Ao3.

— ao3.

flimsy flexible (50974 words) by saltysuga

☾ chapters: 3/? ☾ fandom: 방탄소년단 | bangtan boys | bts ☾ rating: not rated (there is eventual smut). ☾ warnings: mentions of abuse.

relationships: park jimin (bts)/reader.

characters: reader | park jimin | bangtan boys ensemble.

summary: you grew up with jimin, your adorable cat hybrid. you two were so close, but you only truly realized it after he was gone.

years later, jimin’s back. but he hates you.

what the hell happened?

a story about attempting to make repairs, and trying your hardest to be a good hybrid owner.

My Cruel Kidnapper

Disclaimer & Chapters.

Summary: He's irrational, violent, terrifying and worst of all completely obsessed with you. Meet your cruel kidnapper.

Trigger warning: Swearing, violence, non-con, abuse, kidnapping, imprisonment, and similar things that are not intended for the easily offended. Each chapter will have individual TWs.

IMPORTANT A/N: This is a detailed dark and violent non-con yandere story. Please do not read if you are sensitive to any of the above warnings. 18+ readers only.

Also, please note this is not a love story. I am going to say that again in bold for the people who will skip this section and then end up complaining in the comments: This is not a love story. If you want the bad guy to turn good in the end, there are an endless amount of those stories out there, so go pick one.

Okay, all the disclaimers are done, I hope you enjoy! xxx

💜💜💜

Chapters

Chapter one: Abduction

Chapter two: Bound

Chapter three: The Question

Chapter four: Markings

Chapter five: On your knees

Chapter six: Helpless

Chapter seven: Opportune

Happy reading,

raggaraddy

💜💜💜

The Cul-de-Sac Cons | JJK, JHS

pairings: jungkook x reader, hobi x reader

rating: 18+ / Mature 

synopsis: Your two-story Tudor sits at the end of the cul-de-sac, miles away from the life that you used to lead. The life that involved more than a few scrapes here and there. The life that kept you on the run. But here, with your darling husband, you’ve found roots. You’ve found peace. The kind of peace that, unfortunately, could only be ruined by the new neighbors moving in. 

c/w, themes, & more info: fic page

playlist: The Cul-de-Sac Cons

author’s note: Completed! Thanks so much for reading along with me. This one was really experimental for me, really tugged at my heartstrings, and I hope you really enjoy it. 💜

chapters:

01: The Job | read on ao3 | 20k words

02: The Game | read on ao3 | 28k words

03: The Sting | read on ao3 | 23k words

04: The Heist | read on ao3 | 22k words

05: The Switcheroo | read on ao3 | 21k words

so apparently i found this deep in the bowels of my camera roll on my phone while cleaning it up and it’s an ss from reddit. obviously idk how to send this ss to you but let me just copy-paste what’s in it:

“Sex workers of reddit: What is the saddest experience (client wise) you've had while on the job?

Not my story but I knew a girl who did "rent a night" type of stuff.

Guy asks her if she could come over. Doesn't talk about sex over the phone just if she could come over and to come hungry. She thinks he is into feeding or some shit. She arrives at like 6 p.m., pretty early for her work. She asks what he would like to do. He just cooks for her. A really big delicious meal. Later he starts to open up: his wife had passed and always loved his cooking, but he hates cooking for himself.”

if you were to write a fic based off of this, which member do you see would fit the role of the guy? it’s so sad… hope whoever this guy is has found a second chance at happiness 😣

Agh, this was absolutely touching. Thank you for sharing this, anon! Here's what came to mind. 

For Two

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 13+ / PG-13

Word Count: 1.4k | read on ao3

Content Warnings, Themes, & More Info: Allusions to chronic illness, death, loneliness, and sex work.

That scent again. Lemon Pledge. Enough of it to bounce the overhead Edison bulb's shine to make a glint in your eye. Which sharpens when you finally ask.

"...Why?"

