Cry Me A River | The Second Choice

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cry me a river | the second choice

— summary: an illusion of free choice, it will always be namjoon in the end

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 10.3k

— warnings: none but i do apologize beforehand for any anger/sadness you may feel :)

— PART 16 / previous post / masterpost

May 20XX; Age Six [Kim Namjoon]

“Joon.” Jungwon crouches down before him, his eyes a stare much more serious than ever before. There is still kindness in his eyes, there will always be kindness in his eyes, but as Namjoon looks up at his older brother, even the little boy can tell a storm may be brewing in the corner. “If I ever disappear,” he speaks in a low voice so that no one else can hear but Namjoon, “I want you to take over. You got that?”

Namjoon furrows his brows, a face of fear and confusion plastered upon his little boyish features. “Hyung…what do you mean by that?”

Jungwon smiles ruefully, the hand he has on his brother’s shoulder patting gently. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“But hyung, I..” Namjoon shakes his head, refusing to give into what his brothers’ words imply. “Disappear? What do you mean by that? If you’re not by my side, how can I ever go on, hyung? You can’t leave. I won’t be able to do anything without you.”

“Sure you can.” His voice is kind, sweet, always offering the gentlest words despite how cruel this world is. “I know you can.” Then, Jungwon’s tone shifts. “And I know you will.”

“Hyung?” Namjoon takes a step closer to his brother, anxiety weighing against his chest so strong he hopes it can disappear when he touches his brother’s hands but it doesn’t. Something’s not right. Something’s wrong. And usually, Jungwon’s always there to fix everything for him but this time it feels as if the very source of that problem is Jungwon himself.

And as if he’d disappear right before his eyes, Namjoon holds himself closer to his elder brother, panic settling in his chest in the most uncomfortable way. 

“Don’t tell me…” He whispers, afraid of the answer.

When Jungwon sends him a tight smile, the answer is clear. “It’s okay, I’ll be gone for only a few years.”

“Years!” Namjoon exclaims in defiance. “Hyung, you can’t—”

“Shh!” A finger held against his lips, he quickly shuts the younger boy down as he looks around instantly, trying to sense any other presence around the two of them. But Namjoon doesn’t care for that right now, all Namjoon cares for is the fact that he’s going to be losing his brother very soon.

As if Jungwon can feel just how afraid his little brother is for his disappearance, his eyes settle back on him, large hands engulfing Namjoon’s with a tight squeeze.

“You’ll be alright, I just gotta take care of some things. But just in case, Joon, and this is just in case, got that?” He doesn’t continue until Namjoon gives him a nod. “Just in case something…” He hesitates, knowing that frightening the boy further will only alleviate more anxiety but he also knows that he has to in order to make him stronger. “If something goes wrong, I need you to become the head of Bangtan, you got that?”

“But—”

“No matter what,” he emphasizes with a force. “You have to become the next head. And if that takes you years before you can pick up the courage, let it be. Just know that no matter what, father cannot live until he lies on his deathbed with greying hair. I want you to bring him there before even a strand of his hair whitens.”

“Hyung..”

“I know.” Jungwon nods, his lips tight in a straight line before he continues. “I know it’s quite the burden I’ve placed on your shoulders but this is the only way you can free yourself, Joon. If I’m not here to be the one to take him down, you’re going to have to step up to be the big boy. You can do that, can’t you?”

“I..I-I’ll try,” he says, though knowing he could never. He’s just a little boy after all, and thinking about becoming the next head is something that can only happen in dreams and fairytales. “But hyung, you…you can’t die. Please, hyung,” Namjoon takes ahold of his brother’s shirt, pleading, begging, as his tiny little hands that are balled into knuckle white fists trembles. “You have to survive, no matter what. Or else I’ll never forgive you.”

“I know Joon, I know.” Jungwon brings his little brother into his chest in order to try and relieve some of the stress he’s feeling. He holds onto him tightly as he hides his own fears and unease. “No matter what, I will do all that I can to return to your side. I promise I’ll be back and when I come back, we’ll take over Bangtan together and lead the gang into a new era.”

“You promise?”

“Mmn. I promise.”

That was the first promise Jungwon ever broke.

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June 20XX; Age Twenty-Two

“I hope that you will treat my daughter well. She is quite precious to me. She knows nothing of the violent side to things and I wish to keep that pure and innocence with her until the day she no longer walks this earth.”

The Grim Reaper. Said to be quite ruthless and cruel. There were rumors that he had a daughter but Namjoon never knew it was a daughter he cherished so much. Perhaps her hidden identity and the reason as to why she was known to only exist in rumors and fantasies is because the Grim Reaper hides her well in the hopes of protecting her.

Huh.

What a decent father, unlike the man Namjoon wishes to no longer remember.

“Of course. You have my word.”

.

.

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“Namjoon, are you alright?”

It’s strange the way you concern yourself in his business despite only being in a marriage of convenience. From the first moment Namjoon saw you, he knew you were someone who only held kindness in your heart, but even then this was nothing but a contract.

“You do not need to concern yourself with me. We may be husband and wife but you are not obligated to care for my needs. Our marriage is only a contract after all.”

He hopes you would leave then. You look like someone who would listen to each and every word someone tells you to. After all, you’re even timid around his own boys despite the fact that you are in a position much higher than them. If you had the heart to, you could even berate them without fear of any consequences coming down on you with the power you hold. Obviously, Namjoon would never let you but he knows that even then, having your father’s strength behind you would serve well were you to use that to your advantage.

Thankfully, however, to Namjoon’s relief, you aren’t some spoiled brat who only thinks highly of herself.

“Forgive me, I do not mean to cross your boundaries but I am not speaking as your contractual wife, Namjoon. I am speaking to you as myself. As Y/N. Not Mrs. Kim.” His fingers freeze against his keyboard just as you say, “So I’d like to ask again; are you alright, Namjoon?”

What a strange little girl.

Strange indeed.

Yet…not the bad kind of strange.

.

.

.

You’re a kind young lady who knows how to treat others with respect, though a part of him believes you may be too cautious for your own good. Seokjin could tell right away that you fear them, that even though you try your hardest to be the kind person that you are, you still distance yourself in subtle ways, timid and afraid of things unbeknownst to them.

You hide yourself well, present yourself in a poised and elegant manner, different from what he images a young lady of your age should behave. You’re closer to Jungkook’s age, and although the young boy has his own pasts and traumas he’s dealt with, he’s learned to work well with others and be free in the ways he can (mostly through Jimin’s efforts). 

But you’re different from Jungkook.

The both of you are on the quieter side, but unlike the way Jungkook’s content with his silence, you fall more rigid and timid and perhaps it’s all because you’re in an environment different from that of your father’s estate.

He wonders how you were treated there, how much he spoiled you, how the servants cared for you, and although a part of Namjoon envies you for growing up with a kind father who watches out for your wellbeing, he knows not to get jealous of those things.

Still, it makes him wonder just what sort of reaction you’d have were he to put you in a difficult position.

And through his selfishness, he makes his first mistake and lives to regret it the moment he sees you crying in the arms of Taehyung.

“I was scared,” you confess in a barely audible whisper. “I was so scared.”

He should have never mixed purity with the cruel world he grew up in. No matter how envious he was of the way you grew up, no matter how curious he was to see how you’d respond to being put in a spot that’d make things difficult for you for the first time, he should have never done what he did.

Namjoon was cruel.

A cruel, cruel man.

“I made you feel as if you had no choice to refuse, as if you were nothing but a pawn to me.”

“But, I am a pawn.”

He saw himself in you. In the way you coward before him as if he was still the little boy that he was years ago, trying to look his bravest but ultimately failing whenever it came to confronting his father head-on.

His father always made him feel like a pawn and here he is, doing the exact same thing to an innocent little girl.

“No. You are Y/N. You are not a pawn. You deserve to live just as much as the rest of us.”

He should have never forced you into that situation.

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.

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“Want to sneak out?” Namjoon hears a voice in the middle of the night, the tone whispered lowly as if up to no good.

He lets out a silent sigh as he remains hidden behind a wall, taking a small glance Jungkook’s way as the two of them were just on their way back from a meeting. The younger one remains the silent person that he is, not uttering a word as the troublesome Jimin tries to coerce you into sneaking out.

“What, I..-I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Jimin, I’m…did you forget who I am?”

Daughter of a powerful mafia leader, wife to another powerful mafia leader. Perhaps living the life protected by others may indeed be burdensome at times. You have restrictions, unable to live the normal life you’d like, not being able to enjoy the world outside as much as you wish to, being cautious of your identity, and always having to ask permission for every little thing in order to remain safe and secure.

He’s seen the way your father treats you; eyes always kept your way no matter where you go as if cautious and afraid something would go wrong were something to happen. You’ve never lived a life without being under surveillance, have you?

He guesses even the love of a father may be burdensome, just as it is for a child growing up without love. Though he’s glad you didn’t have to grow up the way he did. At least you had people who cared for you and he hoped you’ve had nothing but the best growing up.

“Namjoon will be upset and angry at me if he ever finds out.”

When his name is brought into the conversation, Namjoon begins listening in more intently.

“Oh please,” he hears Jimin laugh, “If Namjoon ever finds out, he’ll only go after me. I promise.”

