Ride With You (part 10)

Ride With You (part 10)

Or, Jungkook’s ex- fiances can really hold a grudge

OT7 x reader (ex-fiancés au, Jungkook x reader focus, mafia au, slow burn, Taehyung’s a weirdo, sparring/wrestling, boners 👀, sexual tension?, night club scene ft. Stray kids, Jungkook wants you so bad bro omggg, reader looks pretty twenty four seven)

When you returned, Namjoon, Yoongi, Jungkook, and Jimin were still up. Taehyung had been holed up in his room refamiliarizing himself with his flashdrive since you gave it back to him, and Jin had rushed off to his room immediately after he had driven you back to the house, already on the phone. He had been busy for the past few days, some situation with his father that you didn’t quite know the details about, only seeing him ghost through rooms and always on seemingly endless phone calls.

The men waiting in the foyer raised their head as you entered, Jimin letting out a snort. “I honestly thought you two would’ve ripped each other to pieces.”

Namjoon tilted his head as he lowered the book he had been reading into his lap, looking at the body slung over Hoseok’s shoulder. “That’s not Warner.”

“No, it’s not.” You smiled at him brightly.

When you didn’t explain yourself, he sat up, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why isn’t it Warner?”

“Because this dumbass shot him.” Hoseok scoffed, gesturing to the body on his shoulder. “When we got to the meeting, Warner ratted us out, so the informant shot him and ordered his guards to kill us. I wanted to just run, but Ms. Perfect over here lost her temper,” He now pointed a finger at you accusatorily, while you stood tall next to him, not ashamed at all. “And insisted we kill all the guards and take the informant as a hostage to make up for what he did.”

“That’s so hot,” Jimin breathed, ever present smirk on his face as he studied you, eyes locked on your figure. Jungkook sent him a bewildered look before brushing it off, turning to you, and standing up to make his way to your side.

“The important thing is you’re back home safe,” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead. “You look exhausted, let’s go to sleep.” And it was true, you could feel the exhaustion seeping into your bones, ignored in flavor of succeeding at your mission. The warmth of Jungkook’s hands as you moved them to squeeze your waist gently made your eyes start to droop.

“Right, go and get some rest, we’ll debrief in the morning.” Namjoon stood up from the chair he was sitting in now, everyone dismissed now that the mission had gone well— or rather, well enough. He and Hoseok moved down the long hallway that you now knew led to where they kept their hostages and you turned away, allowing Jungkook to pull you to bed.

—

After what felt like endless tossing and turning, you sighed, rolling out from under Jungkook’s arm. You weren’t sleepy at all, the new developments tonight only making you think about your next move. You were making so much progress with taking down your organizations, and even though working with with Bangtan was previously unfortunate detail, you found recently that you couldn’t be anymore thankful for their help. You were so close to getting to shoot those bastards in the organization in the face.

Deciding to wander a bit to ease your mind, you crept through the house in the dark, subconsciously finding your way to the kitchen. Usually, you didn’t come in here much, just eating food when it was served in the dining hall. The kitchen was large and almost pitch black, empty of its usual staff who cooked food, leaving it quiet and empty. You walked towards the cabinets, looking for a cup to get a drink of water. As you turned your back to open the cupboard, a chill rolled down your spine. You could feel roving over you, and turned your head quickly towards the source.

Taehyung was sitting at the table across the room, previously obscured in the darkness, but as your eyes adjusted, you could plainly see that he had his eyes trained on you over the edge of his mug, as he took a long sip of whatever he was drinking. As far as you could tell, he was shirtless, only sweatpants tied low around his hips as he reclined lazily in the chair.

“Why are you just sitting in the dark?” You questioned him, turning back around now that you know the source of your mini heart attack. He didn’t answer you and you didn’t care, turning back around, still fumbling around for a cup in the dark.

You only heard a slight scrape against the floor before you could sense his presence right behind you, arms closing in on either side. One reached above you, pulling out a cup and the other wound around your waist as he lowered his lips next to your ear. “You know,” he started, you freezing deathly still as he murmured into your ear. “When you first came, I wished Jimin had left you in the cottage where he found you and Jungkook. I didn’t want you here, not when you were a reminder of the fact that Jungkook thought he could leave us.” His hand set down the cup and raised to gently stroke through a curl of your hair. “But now, after you saved Jimin, after you brought back my flashdrive, I think maybe this was all fate.”

“Or maybe you’re just weird.” You finally managed to say, ducking out from underneath his arms and moving to the fridge, filling it with water. He chuckled, leaning back against the countertop, still looking at you with that unreadable expression. It was different than before, amused rather than hateful, but unimpenetrable all the same. A long moment of silence passed as the two of held eye contact with nothing but the sound of water slowly filling your cup before he spoke up again.

“It’s just all so funny. You’re our usual type, too. Sexy, smart,” a longer pause, and you could almost feel his eyes as they studied your face. “Deadly. But better late than never, I guess.”

You didn’t know how to answer that, so you didn’t, moving out of the kitchen as soon as your cup was filled. “If you’re done talking, I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“Night, puppy. Sleep well.” He said before you turned the corner, particularly running away from whatever weird aura he had created in there. That was… weirder than usual. Taehyung barely looked at you twice, and now he’s trying to cuddle in the kitchen? Whatever, you shook your head, finally able to relax your shoulders now that you were out of his vicinity. Being around them always had you on edge and made sinking back into Jungkook’s arms in your bed even better.

—

The debrief was a bit unorthodox this time. While you were used to a spread of breakfast and discussion, it seemed Jin was still busy with calls and Taehyung had locked himself back in his room after the weird conversation last night. Namjoon forwent calling everyone down for dinner and just called you and Hoseok to his office instead.

Jimin was there, too, sculking around behind Namjoon, knocking the pieces over on his chess board and running his fingers over the countless spines of books on his shelves. He sent you a secretive smirk as your entered but didn’t say anything.

“So, the mission?” Namjoon said, leaning forward at his desk as he waited for you to elaborate.

And so you did. You relayed every detail, from how Hoseok kept whining in to car, to how your hostage decided to try to beg for mercy from the informant, to how you killed everyone in the building and only left behind a singular soul for more interrogation. Jimin’s eyes lit up with interest the more you spoke, eventually settling on the desk right next to Namjoon, and you could practically hear Hoseok’s eyes rolling behind you, leaning against a bookshelf with his arms crossed.

“Sure, just go ahead and make it sound like you saved the day.” He scoffed.

“I did.” You replied, not even turning to address him. “If I remember correctly, someone wanted to just leave.”

He glared at you, probably a sour to throw back another insult, but Jimin spoke up first. “Of course, our kitten wanted to do everything she could before leaving. You’re such a hard worker, pet.” You stood up a bit straighter, subconsciously proud at the praise.

Namjoon nodded. “The both of you did excellent work. We’re waiting for the informant to wake up before we ask him anything, but we might postpone it even longer since we’ve been having some… trouble.” He said, a hesitant pause before his last word.

“Trouble?” You asked.

“Nothing for you to worry you’re pretty little head about yet, puppy.” Hoseok said, moving to put a hand on the doorknob. “We’re done here, yeah?”

“Yes, thank you both.” Namjoon said, watching you out of his office as he turned back to the paperwork on his desk. As you turned towards the door Jimin sent you a wink that you steadfastly ignored and closed the door behind you.

Everything was so weird lately. When you first got here you expected to have to fight to show them you were worthy of even being looked at, and now they regularly address you, and stare at you, and almost, almost respect you. And in Jimin, and apparently Taehyung’s case, like you. From what you’ve pieced together, Bangtan liked company, and used to surround themselves with guests, though you and Jungkook are the first in a long time.

Some twisted up part inside of you was happy to be here. Being on the run was boring and stressful at the same time, and due to the way you were trained, the stream of praise they’ve been giving you lately was only making you feel warm inside, and more inspired to work harder. But the other part was worried for Jungkook and took that being here was talking on him. It felt selfish to feel happy at all when Jungkook was likely suffering mentally just being here.

You sighed as you reached your room and slumped into the chair in front of your dresser. You surveyed the room, still draped in shades of pink and yet, after the time you spent here, it didn’t strain your eyes as much as when you first arrived. The dresser had been cleared of frilly pink clothes and replaced with the same kind of standard plain clothing they had given Jungkook, blacks and whites and greys and beiges. Your nose scrunched. The frilly clothes were horribly uncomfortable sure but as at least they were good quality and colorful. The thin, plain, polyester fabric of the clothing was not exactly the height of luxury.

The door creaked open, your only indication that someone was there at all. Jimin had entirely silent footsteps, terrifying in its soundlessless, especially since you knew his fondness of you could flip on a dime and he could easily sneak in and finish you in your sleep when he so wished.

If he so wished, you corrected yourself, because he leaned against the doorway as you sat, that same Cheshire Cat smile that seemed to be a permanent feature on his face. Lately, it seemed almost like Jimin didn’t harbor any hostility towards you anymore. Not like before with biting words and sarcasm.

