The Comforts Of Creatures (5)

the comforts of creatures (5)

creature comforts:

↳ material/bodily comforts, such as food, warmth, or special accommodations, that contribute to physical ease and well-being

→ pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

→ genre: supernatural!au, soulmate!au, hurt + comfort + recovery, angst with a happy ending, fluff, eventual smut

→ word count: 4.8k

→ summary: you learn what you are, and your reaction is far from what they expected. as they try to help you feel safe, the boys learn about your triggers, and they try their hardest to help in any way they can.

→ trigger/content warnings: PTSD (self-loathing, mistrust, flashbacks/nightmares) effects of brainwashing, lil’ bit of lore, overt and internalized racism/species-ism (?), vomiting, anxiety, mentions of starvation/food poisoning, mentions of physical abuse, dissociation, mentions of torture, aversion to touch, mc pushes jimin but he’s okay, jimin is an angel, facial/body scars, body dysmorphia/repulsion

→ a/n: thank y’all for your patience :) here’s some more hurt before the comfort lol

past part ← series masterlist → next part

part 5: scars and soothers

“This is you.”

The man is pointing at a detailed image drawn in faded ink. The rest of the page is filled with scripted text and anatomical diagrams.

You can’t look at first, scared of what you’ll find.

When you finally do, you don’t know what to think. There’s the thought that he’s kidding, he’s lying. He can’t be serious.

The drawing is of a creature with tawny-feathered wings extending magnificently in the air. It has the body of a powerful big cat, muscular yet elegant. Its four legs end in sharp-taloned feet. Its neck is framed by a golden mane, looking like a big frilly collar. The mane’s trail travels down the creature’s chest and back, ending in a flowing tail. It has the face of a lion, with white whiskers and deep yellow eyes, yet the regal posture of an eagle.

A diagram off to the left shows the inside of its mouth, lined with row upon row of sharp teeth and protruding fangs.

Looking back up, you search the faces of the men around you. None of them appear to be joking.

You can’t speak.

You’re one of them, one of the creatures they all despised. The creatures that roam the wild lands for easy prey, spreading carnage wherever they go.

No wonder they hated you so much. You’re not even human.

A few silent, involuntary tears fall from your eyes, which are locked back on the page. You wipe them away hastily.

The boys don’t know how to react, all looking at each other with concern.

“What...” you squeak out, voice choked. “What is it?”

“A gryffin,” Yoongi replies. “You’re a shifter.”

Something gurgles in your stomach. You clench your teeth, nails digging deep into the meat of your thighs.

You believe him. You don’t want to, but you believe him. You’ve always felt less than human, like something wasn’t right about you. Like something was just beneath the surface, clawing its way up.

Now you know why.

Jungkook, who’s sitting closest to you, slowly, cautiously puts his hand on your shoulder in an effort to comfort you.

But you flinch at his touch, jerking away.

You don’t catch the look of hurt that flits across his face. He knows you can’t help it, but it still stings to think that his touch physically repels you.

“What did they tell you about atypicals?” Namjoon presses, trying to shift your attention so you won’t look so disheartened by the reality of what you are.

From the way you look at him, he knows that you’ve never heard that word before. Or at least you don’t remember it.

“Atypicals are anything that falls out of the humanic species,” he explains patiently.

Your face scrunches in confusion.

“Humanic as in human,” he elaborates.

You don’t understand why he’s talking like that. You’ve never heard these terms before. In the place you came from, the “facility,” anything that wasn’t human was an abomination, a mistake in the eyes of nature.

Simple as that.

But here, things seem to be a bit more complicated.

Nausea is starting to bubble in your gut. You breathe carefully through your nose as you consider Namjoon’s question.

“They said...” you begin hesitantly.

They’re all on the edge of their seats, desperately wondering what those bastards brainwashed you to believe about their kind, your own kind.

“They said that they were monsters.”

Another pang of hurt thrums through their hearts.

“That...that they deserved to be hunted down like dogs.”

They can hear the pain in your own voice, either from witnessing their cruel behavior, or from realizing that you’ve been the target of it this whole time.

Your stomach churns.

“They said I wasn’t even worthy to lick the ground they walked on.”

They can all hear you choking on your tears, despite your attempts to hide it.

Jimin and Jungkook feel like their chests are going to burst from holding it in, both the sorrow they feel for you and the urge to rush forward and drown you in affection.

Jin and Namjoon have storms raging inside their heads. Namjoon is calculating, trying to decode what exactly their motive was and how to use it to track down the ones in charge of it all. Jin’s mind is reeling with ways to undo the damage they’ve done, mentally and physically.

Yoongi is swimming waist-deep in despair. He can’t help but think of what’s to come. You’ll have to relearn everything. How to shift, how to fight, how to cast. That is, if you even want to.

You feel the newly strung tension in the air, looking like you just realized you said all of those things out loud.

One look around the room, and your newly found voice retreats deep into your throat.

The man called Namjoon, his eyes have darkened, jaw clenched and ticking like he’s grinding his teeth.

The one who tended to your wounds is sitting stiffly in his chair, staring ahead with a new sharpness in his face.

The small dark-haired man has his hands clenched, prominent veins crawling up his arms.