How shameful of him, knowing just how troublesome he is that he’ll be the only one getting scolded and yet continues on his antics without care.

“I can’t believe in that promise.”

“Huh. You really don’t trust him, do you?”

“Our relationship was arranged, Namjoon wouldn’t let me off if I were to ever disobey him.”

Namjoon leans away from the wall after those words, a hand placed upon the maknae’s shoulder as he whispers, “Watch over them, will you?”

“Hyung?” As he goes on to walk off, Jungkook looks back at him with confusion. “You won’t try to stop Jimin?”

The leader simply gives him a shrug before disappearing into the dark halls, leaving Jungkook to do what he wants with both you and Jimin.

It seems that as the day passes by, the boys are slowly becoming fond of you. Even Jungkook who’s usually very slow upon warming up to people doesn’t reappear before him later that night, leaving Namjoon to guess that he went on the expedition with you and Jimin.

When he asks you about it the next day, you put the blames all on yourself, not wanting anyone else to get in trouble, and Namjoon sighs.

“You are my wife, Y/N, not my prisoner. If you wish to go out, you have every right to do so. However, you must make sure that you have at least two guards with you at all times. You are my wife, after all, even if no one knows of your identity.”

Even if it’s just the smallest amount of freedom he can give you, Namjoon hopes it’ll give you a bit of a breather.

If even a little.

.

.

.

Yet freedom comes at a price and the second Namjoon thought he’d finally be able to see your happiness flourishing, the light that produced flickered away in mere minutes and you’re down on the ground, panicking with fear taking total control until it is Seokjin who has to be the one to ground you down.

“I’m here,” he repeats, “I’m here.”

He goes through a breathing exercise with you patiently, gently, until finally your exhaustion catches onto you and you collapse there right in his arms, falling asleep to the beat of his heartbeat.

Namjoon vows right then and there to give the man who had done this to you the slowest death he can offer.

You were so happy a few days ago, smiling and laughing along after what he had put you through, and just when he thought things have finally calmed down, your peace and joy has been ripped away from you once more.

He won’t forgive himself for using you as a pawn but he’ll kill the one who had scared you and shattered your soft, forgiving heart.

.

.

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Namjoon fell in love with you just as fast as he had fallen out of love.

Just three years — two years of loving. And Namjoon grew tired of your silence.

Your silence.

Your quiet, quiet silence.

When he loved and cared and opened his heart up, revealing his deepest insecurities and pasts with you, things he never does unless he truly trusts someone, when he broke down his walls and allowed you into his arms, you remained silent.

There were times when you’d lean on them, when you’d turn to them during rough moments, when you couldn’t sleep, when you were feeling insecure about your position in the relationship, when you were afraid of an enemy, when you just needed a shoulder to cry on.

But there were also times when you’d awake in the middle of the night, shutting down and holding yourself together without the tiniest peep. Those were the times when Namjoon had to make an effort. To hold you, to remind you that it was okay to turn to them, to lean on them.

Because they loved you.

There were times when you’d shed tears and say nothing, remaining completely silent. No matter how much effort he had put in, how much they had put in, trying to ease the answers out of you, remaining patient with you all the way, reminding you of their love and care, you wouldn’t say a word about your struggles.

And it hurts because they’ve shared parts of themselves that no one else knew yet there you were, walls still held up high without the slightest crack in between.

Did you love them as much as they loved you? Were they showing you enough love? What if all their efforts were all for naught? What if their love weren’t enough for you to see, to feel, to have, to hold, to cherish? What if they weren’t good enough to keep you as their own?

What if you were better off returning to your father? In a place where you’re used to, surrounded by people who knows you, who understands just what to do when you’re like this? Those who can take care of you in ways they could never?

If you returned, would you be happier?

“Is she even happy?”

“What are you saying, Namjoon?” Seokjin looks at him as if he has two heads, brows deepened with confusion as he pushes aside the paperwork before him. “You can’t just go around coming up with your own conclusions without communicating.”

“I tried, hyung, I’ve tried.” He runs a hand through his hair, biting onto his lower lip to keep his emotions at bay. “But she doesn’t say anything, hyung. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“So you try harder,” Seokjin stresses, feeling irritated he even has to say such simple reasonings aloud. “She’s always been so patient with us, why can’t you do the same?”

“I know hyung, I know.” He knows, he understands, but the longer he’s kept in the dark, the more his thoughts stray away into thinking what if you were better off elsewhere? What if you were better off returning to your father? To your safe place? If he can’t provide you with the right love and care that you need, then wouldn’t it be better for you to return to the Reapers? 

“I feel like I’m not doing enough,” he says as he looks away from Seokjin, trying to hide the overwhelming emotions. “I thought that if I loved her enough, she’d finally trust us with her vulnerable side but what if this love isn’t enough for her? What if all that I’ve been doing has been for naught? What if—”

“Namjoon.” The eldest lowers his voice into a threat, not wanting him to utter any more words.

But Namjoon keeps going. “What if I end this?”

“Kim Namjoon.” Seokjin stands from his chair, feet stomping right on over and without hesitation, pushes Namjoon right up the wall behind him in a harsh and forceful manner. “Don’t you dare say that ever again. Just because the two of you are legally married doesn’t mean the rest of us shouldn’t have a say in it. If you end it for the two of you, you end it for the rest of us.”

“But she’d be happier!”

“You don’t know that!”

“What else am I supposed to think?!” He looks up with a force and Seokjin almost gasps at the sight of tears falling from his eyes. Namjoon isn’t one to shed tears, not like how easy it is for someone like Jungkook. Out of everyone, the leader always keeps himself composed no matter what situation he’s faced with and it has to take a lot in him to finally allow tears to fall.

Seokjin almost takes a step back when Namjoon leans against the wall and slides down, hitting the ground with a thud. He lets his tears flow, not caring to wipe them away, not caring to hide them anymore.

“I can’t love her enough,” he says in a low, low whisper. “My love isn’t enough for her.”

“...What are you trying to say?”

Namjoon falls silent for a moment. And a heartbeat later, he confesses his feelings. “I can’t love her,” he says, “not in the way I used to.”

As his nostrils thicken and his eyes redden, Seokjin pulls Namjoon back up by the collar. “What sort of pathetic excuse were you trying to make before?” He growls, the flash of anger and hurt clearly seen in his eyes. “She’d be happier with her father? Are you serious? Y/N’s silence shouldn’t be the reason for you to give up like this. You know perfectly well how love works. Not everything is exciting and filled with happiness. Sometimes it gets a little dull and that infatuation you felt at first will dwindle down but that doesn’t mean you give up on it the second you feel it. If you can do it with the rest of us, why can’t you do it with Y/N? You love us all the same, why can’t that be the same for Y/N? Was your love for her that weak? You know just as well as I do how much patience it takes to break down someone’s walls and the second you feel you can’t do it as easily as you’ve done for the rest of us, you’re willing to back down. You’re pathetic, Kim Namjoon.”

.

.

.

He knows.

He knows he’s pathetic.

But the more he tries, the harder it is, and the more he comes to learn that he can never love you in the same way he used to.

“Joon!”

Even the soft little nickname that always got him to smile no longer works for you and soon the rest of the boys all catch up to it. Fights break out behind your back and the longer this goes on, the more frustrated Namjoon gets.

He hates how pathetic he’s acting, hates the way feelings work, because he tries, he does, but doesn’t try enough to make things work and soon enough, the way the others care for you starts to irritate him as well. He hates how sweet they are towards you, how they defend you every time he has something to say, how he watches their love for you is kept the same and yet his is different.

And most of all, he hates how kind you still are despite knowing Namjoon’s changed.

He knows you know and he hates how you refuse to address it, wanting to believe in the Namjoon you fell in love with. For a while, Namjoon thought that was fine, that if he too refuses to see his changing feelings, he can come to love you all the same again.

But that doesn’t work and his frustrations get the best of him.

“If this continues, I’ll end up lashing out at her.”

He hates the way the others look at him but he deserves it, he knows he deserves it.

“So what? You’re gonna say it’s better to let her go before any of that happens? Before you hurt her? Return her to her father because she’d be happier there than pretend things are going well between the two of you?”

When Taehyung points out those things, Namjoon doesn’t say a word.

He just nods, and that causes another fight to break out.

The tension grows and grows between them, all the while you turn to Hoseok, the only man who’s unaware of what’s going on around him, finding your safe space in him.

Hoseok who doesn’t know a thing. Hoseok who still loves you more than anything else in the world and you, who clings onto his love because everything else seems to be falling apart. But even then, Namjoon sees the way you hide your true feelings from him, not wanting him to worry and perhaps afraid that if he knew, he’d also fall into the tension that has grown between the rest of them.

Namjoon knows how dumb he’s being, that he should try harder but trying harder only makes him grow more irritated, and soon enough he just stops.

Stops trying.

Maybe if he acts differently around you, maybe if he makes you hate him, it’d be easier to let you go. Because that way you can feel better about returning to your father. He’d rather you hate him than hold onto a false hope thinking he could change and revert back to the old him.

He’ll make you hate him and he’ll force you to take the step into calling for a divorce.