“Hello, pet. Thought I’d check on you after the debrief. Did you sleep well earlier?” He asked with a tilt of his head. Even now, the word pet was purred, not hissed like when he would say it before dripped in venom. Now his words seemed coated in honey.

You weren’t sure whether to be grateful or suspicious.

“Well enough.” You answer cryptically, turning back to the mirror. Jimin hummed, stalking over and standing behind you, bending down slightly to see into the mirror of the vanity over your shoulder. You locked eyes in the mirror and you raised an eyebrow. “What do you want?” You asked blankly.

“There’s a lot of way I could answer that, pet.” He spoke, almost murmuring the words into your ear. “But for now, I just wanted to check on you and see how you were doing.” He shrugged like it was a totally casual thought and not like everything he did was a long thought out decision in a mental game. He placed one hand on your shoulder, the other winding into the locks of your hair, giving you flashbacks of your encounter with Taehyung last night.

He played with it, twining it around his fingers. “I miss when we had you dolled up all pretty. You looked so cute with those clips and charms in your hair.”

You waved his hands away, failing to hold back a glare. “I have to disagree.”

He chuckled, low and knowing. “I’m sure you do. After all, you have a penchant for the more… luxurious things in life, no? Gold, silk,” he paused, leveling you with a sly look. “Diamonds.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I’m asking again, and this time don’t lie. What do you want?”

“You want a new suit, right?”

“Of course. The things you have me go in are hardly mission grade.” You sniffed arrogantly, turning back to the mirror. Jimin’s smile only widened.

“Well then. How would you like to spar with me?”

—

Jimin led you to the same place he had taken you for aim training, what felt like ages ago. Crazy how much you like has changed in the past couple days. Walking past the dummies used for the practice range, he led you to a large square of padded floor, the nearby wall padded as well. Leaning causally against a wall with a notebook and pen was Taehyung, eying you with that same unreadable look from.

“Why’s he here?” You asked Jimin, still holding eye contact with Taehyung.

“Taehyung designs the suits, remember? All the weapons and technological enhancements we use comes from his genius mind.” Jimin smiled, the closest thing to a genuine smile you had seen from him. “He needs to watch you fight to know how you usually move to ensure your suit will always be comfortable on you. Can’t have you ripping your suit to pieces again, right? Though I wouldn’t mind the view.”

“Are we sparing or not?” You said instead, settling into a loose fighting stance.

“Fine, since you’re so eager,” he playfully rolled his eyes, settling into a stance as well. “I know my arm just healed, but don’t go easy on me.”

“Trust me, I won’t.”

“Me either.” And with that he practically lunged at you, fast and powerful, and you was all you could do to dodge out of the way. He attacked you fiercely, not letting up a bit, powerful kicks and punches swinging at you at insane speeds with no clear rhythm. You kept jumping out of the way of his attacks, bending and flipping and moving, and mostly trying to remember how to breathe.

“You’re on defense, pet,” he growled, not letting up at all. “You need to fight!” He yelled, sweeping a leg underneath you and sending you sprawling to the floor. Before you could even recover he had you pinned down, hands pressed to your shoulders and his hips pressing down into yours.

“Come on, where’s your fighting spirit?” He teased. You pushed against his shoulders and found him near immovable, bearing down on you with the force of a boulder. Changing tactics. you tried to press your hips up against his to flip him over, freezing immediately when you felt something else pressing against you, hardening against your leg.

“Okay, I’m pinned, you got me!” You said, melting into the floor in an attempt to get distance between your bodies.

“Aw, so soon? It was cute watching you squirm.” He purred, a glimmer of heat in his eyes.

You scoffed, “With your third leg poking me? I’m sure it was.

That startled a laugh out of him, and he got off you, helping you up from the floor as well. You turned to Taehyung, pretending the heat on your face was just from the exertion. “Is that enough?”

Taehyung was also watching you intently, his eyes darker than their usual earthy brown. “No.” He replied.

You huffed, turning back to Jimin. “Fine. You want me to fight? I’ll fight!” You jumped towards Jimin, then ducked low, trying to catch him off balance, while you surprised him, if the look on his face was anything to go by, he reacted quickly, blocking both your attacks and jumping back. He came at you again, pure force and power and this time you were prepared, weaving between his attacks like water sliding off a leaf, and managed to plant a punch on his ribs. He fell back, surprise plain on his face, momentarily out of rhythm and before smiling and jumping back in with twice as much enthusiasm.

You grappled at each other, slipping and sliding out of each other grasps. Neither of you could get a handle on each other, bodies wrapping around each other and away, almost like a dance. Jimin’s hands slid over your skin in movements that definitely felt purposeful, his flirty smile not faltering even as sweat starts to drip down his face.

“Why are you smiling?” You huffed.

“Anyone ever tell you how pretty you look while fighting?” He managed to easily quip while bending over to dodge a kick of yours.

“No one who fights me usually lives long enough to say anything.”

“Should I feel honored?”

You huff again and he takes your moment of frustration to slam you against the wall pressing you against it with his body, solid muscle holding you in place.

“How are you so strong?” You definitely did not whine, because you are very mature.

Jimin chuckled, smiling down at you, your punches against his chest and stomps on his feet hardly phasing him. “Pet, not even you know everything about fighting.”

He grabbed your hands and pinned them above you, grip heavy like metal practically handcuffing you to the wall. He leaned in closer so that your noses were almost touching. “Such large bite for such a tiny kitten. Yield.” He commanded, eyes narrowing.

“No!” You snapped at him, still struggling to push him off. He regarded you with a steely look, then—

Jimin dropped his head onto your shoulder, laughter spilling out of his lips. You stopped in shock. He wasn’t holding you against the wall anymore, his hold on you lax, but you stood still against it, not sure what to do. You had never heard him laugh like this before, a real full bodied genuine laugh. He was almost doubling over with the force of it, stepping back from you. “I’m sorry pet, I just,” He managed to get out between giggles. “It’s just been a while since I’ve had someone to spar with. This is more fun for me than you can imagine.”

“Can’t you spar with each other?” You asked, dropping your hands and letting the blood flow back into your arms.

He sighed wistfully.. “It’s not the same. No one here is even near my level, I could bring any of these guys to the floor easily.” He smirked pridefully, softening as he focused back on you. “But you’re a challenge. It’s exciting.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the heat on your face once again. “Well, good for you, I guess.”

“Admit it, you like this.” He taunted, poking you in the side.

You smacked his hand away, trying not to smile and failing. “So what?”

“So when was the last time you let yourself have fun?” He asked, seeming genuinely curious.

“I have fun all the time.”

“I mean this kind of fun, princess.”

“Well, I usually save that kind of fun for my boyfriend.” You joked, trying to keep the mood light.

It did not seem to work, Jimin looking off into the distance again. “Right. Of course you do.”

Jimin shakes his head, seemingly making a conscious effort to stay cheerful. “Don’t feel bad you couldn’t beat me, you were quite close.” He teased again.

“I’ll beat you soon enough. I just need more practice.”

“Guess you’ll have to stay until then.” He said, sending you another one of those secretive smile. He turned to the other person in the room, who you had wholly forgotten about. “How’s that Taehyung?”

“Perfect.” He replied, not lifting his head from his notebook, scrawling something furiously fast. “You’ll have your suit soon.”

“Good.” Jimin walked over to him, peeking at the notebook. “Thank you again, pet.” He said, and you got the feeling you had been dismissed. You walked out quietly, and left the two in privacy.

—

The next time you see everyone, they’re standing around in the living room, speaking urgently in hushed tones. You and Jungkook had spent the last hour together after you got back from sparring, Jin apparently having made Jungkook do his usual chores all morning while he took some more calls. Jungkook was excited to see you when you got back sparring, kissing you eagerly, but at the fatigue in your movements, he eased up, seemingly content to just lay in bed with you after you’d showered and talk as you rested.

Now in the living room, the two of you originally just passing through after Jungkook convinced you to help him steal snacks from the kitchen, Jin is addressing everyone in what seems to be an impromptu group meeting. “Shouldn’t we just reschedule? We aren’t exactly in the position to be dragging them around.”

“Dragging who around?” Jungkook said, giving up on sneaking to the kitchen in favor of digging for information.

They all looked up, realizing you two were standing at the edge of the room. “Perfect timing.” Namjoon announced. “An ally of ours has had some suspicious activity as of late. It’s been a while since we paid them a visit so we were planning on dropping in on them tonight. But, with you two here…” his tone trailed off.

Taehyung spoke, “They should just come with us. We can handle them, it’s not like they’re in a position to misbehave.”

You did not like being spoken about like you were predictable, as if these men knew exactly you’d behave and react. Although, honestly, with the information they had complied of you and the way they study your every move like a hawk now, they probably do.

“We can play this to our advantage. We’re trying to get information out of them, they’d never expect these two to be with us. Maybe they can get them to say something they shouldn’t, let down their guard.” Jimin added, automatically agreeing with Taehyung, like always.