You duck your head down, body stiff with nerves.

“You have to know,” Yoongi begins, voice calm as ever despite the rage just below the surface. “That’s not how most people think. Especially not here.”

Here in the North Regions, atypicals make up the majority of the population. Law enforcement, government, and public works are largely run by them, and prejudice is rarely an issue.

But how could you know that now?

They can all see the change. It’s almost instantaneous, the way your face shifts and loses all semblance of emotion. Just like that, the mask is back up.

Then there’s something else. A slight twitch from your nose, a well-hidden shudder. They can see your throat bobbing.

For a few seconds, it looks like you’re about to say something. Your tongue is moving inside your mouth, and you’re blinking rapidly.

Namjoon is about to utter some gentle encouragement, but a jolt racks through your body, making you hunch over.

All of a sudden you’re vomiting up everything you just ate.

Hoseok, Jungkook and Jimin can’t help but jump to their feet, panicked noises filling the air.

Taehyung’s eyes widen. All his limbs go rigid, paralyzing him in his seat. He feels sick himself.

Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi all look at each other.

Yoongi thrusts into action, heading to the kitchen with Jungkook in tow since he isn’t good around pungent-smelling things.

Namjoon starts giving instructions. Jimin, paper towels. Hobi, get the mop. Said men jolt into action, scrambling to do whatever they can to help.

Jin’s eyes have been fixed on you for some time now, catching your every move, including all the suppressed flinches and tremors.

He’s at your side in an instant, on his knees to try to catch your eyes. But it’s no use, you’re squeezing your eyes shut like you’re expecting to be hit.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he mutters in his gentlest voice. “It’s no big deal. No one is upset with you.”

As much as he wants to, he refrains from touching you right away.

Eyes still tightly shut, you flinch away from the sound of his voice, twitching with anxiety.

Jin can see you start to spiral, so he does the only thing he knows will work.

“Hey,” he begins, voice firmer than it was before. “Look at me.”

Your eyes snap open, shining with moisture.

“That’s my girl,” Jin says before he can help it. “You’re going to calm down for me, yeah?”

Your eyes desperately search his face, looking for any sign of anger or deception. You find none, not even a hint of disgust, and your breathing starts to slow.

All that’s there is the man who tended to your wounds, watching you with those patient eyes. His handsome face is calm, attentively anticipating whatever you need right now.

Sweat gathers on your skin. That same sensation crawls up your throat, saliva pooling in your mouth.

Jin notices the signs immediately.

“Come with me,” he orders softly, putting a light hand on your back and leading you to the nearest bathroom.

You don’t know what to do with yourself.

You remember vomiting a few times at the facility. Once from eating a rotten vegetable, the mold making it impossible to identify. And once when a handful of keepers had held you down, repeatedly punching you in the stomach, until you gave in and called yourself a mutt.

Both times you were severely punished for making a mess. You learned to hold it in your mouth and swallow it down after that.

Jin guides you to kneel over the toilet. He keeps talking to you, but you only process half of what he’s saying.

“Go ahead, let it out,”

You can feel it creeping up, burning and sour. But something deeper, something almost instinctual, tells you to keep it down.

“Stop holding it in, sweetheart,” he says, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “It’s not good for you. It’s okay to let go.”

Before you can think to suppress it, another wave of nausea surges through your body. The crescendo of it makes you wretch, emptying the last of your stomach’s contents.

“Good, good, just get it all out,” he encourages instead of beating you until you can’t breathe.

The bile is bitter in your mouth, but not more bitter than the dread clinging to your entire being.

He’s not going to punish me, you finally realize. It’s almost an impossible thought.

For a moment, you stay hunched over, frozen. Not sure what to do next.

“Here, come wash your mouth out,” Jin says, helping you stand up on shaky legs.

The sound of running water rings in your ears. You feel the coolness against your tongue, but barely register that you’re the one cupping it to your lips. Numb. You feel like you’re controlling your body from the outside rather than the inside.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

You look up at him for the first time in a while. His face is as kind as it was before, with the same full-lipped smile and warm brown eyes.

The man starts to lead you out of the room, that same gentle hand resting on your back.

It isn’t until then that you realize you’re still in the grimy clothes they found you in. And now the entire front of your shirt is stained with even more filth.

You glance into the living room as you pass through the hallway.

The other men are diligently cleaning the area you just soiled. The small dark-haired man and the muscular man are missing, though you can hear rustling from the kitchen.

The one with the jet black hair and bright face catches your eye, flashing a reassuring smile. It makes you rip your eyes away.

Jin guides you into the living room, and everyone immediately looks your way.

Shrinking, you’re shrinking into yourself as much as your body will allow.

“Someone run a bath,” Jin announces. “I think it’s time our little guest got some sleep in clean clothes.”

The fair-haired one steps forward and exchanges a subtle look with Jin, who’s standing slightly behind you.

“Would you follow me?” the shorter man says, holding out his hand.

It’s the one with the silver-gray hair and warm eyes. You think his name is Jimin. His face is soft and friendly. It asks a silent question: will you trust me?

You don’t take his hand, but you do take a step up the stairs in the direction he’s leading you.