The night Namjoon lashes out on you, Taehyung meets him when he slams the door closed on your face, a look of disappointment clear on his face as he bites his tongue back when the two of them meet eyes. Taehyung’s jaw is clenched, hands balled into a fist, trembling by his side as he tries to subdue his emotions.

“A pawn?” He whispers, scoffing at the disgusting words that left his leader’s lips.

Namjoon looks away, chin protruding.

“You have no right, Kim Namjoon. To tell her such things.”

And when your cries echo softly from the other side of the door, Taehyung lets his own tears fall. His eyes redden as he keeps silent, not wanting you to hear a single peep, while he levels daggers into Namjoon’s head.

But the man doesn’t give him a reaction. He turns away and walks off, leaving Taehyung to hear your cries all to himself.

He stays there for the longest time, listening to you from the other side of the door, keeping himself concealed, hidden, despite his body screaming at him to rip open that door and hold you tightly. All the noises that leave your lips tears him down to pieces.

He hates it most when you cry, hates your tears, your broken state, and he hates himself most of all for just staying there stoned to the floor, not making a single move to walk towards you or away.

He just stays there, listening to the broken record that falls from you, left damaged by Namjoon’s words.

It is until two hours pass does Taehyung actually make a move. You’d gone silent an hour ago but he knows that in spite of your silence, you still cry. That’s just how you are. You hate making the slightest peep when you cry, hate it when others hear you even if no one’s by your side.

You hide all that you are even while basking in your own comfort.

So when Taehyung’s absolutely sure you’ve fallen asleep from all that crying, he opens the door to your bedroom and walks in to find you sitting against the wall, head leaned to your right where the bookshelf lies, eyes shut closed with faint dry tears marking your cheeks.

He steps in and takes a seat before you, watching as you breathe in and out, chest heaving slowly and peacefully. Taehyung lets his tears fall silently for you, hating every moment of this, and finally gets up to pick you up in his arms.

He settles you into your bed carefully and thoughtfully, making sure you’re comfortably tucked in, and just as he’s about to move away, he feels a tug pulling him back in and Taehyung freezes.

For a moment there his heart skipped a beat, worried you had woken up from him moving you around, but when Taehyung looks back to see that your eyes are still closed, his heart only tugs with an ache.

Look at you, clinging to his warmth even in your dreams, as if a second longer without them brings a second more pain into your life and he knows, he knows that he’s hurting you. He knows that you spend nights after nights worried about how strong their love is for you, about being a burden, about not being enough, and so he hates himself most of all for not being the one to soothe those insecurities of yours away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers brokenly when he leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek. A teardrop escapes his eye, dropping onto your precious skin, and Taehyung cries a little more while trying his best to keep as silent as possible.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he says them in his head, worried you may wake up and pray that you can hear them in your dreams.

He kisses you a few times, delivering apologies after apologies, knowing that no matter how many times he utters them, they will never be enough. Nothing will ever be enough.

When Taehyung leaves your room after some time, he takes another moment to himself right there in front of your bedroom door, and grabs a handful of his shirt to wipe the tears from his eyes, all the while knowing that sharp aching pain in his chest will never cease.

Someone’s footsteps are heard and when he looks up, he finds Jimin in the shadows of the darkness.

They don’t say a word to one another but Taehyung sees the way water glimmers in his soulmate’s eyes.

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Five minutes.

It takes five minutes for Jungkook to make sure you aren’t returning for him to release his gun and slam it harshly to the ground.

It smashes into pieces with a loud sound but he doesn’t care. All he cares is for the hurt on your face he’s sure was there when he kept his back on you, speaking in short and blunt words to make you turn away from him.

The door is closed after you left but one look at the sandwich you left behind makes a tear fall from his eye.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” you told him, voice kept kind and gentle yet he heard the restrain, the way you were holding yourself back from him. You wanted his attention, his soft smile, his words of affirmation, to stop focusing so much on his targets and turn around to provide you with his full attention in the way he’s always done.

But Jungkook had only hurt you and forced you out the door.

“What does loyalty mean?” He asks Seokjin later that day, eyes hard and demanding after walking in through his door without so much of a greeting, but Jungkook doesn’t care. “If I betray this gang, will I have to pay with my life? Will you kill me?”

The eldest hovers his pen in mid-air, silent.

“I know I owe him my life, he’s done so much for me and I love him but…” His voice threatens to fall apart, jammed against his throat, but Jungkook swallows hard to speak again. “I love her too, hyung.” He lets out a shaky breath and tears fall. Tears only seem to be falling these days. “It isn’t fair, hyung, can’t you say something? Anything? He listens to you, can’t you do something? You still love her, don’t you? If you say something that’ll make him change his mind, we’ll be okay again and we won’t have to risk Y/N—”

“You know just as well as I do Namjoon does not change his mind once it’s made up.”

Jungkook chokes on his tears because he knows. He knows nothing can be done.

Namjoon has fallen out of love and the rest of them has to pay the price.

“It isn’t fair what we’re doing to her, hyung, can’t you see? I don’t want her to hate me and I don’t want to hate her. Why do we have to hurt just because things stopped working out for him? Why do we have to hurt her too?”

“Jungkook–”

“If this was another life, if I was an ordinary man,” he grits his teeth, staring hard at his eldest hyung, “I’d choose her in a heartbeat.”

Seokjin can say nothing to that.

.

.

.

In another life, Jungkook would make you his number one priority. In another life, Jungkook would make sure you were his first choice.

Because in this life you will always come second to Namjoon whether he wants that or not. In this life, he has to choose Namjoon, in this life he chose Namjoon first so he can’t choose anyone else.

Polyamory shouldn’t be this hard. It was working out well for them without any problems in between so why did something have to start going wrong when you came along? You’ve done nothing wrong, you’ve done all that you could, but now your biggest insecurity is biting back at you and there’s nothing Jungkook can do to change that.

He can’t choose you.

Jungkook cries that night, hard, and punches Namjoon against his chest because he doesn’t want to let you go. He loves you and he hates that he’s forced into a position where he has to choose between you and Namjoon.

For them, for the boys, that choice will always be Namjoon.

Because Namjoon was there first and Namjoon is their boss. Choosing between a woman of another gang and the man who leads your gang will only lead you down one road.

An illusion of free choice.

Because loyalty to the mafia comes first. Without the mafia, they have nothing.

“Why, why, why?” Jungkook pleads in a broken voice, the punches he gives out weakening by the second and Namjoon stands there, taking it all in.

They hate it.

They hate it because you’ve voiced your insecurities before. Your insecurities about being a second choice, being left behind, and not being enough for them. You will always be enough for them, always, but when it comes to having to choose between their mafia and you, you will always be the second choice.

“Then…let’s divorce.”

Three words.

Gentle eyes.

A kind smile.

Breaking.

Breaking.

Broken.

They broke you.

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.

.

“You’re okay with this?” Hoseok sits against a wall, his head lowered with no energy left in him as he asks Yoongi that question. 

The room remains quiet for the longest time as Yoongi holds his breath and Hoseok sits there, the fight in him slipping away as tears fall from his eyes, hidden through the darkness of his hair. Yoongi can tell he’s crying with the way his shoulders trembles and it’s a sight that breaks him.

A sight that hurts him.

“I thought you loved her, hyung, I thought…I thought that we…that…” The lump in his throat makes it hard for him to make out proper words and while Yoongi tries to comfort him with a hand on his shoulder, Hoseok only shakes it off with a forceful flick, not wanting his sympathy. “You’re a coward,” he utters with disgust as he takes a stand, refusing to meet him in the eyes. “Just because we weren’t legally married to her doesn’t mean it’s okay to let her fall victim to Namjoon’s abuse. You think you’re not bad? That it’s easier to forgive you because you didn’t do anything?”

He scoffs, laughing bitterly. “No hyung. It’s because you didn’t do anything that probably drove her to end things. Am I good enough?” He quotes your thoughts, uttering them clearly for Yoongi to hear every word. “Did I do something wrong? Was it something I did? Why won’t they look at me? Why won’t they care for me? They still love me, right? Everything’s my fault, isn’t it? Namjoon doesn’t like me but they still do, right? They still care, right? Ah, but if they do then that means I’m forcing them to choose between me and Namjoon. Who will they choose? They’ll choose Namjoon because they loved him first. They love him. They love Namjoon. Namjoon. Namjoon. And I will always be their second choice.”

Hoseok pushes Yoongi out of anger, hating every bit of this as more tears fall, his rage getting the best of him. “How dare you let her biggest nightmare come true? Made her think she would always be our second choice?”

“Hoseok—”

“While I laid there on the hospital bed thinking everything was fine, that everything was perfect and everything was good, you could’ve done something. Y/N wasn’t ever going to tell me anything no matter how much I begged it out of her. She was hurting and yet she always smiled my way, pretending all was okay and you know what’s crazy? How convincing she was.”

You just missed him, you’d tell him, that you were worried about his injuries hurting him and while a part of that must’ve been true, Hoseok knows damn well it wasn’t all of your worries.

You lied to him and he couldn’t see through those lies. Just what else were you hiding from him? What else did you hide under that perfect dollhouse smile? Living in a world that looked so perfect, filled with so many beautiful things, of sunshine and rainbows, with nothing but laughter and a sweet smile. You filled his world with warmth, with so much care and patience, always knowing just what to do when things weren’t right, when things went wrong.