Namjoon sighed. “We’re supposed to trust them—“

“And we don’t. Pretending that we have blind faith in then won’t change that. Let’s make it certain.” Yoongi cut in with finality. Everyone in the room seems to be warring against Namjoon and it was moments like this that you really appreciated not actually being apart of their dynamic. Then again, they were comfortable with each other weren’t they? They could fight and still sleep in the same bed the same night. They probably cuddle even when they’re angry with each other. They’re just that close.

Namjoon eyed everyone in the room carefully, though no one budged against his intense stare. Finally he sighed, and agreed, “Fine.”

Jin rolled his eyes, making it clear that despite the distance away from you lately, his dislike for you hadn’t eased. “Well, no reason not to have extra help, I guess. I can’t come anyways.”

“Right. How’s that going by the way?” Yoongi asked, though he sounded more amused than sympathetic.

Jin groaned, leaning back in his chair dramatically. “Horrible. I have no idea why, but my dad is pestering me more than usual.”

“I told you to let us kill him.” Jimin hummed, as if commenting I’m on the weather outside, idly tapping against the wine glass he was holding. These guys drank a lot, you noticed.

“He’s better alive, less work for me.” Jin shrugged, his phone ringing almost immediately after he finished talking. He eyed the device with a level of annoyance you previously thought he could only direct towards you.

“Seems like a lot of work from my perspective.” Hoseok commented, and Jin rolled his eyes again, leaving the room to take the call.

Jimin turned towards you, smiling warmly. “Ready to play eye candy again?”

“Overjoyed, even.” You responded blankly, tightening your grip on Jungkook’s hand. He squeezed back and you loosened some tension from your shoulders.

Namjoon at least seemed sympathetic, but you figured it was more so you’d cooperate rather than any actual concern. “We’ll find you both something to wear and then we can go.”

“We have your old suit, Kookie. Remember the one we got you for our anniversary?”

“Burn it.”

“Hmm, no actually. I think we can get our pet a matching dress. Would that make you more inclined to wear it? I’d love to see you in it again.”

“You know what? Just do what you want. You usually do anyways.”

“That’s the spirit.”

—

The limo pulled up to a nightclub off the west end of the center of town, where the lines between their gang and their allies blurred. It was big and bright, neon signs lighting the building in fun attention grabbing shapes, spelling out Thunderous. It was packed with a line wrapping around the building of impatient looking people. The boys slid out first, walking right past the line as if they didn’t see it at all, Jimin and Taehyung pulling Jungkook along with them and sticking to his side. Namjoon hung back for you, gesturing for you to link arms with him.

You eyed him, watching the way Jimin and Taehyung pulled Jungkook ahead like kids excited to play with their toy. It seemed like they were going to be having fun with keeping you two apart tonight. You looked back at Namjoon, hesitatingly linking arms with him. “How come I always end up hanging off your arm? You got a soft spot for me, Joon?”

“No, it’s just better to keep an eye on you.” He said as you kept walking. The people in line glared at you all as you walked right up to the bouncer, hardly stopped for a second before being let in. You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at them.

“Keep telling yourself that.” You replied to Namjoon instead. Hoseok and Yoongi appeared, drinks already in hand, Hoseok eyeing the closeness between you and Namjoon with a suspicious gaze and Yoongi looking like he couldn’t care less about anything, looking around the club with apathy.

A voice caught your attention, snapping your gaze away from the scenery. “Namjoon-ssi, always an honor to speak with you.” The man who spoke held out his hand as he approached Namjoon, respectfully but amicably and you realized this was likely the owner of the club and the gang you were here to meet. He shook Hoseok and Yoongi’s hands, and finally shaking Namjoon’s hand as with a strong grip, then the man turned to you, holding out a hand for you to shake as well.

You studied him instead. Average height, with some muscle, but his commanding and outgoing personality suggested he was not one to be underestimated. You forwent shaking his hand, turning your nose up at him and looking a way as if he never spoke. Partly to see how he’d react, partly because you didn’t trust him and partly because you just really didn’t want to. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Yoongi smirk and Hoseok scoff.

“A shy one huh?” The new man said, and you could detect an Australian drawl to his words. “I’m Bang Chan, but you can call me Chan.” He smiled, leaning into your line of sight to catch your gaze.

Namjoon moved his hand around your waist and chuckled, deep and rumbling through his chest. “You’ll have to excuse our princess. She can be a bit spoiled.” You raised an eyebrow at the word princess but said nothing, opting to just observe for now. You glanced around the club past the bar section you were in to the left where music was surely blaring over the dance floor. If you looked hard enough you’d probably find Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook there, but you figured you’d leave them be. They wouldn’t hurt Jungkook so hopefully you could stand an hour or two away from him.

“She’s quite pretty.” Chan’s gaze roved over you appreciatively and you leaned further into Namjoon, eyeing him suspiciously. Yoongi shifted slightly as if to cover you from sight and cleared his throat, any pleasantness he previously had gone. “We have business to discuss.” He reminded him coldly and Chan’s gaze snapped away from you to the three Bangtan members.

“Of course, this way.” He led you to a hallway off to the side, a series of doors trailing on either side. He opened one, revealing a comfortable looking sitting room, velvet couches and a mini fridge inside. Two men were already inside, sitting casually on the chairs. They straightened up when they spotted Namjoon though, leaving space for their leader to join them on the couch they were on.

Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok made themselves comfortable on the couch across from them, sitting like they owned the place, while still commanding power and clearly displaying who was in control of the situation. The couch was rather large, but with three men sittting on it there was hardly space for you to join them.

Hoseok pushed an short ottoman towards you, a small circular stool that was practically a pillow raised from the floor by stout little legs. “Go on, puppy. Get comfy.” He taunted, and you glared at him.

“You two are so childish. Just come here.” Yoongi sighed, pulling you by your wrist onto his lap. You pinched his arm in retribution and he looked at you boredly, as if he didn’t feel it at all, looking back to the men across from him as they began to converse.

“I swear I saw Jungkook earlier.” One of the men across commented.

“You did. We’re back together.” Hoseok cheerily lied.

“Ah, that’s good to hear. I’m glad you found him again.” One of the other men commented, seemingly genuine, an Australian coat to his words as well. “Who’s the new one then?” He asked, pointing at you.

“That’s just our new pet. Don’t mind her, Jungkook is fond of her so we’re keeping her around for now.” Hoseok waved the question off dismissively. You resisted the urge to stomp on his foot with your stiletto heels.

One of the men closer to you smiled, blonde hair falling over against his shoulder as he leaned closer to you, “Nice to meet you.”

“Hi.” You responded blankly after a long moment.

“She’s not very social. But anyways, we’d like to talk with you about some activity we’ve seen lately…”

The men trailed off into conversation. Stray kids, as they called themselves, had seemingly been allowing Ateez to hold weapons in buildings on their property, but Stray kids denied this, saying they had no knowledge of this and weren’t holding any weapons, which led them to discover that they actually had a rat within their lower ranks who was conspiring with Ateez to overthrow Stray kids and blah blah blah. Boring gang stuff. You rolled your eyes. Why did you have to be here? These people seemed pretty honest, as far as you could tell, and it’s not as of you could get them to say anything under the guise of a stuck up pet while Bangtan ran the conversation anyways.

Over the course of the conversation, the man who had said it was nice to meet you earlier had moved closer to the door, leaning against the wall next to it. When you caught his eye, he tipped his head towards the exit, then slipped out. You followed after, Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon distracted by discussing logistics with the other men.

When you exited, he was standing outside, not far from the door. He turned to you, making sure you were following, then walked out the hallway back towards the main club area.

It was harder to hear out here, but that just meant your conversation was less likely to be overheard. “Hey.” He finally said, smiling warmly at you. “You looked like you could use a break.”

You looked away, playing aloof. “Yeah, business meetings aren’t my forte.”

“Yeah, they aren’t mine either. Especially when Namjoon hyung comes. I love the guy but he’s terrifying.” He faked a shiver and you smiled.

“Nah, not when you get used to him.” You replied, hopping up into a nearby barstool.

He gave you a dubious look, seating himself into the barstool next to you. “Maybe he just likes you. He and his men are so creepy sometimes.”

“That I can agree with.” You gave a wry smirk and he laughed at your brazenness.

“How’d a pretty girl like you you get mixed up with them?” He said, attention trailing towards your dress. Or rather, he was likely looking at your figure in the blue satin, but you couldn’t help but admire your dress. It was beautiful, and true to the boys’ word, it matched Jungkook’s midnight blue suit, sleek dark blue fabric falling to just above your knees in an elegant but alluring cut, and a strapless neckline to fit the party look.

“It’s a long story.” You said eventually.

“I’ve got time.” He replied, easily. You found conversation with him was rather comforting, and being away from Bangtan with some one who seemed normal— as normal as someone in a gang can be anyways— was refreshing. “I’m Hyunjin, by the way. What kind of drink do you want?” He asked, flagging down the bartender.