You don’t catch it, but Jimin and Jin exchange a heartfelt glance, nearly ecstatic at the fact that you’re beginning to trust them.

Jimin leads you up the stairs as the rest of them settle things downstairs.

When you reach the top, he guides you down a spacious hallway that’s filled with potted plants and window light.

Every single door, down to the very end of the hall, is open. Whether it’s open wide or just a crack, not one of them is closed or locked. You’re not used to it.

The man, Jimin, stops at a door halfway down the hall and looks back to check if you’re still following him.

You stop a few feet away from him, still keeping your distance, but your expression is open and neutral, waiting on his next move.

He gives you a calm smile, and continues into the room with you behind him.

This room is just as bright and inviting as the rest of the house. White walls and clean tile floors, but this time with a large porcelain tub and a sink with marble countertops.

The man turns to look at you with a question in his eyes.

“Shower or bath?” he asks.

It’s a harmless question, a considerate question. But your mind is yanked back to that place.

Shower. A torrent of fire raining down on you, vision blinded by steam. It comes from every angle, unrelenting no matter how much you scream.

They would strip you down and lock you in a metal stall the size of a coffin. Then the dotted ceiling would unleash a downpour of near-boiling water.

You would bang on the walls, but the water made the metal surface just as hot, the floor burning the bottom of your feet. Minutes or hours they kept you in there, not letting you out until your body was covered in burn marks.

Bath. The most intense cold you’ve ever felt. It’s everywhere, submerging you up to the neck, seeping down to your very bones.

They would chain you down in a tub full of ice, nothing but your head poking out of the frigid water. The cold chains cut into your skin the more you struggled. Your lungs would heave from the shock of it, your whole body shivering violently.

Then they would hold your head underwater until you were bucking like a stuck pig. This went on until you were utterly exhausted, falling limp against the freezing porcelain with nothing but the tight chains holding you up.

You’re snapped back to reality when the man takes a step closer. He’s watching you closely, trying to read your face.

Finally remembering that he asked you a question, you shrug your shoulders and shake your head.

You don’t want either. You don’t want to be anywhere near that tub. You want him to leave you alone.

Jimin guesses that the gesture means you don’t care which one. He figures you’re most likely still weak from malnourishment, and he doesn’t want you fainting and hitting your head.

So he opts for a bath, turning on the faucet. He sits on the edge of the tub, hand under the spout to monitor the temperature.

The sound of running water makes every muscle in your body tense up. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

It’s going to hurt, it’s going to hurt. The fire, the ice, it’s going to burn and sting and cut into your flesh. You won’t be able to escape it.

Jimin doesn’t notice it at first, too focused on adjusting the knobs to get the water not too hot and not too cold, but your breathing has picked up again.

You can already feel it filling your ears, your mouth, rushing down your throat as your head is held down. Your skin prickles from the heat, it quivers from the cold.

The water in the tub continues to rise, and you can’t move. Your body is frozen, feet rooted to the floor as the sound of sloshing roars louder and louder in your ears.

Halfway full, now. It’s coming any second. He’s going to turn on you, throw you down and hold you under.

Burning, freezing. It’ll hurt and hurt and hurt.

Jimin turns his head, and his stomach drops.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, lips pursed like you’re trying to bite back a scream. Fists clenched at your sides, shoulders trembling, as your chest heaves up and down.

Immediately, he jumps to his feet and rushes over to you.

“What is it, babe? What’s wrong?” 

Then he makes a big mistake. He puts his hands on you.

His touch is gentle, nonthreatening, nothing but two hands on your shoulders. But you don’t want it, you’re repulsed by it. Because touch always comes before the pain.

On instinct, your body jerks away, arms moving to push the unwelcome touch away, just get it away. Your hands collide against something, hard.

When you open your eyes, the man is on the floor. Sprawled on his back, looking up at you with wide, slightly watery eyes.

There’s shock plastered on both of your faces.

Jimin’s soft heart hurts a little, he can’t help it. In all the years he’s known you, loved you, you’ve never ever been repelled by him. But that hurt is soon drowned by guilt.

He scared you, he made you feel unsafe. You felt the need to protect yourself and it’s his fault.

You’re staring at your hands in horror, completely floored by what you’ve done. You’re in for it now. He tried to help you and you hurt him. Now they’re going to hurt you even more.

Several sets of pounding footsteps draw near. The others must have heard the thud from downstairs and rushed up to see what was wrong.

What they don’t expect to find is Jimin crumpled on the floor and you standing over him in a braced position, but that’s exactly what they see when they peer through the doorway.

They’re all a little astonished, Jin and Namjoon are thinking deeply, and something in Taehyung’s eyes shifts.

He isn’t proud of it, but a surge of protectiveness washes over him, for his Jimin. He knows it’s unreasonable, unfair even. But it’s still there. And he can’t snuff it out.

A new fear consumes you. You were insubordinate, you resisted. You know what comes next.

A sob gets trapped in your throat as you sink down to the floor, burying your head in-between your knees and using your arms to shield yourself.

Immediately, the same way Jimin did, they all rush forward to comfort you.

“No!” Jimin blurts out, making you flinch and shake violently. “Don’t touch, give her some space.”