You always knew.

Always knew whenever his smile was fake, when he felt as if the world was caving in, when he’d brave himself and put on a facade that would fool millions.

Among the seven billion people that live on this earth, you’re the only one who always knew the second something was wrong with him and in turn, Hoseok fell blind to your own sufferings, to your hurting, to your pains.

He thought he knew you best but he didn’t.

He never did.

I’m tired, you told him, and Hoseok’s eyes blind with tears as he looks up at his hyung, a fist ready to land right upon his face if it weren’t for someone holding him back.

Yoongi would have let him punch him but Jungkook doesn’t.

“Hyung, stop,” the youngest one says in a plea as he forces Hoseok away with a protective stance before the older one.

Their eyes meet and Hoseok knows. Hoseok knows he can’t let his rage blind him into hurting his loved ones so he takes a step back, punching the wall instead.

“Hyung-!”

“How did she look, Jungkook?” He turns to him with a force, hand trembling, knuckles bruised as blood drips from his ripped skin.

“Hyung..”

“Tell me, Jungkook. How did she look?” He asks again with a little more force, teeth gritting. “When you forced her to her breaking point, when you stood there doing nothing but watched on, not caring to do a single thing to help her out? How did she look when she took off her wedding ring and said she wanted a divorce? I know you were there,” he takes a glance at Yoongi, “both of you. All of you.” He glances back at Jungkook, jaw clenched tightly as he demands an answer.

The younger one averts his gaze to the floor, biting onto his lower lip as he usually does when he’s trying to remain calm over his emotions. He can feel the tears coming when he remembers your face.

Your precious, precious face.

So broken and defeated.

“She smiled,” he says and Hoseok’s face crumbles.

His lips quiver as he turns back to the wall, punching and punching.

“Hyung, stop! Please!”

Even as Jungkook tries to pull him back, Hoseok pushes him off aggressively. “You don’t deserve to cry, Jungkook!” He shouts with so much emotions it breaks them both. “You don’t deserve to regret it now. Not now, not when everything’s done and over with. It’s too late to cry now. It’s too late to feel guilty for what you’ve done.”

He rips his gaze from the tears that fall down Jungkook’s cheeks, looking away from the both of them as he hits his forehead against the wall. The punches that follow weaken and even with the pain he feels from his knuckles, Hoseok knows it’ll never hurt more than how much they’ve hurt you.

He breaks down again for the hundredth time that day, strength falling weak. “You could’ve done something but you didn’t,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “You could’ve…you could’ve saved her. I love her so, so much. How could you do that to me? To her? How could you…?”

.

.

.

When Yoongi cries, he does it softly and quietly and keeps it to himself. He doesn’t like bothering people, doesn’t like the attention and questions that he earns from people when they do see him cry because he’ll never know what to say.

He hates explaining himself and would rather be invisible to the world than anything else in those moments.

He’s usually good at hiding it when he’s cried. He’ll put on a straight face and pretend those past few minutes of shedding tears were nonexistent, but for some reason, someone always manages to see right through him.

“Hyung?” Hoseok will ask after him but Hoseok isn’t here to look out for him now. He’s got his own tears to worry about.

“Yoongi?” And you’re gone.

Gone from his life because he’s pushed you away and didn’t do anything to stop you.

You’re gone, no longer there to collect after his tears.

“I thought you loved her.”

He did. He does. He does.

But Hoseok’s right; he could have saved you. He could have done something, to have done anything, to have at least made it hurt less, to have protected you from Namjoon’s anger. He could have shielded you from such words that had broken you to pieces but his negligence and the way he left you to deal with everything all on your own had only hurt you more.

He broke you.

Hoseok’s right. He might not have been the one who had broken you down with crude words but he’s still part of the reason you were driven down the edge of the cliff. He’s just as bad, just as bad as Namjoon, and shedding any tears now, regretting anything now is meaningless.

You’re gone.

.

.

.

“Do you love me?” Jimin asks, his voice small and quiet.

“I love you,” Namjoon nods.

He falls silent, eyes still in his lap as he refuses to look up. Namjoon doesn’t know what to say nor does he know what Jimin’s trying to say but still he waits there, patient enough to sit through however long it will take for Jimin to speak again, even if that means missing his meeting.

“Do you love me the same as the day you fell in love with me?” Jimin asks as if that had been the question he was meaning to ask all along.

“I do,” Namjoon answers. “Though if anything, I probably love you more than that day.”

“Ah.” Jimin nods, falling silent once more, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer, weaker, as if afraid to offend his lover but at the same time, knowing he has to say it. “Then why couldn’t it be the same for her?”

Her.

You.

Namjoon’s heart aches when he hears Jimin sniffle.

“Why couldn’t…why couldn’t you love her all the same? I…I was so cold to her.” His voice breaks, trembling. “I ignored her when she sought for my attention, for my love, and despite how many times I pushed her away, she still pressed on a smile as if saying that she understood because I was busy. I wasn’t busy, hell if she asked, I’d stop everything just to spend more time with her — she doesn’t even have to ask and I’d do it in a heartbeat. And yet…yet I…”

“Jimin..-”

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes though he feels no courage to wipe the tears that have fallen, knowing only more was to come. “I’m sorry, Namjoon, I know I can’t force your feelings to change but I…I just…I wish things didn’t end like this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Namjoon. I’m so, so sorry.”

Sorry for loving you, for choosing you.

Namjoon knows he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve Jimin’s apology. But as he sits there before the younger man, his voice refuses to leave his throat as he watches him break before him, tears falling, head refusing to even look up at him.

They love him and they chose him but in the end, they will always love you.

Why did he stop loving you?

Why did he have to break them like this?

.

.

.

“Do you think I’m selfish?”

Seokjin stops in his tracks just as he was on his way out, pausing to turn around and look at the man who sits alone in his chair, eyes distant as he stares blankly at nothing before him, head in a space elsewhere.

“Yeah,” the eldest admits without a thought and although Namjoon knows just how true that is, it still hurts to hear the truth. “I love you, Namjoon, but…do you really have no remorse?” Seokjin steps over towards him, eyes never leaving as he awaits the answer to his question.

“You know more than I do feelings are things that can never be forced,” Namjoon responds robotically.

“That may be true but that doesn’t mean what you did was right.” He places his papers onto the desk, lips pressed into a straight line. “Hoseok refuses to even look at us and the others…they aren’t doing well. Jungkook has gone completely silent, Taehyung refuses to leave his lab, Jimin doesn’t smile anymore, and Yoongi almost got himself killed the other night because he couldn’t focus. Did you really want Y/N to hate us that much? So that it’d be easier for her to leave? From what I saw, it didn’t look easy in the slightest for her.”

When Namjoon doesn’t say anything, Seokjin continues with his voice slowly growing strained as a lump grows in his throat, threatening to hide his voice, threatening to break. He presses on. “I put up with your play because between you and her, the only choice I could choose was you. This life has tied us down together, I have nothing if I leave the mafia. We owe you our lives and loyalty to the gang comes first and foremost but if I was a normal man who didn’t kill for a living, who do you think I would have chosen in that case?”

Namjoon remains silent upon those words.

“You thought you’d do all that you could to make her hate you because then it’d be easier for her to leave that way? Namjoon, can’t you see? Y/N could never hate you no matter what you do. She loves you too much for that. And yet you forced her to rip that ring off her finger.”

“If she stayed…I would have forced the six of you into a hard place.”

He knows. Seokjin knows.

Namjoon falling out of love would have broken the relationship either way and inevitably force them to pick a side. Allowing you to leave was him making their choice a little easier because they would have inevitably chosen to stay with him.

Loyalty to the mafia comes first.

Loyalty.

But, “That doesn’t mean she deserved what we did to her.”

“...I know.”

.

.

.

It takes a lot for someone like Seokjin to cry. Out of all the members in the group, no one has ever seen him shed a tear and he intends to keep it that way.

So when night falls and no one is by his side, Seokjin leaves the sanctuary of Bangtan’s manor and goes on a long, long drive down a road that never seems to end. Everything is silent when he stops in the middle of nowhere, eyes staring blankly at the stars against the horizon before him.

He remembers one specific night when he thought everyone was asleep, when he thought he was safe all to himself, only to hear a small little voice reaching out to him when he was on his way out the door.

“Seokjin?” You called unto him sweetly, a small croak in your voice indicating that you had just woken up. You rubbed your fists against your eyes, an action that caused him to immediately walk over to grab your hands away.

“What’re you doing up in the middle of the night?” He had asked. This was a year ago when things were okay, when things weren’t falling apart.

“I think I woke up because..hm…someone feels a little lonely tonight.”

“You?”

“You,” you said, eyes looking up right at him and for a second there Seokjin felt as if you had seen right through him, as if your eyes were magic and could see a portal right into his soul. He tried to shake it off, not wanting to make it a big deal, but you asked if you could go with him on the drive instead, refusing to let him be.

There was a gentle smile resting on your face as if you knew, as if all the parts of him that he was hiding from you and the members were unveiling just by a single look from you. He allowed you to ride along with him but kept silent and you basked in that silence, not uttering a single word to push him through anything he didn’t want to say.

