you still. You thanked the servant with a halfhearted smile.

Bringing the glass to your mouth, you turned an ear to the three gossiping ladies, careful to avoid their gaze.

"Word has it her mother married out of the aristocracy." One of them babbled, pulling noises of disbelief from the others.

"Pity. Though, I suppose that explains the appalling way she walks in heels. You'd think she grew hooves from all that time she spent in the countryside." Another prattled. Stifled giggles rang around the group like they were all in some sort of secret, one that wasn't theirs to know. "Can you believe she thinks herself better than us?"

"One more glass, if you please." You asked the same servant, quickly making your way back to the Queen, now with a glass in either hand.

You approached her wordlessly, merely offering her a glass.

"Ah." She accepted the drink eagerly, and for a moment, there was silence, the two family members enjoying the cool velvety acidity of what was no doubt costly champagne.

"It appears the Ton thinks poorly of me." You blurted out.

You felt rather foolish telling this to your aunt. It wasn't as if you really cared what three cankerous aristocrats thought of you. But who else were you to tell? You knew no one.

Your Aunt Charlotte furrowed her delicately painted brow, "Darling, it'll do you well to realize that this Ton doesn't think. They merely reiterate what they've been told. They don't know you. Never mind what they think they know."

But her words went in one ear and out the other, merely background noise to the way you suddenly felt all eyes on you.

And suddenly, your dress was too tight, the ballroom too small. You felt your breath grow shallow, a sure sign of panic. How may others deemed you the subject of gossip tonight? What else were they saying about you?

"I think I should step out for a moment." You muttered.

"Take your maids with you!"

You were halfway across the room before you could even think to register your aunt's reply. Blinking away your tears, you pushed yourself through the crowd, muttering absentminded apologies as partygoers scoffed in protest.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

How small you felt sitting alone in the palace's rose gardens. You wept on a stone bench, wishing ever so badly that your mother was here, looking back with sorrow at how she used to pull you into her lap whenever you were upset. How she used to wrap her arms around you, and everything seemed better, if even for a moment.

How you missed her. How you missed your father. How you missed your life away from this shining, hollow palace.

But they were gone, and the simple life that awaited you back home was gone. Aunt Charlotte was all the family you had left. Without your parents, your home was gone.

"Oh! My lady… forgive me!"

A soft voice caused you to gasp, turning to face the man that had walked in on your self wallowing.

You were up on your feet in seconds, wiping away at your face. 

"No… no, it is I who should apologize! I'm sorry you had to see me like that." Your cheeks burned.

"See you like what?" The mysterious raven-haired stranger pressed, a note of cheekiness to his tone. "Human? Heaven forbid."

You laughed gently, sniffling away your shame. You knew at once he was no threat to you.

The young lord wasn't exactly sure what had led him to the palace gardens; most of the event seemed to be taking place indoors as the night nipped and chilled unforgivingly. Still, a few stray bodies mingled underneath the string of lights that the palace servants had strung up. He had briefly greeted them, passing through the clouds of cigar smoke and small talk before bounding down limestone stairs.

He had tucked his hands into his pants pockets, sighing as the night's festivities grew quieter the further he slipped away, the crunch of wet grass kissing the underneath of his dress shoes. His mind was heavy with thoughts, hardly noticing where his legs had taken him.

It was the sound of your cries that pulled him from his thoughts and jerked him back to his senses.

He was in the Queen's rose garden; he immediately recognized the vibrant flowers and tall bushes. What he failed to recognize, however, was the weeping girl sitting on a stone bench, a look of embarrassment written plainly on her pretty face as she realized she was not alone.

He was quite handsome, you noticed despite your humiliation. He was younger than most of the lords inside, his face still featuring a certain softness despite his sharp features. His gaze was inherently kind, his warm brown eyes all but beckoning you to lower your guards.

"Lord Jeon.” He introduced himself with a bow, eyes never leaving yours. "Forgive me if I frightened you, my lady. I shall return at once and grant you your privacy."

You sank back down onto the bench, pulling the shawl wrapped around your shoulders closer. Your dress was beautiful— you were beautiful… puffy eyes, smeared makeup and all. He couldn't imagine why a lady like yourself would be weeping in the rose gardens unattended.

"It's alright. I supposed I'm not the only introvert at this party tonight. The garden is big enough for the two of us."