They all obey, keeping their distance with concern flooding their features.

Jimin shifts onto his knees, scooting a little closer but still keeping enough away.

“I’m sorry,” he nearly whispers, like he’s talking to a wild, cornered animal. “It was my fault entirely. I shouldn’t have touched you. I’m truly sorry.”

Jimin’s voice has always been soothing, even in the darkest times, and your breathing slows a little.

Jimin realizes that the faucet is still running, and he reaches over to switch it off. Then it comes to him.

He turns back to your trembling form, still waiting for the pain to come.

“You’re scared of the water, aren’t you?” he asks gently.

He doesn’t expect you to reply, he just wants to let you know that he’s trying to understand you, to help you.

You nod slightly.

It shocks them all again. You’re becoming more responsive.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Jimin says with all the sincerity he can muster. “It’s not your fault. I promise I won’t do that again.”

Your shoulders gradually stop trembling, breath coming evenly now.

Jimin looks at his mates and gestures for them to give you some more space so you can calm down.

They all do as he says, except Tae. He lingers in the doorway, his piercing eyes flickering between you and Jimin, thinking.

The two men exchange a meaningful glance. Jimin gives him a reassuring smile and nods his head as if to say “There’s nothing to worry about. I got this.”

Tae gives a slight nod back and turns to leave, throwing one last look at you.

Jimin sees the hint of distrust hidden in that look. He files it away for later.

Turning his attention back to you, Jimin looks at the tub and thinks of a solution.

“You don’t have to get in the tub, okay? We can just...” Jimin opens the cupboard under the sink and takes out a handful of washcloths.

“Like this, see?” He dips one of the cloths in the water, using it to wipe down his face.

“Is that okay?” he asks.

You scan his face. Those big brown eyes are full to the brim with kindness, as if you didn’t just hurt him moments ago.

You nod.

Jimin smiles so big it almost hurts his cheeks, heart swelling as you hesitantly hold your hand open. He puts another cloth in your waiting palm.

“Okay, here’s the soap, shampoo, conditioner. You can wash your face with this. Use whatever you want, okay?”

You look at him, trying to convey with your eyes what your mouth can’t say. He stays there for a moment, sitting with you on the tile, answering your every question with just his expression.

It’s okay. You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you. You can trust me. I understand you.

Breaking from his reverie, Jimin gets up and moves to leave.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he says, swinging the door closed.

You shoot forward and grab the knob just before it shuts.

Jimin jumps a little, whipping back around. There’s confusion on his face, then understanding.

“Okay, we’ll leave it open just like this. I’ll be just outside if you need anything, okay?”

You feel the tension release from your chest, and nod back.

Another warm smile, and then he disappears into the next room.

He’s not going to lock you in. Another impossible realization.

Turning around, you stare at the full tub. Your heartbeat skitters a little, but you take a step towards it anyways.

When you dip your fingertips in the clear water, you expect it to be scalding, or cold enough to numb, but it’s neither. The water is warm and calm, it doesn’t burn, it doesn’t sting.

Another breath releases from your lungs.

You use the cloth and soap to wipe down your whole body, shedding your dirty clothes and tossing them aside. Soon the tub is cloudy from the dirt on the washcloth. You even dip your hair into the water and use a little shampoo to get some of the grime out.

You sit there and wash yourself until the water turns cold. Using the counter to steady yourself, you slowly come to a stand, even though your legs are aching.

The sight in front of you is enough to shock you into silence again.

You can’t remember the last time you saw your reflection. You wish you weren’t seeing it now.

The person in the mirror is ugly and pathetic. Her short hair is a mangled mess. Haphazardly cut with a pair of dull scissors, it sticks out in all different angles. Her eyes are blank and lifeless, red-rimmed and surrounded by dark circles. There’s a large, hideous scar across her left cheek, deep and forked like a flash of lightning.

Her body is weak and repulsive. Slouching forward, she’s barely able to hold herself up. She’s covered in scars and marks, all over her legs, her arms, her torso.

You know there are worse scars behind you.

Horrifically entranced, you slowly reach up to touch the scar across her face, your face. Your fingertips meet the textured tissue, and then there’s the pain.

It’s not a physical pain, it doesn’t originate from the scar itself. It’s a pain deep in your chest, spreading and infecting the rest of your body. It maims you, twists your insides, disfigures your soul.

You muffle the silent scream with a hand over your mouth. Knees buckling, you barely have any strength left to keep yourself upright.

You’re barely you. You don’t remember who you were before, but you know it wasn’t this.

A gentle knock on the door. 

You immediately stifle any signs of discomfort, snapping the mask back on with frightening accuracy.

Jimin’s arms poke through the gap in the door. He sets a bundle of clothes on the counter.

“Here you go," his pleasant voice says. “Please let me know if they’re comfortable enough.”

You wait a good twenty seconds before you reach for them. A warm green sweater and soft cotton pants.

You hurriedly slip them on to hide your disgusting body.

Leaning closer to the door, you try to hear beyond the wood. Hushed voices, muted footsteps.

“Ready, love?” a smooth voice sounds from just behind the door.