No one’s ever seen Seokjin cry but he’s seen you cry before, lots and lots of times. And that night, you cried again right before him when he spoke the tales of his past, the life he lived before he met Namjoon, of the little boy he was who had been exploited by the people around him as if he was nothing but a living doll who had no control over his fate.

You cried hard, words choked up against your throat when you tried to say something until it got too much you resigned to just crying.

“I’m sorry,” you said, as if you were the one who had put him in such a situation, as if you were the goddess of fate that had led him to lead such a life.

In the middle of the night with nothing but the light of the stars up above shining your ways, he held onto you as you cried for him, cursing at the world for hurting the little boy that he was and for putting him through so much.

But he reassured you that he was okay now, that he didn’t have to dwell on the past anymore because he was saved. Namjoon saved him, took his hand, and gave him the life he so deserved from the very beginning.

Namjoon saved him.

Namjoon.

“Please.” The image of you kneeling on the floor flashes in his mind. Your broken voice, desperate and craving for the warmth they once so effortlessly gave you. “Please, I...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

A tear falls from Seokjin’s eye, and when one falls, another follows along until the whole dam breaks and there’s nothing he can do to stop them.

He loves you.

Seokjin loves you so much.

But does he really deserve to say any of that now after tearing you down to pieces?

.

.

.

It was a rough, rocky road. Everything fell apart after the divorce and Namjoon took all the blames for it because he knew everything was his fault; Jungkook and Yoongi’s insomnia, Taehyung being holed up in his lab refusing to speak, Jimin’s silence, Seokjin’s anger, and Hoseok’s pains and distance.

They fell into a place darker than the depth of the ocean and Namjoon himself could feel just how different things turned out to be after you left. 

It was odd how things were okay before you came into the picture but the second you left after making such an impact in their lives, nothing was ever the same again. It was like a piece of them was missing, broken hearts that could never be filled, their souls shattered.

Your smiles, your giggles, your kindness, and your warmth.

All of it was gone.

Even the ones who never fell in love with you in the first place could feel just how empty the mafia came to be after you left. You treated the mafia well, after all, taking the effort in getting to know their names, appreciating them for their works, and greeting them with smiles whenever you got the chance. You made an impact in everyone’s lives and Namjoon took that all away from them.

But regretting was something that could never happen.

He could regret and feel guilty for all he wants, he knows he can never get you back. The contract the two of you made in the lone presence of each other wrote out rules upon never seeing each other again, no matter the circumstances.

You wrote that line yourself and it was probably a way for you to properly heal from them. Seeing them would only hurt you after all, and Namjoon accepted the words of the contract.

He has to abide by them.

Everything was his fault and he could feel the weight of that burden shaking his core. But the boys loved him, they love him.

And because of that, eventually, things came back together.

Piece by piece.

With lots of patience and lots of time.

They grew to forgive him, knew that losing feelings wasn’t something that was under his control, but Namjoon knows a part of them will always resent him for the way he treated you after he gave up on trying to keep the relationship together. You didn’t deserve his heartless actions towards you after all, and Namjoon knows that.

It took Hoseok the longest time to return to their side but he came back.

Eventually.

But while the rest of them came to accept the fact that you’re gone from their lives, Namjoon knows Hoseok still holds onto a small little hope from within.

Because whether it was out of romantic or platonic feelings, Hoseok never stopped loving you.

.

.

.

Hoseok doesn’t look at him the same way but Hoseok still loves him and Hoseok still cares.

And perhaps the reason why Hoseok decided to return to his side is because he knows you would rather it turn out that way than be the reason for their downfall.

Truth is nothing was ever your fault, Namjoon can admit that. He can admit that everything was his fault, that he is all to blame, and that a part of him will always seek for an answer as to why he stopped loving you.

He never meant to, never meant to grow irritated, never meant to get impatient, get angry, upset, and made you out to be the villain when in reality, everything was his fault. He never meant to grow envious of the way you grew up, living a peaceful life adored by your father. You told him that just because you grew up differently from him didn’t mean you didn’t have a rough time and Namjoon knows that.

He knows it in the way you have scars down your back, hidden away from prying eyes. He knows it in the way you present yourself, always kind, always gentle, towards anyone and everyone. He knows it in the way you flinch at guns, when you’d wake in the middle of the night because of nightmares, when you’d silently reach out for a hand to touch you, for arms to caress you. He knows it in the way you hold your walls way up high, always there for others but afraid to let anyone in.

He should have been more patient, should have been more careful, but his restlessness and his greed got the best of him. He wanted to know, to hear, to help, to support, but in doing so, grew impatient and snapped at you.

His excuse was wanting to make you hate him and as a result, hoped to create an easier path for you to walk on when you returned to your father. 

But in truth Seokjin was right. He knew, he always knew, that you’d never have it in your heart to come to hate him. You’re too kind for that, too gentle, too forgiving, and too loving.

You loved him too much to hate him.

“Hyung…” He stares at the picture of his precious older brother who in thought still lives and is hidden away somewhere. Namjoon lets a tear slip when he hangs his head, shoulders hunched, elbows resting on his thighs. “Tell me what to do, hyung…”

The only thing that keeps him from feeling too much guilt is the fact that you have a home to return to. A loving father, a loving family, a loving mafia who holds you to a pedestal and would never let anything happen to you.

.

.

.

Bang!

Sweet little Y/N.

Sweet and kind and gentle.

The image shatters like a glass tipped over the table with nothing soft to land on, falling into tiny little pieces with nothing that can be done to put it back to one full glass.

You hold your gun right at him, finger ready to pull the trigger without a blink in the eyes as the roaring thunder pours on and on, the only sound filling up the silence that has walked in.

The loving father that Namjoon thought him to be lies dead on the ground behind you, and the very daughter who, without hesitation, pulled the trigger on, stands before him with eyes he has never seen before.

No light shines in those eyes, not in the way he was used to, as if darkness took control of your heart and snatched away the precious light that once lit up his whole world.

Dead.

What happened to the Y/N he knew?

.

.

.

“I killed him.”

I killed him.

I killed him, I killed him, IkilledhimIkilledhimIkilledhim.

The brother he loves with all his heart, the brother who stood by his side, there from the very moment he came out of his mother’s womb, the one who held his heart, who stood against his father whenever he made a mistake, protecting him, loving him.

The very brother he held onto the hope of finding him someday lost somewhere on this tiny little Earth.

Is dead.

“..When I come back, we’ll take over Bangtan together and lead the gang into a new era.”

“You promise?”

“Mmn, I promise.”

A promise broken. A promise shattered.

“I have a brother. He…he’s missing. I don’t know where he is and I don’t know where he went but he made me a promise that he’d return. I’m saving my seat on the throne for him so that when he returns, he can sit on a chair that’s warm rather than cold.”

“You’re going to give up your seat for him?” You ask, a small little tilt in your head.

“Mmn,” Namjoon nods as a tear slips from his eye. He keeps a pressed smile on his face as he looks back at you who sits right beside him, listening to every word he has to say with much patience and much love. “The throne was rightfully his after all.”

“What will you do when he returns?”

You don’t question his disappearance, you don’t doubt Namjoon when he says his brother will return. It’s been years and those years made his own allies doubt in his words but you, you keep his hopes alive, shining bright in the darkness of the night, without any doubt clouding your thoughts.

You believe that his brother will return to his side and Namjoon smiles just as another tear falls.

“Hmm..I’d love to go on vacation with the six of you,” he says in a jest, chuckling as he imagines the scene. “Though I’ll probably have to stay a few years to help Jungwon out first, get him adjusted back into Bangtan, let him catch up on everything’s he’s missed in the past few years.”

“And then?”

“And then,” he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close, “we’ll travel the world, go wherever you’d like.”

“Wherever I’d like?”

“Mmn. Wherever you’d like.” Namjoon looks down at you with a gentle smile as you lean in close to his chest, eyes looking straight up at him. “If you could go anywhere in this world, where would you go?”

“Hmm…” You purse your lips, thinking, but the thought doesn’t stray too far because you’re back to answer him in a heartbeat. “I wanna go where the sun never sets. I wanna go to the Land of the Midnight Sun.”

Namjoon chuckles at your reply because it’s such a you response. You hate the night, you hate the darkness. “Alright,” he says as your hand reaches out to brush away the last of his remaining tears. “We’ll go there,” he promises with a kiss pressed to the tip of your nose. “When my brother returns, I’ll take you there.”

“The day of the incident, I watched him with my very own eyes as life slipped away from him. His eyes were lifeless, dead, a corpse. In the same way I killed my mother and father, I killed your brother as well. The man who cared so much for me died at my very own hands. His death was all..my...fault.”

“Joon!” He hears his brother’s voice in the back of his mind.

“Joon!” He hears your voice in the far, distant memories.

Dead.

Dead.

They’re both dead.

The brother whom he loved more than anything in this world.

The woman who once held light to his world.

You stand before him without an ounce of emotion on your face, eyes as dead as the night you held onto Seokjin, crying out two single words uttered in a soft, soft whisper.

“Save me,” you said before falling lifeless right before their eyes.

His hands tremble by his side, fingers crawling into a fist, and he knows, he knows he shouldn’t harm you in any way, not after what you’d gone through in London, not after what Leehyung had done to you. He knows, he knows, and yet the rage and anger, the disappointment and hurt he feels overtakes his control and he lunges right at you in a blinding rage.