“Oh, I don’t drink.” You denied, playing shy. It was best to stay sharp in unfamiliar territory, away from any of the boys. But maybe taking a drink would make him think your guard was lowered and make him inclined to ramble. You were technically here to see if you could glean extra information. A talk over a drink would be best for that.

“C’mon, it’s on us.” He insisted, and you nodded, feigning reluctance.

“A chocolate martini would be nice. I like mine extra sweet.” You winked, for good measure, and he laughed again, cheeks brightening slightly.

“An extra sweet chocolate martini, just like you.” He winked back and you faked a laugh. Hyunjin turned to talk to the bartender and turned back. “Do you…” His voice trailed off as his eyes focused just slightly behind you and you tilted your head.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, an eyebrow raised, but it wasn’t Hyunjin who answered.

“I’d say something’s wrong.” You jumped slightly, turning your head. Jungkook was standing behind you, tall frame cutting an imposing glare at Hyunjin next to you. His arms were crossed as he stared Hyunjin down, who was comparatively less composed, looking at Jungkook with nervousness and a bit of fear.

“Jungkook, what are you doing here?” You turned to question him. He had rolled up the sleeves of the suit, midnight blue folded right below his elbows. You could see the swell of the muscles in his arms more clearly like this and you couldn’t resist the urge to smile. Jealous Jungkook was always cute.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He asked, voice hard, but it softened when his eyes turned to you. “Why aren’t you with Namjoon, babe?”

“I got bored. Hyunjin offered me a drink.” You explained with a shrug, trying to subtly convey that nothing was amiss.

“Oh did he?” Jungkook repeated, voice flat. Okay, so that didn’t work. You held back the urge to reach up and hold his hand, not knowing how close you were supposed to act in front of Hyunjin.

“I wanted to ease her nerves. She looked a bit nervous.” Hyunjin supplied, and you wanted to applaud for managing to keep his voice from shaking. You knew that Jungkook’s stare wasn’t an easy one to handle.

“Nervous?” He reappeared, shooting a concerned look at you. “Thank you for your help, but we can handle her from here.” He gently but firmly escorted you out of your chair over to the corner booth he must’ve been previously occupying with Jimin and Taehyung, who was laughing amongst themselves before you and Jungkook returned.

“Aw, what’s wrong, Kookie? You look pouty.” Jimin asked when you got back, fake pouting in a bad imitation of the expression on Jungkook’s face.

“Hyunjin was talking to her. Alone.” Jungkook answered, sliding into the booth and ensuring you stayed close to him with the grip on your wrist. “Why the hyungs let walk away her alone, I have no idea.” He huffed.

Taehyung gasped, “Did you hear that Jiminie? He called them the hyungs. It’s been so long since we heard you say that, Kookie.” He gushed, making Jungkook roll his eyes.

“I’ll make sure to never do it again.”

“You said it was Hyunjin talking to her?” Jimin hummed, eyes glinting towards the bar. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He promised, a twinge of anger swirling through his expression.

You didn’t like the sound of that. “He was just being nice. Besides, Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok have it all handled. They were in the middle of boring business talk, so I snuck out. Hyunjin had nothing to do with it.” You explained. You’d feel bad if Hyunjin got in trouble for a simple conversation.

However, it seemed to have the opposite effect, all three of them turning to you with varying degrees of shock and anger. “Just being nice? He knows not to be nice to what’s ours. And why are you defending him?” Taehyung scoffed.

“I just—“

“You don’t have to worry about a thing, okay, pet? Leave making friends to us.” Jimin poured a cup of the bottle of whatever drink they had on the table, sliding a cup of something red towards you.

You glanced at Jungkook, who seemed as if he agreed seeing as he didn’t say anything, and lifted the drink to your lips. Their attitudes really had changed if they were going from ignoring you to monitoring whoever you talked with. Before you were sure they’d be happy to pawn you off to the highest bidder, gladly letting you talk to whoever you wanted as long as you weren’t bothering them. But now?

You placed the glass down onto the table again, emptied of its contents. These men were going to be a handful.

—

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cry me a river | the liar

— summary: hoseok lied about choosing you, namjoon lied about leaving you, but the biggest liar of them all is you

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 9.1k

— warnings: mentions of food poisoning, mentions of starving, fear of food, allusions to eating disorder, manipulation, y/n isn't in her right mind, talks of death, death attempt, ptsd

— PART 17 / previous post / masterpost

“Isn’t she pretty?” You say as you play with the white thin strings that hold the doll upright. “A pretty little doll, so perfect.”

She wears a white dress that falls to her ankles, dark black hair held in an updo, eyes that flutter open and close each time you move her head up and down, her wrists, back, head, and legs all held up by thin strings.

So petite and fragile.

“Look Dasom, watch this.” You stand from your seat, the strings in one hand as you hold it up into the air, and reach for the scissors. Dasom watches, lips sealed, her back standing straight with hands held behind. You take the scissors and you stare right at her, cutting the strings where they’re held together in your hands.

And down the doll falls in an instant.

Breaking.

Dasom doesn’t flinch.

“Pitiful, isn’t she?” You place the scissors onto the table and crouch down to pick the broken doll up. The wrists where the strings held caused her hand to detach from her body, a leg twisted, a knee to her foot also detached, bits of pieces broken like scars, no longer a part of her body anymore, and one eye remains wide open while the other falls half-lidded. 

“The doll once belonged to someone, until it was passed over and promised by a new owner to always hold on and never let go. The new owner treated her well for some time but unexpectedly, they decided to cut all the strings and as a result, here she lies, broken on the ground, and returned to the previous owner to…reattach the strings once more.” You look up at her as you stand back up again and place the doll on the table, right next to the scissors. “You understand that, don’t you? After all, when we first met, you were the same; a perfect little doll forcibly passed onto my father.”

Dasom remains quiet but you see the way she clenches her jaws and you look back down at the doll. You take the hand that broke away itself from the body after its fall and look at it for some time.

“We’re the only ones who can fix ourselves, Dasom. If we trust in anyone else, who’s to say they won’t break us more than we are now? That’s why you cannot trust anyone, not even I. Because one day, I may betray you. Just as one day, you may betray me. Do not look at me as your savior, do not get blinded for even a moment, because when it comes down to it, one day…I may even end up just like my father and hurt you all over again. And when that moment comes, if I ever betray your trust and become the person my father was…your trust in me will hurt you more than anything. So never trust me, Dasom. Never.”

She stands alone in the room when you leave, heels clicking away, head never turning back for a second glance.

Dasom stands there for the longest time, staring at the broken doll who lays on the table, the scissors right beside her, and just before any memories can fall into her thoughts, the door opens to reveal Mingyu.

“What did boss tell you?” He asks when he walks in, and pauses momentarily at the broken doll on the table, before he looks at Dasom again, a mark of concern on his features. “Did she say something out of line?”

She looks up, meeting his gaze as her shoulder tenses even more. “She reminded me not to trust her,” she says, her brows furrowed. “She warned me to not look at her as a savior, that there will always be a chance she may end up like her father, like my perpetrator, like our perpetrator…..like her perpetrator….and that where we are now is just a fleeting moment in time, that just because she saved me doesn’t mean she can’t also be the one to cut my strings and I’ll end up more broken than I am…was.”

Mingyu keeps his eyes on her when she reaches for the doll, caressing it while throwing the scissors roughly to the side. Away from view.

“She said that only I can fix whatever was broken when my family was still alive and when her father still lived.”

“So. Do you believe her?”

“No,” she says without hesitation, eyes looking up at him with desperation meant for him to understand. “Because she saved me. She fixed me. Us. She took all the pieces that make up the Reapers, sewed our hands and feet, opened our eyes, helped us stand and run and fight, and become the sort of people that we are now, strong enough to protect her, to return the kindness that she had in her heart to fix what had been left broken by the people that have hurt us but we’ll never be enough, will we? No matter what we do, we’ll never be able to save her.”

“...” Mingyu takes a step forward to gently caress the hair of the broken doll in Dasom’s hand. He smooths down the disheveled mess and plays with the broken eye, silent for a moment, before he utters the words that the Reapers know yet hate to hear the most.

“Because boss doesn’t want to be saved.”

.

.

.

There is one part of the manor you’ve never returned to ever since destroying and rebuilding what your father cherished ever since that night you came back with news of his death and decided to rid all of his followers. There is one part of the manor you left untouched, one part of the manor even your reapers do not go near; your annex.

Where resides your old room, Mister Butler’s old room, the torture rooms; Yuna’s room 157, and,

The White Room.

You don’t know why your feet have decided to drag you down here, why you’re walking this way. It’s been months after all, months. You remember your eyes catching a glimpse of the calendar in that room you were in with Dasom and realize that it’s almost been a year since you decided to pursue your revenge plan.

It’s almost been a year.

A year.