You flinch away, trying your best to make your hair look less unkempt.

It’s Jin who cautiously swings the door open, greeting you with an affectionate smile.

“Much better, hmm?” he says.

You manage a curt nod, following him with your head down to another room. 

It’s the room from earlier, the one with the massive bed. The rest of them are here waiting, muttering quiet words until you arrive. Then they go silent and set their eyes on you, asking a question you can’t understand.

Why are they all looking at you? You don’t like it, not at all. People who look like them shouldn’t look at someone like you. You’re wrong, inside and out.

They all notice the change. Now your eyes are trained on the ground, head bent and shoulders folding in on yourself like you wish you would disappear.

Jin ushers you towards the humongous bed, encouraging you to settle in under the covers. He tucks the comforter around your body, fluffing the pillows behind your head.

“There, nice and cozy,” he says, sounding satisfied for the time being. “Rest up, okay love? You’ve been through a lot.”

Why are they talking to you like that? You’re disgusting. They should be throwing you out on the streets to fend for yourself like a common rat.

The small dark-haired man kneels down next to you. He hands you a mug of steaming amber liquid, using the bed sheets to shield your hands from the hot surface.

“This should settle your stomach,” he says.

While Jimin was getting you cleaned up, Yoongi and Jungkook were hard at work cooking up a tincture for your nausea. Essence of lavender to help you sleep, peppermint to refresh your throat, a little ginger to ease your stomach, and some of Yoongi’s highest-quality potions to replenish your nutrients. And, of course, Jin stirred in a copious amount of honey to sweeten it up.

You hold the cup in your hands like it’s a ticking time bomb.

Yoongi looks at his mates in confusion and concern, not sure what to do. Jimin catches his gaze, and gestures wildly with his hands. He exaggeratedly mimics holding the cup and taking a sip, and then Yoongi understands.

He gently takes the mug from your hands and holds it up to his nose.

“Let me check if it’s too hot for you,” he says, blowing off some of the steam and taking a long sip. He makes sure to swallow with audible emphasis.

“Okay, it should be good,” he says, handing it back to you.

This time you hold it close to your chest like it’s a precious gem, slowly sipping away at the frothy liquid. 

They all look at each other with a relieved, triumphant expression.

Namjoon steps forward and leans down to level his face with yours.

“There’s water for you over there,” he gestures to a table in the corner, complete with a pitcher and cup. “And the bathroom is the next door over.”

You nod to show your appreciation, still avoiding eye contact.

Jin enters your field of vision again.

“Do you think you can hold down some meds?” he asks. It’s sincere, no seeming deception behind it.

But you still shake your head vehemently. You don’t want anymore pills. In fact, you don’t want to see another pill ever in your life.

“Okay, love,” he says, smiling again. “Just rest up for me. For us.”

You have no idea what he means by that, but you sink into the pillows anyway.

One by one they filter out of the room, casting a last look at you before they leave.

You wish they wouldn’t. Their eyes seem to leave even more marks on your skin.

The door starts to swing shut. Then someone mutters something, and it stops just before it closes completely. 

Footsteps recede, silence settles upon the room.

You manage a few more sips from the steaming mug, eventually setting it aside. The bed is soft and comfortable, but you can’t bring yourself to lie down. 

You sit there, watching shadows dart across the wall, for hours.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! if you enjoyed it please leave a comment on what you thought of the story/any questions it would mean the world to me!! and if you’re feeling extra generous, please reblog with tags it helps to spread the story around, thank you!! 💖

This is the most adorable non-bot blank blog I’ve ever seen. People, this is all you need to do to let us know you’re a human if you’re confused.

could you please add me to the taglist of "the comforts of creatures" ? i like it very much :D

sure thing babe!! glad you're enjoying it so far :)

Hello, just dropping by to thank you again for sharing your writings. I'll patiently wait till you have the time and energy to write your next update. Thank you for the concept moodboards, I'm really loving it (I also like to collect designs like those before). Hope you have beautiful days ahead

awww thank you sweets!! i'm gonna try to update more often even if the chapters are smaller but thank y'all so much for being patient 😭 i'm so glad you like all the moodboards too!! i have so much fun making them :) thanks so much for taking the time to send this in it made my day lovie 💖

stranger than fiction (1)

→ 📖 pairing: assistant!jimin x novelist!reader

→ ☕ genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut

→ 🚬 word count: 3k

→ 🍝 summary: you are a reclusive author who wants nothing more than to be left alone so you can write at your own pace. jimin is the youngest executive assistant at Lucky Coin Publishers, and he’s never once been intimidated by a writer or their current project. that is, until he’s assigned to help you complete your latest novel. and you aren’t pleased about it.

→ 🍷 content warnings: profanity, smoking, jimin is very determined, reader is very grumpy, sexual tension.

→ 🖊 a/n: loosely based on a relationship from the movie stranger than fiction and also the tv show black books. thanks for reading :) 

series masterlist → next chapter

chapter 1: satan smoking a cigarette

Jimin has worked with many, many authors, but none of them have ever been this elusive.

The publishing executives said you would be a difficult case, that you were a bit of an eccentric. In fact, when Jimin asked one of his supervisors about you and your...colorful reputation at the publishing house, all he had to say on the matter was “that woman is Satan smoking a cigarette.”