You killed his brother.

The first man who loved him without an ounce of hatred in his heart, the first man to accept him and welcome him into this world.

You killed his brother.

💜💜💜

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.”

Eunoia // Stories

Summary: Yoongi’s POV from the last scene of chapter 24 in Eunoia

Word Count: 1.004

The house was a ghost of what it had once been. It was clear no one had lived there for a long time. It had been abandoned to the mercy of the elements and the forest, becoming one with the trees. It looked like it belonged there, like it had been made to be a part of the forest. 

“I discovered this on my first trip to the lake. There is something compelling about it that makes you want to learn more about it, about the story behind it,” you said. “Who it belonged to, why it is abandoned.”

“Everything is about stories to you,” Yoongi observed. 

You were full of them, they glittered and danced at your fingertips. You crafted and chiseled stories like a sculptor shaped clay. He remembered the stories you used to tell Hoseok when you treated his injuries to distract him from the pain. Tens of them piling and pulling at him. He had ignored it then. He couldn’t give in because of a few stories that fell like liquid gold from your lips. Your stories had seemed like traps then, something to pull them in and cage them forever. 

Regardless, he remembered all of them. As hard as he had tried to pretend he didn’t care, he had listened to you like an enchanted man.

Keep reading

💜💜💜

some horror smut with seokjin pls 😭 ppl barely ever write about him

tysm to my 🐋 angel for providing inspiration and supporting me... thank you to @baalsgurl1913 for reading through this and guiding me with her love. and thank you to @yoongsisbae for helping me choose the right direction <3 I am... so sorry for what I am subjecting y'all to lmao

pairing: jin x reader

genre: romance, ghost!au

warnings: mentions of blood and violence (not towards the reader), multiple deaths (+ major character death), implied murder, cheating (not by jin), supernatural elements (hauntings, afterlife), mentions of medication, manipulation and obsession, implied mental and physical torture (agsffhsgsh rip minho), angst, comfort, rough sex, dirty talk, praise, mentions of spanking, choking, creampie

¶

"Does it help?"

So cold. His hand felt so cold as it brushed through your hair.

"Does it help you move on? To feel like you've buried me?"

Unable to turn around and look at him - or whatever that thing was - you pulled your knees up to your chest and hid your face in them.

"I did," you whispered. To convince him or yourself, you weren't sure. "I did bury you."

Like a little girl, you gently rocked yourself back and forth on your bed, the chill of the dark room so severe it was making your fingers numb.

"Did you?" He hummed into your ear. "I'm right here."

You could barely hold yourself together, your heart sinking so low you feared it he could snatch it from under the ground and keep it there with him forever to rot.

"I promised I'd never leave you, didn't I?"

Despite the fear weighing on your chest, your eyes opened slowly. You woke up in the warmth of your sheets, your vision blurry with tears. Seeking comfort, or at least a confirmation you weren't alone, you turned towards your boyfriend and pressed yourself into his back. You tried to swallow down the lump in your throat, the grief and the guilt of trying to move on. It didn't help. The bitter mixture only seemed to upset your stomach. With a sigh, you sat up and blinked, wiping at your eyes. Outside the window dusk was slowly fading. You reached for your phone, then planted your feet on the wooden floor.

6 am. Looked like you'd have an early start.

*

Grief was... loud. It demanded to be heard. He was sure even the dead could not rest in peace with how you tossed and whimpered in your sleep. He certainly couldn't. But the bastard lying beside you remained oblivious to your suffering. Pathetic, really. Jin couldn't believe this was the man you chose to replace him with. The man who got to see your pretty smile, go to sleep and wake up by your side - when he didn't deserve any of it at all.

He would have felt that way about anyone who went near you, of course, but there was no denying the fact that he held a special contempt for Minho. All those late nights out, the perfume he smelled of when he came home. Surely you weren't that blind? Surely you could see that he wasn't faithful? Always drifting off somewhere, even as you spoke to him. Jin wished he could grab him and break every bone in his body, slowly, make him pay for every sin he ever committed. The sin of being with you, touching you. The sin of hurting you.

But all he could do was kneel by your bed and run his fingertips down your cheek. He tried to catch the tears that fell, wipe them away like he used to when he was alive. It didn't do much besides inducing a little shiver, making you pull the blankets tighter around your body.

*

A few months have passed since the car accident, yet he continued to appear in your dreams. It felt like any attempts you made at trying to find peace were being torn apart by his shadow, leaving you lethargic and confused... making you pay less attention to your new relationship. During the day, you questioned your sanity and wondered if you should see a doctor.

During the nights, however, in that cold, little dreamland of yours he haunted, you tried to find the answers to questions you wouldn't dare to ask out loud.

"Why are you still here?"

You still couldn't face him, but you felt his presence, a ghostly touch travelling down your sides. The nightmares themselves were distressing enough, but there was something else gnawing at you, a possibility that made you ache.

"Are you stuck? Is there no light there?"

You could feel Jin's arms wrapping around you from behind. Such a chilly, foreign experience, disturbing you in ways you couldn't even understand; everything seemed too realistic.

"There is," he murmured, his voice sounding amused. "And I went right into it."

You swallowed, staring at the wall ahead of you.

"Oh."

You couldn't tell if you felt relieved or disappointed. You chewed on your bottom lip.

"So, you're not real then," you whispered, as if to yourself. "Just my imagination."

"Oh no," Jin protested. "I'm very real, baby."

Your brows furrowed, your heart skipping a beat. You haven't heard him call you that in so long it made you want to curl yourself up to him. Real or not.

"But you said you followed the light."

"Mm, that I did," his lips grazed your shoulder, a hint of ice with velvet, followed by a soft whisper. "You're my light."

A dam inside you cracked, the turbulent waters behind it about to shatter it altogether, along with your willpower and common sense. You missed him so much. You wished you could hide in his arms and stay like that forever, even if they felt so cold. You'd give up the sun and live in eternal winter if it meant that things could go back to the way they were.

But they couldn't. And that wouldn't be living at all.

*

"Ah, don't forget your pills."

You smiled at Minho and grabbed the small, plastic bottle from him. It's been only two weeks since you saw a psychiatrist, but the quality of your life has improved immensely.

And also, it didn't.

While you no longer feared going to bed, closing your eyes was still a struggle. You didn't need to dream to see Jin's face behind your eyelids.

There was an uncomfortable, odd sense of guilt stirring inside you, like you've done something wrong. Like you've shut him out and left him all alone there in the void. And yet that was all the more reason for you to keep taking your medication and trying to move on. Jin was gone; there was no changing that. Sticking to rationality made it easier for you to ignore these feelings, to tell yourself that you didn't feel unusually cold when you entered your bedroom.

You glanced up at Minho when he got up from the table, grabbing his coat.

"Are you going somewhere?"

He smiled at you as he worked on fixing his tie.

"Just work stuff."

You put down your fork, your appetite suddenly gone. Work stuff, at nine pm. On a Saturday night. Again.

"Don't wait up, honey."

You didn't have the mental strength to deal with this and with your inner turmoil. Instead of speaking up, you tried to force a smile when he bent down to press his lips to yours. An inch separated you, your eyes fluttering shut.

And then - a sudden crash that made you jump in your seat.

Frowning, Minho straightened up, looking behind you.

"What the hell?"

Your heart thudded in your ears. The fright that pulsed through you spread all the way to your fingertips, making your hands feel weak. You turned your head towards the source of the sound, blood draining from your face.

The frame that held the first picture you took with Jin was lying on the floor, shattered, glass broken into pieces. You hid it inside the cabinet right above the spot, yet now it was wide open, gaping.

Even though your knees felt like cotton, you stood up and rushed towards it automatically. You collapsed onto the floor, barely registering Minho calling out your name. With trembling fingers, you began to pick up the pieces in a hurry, not even fazed when you felt two warm hands curling around your arms.

"Are you crazy?" Minho snapped, pulling you away from the mess.

You struggled out of his grasp, your elbow knocking into his chest roughly. You scrambled back to the broken frame, blinking through the tears. It was so hard to see.

"It's- it's broken," you stammered. "Broken. I need to clean it up."

Minho crouched down next to you, gripping your wrists.

"You're hurting yourself!" He hissed. "Look."

He shook both of your hands. Dazed, you glanced down, brows scrunching when you noted the blood dripping from your fingers.

"But-"

Minho stared at you, a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, like for the first time he was really seeing you. Like for the first time something akin to guilt stirred in his stomach. Keeping your wrists in a tight grip, he wrapped an arm around your waist, gently pulling you up with him.

"Come on, honey. I''ll clean it up in a sec. Hold on."

He guided you to sit back down on your chair. You could still feel your heart ramming against your chest, frighteningly heavy with the weight of stress. Minho left your side to step up to the cabinets, rummaging through them in search of a first aid kit.

Numbly, you observed him uncap a bottle of antiseptic. Only when it came into contact with your skin did you feel the sting of the cuts, a sizzling sensation that made your fingers twitch. He bandaged them up one by one, seven in total, wincing as he cleaned up the blood.

Silently, as he promised, he went to clean up the mess on the floor as well, ensuring to sweep the area thoroughly. With a brief glance at the picture, then back at you, he set it down on the counter carefully. You felt like you were outside of your body, barely there, unable to speak up and tell him to not throw the picture away. He seemed to know that himself, though.