It's not like you to ask why. Who, what, where, when, and how cover the basics. Besides, after years in the business, you can usually deduce why simply by the nature of the request. 

But not once in all these years have you received a request like this.

"I mean, it's been months," you backtrack, in an attempt to retroactively preface, "and dinner is always great, believe me, I'm not complaining by any means, I just..."

The kitchen faucet turns on. A gentle trickle. Subdued. Still cleansing, but not above your voice. Background noise rather than signal.

You smile to yourself, feeling safe to keep your eyes on his back while you continue with, "I know these evenings mean something to you. Believe me. In my line of work. I know this is a band-aid, or an escape, or a playground. All three, more often than not. I'm just... Like, if you're looking for someone to talk about it with..." Your eyes latch on as his elbows start to move, fingers working a soapy sponge into nooks and crannies. "I dunno, I guess I'm saying that---" Your eyebrows flick up. "I'm here to listen--- Hey, are you sure I can't help with the dishes or something?"

Loyal customers are surprisingly routined, even with their fetishes. Especially so. When you started your career, you assumed that so much of your work would be propelled by happenstance, fleeting moments that overwhelmed someone enough to be in search of you. Now, you know that for many of your clients, it takes forethought. There are systems in place. Languages to learn. And, in some ways, it becomes easier to indulge in those fantasies when you find someone who will help you figure out exactly where and when and how you will get to. When you feel safe.

So it doesn't surprise you when his ear turns at the sound of you scraping your chair back, body lifting with every intention of joining him at the sink. And it doesn't surprise you when he counters with a pleasant but firm, "No, I'm alright here. Thank you."

It doesn't even register anymore. With no more than that to go off every week, you realize that curiosity has evolved into charm has evolved into concern. You realize that you're not actually asking him why. You're asking if he feels safe.

He glances over his shoulder at you. A quick peek. A flashed smile. "How about you try that dessert?"

It's not a hard thing for you to do, you happily think, as you sit back down and reaquaint yourself with the banana bread pudding. You grin as you take a spoonful, crowning it with the caramel ice cream on the side. But you keep your eyes on his back as you do.

Once the dishes from the main course are clean, he takes a deep and satisfied breath, places his hands on his hips, arches back, cricks his neck, and shakes his head as he removes his rubber gloves.

He turns around and is thrilled to see that nearly half of the banana bread pudding is gone.

Feeling slightly guilty, you keep your spoon in your mouth.

"It's for you!" he laughs, walking back over to the table and taking his seat, "Please. Have as much as you like. There's more in the fridge."

You look down at the other, still-clean spoon in the bowl. And then you look back up at him.

"Alright, alright," he says, smiling slightly, as he leans forward for the spoon.

You take another dollop, and he gently scrapes along the sides.

You still want to know why.

Why weekly dinners. Why just dinner. Why just dinner when you know you could be doing so much more for him.

Is it you?

And does he even want more than this from you?

Maybe if you break down the "why"s. Like---

"Why banana bread pudding?" you ask.

He blinks. "Huh?"

"What made you think to make banana bread pudding?" You shrug and reach for your glass of water. "Or anything? Why did you decide on seaweed salad and spicy pork belly and banana bread pudding?"

His smile goes a little funny. "Uh," he laughs, "I dunno... I was craving seaweed salad, and when I was at the store, I saw the pork belly cuts, and I thought of this really great spice blend I had here at home..."

His eyes go a little foggy. "And then I thought it might be nice to have something sweeter for dessert to balance that out... But it's also still a little cool outside, so I wanted something warm..."

His lips widen a little more freely. "Then I looked up and realized I had somehow made it over to the produce section, and the bananas on display were overripe." 

You gawk at him. And as you dig into the pudding again, you mutter, "Ugh. That's so cool."

He smiles. He tilts his head. He goes in for more caramel ice cream. "It is?"

"I don't know the first thing about cooking," you say, treats pushed into your left cheek. "Anyone who can do it is a magician. And you---" Your eyes meet his. "You might be a god, y'know, just---" You wave your spoon around in the air. "---divining a menu like that!"