A year since your father’s death, a year since his life ended and you seeking for your supposed lost freedom, a year since you’ve met with your ex-boyfriends, ex-husband, and although the revenge isn’t even a step close to being completed, perhaps now is when Namjoon will decide upon going back to the two of you never seeing each other again.

It won’t be unexpected.

You’ve given him the bait, after all, told him you killed his precious older brother, so you’re sure there’s only so little time left before he calls you over to discuss business on the alliance. After taking some time for grievance and taking in what you told him, he’ll end things.

It’ll end soon and you won’t have to see them ever again.

It’ll end soon.

So perhaps the reason why you’re walking towards an empty room, Mister Butler’s room, is for this very fact; to apologize.

Because if you can’t give Namjoon the truth, if you have to hold your peace forever and make him think you’re the bad guy, make him believe that all those hopes and dreams he had were for naught and turn you into the villain that you are so that he can hate you and push you away, the least you can do is apologize to his older brother.

Because despite how cruel Namjoon was to you in the last weeks of your broken marriage, Mingyu is right in saying that he didn’t deserve what you’ve done.

Meeting toxicity with toxicity will only fire back in the end.

And even if you did have a good reason, it’s still a selfish reason.

But Namjoon was getting too close to your liking. He was beginning to doubt, beginning to question, and you didn’t like questions because questions meant getting close to the truth, questions meant doubting the facade you pull every day in front of everyone, questions meant reviewing the past and realizing something was wrong from the very beginning.

You can’t have him doubting your happy fairytale with your father, the story made of rainbows and sunshine, the house of cards you and your father created with your hard work and easy lies.

Letting him think you’re the bad guy is the only thing you can do.

The hallway down the annex is daunting. 

Terrifying.

You hate all the repressed memories that wish to reappear, the cold air it carries, the ghosts of the past trying to touch your shoulder and crawl back into your life. It’s dark, so dark, and with each step echoes the daunting wails of the ghosts who hold onto your ankles, unwilling to let go.

The air is heavy, hoping to drag you down with the memories. Your footsteps are heavy.

You hate the distant screams you hear in the back of your mind. You hate the silence.

The silence.

The silence.

You feel your hands trembling, the way your knees falter and the heels underneath you threaten to twist. It feels numb. Your legs feel numb. But you keep your eyes straight ahead, not daring to take a glance to the side otherwise all those memories you’ve tried so hard to keep hidden will resurface and you can’t have that.

You can’t have it.

So when you reach Mister Butler’s room, you just simply stand right before it, facing it head-on but refusing to reach a hand out, twist the knob, and take a step in.

You stand there, staring.

You know that the room is empty; no furniture, no presence, nothing, and so you keep it that way because you’d rather imagine there is something in there.

His old bed, his old closet, the precious things that he kept in that room……Him.

Him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, head lowered, eyes falling to your feet, bowed into a ninety-degree level. “I’m sorry.”

There is no one here, no one except you, but you still feel the coziness in the lost fragments of your memories, the only warmth in this annex, distant but felt, just like in the past. A gentle child’s voice echoes in your ears, laughing. An older gentleman follows along, kind and sweet just as it always was.

Why did he have to come here? Why couldn’t he have stayed at his own home? Why did he care for a child who held no relation to him?

He should have stayed, shouldn’t have taken up the mission his father gave him, stayed with his little brother and he’d have still been alive.

In meeting you, he died. In loving you, his life was taken away.

“I hope you can forgive me,” you say softly, knowing he hears every word you utter whether it’s barely audible or not. “I’ve hurt your little brother, told him a lie he believed in, crushed his hopes of seeing you reappear in his life ever again. I’m sorry for hurting him…If you were here, would you forgive me? Mister Butler, I…please…tell me what to do…”

There were times when you wished everything had been nothing but a long, long nightmare. Times when you’d wake up and run to Mister Butler’s room just around the corner, hoping, searching, just to see nothing.

No warmth. No smile. No kindness.

No Mister Butler.

He told you about his little brother once. Once. When he was tired and you were on the brink of falling asleep. You remember the gentle hand that patted your head ever so often, his voice soft when he spoke of his brother, eyes filled with happiness but with a bit of regret, a bit of guilt, a bit of longing.

He wanted to return, you realized years later and to this day you still wonder why he hadn’t. He should have, he had his chances, you were sure of it. If Namjoon and his father are both men known for their intelligence, then you’re sure Mister Butler should have been able to make his escape with the brain that he had.

But he never left and sometimes you wonder.

Was it because of you?

Did he stay because of you?

“I killed him,” the words repeat in the back of your head as you recall Namjoon’s confrontation. You may have not been the one to have pulled the trigger but perhaps you were the cause for it. Father told you he shot him because he was your weakness and perhaps father knew at the time he was an enemy in disguise, but at the end of the day, Mister Butler could have escaped.

“I killed him because of you,” Father said and for a while, you believed it. But there was another time you doubted his words, believed that it was just his way of manipulating you once more, that he was just saying it because he wanted to hurt a little kid like you.

And now that you think about it, perhaps you really did kill him. Because father’s right.

If it wasn’t for you, he would have been an ordinary man who didn’t catch father’s attention. If it wasn’t for you, father wouldn’t have cared about his existence. The very fact that Mister Butler looked out for you, cared for you, showed you kindness, and loved you, was the very reason father saw through him and decided to kill him.

If it wasn’t for you, he could have lived.

He could have lived.

You bite onto your lower lip, hard, and a memory resurfaces.

“Don’t bite too hard, young miss, you’ll bleed.”

He’s crouched down to your level, a hand reaching out to swipe along your lips when your teeth bite against it, while his other hand holds your head in gentle strokes, soothing whatever it is that has upset you this time.

“..Why?” You croak out, tears held back as you stare up at him with wide, bulged-out eyes, not daring to blink otherwise the tears will roll down your cheeks. Father says crying is weak. Father hates tears and you don’t want him to keep hating you.

You have to be loved. You have to earn his love. And only good girls can be loved. Only strong girls.

“If I do this, then it’ll be easier to not cry.”

Mister Butler knits his brows, that kind smile replaced by pained anguish. “If you do that, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care,” you say. “Father doesn’t like people who cry and if I keep being weak, I’ll never earn father’s love. I have to earn his love otherwise I’ll never be capable of love and—”

He cuts you off when he pulls you into his arms, wrapping them around your petite body and pressing your face into his chest. “Don’t say that.” His voice sounds so odd when he says that. “Don’t, please..please don’t.” As if he were the one in pain, as if he were the one hurting in your stead, like an older brother who can’t bear the sight of his little sister in pain. Like it’s physically hurting him that you’re hurting. “You are worth so much more than what your father thinks of you as, my lady.”

“But I..I’m not.” You try to force yourself away from his embrace, hands balling into fists as you punch his chest and push him away. You can never be anywhere stronger than Mister Butler but he lets go, leaves because you want him to go. “If you keep showing me kindness, if you keep spoiling me, I will never get strong.”

“You don’t have to be strong.”

“But I do! Because then father will never love me!”

His face contours in pained frustration as he clenches his jaw and when you think about it now, perhaps what Mister Butler wanted to say was ‘Your father will never love you no matter how weak or strong you are’ and he’s right. Father is a monster who cannot love another human being.

But the little you then would never understand and would only hurt more if he were to utter such words.

So he swallows those words and holds your shoulders, keeping his anger in to not scare you off.

“Do you think of yourself as incapable of being loved because you are weak?” He asks and you nod.

“I can’t be loved. No one will love me if I’m weak.”

“I love you,” Mister Butler says. “I love you,” he stresses. “I promise I love you so please…please cry.” He cups your tiny face in his large hands, thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “You don’t have to hold it in, young miss. When you’re around me, you don’t have to worry about trying to act proper and trying to act strong because I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. You can lash out, you can throw a tantrum, you can scream at me and hit me and spit in my face and—”

“I’d never!” You quickly shout, face contouring in horror as if the very thought of it could break you. “I’d never, Mister Butler, I’d never.”

“I know,” he nods, pressing his forehead to yours, “I know but my lady, you…you don’t have to worry about anything because no matter what happens, I’ll love you. Even if you cry, young miss, I’m right here. I won’t leave, I won’t throw you away so it’s okay. It’s okay to cry because I’m here. I’ll still love you no matter what. So stop holding those tears in, yeah? Cry. It’s alright to cry.”

“But..-”

“No one’s here. No one can hear you in this room. It’s soundproof and no one ever comes around in these halls so it’s okay. No one can hear you except me. And I love you so it’s okay. It’s okay, young miss. It’s okay to cry.”

Your lips quiver, trembling, and he nods, encouraging you. When the first tear falls with consent, the rest follows and you close your eyes shut, allowing them all to fall like rushing waterfalls.

Against all the things your father had instilled in you, Mister Butler doesn’t leave, he doesn’t discard you. He presses your face into his chest, holds you as tight as he can, and in the sounds of your cries, you don’t realize that he trembles slightly, afraid, frightened, and angry.