He picked up your bottle of sleeping pills and placed it on the table beside you.

"I'm late now, but I still have to go. Get some rest okay? You can text me if you feel unwell."

You blinked up at him, unsure if you were grateful to be left alone now or if you wanted to beg him not to walk out the door. Still, you couldn't even nod when he leaned down to kiss your forehead. With your hands on your knees, you listened to him leave and lock the door.

Your eyes flickered from the counter where the picture was, then to your pills. Unable to help yourself, you left the bottle behind and went straight to bed. Waiting for the adrenaline to flow off you and the exhaustion to do its job. You couldn't force yourself to swallow the medication tonight, an uneasy feeling intensifying in your chest.

*

This just wouldn't do.

How much more could he take? He stood by your bed and watched your eyes fall closed, fuming. He caught your attention, and that fucker's too, but Minho was probably too stupid to think much of what happened. Even if a frame did fly out of your kitchen cabinet on its own.

The two weeks he spent without being able to contact you were agony. Time didn't seem to exist on the other side. For the living - for you - it flowed like a river. For Jin it was a bottomless ocean and he felt like he was drowning without you. He couldn't stand the fact that you just tried to toss him away and move on with your life as if he ceased to exist. It was clear you still loved him. Why did he have to die? Why were you so unwilling to believe that he was right by your side? Did you really think something as trivial as death would ever take him away from you?

All the anger inside of him simmered, so powerful it felt like an explosion when he watched you sit in the kitchen with that pathetic excuse of a human being.

Until it overflowed.

He was almost as surprised as you were when the cabinet flew open. He hasn't been able to touch anything on this side of life.

Now, as he stood over your bed, he contemplated what he could do with that newfound power. There were so many possibilities.

With a hum, he brushed your cheek softly. Decisions, decisions.

*

This dream was different from the others. You were still in your bed, but this time Jin didn't sit behind you. You could see his silhouette in the corner of your room, blending in with the shadows. You shivered, relief settling over you for some reason, despite how disturbing the atmosphere felt. At least he was there.

You didn't know what to say. You had a feeling he was angry at you for leaving him behind. Why else would he stand so far away?

"Missed me, baby?"

His voice sounded soft. You hid your face in your hands, confused, unable to tell if the spectre before you was a figment of your imagination, a cry from the grief you tried to escape, or something more sinister. Something more real.

But whatever it was, it was still Jin, in some way. Wasn't it?

When you heard light footsteps approaching your bed, you stiffened, still unable to find the courage to look up. For so many reasons. Would he look dead? Would he look normal? Either way seeing him again would break your heart.

You felt him kneel down on the creaky floorboards, slowly taking your hand in his. A chill spread through you, your eyes shut tightly.

"What have you done?" He whispered, pressing a kiss to each bandaged finger. A feather light touch.

"No more suffering, baby. Promise me... Just let go. I'm right here."

*

The next night you drifted off in your armchair for what seemed like a few minutes. You awoke with a sigh, getting up to stretch in the dark and make your way towards your bedroom.

Minho must have still been out somewhere. You tried to ignore that thought.

Strong arms wrapped around you, halting your steps. You froze, the soothing warmth and smell of a cologne that was so familiar to you making your heart thud. You whirled around in shock, for the first time letting yourself look at him Your hands grasped at his shoulders. He felt so much warmer than usually. Dark, soft hair framing his handsome face, his eyes burning into yours. Wearing the same leather jacket you've seen him in on your last day together.

Was this another dream? It had to be.

"Baby," he muttered lowly, his hands coming to rest on your waist.

The sudden proximity after such a long time of being apart made your stomach swirl. It was strange how solid his hold was on you.

He took a moment to stare into your eyes, the pretty eyes he missed so much, glistening and bright. You were so confused, your chest constricting with pain and love all at once. You opened your mouth to speak, but words failed you. This had to be a dream, right? But why did he feel this warm? His eyes seemed so dark. So much darker than they ever were before. His lips knocked into yours, not allowing you to voice your perplexity and your doubts, or focus on your thoughts at all.

Such hunger. He didn't think the dead could feel hunger, or much of anything, but he was wrong. His soul endured starvation in this ruthless void, starvation for your love, your touch, you. It turned into a dark desperation that dripped and dripped onto you like fire, from his tongue brushing your lower lip, from the fingertips dancing across your ribs.

He groaned, a low, raspy sound that made your thighs clench.

Not for long.

He pried them apart and settled himself between them, his lips pressing soft, wet kisses into your neck.

"Fuck," he sighed, fumbling with the zipper of your jeans, his hands shaking. "I missed you."

You wanted to let him push you into the nearest wall so willingly, you would have any other time. But this still felt so odd. So real.

For a moment, you lost your breath, and the only thing you could focus on was the way he slid your jeans halfway down your thighs, not even bothered to undress you or himself properly.

"Missed you," he repeated in a whisper.

When you heard him unbuckling his belt your cunt clenched around nothing, leaking through your panties. There was a soft grunt as his trousers pooled around his ankles, one hand hooking your leg around his waist.

"Missed you too," you gasped, your head tilting back when you felt a sharp tug and heard the cotton material of your underwear being ripped into half.

"I know, baby."

The tip of his cock brushed through your slick folds, the slight pressure of the hard, thick length causing a shiver to erupt down your spine. Jin hissed, squeezing your thighs as he spread you open.

"Missed me here too?"

He emphasized the question with a teasing thrust, rubbing against you. Very fleetingly, the thought of Minho tickled the back of your mind, like a butterfly. You weren't a cheater. But... this wasn't real, was it? Even if it was, you weren't sure if you were able to overcome the shock of it, the need and the yearning burning inside you.

As if sensing your hesitation, Jin rolled his hips, entering you harshly and knocking all air out of your lungs. You felt so full of him, your cunt pulsing hotly around his cock.

"Don't think about him," he seethed. "Don't think about anything. Only me."

He didn't make that task very difficult. All your thoughts turned to ashes when he gripped your throat with his hand and started to fuck you, slamming you into the wall behind you with every aggressive snap of his hips. Like he wanted to take all of his frustration and love out on your body, make you suffer from pleasure.

"You're only mine," he groaned into your ear. "Your heart is mine. This pussy is mine. I should beat your ass raw for fucking forgetting that."

Your knees quivered, a whine tearing out of your throat. He tightened his hand around it, cutting the sound off.

"Say you're sorry."

You clenched around him. Somehow, the aggression only made your head spin more, because if he didn't feel real before, he definitely did now.

"Say you're sorry," he demanded sternly, "you little fucking brat, s-shit."

"Sorry!" You breathed, barely audible with how hard he was choking you, your eyes stinging and pussy fluttering. "Sorry."

Jin grunted and let go of your neck, burying his hand in your hair instead. You felt lightheaded, barely able to catch the air he allowed back into your lungs, panting with how close you were.

"Good girl," he whispered, strained, a moan following the praise.

"Fuck, missed you so much, not g-gonna last, shit-"

You weren't going to, either, but he busied himself with pulling on your hair and slipping his other hand in between you. He pressed his finger into your slit to rub it roughly, causing even more slick to flow out of you, making his thrusts sloppier.

"So wet. So pretty. I love you so much, ah, fuck."

His breathing sounded just as harsh as his thrusts in your ear, growing desperate, louder than your own cries.

"Haven't been fucked how you deserve in so long, my love," he mumbled, plump lips brushing against your skin. "Come for me, please. Come on, doll. Need to feel you," he groaned. "Shit! Come on. I'll fill you up so, so good."

You couldn't help the sudden, violent snap in your stomach that made you shake and cream his cock. Jin threw his head back, revealing his attractive, tanned neck, his adam's apple bobbing. His groans were carnal, filthy, his cock twitching inside of you, filling you with a rush of his cum. If possible, you felt even fuller, your chest glowing and your cunt sticky from his orgasm. With a hiss, he rested his forehead on your shoulder, his embrace tighter around you, keeping your knees from giving out.

You floated in his arms, barely registering the fact that he picked you up and carried you towards the bed you used to share, his own knees feeling weak.

So he was able touch you. So he was able to love you. He watched you fall asleep, hope blooming in his chest only to wither away into disappointment. So what? In the end, what did that matter? You couldn't have a life together, grow old, have children. He would never be able to take you out to an expensive restaurant or buy you a gift, and who knew how long this would last? Could he only touch you when he was angry, overwhelmed, empty?

This just wouldn't do.

*

It only took a mere few days for the opportunity to arise.

It was so hard to tell what was happening around you. Your eyes blinked open to a bright light blinding you. You had no idea where you were. Was this another dream, again? You squinted, trying to cover your face. The light felt warm and safe, calling to you, like it wanted to pull you into its pearly embrace.

Instead, a darker embrace enveloped you.

"Don't go," a sweet murmur. "Not yet, baby. Stay with me."

You lifted your eyes towards the light, still squinting, although it seemed to be fading in its intensity little by little. For some reason you felt like you were running out of time.

Something was wrong.

"Stay with me," Jin repeated quietly. "You know there is no me without you. Don't go where I can't follow."