He licks his spoon clean. "Well. When you put it that way."

You switch sides, and he follows your lead, building bigger and bigger bites of banana bread and taller and taller tiaras of ice cream.

Your spoon clinks against the bowl when you ask, "Why do you wash the dishes before we finish dessert?" you ask. 

He takes a moment to swallow his spoonful. He licks his lips, more nooks and crannies to clean. And then he seems to decide something. His shoulders ease. His eyes widen with newfound clarity. His entire aura softens.

"Dessert is a treat," he says. "It's a good note to end on."

"Wait, so you leave the dishes for the next day?" you clarify.

"Who wants to do dishes after having dessert?" he asks.

You find yourself laughing. "That's so true!"

He chuckles along with you, setting his spoon face down on the lip of the bowl, the end of the handle balancing on the tabletop. 

"...That’s something that she used to say a lot."

His face shows no sharp angles. No shadows. No walls.

So you ask. 

"Why do you invite me over for... dinner?"

When he hesitates, you try to hold onto the in that you think you've found. "I'm so happy that you invite me. I'm just wondering if I can make the experience better for you. Help you ease into things. I’m open."

"Ah," he says with a knowing smile. "No need. It's actually not about sex at all."

You'd better pay attention. You have so much to learn.

"I was married," he says. He looks a little paler all of a sudden. "She, uh, died... about a year ago..."

You nod softly, your breaths a little jagged.

"She was sick. Lots of stuff. All these meds and..." He stares at the end of his spoon, still balancing on the tabletop. And then he smiles. "Y'know, even after she couldn't eat solid foods anymore, she still insisted I make her a plate."

He lifts his eyes to meet your teary ones.

"I was actually really excited to bust out those spices," he says, making you laugh.

Both of you relish a little in the warm whisky of the Edison bulb glow.

"What should I make next week?" he asks, sitting up a little. 

"Oh, no, don't ask me," you say, dabbing your eyes with the back of one hand while sticking your spoon in the ice cream and waving him off with the other. "Not getting in the way of whatever mystical thing you do."

He laughs and says, "OK, well, tell me something that might guide me. You have any taste preferences? Craving anything in particular?"

You have an idea. You don't know if it'd be pushing too far. But now that you understand more of the why, you're getting a better picture of the whats and hows.

"How about you make something that's tied to a happy memory?" you ask. "You can tell me more about her."

He brightens. Maybe not like dawn breaking. More like light creeping, sun returning after a thunderstorm.

He lets you help him place the last few dishes in the sink. And then he walks you to the door with a grateful smile.

You reach out for your customary handshake.

He takes your palm in his.

"Goodnight, Yoongi," you say.

When you give his hand a warm squeeze, he squeezes back.

this is the channel! despite all the videos they privated there are still plenty that are up.

bts ff plagarism on youtube.

after seeing the posts about @deepdarkdelights & @bang-tan-bitches fics being stolen for this person’s (bts mafia ff) youtube channel, i went digging to try and find more. so far i’ve only found two by @jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue.  this drabble of theirs was used for this video. | this jimin drabble was used for this video.  i think it’s fairly obvious that a majority of their “fics” are stolen as the writing style changes between many of their videos. i couldn’t recognize some of them, so perhaps if you see this take a look at their channel and see if you can spot any?

Ghosted

OT7 x Reader

Summary 

Y/N is a young struggling author in New York, having gone through thick and thin she loses her inspiration to write and is now no longer able to publish upcoming novels. Having just received an eviction notice to her small, old, and worn down apartment. She also receives documents informing her about the inheritance she’s received from her grandfather. An old, abandoned mansion in France's countryside. Having no other option available to her, she decides to move into the ominous building. Unaware of the seven pairs of eyes observing her, invisible to the human eye, as a plot to relieve a curse plaguing seven men is set into motion.