Lord Jeon shrugged, "A bit of fresh air is good for the soul."

You watched cautiously as he walked closer, sitting beside you on the opposite side of the bench. 

"You know… I've been told I'm a decent listener." He said suddenly, brown eyes admiring the roses surrounding you.

You blinked, "Is that so?"

"Well… not explicitly. But I've got two ears, so I'd say I do alright." He teased.

You smiled softly, contemplating how much to reveal to this stranger.

"It's… I suppose I'm just a bit out of my element here." 

"You?" He seemed surprised, a slight chuckle of disbelief accompanying his question.

"You laughed." You raised a brow.

He bit down on his lower lip as if contemplating his following words.

"Well, it's just… I can't imagine someone like you having trouble at these events." He confessed.

For a moment, you wondered what he could mean. Looking down at your lap, you realized he must be referring to your extraordinarily fanciful garments.

"Ah. These clothes were a gift, and this hair— well, none of this is me. Not really. Truly, I don't know why I came." You sighed. 

He nodded, "Beginning to feel that way myself, actually. Most lose interest when they hear my name. I'm a bit of a nobody, it seems."

"Funny. It would appear you and I have the opposite problem." You nearly laughed.

"Uptown girl, are you?"

"I'm afraid I've got a bit of a reputation. And no one cares to know whether it's true or not." You said.

He let out a sigh.

"Terrible soirée full of terrible people. I can't say that doesn't happen here often."

You let his words hang in the night's cold air, your fingers intertwining themselves across your lap.

"Is that all?"

Your head turned to face him, growing warm to find him already looking at you.

"Forgive me, it's just," he continued, "your sadness… it feels heavier than you're letting on."

He watched as your body language changed, suddenly tense as if you had built your walls back up.

He was back up on his feet within seconds, his shoes coming into view by the bottom of your dress as he stood in front of you.

Swallowing down a sob, you allowed yourself to look up at him.

"May I?" He asked, extending a hand out as if wanting yours.

Hesitantly, you gave it to him, assuming you would be ushered back onto your feet. To your surprise, however, he merely flipped your hand over, your palm now facing the night sky.

Your eyes widened as he took a finger and traced a line onto your palm. 

No. Not A line. A letter.

L-O-V-E-R-? 

He wrote into your palm. You stared at your hand, skin still buzzing faintly from where his finger had run across.

His mother used to do such a thing when he was younger and much angrier, often struggling to say the words when something troubled him. He only hoped it would work for you the way he had for him.

Frowning, you shook your head. He wrote once again.

F-A-M-I-L-Y-?

A tear fell from you as if instinctively. You nodded your head, confirming his suspicions. Spurred on by his touch, you moved to grab his hand, flipping it upside down as he had done to yours.

L-O-N-E-L-Y you wrote.

"… I just wish I had a little bit longer with them." You found yourself saying once you had finished.

"No time is enough when it comes to the people you love." He spoke with heart as if referring to his own personal melancholy.

Another tear fell from your eyes as his thumb ran over your palm, not to spell anything but to offer his condolences.

"No. I suppose not." You sniffed, a shiver running over you as a crisp breeze passed the two of you.

He wrote into your palm again.

C-O-L-D-?

You let out a laugh, shrugging dismissively.

"Here." Lord Jeon suddenly peeled his suit jacket off his shoulders. You froze, stunned silent as he gently draped it over your shoulders, a gentle smile on his face.

Your chest tightened, moved by the gesture of kindness. But before you could think to thank him, his warm fingers were at your palm once more.

F-R-I-E-N-D-?

His smile tugged at your heartstrings. You wondered how anyone inside could possibly look down on him. You didn't need to know his name to see that he was kind, a worthy suitor for any marriage-minded aristocrat.

F-R-I-E-N-D. You wrote back.

Happy was the girl who sat on the cement bench of the palace's rose garden, wrapped up warm under the jacket of the first person to show you genuine, unconditional kindness since arriving weeks ago.

The two strangers sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the quiet of company. Neither of you knew the other, but there was comfort in the silhouettes of the adjacent shadows at your feet, knowing that neither had ill intent towards the other.

"Do you ever wonder what it might be like to live in a palace?"

You fell stiff, mute as you turned towards him, watching how he looked over at the illuminated estate. 

"Lonely."

"You think?" He pondered.