You don’t remember the last time you cried but you know that it was before Mingyu came. Before he arrived.

You were broken before he arrived so Yuna is the only Reaper who has ever seen you cry but you don’t know if she can recall the exact moment you stopped shedding tears.

It’s been a while even you can’t remember. Your memories are hazy from those times, when things were rougher, when it was only Yuna who watched you every day like a frightened child losing their precious mother who lied on their deathbed.

Yuna was the only one who saw you through it all, who was there when you still had a soft heart, innocent and precious, who smiled kindly. She was there to see that light stripped away from your eyes, right there when you had let the darkness win, when you succumbed to it.

When you fell silent. Completely silent.

When you broke.

She was right there. The only Reaper to know and to remember all that you were and all that was lost. She may never be able to see again but you remember those eyes, those eyes that were far too young to see such a thing happening right before her.

Those precious eyes that you yourself had to rid of.

Perhaps that’s why in some ways, the others are a little gentler towards her and allow her to take care of your needs when Mingyu isn’t there. Perhaps that’s why they let her near you when you don’t want anyone in.

And perhaps that’s why you let her in.

Because she knows and because she remembers the things even you can’t remember.

Yuna remembers. She remembers everything.

But she was too young to lead the Reapers, too young to know everything on what to do when it came to you and your needs. You needed so much, too much, and her young mind wouldn’t allow her to think things through properly to know just what to do.

When you’d panic, when you’d freeze up, when you’d grow angry, when you’d refuse to eat anything, when you’d get silent, completely silent.

You needed to be saved and Yuna didn’t know how to do it.

She was too young.

While she knew how to comfort and provide you warmth, you needed much more than that, you needed a foundation that could hold you steady and keep you grounded. You needed Mingyu.

And Mingyu came.

And together, the two of them became the first Reapers only loyal to you, building something much stronger than anyone could ever imagine.

You saved Dasom, Mingyu allowed her to pledge her allegiance, and together with Yuna, they taught her on what she needed to know.

Then Yeonjun came along and the same thing repeated over and over again until you created a network of Reapers under your own control, who were loyal to you, and who hated your father all the same.

None of them, except Yuna, has ever seen you cry.

Not even Mingyu.

But you’ll never show them now, or ever. Because you’ve lost it all. 

Your eyes can no longer cry.

Father has trained you well.

“My lady?” You hear footsteps, two pairs, and look up to find Yuna and Yeonjun walking toward you.

How they knew where to find you, you’ll never know, but you guess no matter what happens, your Reapers will always manage to find you wherever you are so you shouldn’t be surprised.

They take one look at the door beside you and they can already imply just why you were down here in the annex where you’ve forbidden yourself to come to. There’s something in Yuna’s hand which she hides away behind her back after taking a glance at the door, but you’ve already caught sight of it; it’s a letter.

A letter. Which means Namjoon has finally decided to formally end things.

You ignore it.

“Yuna. Yeonjun.” They come at your call. “I hate this place,” you say. “I hate it. I hate it.”

The air feels heavier, trying to constrict your breathing, something weighing on your chest, something trying to tear you down.

Your hand trembles when you reach out and Yuna’s right there to help you keep steady on your feet as Yeonjun offers his back to you. You climb on with some effort, eyes shut tightly closed as you press your face into his shoulder, hating everything about this annex.

It’s cold, too cold. You tighten your hold on Yeonjun, terrified and wanting the ground to swallow you whole so that you can disappear forever. You want to get out. Get out.

Everything screams at you in your head, the ghosts of the past reappearing, the distant sound of a little girl crying and begging and pleading for someone, anyone, while the two guards stand completely silent outside the doors of the White Room, not moving a single inch despite how hard she screams at them to come, to save her.

You hear it loud and clear in your head.

Loud and loud and loud in the silence of the annex.

Yeonjun runs out of here in an instant.

.

.

.

“Are you disappointed?” You ask, a small tilt in your head, raising a brow, with a quirk to the corner of your lips.

You look calm, carefree, and that playful smirk on your face is almost taunting him but Hoseok knows better than that. He knows not to take the bait in the same way Namjoon and the others have. This is just a facade. 

A facade.

“How can I be disappointed…when it wasn’t you who killed him?” He asks and there’s a small little falter in your lips.

The sharp corner falls and your eyelids rest to show your disappointment in him not catching the fishing hook you’ve dropped into the pond. You look upset, as if wondering why he still wishes to believe in you, why he still remembers the girl you once were when you lived with them, when you loved them dearly and when they loved you the same.

Hoseok stares right at you, unblinking, and perhaps that’s what makes you take a step back, hating his strong pursuit in not believing the words that leave your mouth, hating that he makes you falter, that he seems to hold power over you.

You look away, not wanting him to search through your eyes, and utter, “There’s no use believing in the girl you thought you knew.”

“Just like how I shouldn’t have believed in the girl who lied to me about being alright?” He asks, stopping you from turning your feet and walking away from him. You’re here for Namjoon, he knows, and sooner or later this alliance between the two gangs may fall apart but before any of that can happen, before he can never see you ever again unless by chance, Hoseok has to say something.

Anything.

Before it’s too late.

“You never told me you went on your knees,” he says, jaws clenched.

“Why would I have told you that?”

“Do you think it’s shameful being desperate for something? Wanting love and attention from your loved ones?”

“I don’t know, Hoseok,” you look up at him, shrugging, challenging him, “why don’t you ask Namjoon that?”

He bites his inner cheek, eyes drifting off to the side because he knows. If there were anyone he should have asked that question to, it would be Namjoon. 

“I could have done something,” he says, voice quieter, upset.

You laugh at those words, shaking your head. “Oh Hoseok, there was nothing you could have done at that point. Once a man like Namjoon makes up his mind, not even the strongest wind can make him bend a knee.” Ironic how you were the one begging instead. “He stopped loving me and the rest followed along because to them, to..you, I will always come second to Namjoon.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” you cut him off sharply, eyes piercing. “The number one rule in the mafia is to never betray the gang otherwise you die, and obviously Namjoon would never kill any of you but you have nothing left without the gang right? Even if you had known the truth then, even if they had told you every last detail about what happened, you would have ended up just like the rest of the boys. You would have chosen Namjoon, and I would have been left all alone without anyone to rely on.” With a bitter smile curled along your lips, your eyes drift down to the floor, a flash of memory falling through your mind. “Don’t you think I kept everything a secret from you for a reason?”

You look back up at him, a pressed smile, “To hold onto that last piece of fantasy I blinded myself into living before letting it all fall apart. You would have ended up like them, Hoseok, like the rest of the boys. Even if they still loved me then, even if it was against their will what Namjoon did and even if they resented Namjoon for some time for it, that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. It hurts because you would have done the same, whether you think that’s true or not, you would have chosen Namjoon, it’s only inevitable.”

You begin to turn away from him, walking off. “You all loved him more than I, after all, and I would have been your second choice as well. Don’t lie to yourself, Jung Hoseok.”

Hoseok doesn’t have a say before you’re walking away, leaving him alone in the halls as he hears your heels clicking away.

.

.

.

It’s silent.

A deafening silence.

You can never get used to silence no matter how long you’ve spent almost your entire life drowned in it because when it’s silent, your mind likes to speak. It likes to act. It likes to play with you.

Playing and playing and playing until you get too exhausted it drains all that you are.

You hate silence.

Hate it more than anything.

More than your father perhaps.

“So,” hence you’re the one to break it with a leg crossing over the other, leaning back as you play on an easygoing expression as if Mister Butler’s death meant nothing to you and that despite how much you came to resent Namjoon, letting him know that his brother died did nothing to your conscience. 

“Shall we get straight to the point? We’re ending things, yeah?”

His thick brows knit, chin protruding in the way it always does when he’s angry or serious, his inner cheeks bitten upon.

That’s right, hate me some more.

“Do you have nothing to say?” He keeps his voice restrained, holding back his emotions, but you want to push his buttons. Want him to hate you with all that he has.

“Did you want an apology? Want me to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness like that night almost eleven years ago?”

“Y/N.”

“I can do it if you’d like,” you uncross your legs, standing, “I have no shame after all.”

“Y/N.”

On your knees, “I apologize for—”

“Stop!” He shouts at you, eyes reddening and there are signs of fatigue, nights he spent restless, nights he spent shedding tears for the news that you gave him, the bags he doesn’t care to hide, hair imperfect, disheveled, different from his perfect image, the stare in his eyes holding so many emotions it’s a surprise he’s deciding not to hide them before you.

Namjoon is a man who holds his walls up high.

Not as high as you but high enough.

He isn’t one to let people read him that easily yet here he is, emotions on full display.

Awkwardly, you stand back up to sit back down on the seat provided for you, feigning an exasperated sigh as if all of this was just a hindrance to your schedule and you’d rather run off killing the people on your hit list.

Namjoon presses his fingers to his temples, trying to keep himself controlled and calm and you frown at the fact that he isn’t lashing out more at you.