Part 1, Part 2

Y/N hated the rain, the subtle trickling down bus windows or the small patting noise it made whenever it hit the concrete streets of New York. Whenever tourists visit the concrete jungle that was this city, many people tend to forget the less modern and lavish part of the state. East Harlem for instance, which is exactly where Y/N lived. Going up the steps of her apartment, grabbing her key and opening her door. She glanced at the mail that had been haphazardly thrown onto her floor, bending down to pick it up before locking the door. A small, heavy sigh left her lips as she looked at her apartment. Small little droplets had begun seeping through the ceiling, puddles beginning to form on her wooden floors. Without much to say, she walked over to the sink and opened its bottom cabinet. Grabbing the few buckets and bowls she usually stored there for this exact problem, she quickly set up her apartment to be rain appropriate before flopping onto the couch. 

“I need a break.” She muttered, feeling bitter about how awful her day had been. Not only did she get yelled at by some elderly women at the grocery store for something she didn't even do, her manager scolded her afterwards as well. To make matters even worse, it had begun raining while she was heading home from work, making her apartment cold and wet. 

If only she still had time to write, but there was nothing she had left. Money was certainly tight at the moment, and she's barely even been able to pay rent. There wasn’t much time left to write. Loosely letting her eyes skim over the few letters in her hand, her eyebrows knitted together as she opened a letter from her landlord. An eviction notice greeting her rather casually, she could just imagine her landlord's grin as she sent off the letter. 

On a more convenient note, a letter from her father was also present. It was packed with information, condolences, inheritance, and a plane ticket to France. Having read the letter, Y/N grieved the loss of her grandfather. He was a very busy man, and they only shared memories from when she was young. But those sweet, short moments, she held close to her heart. Her father must’ve predicted her hesitance to visit her grandfather's manor, which she had inherited, so he had been adamant on her not wasting the money he spent on the plane ticket. 

“It's better than this dump..” It was easier to just move on then to cling to certain aspects of her life. It wasn’t like her apartment and life was worth staying for. With her decision being final, the next few days moved on like a blur. 

She gave in her final notice to her current employer, talked to her landlord, and packed her belongings. It wasn't much, mostly because she didn't own much. Everything she got could fit into one, large navy blue suitcase. One of those add-on strap buckles wrapped securely around it, sure most people used shell suitcases now but this one was a clear hand me down. Having given her luggage away, she went through the security check without a complaint. Now sitting at her terminal, she tapped her boots together as she stared at them.

Everything was changing now, whether she liked to admit that or not. New people, new friends and enemies. It was both an exciting and utterly terrifying feeling, stepping directly into the unknown. The thought brought a heaviness to her shoulders, her body almost insisting to stay seated in the thin leathery seats provided by each terminal.  But then it became boarding time, and her body was still frozen in its place. “Now boarding group C, everyone in group C please come to the front so we may proceed with boarding.” A honeyed voice called out through the speakers, with a glance to her side it wouldn’t have taken a genius to see the fakeness in her tone and smile. She almost felt sorry for her, having to travel in small platform heels, a tight skirt, and cheery red lipstick that no doubt smudged onto her teeth every now and then. All the while her hair was tied into such a tight bun it practically gave her a face lift, it must be the most euphoric feeling to be able to take everything off once their shifts are over. 

“Last call for group C!” The stewardess called out once more, which was the last encouragement she needed to finally get up. Her brown backpack hanging loosely off her left shoulder, she grabbed her phone and scanned her boarding pass before entering the plane. Once seated and her bag snuggly stored underneath the seat in front of her, she turned to look out the window. Mentally preparing for a seven hour flight, she adjusted her neck pillow, pulled her sleeping mask over her eyes, and put on her headphones. Then, she dozed off to sleep.