Jimin had been told that he was the sixth person to be assigned to you. No one knew why, but apparently you had a vendetta against anyone connected to Lucky Coin Publishers. A category which Jimin unfortunately fell under. 

But, being the perfectionist that he was, and never one to back down from a challenge, Jimin accepted the seemingly impossible task. A task that no one else from the company has accomplished so far: getting you to finish your latest novel by the end of the year. 

Jimin tried calling 42 times over the course of three days. You had no personal number, even though it was the year 2002 and most people with your level of notoriety and fame owned a cell phone by now, or at least a pager.

The publishers were beginning to get anxious, considering the fact that you hadn’t given them anything to work with in over three months. Not one draft, not one page, not even a clipping of meaningful prose. And, considering the book’s set release date, this was quite the problem. 

So, here he was, asking around the quaint yet utterly reclusive community of Hidden Village. The name being as ironic as its residents. For it was a town of starving artists, retired creatives, and obscure literary celebrities who were fiercely protective of their anonymity. It was a place for strange, solitary people to live in peace and blissful privacy.

Something Jimin was about to disrupt.

He’d traced your location as far as your apartment number, given that the publishers were so antsy and had given him clearance to be a little invasive, but no one had answered the buzzer.

Now, if Jimin was any less determined, any less qualified given his history, he might’ve given up after the first few failed attempts. But, of course, he was Park Jimin, the youngest executive assistant in the company’s history. And he wasn’t about to let that title slip away.

So he walked the cobblestoned streets in the fading afternoon sun, searching the street signs for Red Herring Road.

When no one answered the buzzer, Jimin tried a few of the neighbors. One of them was a grumpy-sounding man who told him check the cafe a few blocks away, or the museum, or the bar, or the bookshop. But Jimin figured he’d try the cafe first.

He found it after just a few minutes of walking. An ivy-draped awning in the narrow street, shading a few little tables and chairs. A teapot-shaped sign over the door read:

Jam & Bread: coffee, sandwiches, pastries.

This must be the place, Jimin reassures himself, straightening his sleeves and perfecting the curve of his hair.

As he approaches, he sees that there’s only one person inhabiting the small cafe.

A woman, sitting outside, hunched over the crowded tabletop. 

None of your books have an “About the Author” section, let alone a picture of your face on the back cover. But he recognizes you still, from that one interaction four years ago. 

You’re dressed in heavily oversized, layered clothing. A sweater here, a scarf there, a wool coat hanging off the back of your chair.

It’s a bright yet chilly afternoon, so you’re dressed warmly with a pair of sunglasses on your nose.

A sea of papers is spread out in front of you. Open books, notepads, a few loose leafs, and sticky notes scattered all throughout. And to your right: a foamy latte in a large mug with a fluffy chocolate croissant.

Jimin prepares himself for the interaction to come. Because, from the looks of it, you clearly don’t want to be disturbed.

But Jimin knows that if he wanted to succeed, he’s going to have to do just that.

You’ve decided, over the course of several run-ins with your editor, that semicolons are bastards that have no place in any of your works. You make a note to exclude them from all future manuscripts.

This particular novel has proven to be more difficult to complete than all the others, you’ll admit that much. Maybe it’s because your most recently published book catapulted into unexpected (and probably undeserved) fame, meaning that the next thing you put out has to be even better or you’ll be a disappointment to everyone.

Now, you’ve never been one to easily cope with high expectations, or anyone expecting anything good out of you at all, so this newfound situation was especially overwhelming.

This book has loomed over your head like a storm cloud, like a deep depression, threatening to destroy your mental state at the drop of a hat.

Then, just as you’re getting into a groove, another damned interruption.

This time, it’s a young man in black dress shoes. The obnoxious squeak from the overly-polished leather is the first thing that grabs your attention.

You look up from the page you’re currently annotating, barely bothering to disguise your irritated expression.

He’s standing there in a tailored green coat that molds to his shoulders and thin waist. Then there’s the rings on his fingers and the ridiculous perfection of his hair: dyed blonde and styled up out of his face.

He’s beautiful, tantalizing. It's slightly infuriating.

“Excuse me,” he begins in a voice much lighter and silkier than you expected. “Are you Miss Nin?”

Nin, it was the pen name you’d chosen so many years ago. From Anaïs Nin, the author famous for her diaries and erotica. Even now, most people you know refer to you by that name. It makes life a little easier, living life through someone else’s name.

You survey the young man, trying to determine what exactly he wants. Nothing good, no doubt.

“No, she lives down the street,” you say, testing the waters. “Just around the corner, you can’t miss it.”

You say it with a pleasant smile, hoping he’ll take the bait. Because once he turns the street corner, you can escape through the alleyway and make it back to your apartment.

But the young man scans you up and down, calculating. After a few moments, he gives you a sly smile.

Authors are such bad liars, he thinks to himself. They spend so much time thinking up fiction in their works that there’s none left for their real lives.

And, of course, he already knows well who you are.

“No, I think you’re sitting right here, Miss Nin.”

Your genial expression drops in an instant. So that’s how it’s going to be.