"I'm not fond of big empty rooms. They tend to make me feel small." You explained quietly.

"Well, should I ever have a palace, there would be no empty rooms. Every room with music and the sound of children's laughter. I would decree it so."

"Children? And where do you figure you might obtain those?" You chuckled.

"Well, they'd be mine, of course." He grinned lopsidedly.

You grinned back at him. "Then the happiest of children they would be."

You suppose the young lord reminded you somewhat of a child. He was a man by every definition of the word, standing tall and proud, but there was something about the way his large eyes took in the palace that was decidedly childlike. Eyes wide and glimmering with awe.

You watched contently as he suddenly noticed the silver plated container that sat by the leg of the bench; an unopened bottle of champagne sat neatly in a bed of ice, several glasses along side it.

Your dear aunt thought of everything when it came to party planning, you were coming to find out.

"Shall we?" He smirked suggestively.

"I don't see why not." You laughed.

The two of you giggled as he attempted to open the bottle, champagne spilling everywhere. He tried to pour you a glass neatly, but your new friend had no future in bartending, champagne spilling over the glass' edge and onto your fingers.

Sticky but smiling, you brought your glass up, mirroring him.

"A toast." He decided, his own glass now only half full from his carelessness.

"To?" You questioned.

He contemplated for a moment, meeting your inquisitive eyes innocently. A boyish smile broke out across his face.

"To us, of course. Tonight's most undesirables." He declared, making you chuckle.

But before you could touch glasses…

"Your highness!"

Your eyes went wide, your stomach dropping as a certain blond maid came scrambling into the garden.

"Isabella! Please! Just 'my lady' will do." Heat rocketed up your neck, ears no doubt hot to the touch. 

Her hands fell to her knees, clearly out of breath from running around the palace grounds, undoubtedly in search of you.

"My lady, I should advise you to return to the party. Her Majesty the Queen has someone she wants you to meet." She cautioned.

You cursed internally.

"Of course, she does. Give me just a moment then. I'll be over shortly."

The young maid's eyes flickered over to Lord Jeon, cheeks rosy.

"But your highness—"

"Thank you, Isabella." You cut her off curtly. 

The young maid gave you two one more final look over before nodded, pardoning herself with a curtesy.

Hesitantly, you turned back towards Lord Jeon, unsure what to make of the look of disbelief clearly written across his face.

Awkwardly, you brought your glass to your mouth, taking a cautious sip.

"Your highness? You're a princess?" He gawked, eyes still wide. 

"No!" You quipped. "Not… technically?"

The young lord merely blinked at you, his doe eyes telling you everything his mouth wasn't.

You were rambling before you could help yourself.

"M-My mother is the Queen's sister. Technically speaking, she held the title of 'Princess.' Though, I suppose if my mother were born a man then, yes, that would make me a princess— titles are patriarchal in nature, it's all… very complicated, really…" 

You felt like you couldn't take in a deep enough breath, the chilly air now burning your lungs.

"So… not a princess. Just… daughter of a princess." He reiterated, clearly stunned.

You felt a frown form on your face, all your etiquette instructor's reminders of poise and manners slipping from your mind.

"I am the Queen's niece. We shall leave it at that."

The handsome lord had the most fascinated look on his face, eyes locked on the way your jaw twitched, mouth shut rigidly to hold back the slew of word vomit you instinctively felt compelled to let out.

The way he held your eyes – the intensity behind his dark orbs – made you uneasy yet engrossed you all the same.

You bit down on the side of your cheek, "Are you upset that I didn't tell you?"

He shook his head suddenly as if trying to shake off his shock.

"No. I'm not."

"Are you… disappointed?" You grimaced.

You hadn't the faintest clue as to what was running around in his handsome head.

"Disappointed?" He cocked his head.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what the hell you're thinking right now, and it's frankly unnerving." You frowned.

The raven-haired man let out a noise that toed the line between amusement and disbelief. 

"I think you owe me a toast… your highness." He teased.

Rolling your eyes, you failed to fight back a smile, bringing your champagne glass up to meet his, his smirk assuring you that whoever your aunt wished you to meet could wait a moment or two. 

Omggg this was so good💥 Please add me in your taglist. Thankyou!💗✨️

.DarkSide.

Teaser. Part One. Part two.