“Miss.. excuse me, Miss?” A sweet voice called out to her, followed by someone carefully shaking her shoulder. Waking up from her sleep, Y/N was quick to pull her sleeping mask off to look towards the stewardess who had woken her. “Pardon me Miss, but please put your seat up as we prepare for landing.” The woman hummed, before continuing to walk down the aisle. Landing? Oh, right. She had fallen asleep earlier, but she usually never slept through her entire flight. With a sigh, she put up her seat and packed up while they lowered onto French soil. Landing was always the worst part of traveling, if the unbearable pain in her ears wasn’t enough the unmanageable screeching from nearby toddlers and babies wasn’t exactly her favourite either. But with a bump to the plane, its wheels finally touched the ground as the pilot hit the breaks. A few minutes afterwards, people were finally allowed to leave. Grabbing her bag and proceeding to get her suitcase, Y/N eventually stood outside of the airport. 

The good part about busy airports is the designated line for taxis, no one had to compete or call out for one. It was a rather organized affair really, giving the address of her destination while putting her luggage in the trunk, she was soon off on her way to her new home. 

Three short yet utterly agonizing hours later, Y/N paid her taxi driver before getting out of the car. Heaving a heavy breath of fresh air, she rested her hands on her knees as she crouched over. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick…” She muttered, taking a few minutes before finally straightening up. Her eyes finally got the chance to travel along the unfamiliar landscape, a large metal gate standing in front of here. It was partially overgrown by vines who had wrapped themselves around the iron bars, growing more dense where the gate met two stone pillars. “Gosh, why did they let this place get so run down?” 

Sure, Grandpa was fairly old and couldn't exactly take care of the gardening himself, but didn’t he hier gardners? Pushing the gate open, it let out a horrible high-pitched whine, the joints probably being rusted. Now having entered the property, a stone pebbled path leads towards the entrance of the manor. A wide circle leaving room for a water fountain in its center, but a few steps closer revealed an algae soaked paradise instead of a lavish status symbol. “Gross.” 

Y/N scrunched up her nose, walking past the entrance and finally pushing open the two large mahogany front doors. Her hopes about the front yard being the only place neglected soon vanished as her eyes soaked up the sight of her surroundings. Furniture was covered in long white linen sheets, while dust covered the floor like a soft blanket. “Grandpa, when did you last step foot into this place, wasn’t this your home?” Odd. That’s how she’d describe her new home, the floorboards creaked occasionally, and her soft footsteps echoed throughout the entire manor. Exploring was her new objective, abandoning her luggage by the entrance hall, she walked down one of the halls to her left. 

Perhaps it was just the dirty atmosphere, but something felt unnerving about walking around. Her gut tugged itself into knots as she discovered the kitchen, dining hall, a storage closet, and a few other abandoned rooms. Her bedroom seemed to be on the second floor, a grand staircase covered in red carpet leading towards the next layer of her home. The house had an odd number of rooms, places that seemed to lack from her childhood memory. Returning to her luggage, she dragged her suitcase up the stairs and into her new bedroom. “With a little care, I’m sure this place will grow more comfortable in no time.” She sighed, rolling up her sleeves as she walked over to her balcony doors. Swinging them open carelessly, the view of the back garden was just as saddening as the front. 

It looked disastrous, as if someone had meant to restore a wild habit for some jungle animal. But with the chirping of the birds, their distant singsong voices dancing around her garden, the evening breeze kissing her skin. She smiled, an odd welcomed peacefulness washing over her. “Better leave now before it gets too late.” She muttered, swinging around and closing the glass doors behind her. Shuffling through her bag to grab her wallet, she made her way towards the door. 

A freezing, sudden flash of wind hit her. Her skin flaring into a display of goosebumps as she swung around, her eyes locked on the sight of the closed balcony windows. As fast as the feeling appeared, it vanished just as quickly. “I'm starting to freak myself out.”  She shuddered, rubbing her arms as she walked out of her room and down the halls. The lingering feelings of being watched made her uneasiness grow, all the horror movies she’s seen now replaying in her mind. 