You look at him over the rim of your sunglasses.

“And you are?” you say, clearly not amused.

Something very small in Jimin’s mind deflates. You don’t remember him.

But he shakes it off in an instant, slipping back into his professional persona.

“Park Jimin, pleased to meet you,” he answers cheerfully, holding out his hand to shake.

You glance at it once.

“A horrible judge of character on your part,” you reply dryly.

“I’m the assistant your publishers hired,” Jimin says, still friendly as ever.

“Oh, the spy,” you spit, beginning to gather your things.

“The assistant,” he corrects gently.

“I don’t need an assistant.”

You snatch all the stray papers and shove them in your tote bag, along with the three books, two journals, three notepads, and the six loose pens that were strewn about.

“I provide a number of services, whatever you need to—”

“Oh, such as watching me like a vulture and nagging me every time I get distracted, those kinds of services?”

By now, you’ve gathered all your belongings and have moved on to donning your scarf and coat.

Jimin watches you curiously. There’s a strange quality about you, the same one he saw when the two of you met the first time. 

Maybe it’s the way you look at him with such quiet intrigue, or the way you rush to gather the immense amount of books and papers that you apparently carry in your bag. Whatever it is, it seems that he can’t take his eyes away from you.

“Miss Nin, I’m sure we can find a way that I’d be of use to you,” Jimin says as you shrug your bag onto your shoulder.

“I can help you with any organizational needs you might have, any—” the rest of his sentence trails off.

Jimin watches in fascination as you grab the full mug of coffee, tilt your head back, and down the entire thing in a matter of moments.

Then, you wrap the croissant in a napkin, dig in your wallet for an extremely generous tip (which you tuck under the vase of flowers on the table), give whoever is inside the cafe a friendly wave, and set off marching down the street.

He scrambles after you.

“Listen,” you begin impatiently. “I don’t need the publishers breathing down my neck and I certainly don’t need an “assistant” lurking around my workspace. So, if you would be so kind, please vacate the premises before I commit the stereotypical and turn you into an unlikable character that gets killed off in my next work.”

You pick up the pace as you stalk down the street, bristling at the fact that the publishers felt the need to send yet another spy after you expressed your intense dislike for them.

“Miss Nin, if you would just listen for a moment—” Jimin tries, but you’re quick to interrupt him again.

“Look, I’m sure you’re good at your job and all, but I simply have no need for any kind of assistant. I work best alone, even though the publishers refuse to acknowledge that. I’ve told them time and time again that outside involvement just slows me down. So, thank you for coming all the way out here, but you can tell the publishers that I dismissed you and I’ll take the heat from there.”

You say it all without looking at him, staring straight ahead like you’re hoping it will make him magically disappear.

By now the two of you have reached the mass of apartments, all in shades of old brown and faded cream. A criss-crossing system of fire escapes crawls up the sides of the building. The whole structure looks ancient, with peeling paint and chipped stone.

You approach an ivy-covered wall and stop at the door where Jimin started his search not too long ago. With the hand still holding the napkin-wrapped croissant, you punch a very long sequence of numbers into the keypad next to the buzzer.

A beep. You yank the door open and try to slither inside without him following you. But Jimin jams his foot through the gap before you can slam it shut.

“Miss Nin, please,” he pleads. “I really think I could be of help to you if you would just let me.”

There’s a moment where you stop to look at him, and something in your expression suggests that he might’ve gotten through to you.

Jimin’s breath catches in his throat when he sees how your lips part slightly, how your eyes flick over his with that same silent, enigmatic question.

He has to admit, something in his internal rhythm skips in that moment. Maybe this is the start of something—

“Nah, I’m good,” you say, whipping around and leaving Jimin hurrying after you after a pause of shock.

The room you’ve both entered is not what Jimin thinks of when he imagines the lobby of an apartment building.

There are checkered marble floors, shiny and polished despite the outward state of the building, and a number of large, stylishly modern leather couches scattered all throughout the large room.

But there’s also stacks of boxes lining the walls, countless empty picture frames propped up against each other, and cobwebs hanging like drapes from the ceiling.

You’re rushing up the stairs now, which stretches and spirals far above.

Jimin uses the curling iron railing to help him catch up to you. His professional shoes click against the marble, and the sound only adds to your annoyance.

He’s a persistent one, you’ll give him that.

“Trust me, Mr. Whoever You Are,” you say, somehow walking even faster. “You wouldn’t enjoy working with me. I’d make sure of it.”

Jimin is a little distracted. Not only by the incredible speed that you’re maintaining, but also the interior of your apparent “apartment building.”

Paintings crowd the walls, all in old intricate frames, a thick layer of dust over the landscapes, portraits, and impressions. It looks more like a museum than a place to live.

As Jimin follows you up the great, winding staircase, he can’t help but wonder why you’re so resistant to the idea of an assistant. It instills a small flame of curious determination in him.

He matches your pace, just a few steps behind you, as the two of you pass a massive cracked mirror leaning against the railing.

“Maybe I could come to that conclusion myself?” Jimin says, hopping up a step so he can stand next to you, trying to catch your eye.