Pairing : dark! Mafia Jimin x reader (f)

Genre : oneshot, yandere, arranged marriage.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings : No warnings for this chapter tbh, just a lot of cursing by our y/n , hot and sexy jimin, mention of violence and blood, angry and frustrated y/n, annoyed jimin, slight angst, cold and super rude jimin. ( the next chapter is probably gonna be full of filth and gore violence. Jimin's darkside will be visible in the next part)

Summary : after the demise of your father, you were forced to marry a mob boss who was a decade older than you. He has always been ruthless and marrying someone like him wasn't your first choice, but living with him made you crave for his attention. For getting his attention you were repeatedly acting out until one day he decided to take the matter in his own hands.

A/N : this is purely fiction, I don't encourage these type of activities outside the fictional world. Please go through the warnings before reading it. But if you would like to read more please let me know. 💗

You were naive, Naive enough to think that love like fairytales exist. Often as child you heard your mother explaining how you were going to get your prince Charming who would take you away from here and will end your misery. You always believed that one day you'll going to find someone who would love you wholeheartedly unlike your dad.

You knew your dad wasn't too emotionally attached to you but you had faith in him that he would find the perfect Prince Charming for you. you barely knew your dad.  He was the boss of one of the biggest gangs in Seoul, and as his only daughter, you had been kept well away from the criminal lifestyle he led. Expensive boarding schools, lavish holidays abroad during Christmas and summer, a fat allowance every month and free reign with his black credit card that you never had to pay off. Growing up, you’d had everything you’d ever wanted – except for the love and attention of a father.

You loved your father, yes you did but you were disappointed when you heard his last wish.

When you thought of marriage, you always wanted someone different from your dad. you thought of tender caresses and knowing smiles between husband and wife. You dreamed of shy, newlywed touches and a honeymoon phase that lasted forever. You dreamed of being doted on, spoiled, taken care of, shown off – you dreamed of it all and wanted it all.

But your father had different wishes. He promised you to someone who isn't even completely familiar with your presence. He didn't even asked you beforehand. You were too shocked and hurt to even voice out your opinion in front of everyone other than your own mother.

“I won’t do it!” You had yelled, stamping your heels against the marble floor of your foyer. “Mom, I swear to God. You can’t make me marry some man I don’t even know, just because Dad wanted me to! For fucksakes, I’m meant to be going to las Vegas with the girls next week! The Vegas, Mom! Not a wedding! Not my own fucking wedding!”

“You have to.” Your mother had said simply. “It’s been arranged. It has been for a long time. You may not have known it, but your father and the Park family have been planning this union for years. To bring the two biggest families in the city together as one. It’s what your father would have wanted. And Park Jimin has graciously agreed to marry you. It’s all set.”

“Fuck Park Jimin ” You had whined. You knew him. You had seen him around the few summers you had actually spent in your hometown. He was older than you, a fair bit older. But he was handsome – every girl in the area was crazy about him. He was also silent, brooding, dangerous – the man in charge of the one gang bigger and deadlier than your father’s. “I don’t care what he’s agreed to. I’m not agreeing. You hear me, Mom? I don’t want this. It’s not happening. It won’t happen. I won’t let it!”

Your wedding was held privately, only yours and Jimin's family were present. You had to admit, Jimin was looking the finest piece of ass on your wedding.  Shoulders broad and fit snugly into a black and white tux. Blonde hair neatly gelled back. You wondered if Jimin is really forced by his parents too. Because every time he looked at you, he smiled. The softest kind of smile. The kind of smile which told you he isn't here because he was forced to.

You never knew Jimin personally, you've only heard about him. Even if he's smiling at you like he's the kindest person you've ever met,  you should know he is NOT. He's the head of the underworld's dirty business, he takes care of every illegal shit out there with a smile. He's ruthless, cold, dangerous and what not, you've heard every thing about him.

You still had a vague memory his, when you were in  your last year of school and your cousin had taken you to a club, showing your fake id to the security. You saw him there, surrounded by girls. There were rumours about him, about his bachelor lifestyle, how he used girl after girl and then discarded them without a second glance. Somehow, it didn’t make sense for a man like that to be settling down.

But Jimin seemed so assured as he said his vows, exuding power and charm with every word he spoke; even the small crowd seemed amazed by him. Which was crazy to you, because all of them must know that this whole thing was an act, right? But when it was all said and done, and Jimin leaned down and kissed you, pressed his pillowy lips softly against yours and held your jaw gently as he did, you could feel your heart flutter just a tiny bit.

Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.

_

" Fuck, it taste like shit. " You whined as you tasted the kimchi stew. You exactly made it like the recipe which the maid gave you, but guess you can't actually cook. For once you wanted to do something like an actual housewife does. But it's all in vain, you can't serve this to Jimin. You pinched your nose in disgust and threw the food in the bin, washed your hand and settled down on a nearby chair.

Jimin would be home soon- you called him before to make sure if he's coming tonight or not. Almost every three or four days in a week, Jimin stayed outside because of his illegal work. You thought of making him dinner but now you are back to zero.

You have to think fast before he arrives. You can't serve him nothing, nor like he would care- you murmured bitterly. You walked up to the front door, swinging it open. The guard on duty raised an eyebrow at you.

" What do you want Mrs. Park.? " The guard asked.

" I cooked shit, so make one of your guys go and get rose ttaekboki for two people along with some cheese gimbap and make sure to add the glass noodles in ttaekboki. " You ordered and the Guard immediately nodded his head, gesturing to the other guy to bring it for you.

Jimin sure did have a lot of guys stationed outside his house – “Anything else, Mrs. Park ?” the guard asked.

" No, that will be all. " You as you closed the door and went back inside. That was one perk of being the wife of Park Jimin -  having about a dozen of his   men working for him at your beck and call. They’d get the food and wine and anything else you asked for, knowing Jimin would do something drastic like have them killed if they disobeyed.

You wonder if they knew what happens inside the house.

Jimin isn't really fond of you. He made sure to let you know that when you guys returned back from your wedding. As depressing as it sounded. You didn’t even know why you were bothering to ensure there was food for him when he got home. Because he had let you know from the moment that he married you, he hated your guts.

When you first arrived here, after your wedding you still remember his actions. You had grown up with money but it was nothing compared to how lavish Jimin's house was. He had pools, tennis courts, an indoor cinema, he practically lived in a palace. And he had stood to the side, hands in his pocket and an unreadable expression on his face and you on the other hand were feeling giddy to see such luxury.

Your room’s on the second floor, third door.” Jimin had said curtly. “All your suitcases have been unpacked. The maids are in their quarters downstairs if you need anything else.” And then he had left. Without another word. Just turned on his heel and walked out the door, probably to attend to some type of his wicked business – on his wedding night no less.

And three months later, it was still more of the same. Jimin barely looked at you, barely spoke a word to you unless he really had to. You hadn’t even seen the inside of his bedroom, and he had never stepped foot inside yours. Your bedroom which was all soft pastel coloured and girly, fluffy  rug and vanity table and everything. You wondered if he’d ordered it to be decorated exactly to your taste, thinking it was what you’d like – which it was – but no. Jimin barely knew you, he hadn’t even tried to get to know you.

The only time Jimin did act like a normal, nice and loving husband was in public. In the eyes of other people, he was perfect, doting, amazing. Often, you’d go to events with him, club appearances or charity galas thrown by his business partners – fronts for more money laundering, undoubtedly, not that Jimin ever shared any inside knowledge about his business with you.

And you’d be on his arm at those galas, dressed in some expensive dress you’d bought with his money, letting him parade you around with his large hand on the small of your back. And you had to give Jimin props for his acting skills, because he’d look at you with sparkling black eyes that actually looked like they were in love – how did he even do that? – and he’d introduce you as his wife, he’d kiss you, whisper softly to you, tuck your hair behind your ear. And everyone would smile and congratulate you both on being such a beautiful couple.

And then you would come home, and he would go to his room and you would go to yours. No words spoken. No more touches. No more smiles. Not even a look.

So you couldn't understand why we're you stressing yourself for him. You shouldn't care if he's well fed or not. Three months into the marriage and you can't believe nothing has changed, and you don't think it'll ever change.

But still you try, wearing a cute blue knee length dress, bought by of course Jimin's card now, styled your hair in a cute messy bun and few strands of your hair were falling on your face which made you look cute tbh.

You wish that Jimin might today notice and realise that, oh my wife is looking actually cute and hot and maybe i should treat her more like a wife or maybe a human atleast......... You thought bitterly.