“Stop it! The wind was just a draft from the balcony, stop freaking yourself out Y/N.” She coached herself, continuing to walk. The walls seemed to linger after her, her steps quickening as she hurried down the stairs and swung open the front door. She let out a breath of relief as she was outside, hurrying off to leave the property for now. Making her way down the gravel streets as she walked into town, it wasn’t even comparable to the hectic life in New York, but the calmness of the evening seemed almost reassuring.

Small couples were taking their evening walk, mostly edler people if she inspected them closer, chatting contently to their significant other. They waved, the sight of an unfamiliar face most likely being connected to a newcomer. Compared to her home, the town looked so neatly organized, bushes being trimmed to a subtle state of perfection, flowers being arranged to show how complementary their colors were. It looked magnificent. 

Further down the street, there was a decently sized grocery store Y/N was glad to enter. She grabbed a few necessities, such as food and drinks before being held up in the cleaning aisle. The place was an utter mess, so she definitely had to get something reusable. Her hand rested on her chin, her foot tapping onto the floor anxiously as she pondered over her options. 

“I’ve never seen someone look so seriously at a bunch of cleaning products.” A honeyed, but rather raspy voice commented, amusement evident in her tone. Looking to her side to follow the voice, a gentle looking elderly woman greeted her. Her back was slightly hunched, a small floral dress covering her while her short grey hair put into neat curls. 

“Oh, I’ve got a lot of cleaning to do. I’ve just moved in and the place is a mess.” She smiled, looking at the woman who covered her mouth with her gloved hand to hide her giggle. “Oh dear, it seems like you have your hands full. Well, let me give you a suggestion if you don’t mind. I’ve had to clean up my fair share of messes too,” She chuckled, as if a memory flashed before her that was deeply amusing. “This mop is great for wooden floors and tiles, and this duster is washable so you can reuse it too. For actual cleaners..” She mumbled, walking further along the aisle while Y/N moved to pick out the suggested items and add them to her cart. “These ones will do, they’ve even managed to get rid of the messes my grandson makes.” She hummed, and added them to the cart as well. 

“Thank you, this is my first time owning a home so I really appreciate the help.” Y/N hummed, smiling at the kind lady. “Oh well, welcome to our humble town. It might not be much, but the people really share a sense of community here. I'm sure a little fine missy such as yourself will fit right in.” The woman giggled, “What street do you live on now? My house on Oakland is always open to visitors. I’m sure my grandson will be stoked to meet you!” She smiled, while you couldn’t quite shake off the feeling of her trying to hook you up.

A polite smile grazed your lips, “Thank you, I’ll be sure to visit soon then. I live on Grand Rue.” 

As if you had said something awful, the ladys bright sunny expression was now clouded. A look of deep unsettlement tugging at her lips, a seriousness washing over her that deeply unsettled you. “Oh my, I didn’t know they let anyone live there.” She mumbled, scanning over you rather quickly. “My dear, please take care of yourself. That please is rumored too..” She trailed off, as if a mental dilemma sparked inside her. Whether to warn you or let you return to your home in peace. 

But the seeds of anxiousness had already bloomed within you, and your curious eyes wouldn’t dare to waver now. “Rumored to?” You inferred, wanting her to go on.

“Be haunted.” The elderly woman whispered. 

Huh, you couldn’t help but lean back with a sigh. You had expected something more, well, frightening. Like a murder or missing person report, but you didn’t believe in ghosts. There was a scientific explanation for everything, at least that’s what you told yourself. 

“Oh, I’ll be careful then.” You hummed, waving the woman off as you rushed to the checkout. As much as you had liked interacting with the kind woman, she clearly had some screws loose to act so horrified by some simple rumors. 

Paying for your items and carrying your bags up the streets towards your home, the sun was beginning to set. Cooling the air and covering everything in an orange hue, a rather pretty sight. By the time you had arrived at the front gate, you once again push open the doors and glance at your home. 

The unfamiliar sight of yellow lights illuminating your bedroom strikes a sense of uneasiness deep into your core. You don’t remember leaving the lights on.