You want him to hate you even more than he feels now.

“Why?” He asks, voice strained and quieter.

You shrug. “Was I supposed to know it was your brother I killed then? We didn’t even know each—”

“You found out your old butler was my brother when you approached me again after ten years. You knew he was dead then and you used that to your advantage, hitting me at my weakest. Why?”

“Why?” You feign a chuckle as if the answer was that obvious. “To use you, of course. I needed your power, Namjoon. As a newly developed leader in the mafia world, climbing up the ranks was easy doing it alongside you. You got me to go up against Daejung, helped with Ying and Jummy, and even came to London with me. Not to mention your position as my ally itself scored me a lot of bonuses. Why wouldn’t I have used you? You made a great pawn on my chess board.”

A pawn, right.

“That was all I ever was to you, right? So isn’t it fair I did the same to you?”

He hates that silly little smile you press his way.

“Did none of my sincerity ever mean anything to you?”

The talks of the past, a face of offense as if you’re the only one at fault here. Your little smile falls, though a rueful chuckle leaves your lips. “You talk of the past as if it was just a few years ago. It’s not been a few years, Namjoon, it’s been ten, almost eleven. And in that span of time, a lot has changed. Do you still blindly believe I’m still the person I was then in the same way Hoseok still believes in it?”

His eyes harden. “I know you aren’t the same.”

“That’s right, I’ve changed. You used me as a pawn then, right? Discarded my feelings, all my sincerity, and threw me out when I was no longer useful to you. Why should it matter what I do to you now?”

“I didn’t use anyone you loved against you.”

“You used the boys against me.” You stand from your seat, glaring his way, and he follows suit. “You admitted it, Namjoon, you fell out of love with me, but you falling out of love doesn’t mean it’d be the same for the boys but in the end, they chose you.”

“How is that my fault?”

“It is your fault. A lot of their actions were their own faults but they were entirely your fault. Having you first, loving you first, and having gotten saved by you left them with no other choice but to choose you. If I had fallen out of love with you, they would have still chosen you. Don’t you get that? I wasn’t ever going to be a choice in that relationship, I was always on the losing end, and I would have inevitably gotten tossed away to the side whether you stopped loving me or not. If you had just stopped loving me, why didn’t you just say that? Why did you have to be a coward and made me believe I wasn’t ever going to be enough for you?”

“You ended up fine anyways,” he argues, “It’s not like you had nowhere else to go. Your father accepted you back with open arms.”

Ended up fine?

Your father welcomed you back with open arms?

You laugh.

Laugh.

And Namjoon watches with slight confusion plastered on his face as fits of laughter leaves your lips so obnoxiously you almost sound crazy and out of your mind.

You are crazy and out of your mind because it sounds so funny to you, his words. Your shoulders tremble, a hand coming up to cover your mouth as your eyes crinkle into crescent moons.

“You..really…” It starts to die down, slowly. “So that’s what it was, huh? You decided to play with my feelings, feign the fact that I wasn’t enough so I’d hate you and willingly divorce you on my own so I could return to my dear loving father? That was the story?” When he doesn’t answer your question, the silence answers itself.

Namjoon fell out of love and he thought the best decision to make everyone hurt a little less was to return you to your dear father.

Your father.

Where you’d live out a fantasy and be that lovely little daughter protected by a father, loved and cherished by her people, and not get thrown into a lonely room, a cold, white room. Where you did not get neglected, wondering what her next meal would be because sometimes they come in small platters, or sometimes they don’t come at all, or sometimes you’d get too afraid of it being poisoned because your father has tried to kill you before as a child.

Once? Twice? No.

You can’t count how many times you believed over and over again as a child, thought the food was okay, only to end up in bed sick in the body for days and left on your own to take care of your own self.

Father wanted you dead and he did what he could to try and kill you. You don’t know when he stopped, or if he ever did, because by the time you learned to stop believing in the food he fed you, you started relying on your own self to grab the food you were sure hadn’t gotten touched yet by anyone.

So came the days when you stopped eating, when you wouldn’t eat at all.

Sometimes just bread crumbs you could find in the kitchen, sneaking out in the middle of the night when almost everyone was asleep, stealing bread.

So when you returned, the nightmares and fear returned. 

Because Bangtan never gave you wasted food or anything that was poisoned. You remember it well, remember keeping your eyes open and pointed, watching the way the servers would serve food in random order, watching the way everyone took a bite first before having enough courage to eat yourself.

You never showed them your fears so they never knew and they still don’t.

But you’ve always been afraid of food.

And Yuna was the first person you ever trusted to make you food when you returned to the Reaper’s manor. You only ate what she gave you.

Only ate whatever she could make with her horrible cooking skills; eggshells in her egg sandwiches, food too salty, too bitter, too dirty in color, and sometimes they weren’t even edible.

But you ate them because she was the only person you could trust. The only one.

If she poisoned you it’d be an accident but you still ate it because it was Yuna. The first Reaper, the very first one. The only one you could trust.

The only one.

“You know, I’m glad your brother’s dead.”

Words uttered that don’t have any emotions behind them at all but you utter them with disgust, with contempt, and with hatred for the one who forced you back into that hell and made you fear for every second you lived in that manor when your father was still alive.

There were days when you didn’t eat at all, days when brought into the White Room, you’d just lie there against the wall or on the floor, eyes blank and dull, no hope left in them, no words escaping, no cries for help, no more calling for Hoseok because no one would come.

No one.

Nothing kept you warm except a flimsy old blanket Yuna would put on you but even that wasn’t enough to keep your temperature up.

Or sometimes your temperature would get too high and you’d tremble in that lonely room. The echoes of Yuna’s cries ringing in your ears but you don’t remember a lot of it because every day was like that; painful until you could feel no more.

Painful until you decided to get stronger, to feel all of your father’s wrath and all of his torture.

Hurting even more.

Namjoon will never know what his actions had put you through. He’ll never know.

“Excuse me?” So he glares at you when you tell him those words about his brother, believing in your lies, believing in your anger.

You see the way his eyes shake, hands balling into fists and if you were a man, you’re sure he wouldn’t have held himself back from hauling a punch right onto your face. It’s funny to you, so funny, because you want him to hit you, you want him to hurt you.

You want to feel the pain.

“You..you’re a monster.”

“That’s right, I am.” You play along with his anger, fueling it, wanting him to hate you even more. “I’m a monster, Namjoon. I killed the father who loved me so dearly and I killed the butler who showed me nothing but kindness. Do you know how gentle he was with me? When I’d cry, he’d hold me, when I’d bite onto my lower lips to keep the tears in, he’d worry about my lips bleeding. He’d give me extra treats, stealing the sweets when no one was looking. He’d ask ‘my lady, have you eaten?’ or ‘young miss, don’t eat too fast, the food isn’t going anywhere.’ And when I’d get in trouble and hide away from the adults, he’d be the very first one who’d find me. He always found me. No matter where I’d hide, no matter where I was, he’d find me. He’d be the first one to notice if something was wrong. Always checked my temperature in the morning, always made sure I was eating well, always made sure he was around to play with me if father was too busy or if mother was too sick to pay attention. Your brother loved me. And you know what I did?”

You show him your fingers, the index and middle pressed up against one another with the thumb off to the side, and slowly point it towards your temple, playing a trigger pulled and jerk your head to the side, laughing in Namjoon’s face.

“I killed him, Namjoon. I killed him. I told the Reapers to pull the trigger and he fell dead right before my foot, shocked I betrayed him.”

Namjoon trembles, eyes drifting off to the side, shaking, unsteady, breath held up against him as if he can’t breathe.

“I killed your brother, Namjoon,” you chant like a psychopath. Chanting, chanting, chanting. “I killed Jungwon, I killed your brother.”

He’s weak in his knees, he can’t hold himself up.

His hands come up to hold his face, breathing in, breathing out, while you chant and chant, until Namjoon looks through the cracks of his fingers, piercing eyes, red, a glare mirroring that of the devil, and it’s then that you realize he must really want to kill you right now.

So you push his buttons even further.

“Kill me, Namjoon.”

His hands slowly and shakily fall from his face, wrinkles in between his brows. “What?”

You take a step forward, ignoring all warning signs from your body because Leehyun still has lasting effects on you, and take Namjoon’s wrists, forcing his hands to wrap around your neck with a strong hold. He tries to pull back but you don’t let him.

“Kill me right now,” you dare, eyes staring straight into his soul. “Do it, do us both a favor, Namjoon. If you hate me that much, you wouldn’t hesitate to kill me.”

For what he did to you, calling you names, belittling you, made you feel unwanted, forced you to rip your ring off, kicked you out, throwing you back to your father. Death feels less painful than all the things you went through when you ran back to the arms of your father. 

For throwing you back into the lion’s den when you had escaped for the first time, Namjoon killing you would have been no different.

“Why don’t you just kill me?”

“Are you crazy?! Let go of me.”