The doorbell rang. It was one of Jimin’s guys, a bag of food in his hand. He handed it to you quickly, barely making eye contact with you before scurrying away. That was another thing. Ever since you’d married Jimin, no other man ever looked your way. Which sucked, because you had liked the attention. And it wasn’t like you were getting any from your husband.

You had just finished setting the table when his Highness came home. Jimin was imposing as he walked in through the door, acting like he owned the place – which he did. He had on a white dress shirt, collar button undone and sleeves rolled up, and specks of suspicious red dotting the otherwise pristine white fabric. He had his suit jacket scrunched up in his hand, and his blonde hair looked tousled, like he’d run his hand through it many times throughout the day.

He looked like he’d come straight home after torturing some poor somebody, but you had to admit he still looked unreal. He always looked handsome.

" Hyung, I don't want to deal with that shit right now. I have a lot to deal with already, just take care of it and I'm not repeating myself. " Jimin was obviously talking to someone while he walked towards you.  It was pretty normal for you now, just some criminal men talking about criminal shit everyday which you found plainly boring.

Once Jimin finished talking, you looked up then only. God, you would stop breathing if he continued to run his hand through his already messy hair. Words caught up in your throat as he quirked an eyebrow.

"Do you want to say something? " Jimin asked as he tossed his jacket on the sofa and wiped his sweat from his forehead.

" You must be hungry, I ordered the food. Have some. " You said as you tried looking somewhere else other than him. You practically cringed because  of your wavering tone.

Jimin threw a glance towards you and then sat on the on the chair.

" I have some people coming over tonight.” He said, surveying the food, the kitchen, the fridge, the floor, and then gracing you with eye contact that lasted about two seconds before it was back on the food again, “You need to be inside your room around 9pm. Get all you need from downstairs before then. Don’t come down here after that, got it?”

He said and he didn't even waited for you to respond, instead picking up his plate and heading down towards the office. His office, where he practically lived. Where he would go disappear whenever he chose to stay at home and you hated the fact that he doesn't give two shits about you.

" Are you Fucking serious.? Huh? " You said as you stood abruptly from your chair making a skeech noice. Jimin stopped in his tracks and turned around to look at you.

What the fuck is his problem? You can't fucking believe him. Is he doing this on purpose? Making you loose your mind? You don't even fucking know at this point.

" What do you think of yourself? Are you my dad? Ordering me shits around. You can't just lock me in my room every fucking time jimin. It's also my fuckin house. " You raised your voice as you walked towards him.

" Watch your tone y/n. You won't like to cross your limits. " Jimin's eyes flashed warningly, his tone authoritative yet somehow still nonchalant. As if he was speaking to one of his subordinates, rather than his own wife. “And I’m serious. Grab your things and go to your room before 9pm.” He said as he continued walking towards the hall, you followed him. You can't muffle your thoughts this time.

" Why, why the fuck do you want me to stay in my room after 9pm . What, is your other whore gonna be around? Is this the reason park? " You asked sarcastically really letting it go with the expletives. God. He made you so angry – marching into the house, not even thanking you for the food – it was takeout, but still he should have thanked you- and then ordering you to go to your room like you were five fucking years old.

" Don't you dare talk like that to me love.” Jimin eyed you annoyingly because you could say that you were crossing your limits, and as if on cue, his phone began buzzing in his pocket. It was probably some cranky drug lord on the other end, since those were the type of people you knew he worked with on a regular basis. " I don't have time for this drama of yours right now but I'll talk to you later about this. " He ran his hand through his hair for the 6-7 time annoyingly before turning his heels back.

He twisted the knob of his office door and said, " Don't make me repeat myself y/n. Go to your room before 9pm or else you'll regret it. " And with that he disappeared in his office.

Fuck him. You thought, stewing and swearing as you stomped your way up the stairs. Tears stinging your eyes as you marched towards your room. Out of sheer irritation and spite, you took out your phone out and quickly bought one necklace and anklet of Cartier along with 3 heels from Manolo Blahnik, rapidly typing out Jimin's card information before you could change your mind. The notification from his bank would probably piss him off, but it wouldn’t really make a dent on his bank balance. No. This wasn’t enough. You wanted to push him even further.

It seemed like the only time Jimin spoke more than two words to you was when he was ordering you or angry at you. Well. You could give him something to get angry over. You could give him plenty to get angry over. No more playing at caring little housewife. It was time to get creative.

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