You hesitated. Weren't you on your way to see your mother with Minho? An image flashed through your head, leather seats and the low hum of music on the radio.

No, you were definitely in a car. So where the hell were you now? The last thing you remembered was the same bright light that was dimming in front of you now. You turned your head to the side, coming face to face with Jin.

The puzzle pieces clicked into place and you looked towards the enchanting source of illumination again. The light was dwindling, though its call still felt just as enticing and loud, urging you to follow.

You turned your head back towards Jin.

"Did we... crash? Am I dead?"

A hint of sorrow glimmered in his eyes. He nodded meekly, his arms tightening around you, strong and secure.

"Stay with me," he pleaded, leaning in, his lips a breath away from yours. "I'll take care of you," he murmured.

His hand slid down your side, moving to your hip. Your breath caught in your throat.

"But... but-"

You tried to take a peek at the light in front of you you, but he lifted his hand and placed it on your cheek, unwilling to let you look away from him.

Something felt so wrong; like your only chance for real, heavenly peace was slipping through your fingers. Like this wasn't where you were supposed to be, even if you ached to be with him.

"Jin..."

He shushed you, pressing a warm, affectionate kiss into your lips, his thumb brushing away your tears.

"We'll be together. Forever. I won't let you go again."

You sniffled, the space around you growing dark as night, his lips still inches from yours when he spoke again.

"You're okay, baby. I promise."

His grip on your face softened. You nodded, wiping at your eyes. He smiled at you, something you haven't seen in so long. It made your heart flip, for so many reasons.

"Good girl," he praised, stroking the top of your head affectionately. He ignored the trembling of your body, only pressing you closer to himself, trying to soothe your anxiety and pain away.

Even if he was the one who caused it.

He placed a gentle kiss on the shell of your ear. You promised to always be his.

Promises were made to be kept.

*

In a small, well lit room, Minho sat in a bed, eyeing the two figures in white lab coats standing before him suspiciously.

"I don't want to talk to you," he grumbled. "You're just here to treat me like one of your crazy patients."

The tall, dark haired man with glasses took a seat in the chair at the foot of the bed, crossing his legs.

"I don't consider any of my patients crazy," he answered calmly. "It's important to remain open minded and find a solution if a problem arises. I'm only here to listen and help you feel safe. I promise."

Minho narrowed his eyes, his gaze flicking from the elderly nurse who still stood by his side to the doctor.

The psychiatrist gave him a kind, dimpled smile.

"My name is Kim Namjoon. How about we start with that?"

"I don't care about your name," Minho huffed. "You have no idea what happened to me. You would never believe it either."

A pen clicked, its tip pressing into a notebook resting on the man's lap.

"Why don't you try me?" He coaxed gently. "Let's start at the beginning. As you're aware, the security footage shows your car swerving violently to the right. The doctor said you were trying to avoid hitting someone."

"I- I was."

Namjoon raised his eyebrows.

"But the roads were empty."

Minho flushed.

"Your tests also came back negative for any signs of drugs or alcohol in your system," Namjoon continued. "Have you been under a lot of stress lately?"

"I wasn't hallucinating because I was stressed," Minho snapped. "I saw someone!"

"Who did you see?"

Heaving a sigh, Minho glanced up at the nurse, who gave him an encouraging smile, as if to say: it's okay. He fiddled with the cool sheets covering him.

"My girlfriend's ex. He... died seven months ago."

"Ah," Namjoon said softly, steering his focus onto you, as if the revelation of seeing a ghost didn't faze him. "I'm sorry for your loss, Minho."

Another sigh, heavier, glassy eyes burning into the doctor.

"It was his fault!" Minho stressed. "He killed her and now he's going to kill me."

After a moment of soft scratching of pen against paper, Namjoon leaned forward, tilting his head to the side.

"What makes you think that?"

Minho hesitated.

"I... saw him in the hospital room as well. It was like a dream," he sniffed. "But I couldn't move."

Namjoon hummed, waiting.

"...He... said something to me."

Straightening up, Namjoon grabbed his pen again and pressed it into the white page.

"What was it?"

Minho pursed his lips, sighed once more. Cringed at his own words.

"He... he said," he gulped, "that- that I'm already ugly but he's going to fuck me up so bad that I'll wish I didn't even have a face and my own mama won't recognize me."

Silence.

The nurse coughed into her hand.

Namjoon just hummed again, trying to hold back, trying so hard not to laugh, but a snort escaped him anyway, his lips curling into a smile while he wrote the words down.

"Jin really enjoyed fucking with you, huh?"

Minho frowned, his face flooding with heat, his hands curling into fists.

"Do you think this is funny?! How dare you sit here and-" he paused abruptly, the rest of his outburst forming into a big knot in his throat.

How did the psychiatrist know Jin's name?

Namjoon set his notebook and pen down, looking up at Minho.

"Don't worry," he murmured. "I promise he's not going to hurt you."

Minho leaned back into the bedframe, trying to sink into it as the man stood up. His aura did not seem so gentle anymore, but rather intimidating as he stalked over to him, disturbingly so.

His head momentarily snapped up to the nurse. She gave him a grin so crooked and strange it made his heart sink.

"Where the hell am I?" He whispered. "I thought this was a mental hospital."

"It was," Namjoon nodded, taking a seat beside him. "Many years ago."

As soon as he was closer, Minho froze, unable to move. A horrible thought occurred to him.

"Did I die?"

Namjoon tsked.

"Of course not. How would that be any fun?"

His hand reached out towards Minho, unusually cold knuckles brushing his cheek, making him flinch.

"I wouldn't be able to hurt you much if we were both dead, would I?"

The room seemed to darken somehow, its shape distorting with dim, sickly green flashes and black shadows. The logical part of him wanted to ask if he was drugged, but deep down, he knew the truth was much worse. His hands trembled violently, a cold, dark feeling spreading through his veins, rendering him weak. He was starting to grow dizzy.

"What did I do to deserve this?" He mumbled hoarsely through dry, shaking lips.

Namjoon bent over to the chair and grabbed his notebook, flipping through the pages. His image was becoming blurry, his voice an odd echo.

"Oh, let me see. Jin noted it all down here."

He settled on a random page.

"You're a liar," he listed, "you always forget your mum's birthday... Oh my, you're a republican as well."

Minho blinked, trying to keep himself afloat, too terrified of what he would wake up to if he fainted.

Namjoon's dark, amused eyes turned towards him, his deep voice eerily calm.

"What do you think you did wrong? Hm? You took his girlfriend, and then you cheated on her as well. Repeatedly. That's not nice, Minho."

He patted his shoulder.

"Sleep well, my friend. I've been so very bored, and I want to have fun with you. I'll see you when you wake up."

Minho shook his head, like he could protest against the workings of his own body, of what was happening around him. But there was only so much distress his pounding heart could handle before it gave out altogether. White as a sheet, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, he fainted.

The last thing he saw before the darkness took him into her arms, like a mother cradling her child, was Namjoon's chilly smile.

Reported missing two days after the accident, his case remained unsolved.

💌 taglist: @wonyuknow @imnotlauriane @bucketofhiros @baalsgurl1913 @silv3rswirls @osakis-gf @iceprincessviviane

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baby (you complete us) ml

Summary: Soulmates were a common occurrence, so common, in fact, that the world sought an easier way to find your other half: A bracelet that would scan your mark and match you with those who shared your mark. Within recent years, soul groups were becoming normal, and your own bracelet said you have seven matches. 

Or where you wear your bracelet for ten years, and finally give up the hope you would find your soul group, only for BTS to put theirs on and see what they were missing.

Genre: soulmate au, idol au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, 

Pairing: Idol BTS x Disabled MC

Warnings: angst, mentions of depression, disabled mc (Ehlers Danlos syndrome), eventual smut, fluff, lots of fluff, mentions of disability, simp bangtan

Some warnings may be added to the beginning of individual chapters.

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chapter 1

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chapter 3

chapter 4

💜💜💜

Before I Leave You (Pt.43)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: “Maybe that’s just what intimacy is- the context of us in another person’s life.”

Pairing: Beta! Yoongi, Omega! Reader, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Hoseok, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Jimin

Tags:  Fluff, hurt/comfort, Low-self esteem, ED mention, talks of ptsd, anxiety, panic-attacks, first kisses, smut, frottage, grinding, handjobs, non-penetrative sex, implied dom/sub dynamics, brief allusions to pet play, talks of euthanasia/death, poisoning, Flashbacks, omegaspace,

W/c: 13k

A/n: Ah so here it is! I’ve been gaining a lot of new followers the last few days in part because of the twitter die off. I hope that things don’t change too too much but!!! heres to hoping <3 i’m not having the best of times mentally at the moment and on top of that this chapter isn’t one i’m super proud of (ngl i sorta don’t like this at all) the best thing you can do to help is by leaving some positive feedback on this chapter <3 

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

(18 months Prior) 

The next time that you visit the small yellow house in the middle of the city, you are the picture of perfect omega grace. A change from your last visit where your dripped blood onto the same cobblestone path. Body broken and mind just as fragile. 

Now you visit in a modest black dress favored by the other omegas in the family. Your lipstick is patted on just so and a cute red pink color, painted there not by your own hands but by Hyejin. 

You’ve been spending a lot more time with her recently. 

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