“End me!” You push against his hold, tightening both your hands around your neck. “Do it now! You hate me, don’t you? I’m giving you permission now so just do it! I’m right here in your territory so there’s no one to stop you and even after the Reapers get the news of my death, it’s not as if they can kill you. You're stronger than me, stronger than us, and you have men much stronger than we will ever be. So what’s holding you back? End all of your sufferings and you’ll never have to see my disgusting face ever again. End me..-!”

“Stop!”

In the midst of trying to pull away and rid of his grip around your neck, Namjoon accidentally pushes you too hard so you end up on the floor and his eyes widen, a gasp leaving his lips. “Y/N, I—”

“Kill me already!” You’re shouting still, wheezing from the chokehold, coughs leaving you, and while he gets distracted by those painful coughs, your eyes find the gun he placed on the coffee table just before the talk and rush to reach for it.

Only to have it snatched away by your ex-husband.

He presses something on his watch and the door opens, revealing Yoongi and Seokjin.

“Detain her,” Namjoon commands, and they look with confusion.

“What?”

“She’s not in her right mind.”

Your eyes widen, rushing to stand, only to have someone holding you down. “Namjoon, stop being a coward and do it already!” You twist your body against Yoongi and Seokjin’s holds, trying to push them off. “Kill me already!”

Other footsteps are heard, the rest of them have probably come at the sound of your voice, but you’re still jerking about with all of your might. Why does it matter they’re here now? Rushing into the room, eyes widened and filled with a type of fear that wants to understand what’s happening and why you’re acting the way that you are.

Why does it matter now? Why do they have to act like they care? They could have cared then and it would have made a difference but caring now does nothing for you.

“Y/N-”

“Get off me!”

You use your legs, kicking Seokjin away, and use your head to shoot back and hit Yoongi right on his forehead, causing both their grips to falter for a second, and in that second, you escape from them.

“Y/N-” Namjoon comes to stop you but you punch your fist right into the coffee table, causing the glass to shatter from underneath and allowing your skin to tear, blood pooling all about.

The room falls silent.

Frozen.

“Do you know how much it hurts?” You look up, meeting his eyes. You stare at the gun in his hand, the one you failed to grab, the shattered coffee table, and turn at the rest of them before letting out a chuckle as if everything about this was funny. But it’s not funny. It’s not.

“I thought I stopped feeling long ago but it still hurts,” you say at the hand that bleeds with glass shards cut deep inside your skin but they know you aren’t just talking about your hand. “It hurts so much. But you don’t care one bit, do you? Just like that night years ago when I fell on my knees and begged for the pain to stop. You didn’t care then, why would you care now?”

You look at them again, feeling that familiar ache in your chest, a familiar pain you haven’t felt in a long, long time.

“I never begged for help until that last second but you knew, didn’t you? You knew that I was afraid and that I wanted help. You knew I was hurting. But what did you do but live in ignorance bliss, pretending as if nothing had changed and that Namjoon wasn’t purposefully hurting me just to force me into making a decision that he wanted; me out of your lives. You knew everything and you did nothing. If you tell me you cared then, that you did still love me then, then I call that bullshit because how can you love someone and willingly watch them fall apart?

“Ah but I get it,” you sigh, scoffing, “you couldn’t do anything because it was against the mafia’s code, right? Because Namjoon’s your boss, because loving me still and taking my side meant betraying your boss, the boss that saved you, the boss that loved you. If you went against him, if you chose me over him, that would have meant betraying the gang and you have nothing left if you left the gang, right?”

You look at Namjoon, eyes hardening. “That’s what you did, Namjoon. You forced them into a corner, forced them to choose you. Because of your stubborn and selfish ass, you broke apart what could have worked out if you had only tried just a little bit more. Oh, but why does it matter? Why should you continue trying when I could just return to my dear precious gang and live a life of bliss, escaping your abuse and your selfish acts, returning to the people that actually loved me? Because to you, in your head, you thought that I’d be happier if I was to return rather than remain in a toxic environment right? And then everyone would be happy because no matter how much the guys resented you then, in the end they’d forgive you and you’d all return to loving once again and we’d all live happily, ever, after. Me with my gang. You with yours.”

How funny is that?

Everyone lived happily in the end, happy and joyful and back to loving once again as if those three years with you had never existed in the first place. As if you never existed in the first place.

Everyone lived happily ever after.

Everyone but you.

You turn to your bleeding fist and hold it up to take a closer look, hating how your hand trembles, how you can’t seem to hide your anger and pain and fear this time.

No one says anything, no one answers.

It’s silent. You hate silence.

Leehyun walks into your mind when you remember touching Namjoon and letting Yoongi and Seokjin touch you. They’re all here in this room, watching you, staying completely silent because they know all the words you’ve said are true and have no courage to say anything that will rebuke you.

Your left hand comes up to hold your right arm, hugging yourself against the cold chill that falls down your body.

It’s dark, why is it so dark? You don’t remember the room being this dark when you first entered and no one is moving, no one has done anything to make this room darker but it’s dark. Dark.

And cold.

Father likes it when it’s cold. Father likes it when you tremble like a leaf, telling you that you’re better off getting used to the cold but you never did and you don’t think you ever will.

You hate the cold.

Hate it.

You hate the silence, the dark, and the cold.

And when you look up, this time the faces in the room aren’t clear in your vision anymore. Everyone is a blur so you can’t make out what they look like, how they’re looking at you, if they still look concerned, if they still look the same as they had when they first walked in.

Your chest feels heavy, your throat feels as if someone is holding onto it like that moment you forced Namjoon’s hands around you.

He’s not touching you, he’s a few feet away but he’s not touching you. No one is. But you feel a presence, a heavy presence that constricts your breathing, that touches your skin, the nape of your neck.

Why did you touch him? Why did you force him to touch you?

Get away. Please get away.

You take a step back, afraid, and stumble upon something. Perhaps your own foot. But when someone holds an arm out, you immediately put on a defensive stance.

“Don’t touch me,” you demand. “Don’t come near me.”

You’re shaking.

Shaking.

The room is wide, large, so you move to a corner, away from them, and slide down the wall to rest on your bottom because your legs feel weak, because you can’t keep holding yourself up anymore.

You hear a voice in the distance, someone saying Mingyu’s name, but you don’t know what they’re saying. You feel eyes, eyes, and put your head down, afraid.

A second passes.

A heartbeat.

You count the beat of your heart which drums loud and hard against your chest to let you know that you’re still alive, that you’re still living. You count it.

One beat. Two beats. Three beats.

Mingyu says that if he’s not around, you have to get into a corner where no one can touch you, where no one is around, and listen to your heartbeat. You have to count it until he comes.

Until he comes.

Breathe in and out. Don’t forget to breathe.

Four beats. Five beats.

Six. Seven. Eight…

So Mingyu gets called after Namjoon makes a command and when he arrives, you’re sat in the corner of a room, left alone, head lowered, surrounded by seven men who watch your every move from a distance, not wanting you to ever leave their vision in case you do something irrational again.

He’s shocked at the scene, at the hands that still bleed because you refused any treatment, refused anyone to touch you, to come near you.

Mingyu takes a glance at Namjoon for some answers but he says nothing and only looks away to hide his gun behind his back so Mingyu turns back to you and walks over to you, kneeling before you.

“...Boss,” he calls, gently. He makes sure he doesn’t sound cautious, makes sure he doesn’t sound afraid, worried. “Hey, Boss. I’m here. It’s Mingyu.”

You look up slowly and he has to keep himself back from letting out a gasp at the red ring around your neck. Someone touched you but he knows Namjoon wouldn’t have deliberately hurt you on purpose. Did you do something? What happened? Why are you like this?

You say nothing but those eyes of yours are dead. Tired. And when he presses a hand against your cheek, you lean into it, closing your eyes, nuzzling against the warmth of his palm, and barely utter out;

“.....Take me home, Mingyu.”

When the room empties of your presence, the rest of them turn to Namjoon for an explanation, for anything, wondering what had happened, wondering why you demanded such actions from him, wondering why you were like that when they walked into the room.

But the leader keeps quiet for some time, for the longest time, as he looks out the window where he sees you carried in Mingyu’s arms and getting taken away into a black car. It is only when the car disappears completely from his sight does he speak.

“She didn’t do it,” he says and they keep silent, waiting for him to keep going. Namjoon turns from the window to face them and stares at the corner where you had sat. “There are a lot of things Y/N does but what she does best…” he looks at Hoseok, “is lie.”

He takes the gun from his back, examining it as the memories of you trying to grab it flashes in his mind.

“I killed him, I killed him, I killed him.” You chanted over and over again.

“Even back then she was the same. That part of her will never change.”

“You’re saying..”

“She didn’t kill Jungwon,” he concludes. “And everything we knew about her…everything we thought we knew…..all of it was a lie.”

weverse taehyung hits differently...

↳ lucas for elle korea. 🌾

his beauty is out of the world

jin and jungkook having fun playing with the magnifying glass 🥺