But you keep on pretending he’s not there, staring straight ahead with the rigid focus only a writer possesses.

Higher and higher you climb, passing more curious things, like a broken chandelier surrounded by crystal shards, then a pile of rotting wood planks.

The sound of your footsteps remains steady while Jimin’s start to slow from exhaustion.

Either you’re completely unfazed by the incredible number of steps, or you’re very good at hiding it.

Jimin pauses, chest heaving, one hand on the railing as he leans over to catch his breath. He hears your steady footsteps carry on.

He looks up to see you reaching towards a rusty door at the end of a long hallway. Digging around in your bag, you pull out a bundle of jingling keys, almost immediately finding the right one and slipping it inside the lock.

Swinging the door open, you disappear behind it as Jimin springs into action again.

His hand slips between the gap just before the door closes and automatically locks.

What he hopes to see is the inside of your apartment, a refuge from the long stretch of exertion that lays behind him. But what he finds is more stairs.

This stairway is less grand. No marble floors or fancy railing, just a narrow tower of concrete steps and unpainted walls.

He follows you up the stairwell that twists this way and that, until the two of you reach yet another door.

“Go home, kid. I have no use for you,” you say dismissively, sifting through your key ring to unlock the door.

That does it. The last of Jimin’s patience flickers out like a candle flame.

The lock clicks open, and you try to slam the door in his face, but he extends his arm and plants his hand firmly on the wood.

The sound and force of it makes you jump, whipping around to face him.

His face has changed. A moment ago, it was soft and pleasant. Now it’s hardened and dark, his eyes piercing into yours like icicles.

“Miss Nin,” Jimin begins, voice sharp enough to cut. “I’ve been an author’s assistant for three years. I’ve helped eight authors complete more than eleven books, and I’ve never gone back to the publisher to ask for more time.”

He straightens, adjusting his coat while maintaining that same icy eye contact.

“Now, I will available to you whenever you may need me. And you will find that I can be very....persistent.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“Here’s my home number, my mobile number, and my pager number. I don’t take calls past eight p.m. and I don’t tolerate the use of narcotics.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, begrudgingly taking the business card he hands you with all his information. 

“I believe the novel is set to release early next year,” Jimin says in a fake nonchalant tone. “Which means you have until the end of December to come up with a final draft.”

The mention of a deadline makes you bristle, setting him with a glare.

“So, until you put the last punctuation mark on the very last page, I will be here. Ready to assist you.”

A moment of tense silence. You glaring at him, him staring right back with a slight, smug smile.

You move to retreat into the doorway.

“Oh, and Miss Nin?” Jimin interrupts, sounding pleased with himself. “I get paid whether you like me or not.”

You slam the door.

If you don't mind another moodboard request. Maybe some concept to the world building (if you have imagine or thought that far). I was intrigued when you mention the mudroom. So if you can, maybe some moodboard for some rooms in the house (the nest-like-bed in chp 2 is awesome). Or maybe just a moodboard for the house and the facility... or the scenery around the house. It's also okay if you think that might spoil so you don't want to post it yet. I'll wait for it in the future

of course i don’t mind love!! these are so much fun! (and i may or may not have a pinterest board of over 3,000 pins for this story) so i’m pretty equipped to visualize the setting 😂 and i create sections for each room/concept anyways so it’s so fun to hear that someone else is interested!! we’ll definitely get more into the worldbuilding in future chapters but here are some moodboards for the rooms we’ve seen in the story so far!

soooo here’s the concept for the mudroom:

i imagine this room to be right by the front door so the shifters don’t track dirtiness into the house (or anyone else, for that matter, after a fight/scuffle). there’s a few showers, tubs, and a closet stocked with clean comfy clothes to change into. there’s also a small sauna room so the shifters can ease their tense muscles :)

then there’s the living room:

it’s a very large room to accommodate the whole family, with plenty of places to sit, fireplaces, bookshelves, and plants. very modern but still cozy and catered to everyone’s interests and comforts. i imagine the walls are lined with windows showing the surrounding landscape. and of course there’s a pit of couches in front of the tv/projection screen for movie/game nights :)

next is the den:

i imagine the room is also lined with windows with curtains to block out the sun for nap time. there’s plenty of pillows, blankets, and plushies to cuddle with. and of course the den is a hotspot for naptime among the pets. i also imagine a large skylight that shimmers with water patterns when it rains (which is often). and there’s a projector screen for playing movies and ambient music :)

then there’s the kitchen:

connected to the living room, it’s also lined with windows. it’s filled with wood, jade, brick and polished marble finishes. plenty of appliances and dinnerware for the whole family. there’s always something brewing on the stove, or baking in the oven. it’s a hub of community, comfort, and bounty.

then there’s the exterior of the house:

the location of the house is very secluded, surrounded by a lush forest. the house is crisscrossed by several waterways and board-walked pathways. the outside is blanketed by overgrown greenery and moss. and there’s plenty of patios, places to sit, fire pits, pools, and open expanses for everyone to enjoy :)

sooo yeah! there’s some visuals for the rooms in the house! i absolutely LOVED this ask and am super stoked that anyone is at all interested in the details of the story! hopefully this helps y’all visualize the story better :)