Baby (you Complete Us) 1

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baby (you complete us) 1

C H A P T E R   O N E

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

Chapter Warnings: drunk mc, drunk messaging, mentions of depression, insecurities, parental death, disability diagnosis, negative thoughts, 

masterlist // chapter 2

taglist: @imnotlauriane  @mageprincess7 @m1sss1mp @0funsite0  @strawberry-moonpies @this-isthe-way @singukieee @btsw1fe @gooooomz  @fluffy-canada-pancakes @carolinexkpop @agusfree @sakurarukas @iamkookiesforyou @skyys-universe @toughbook @plutoneu @whisperssuga @welcometomyworld13 @yuzon3 @wittyreader @jnghs @cyd0129 @exfolitae @queen-in-the-shadows @nen-nyy @pandxthings @schniti-is-in-the-house @juju-227592 @jinseartharmysmoon @wooya1224 @ddaeng-angmoh @gratefullygrateful @rorythme​ 

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Every morning for the past ten years, the first thing you did was open the Soul app. Each morning you hoped and wished to see a notification on the upper right corner of the app on your screen. And each morning you were once again left disappointed with the zero notifications.  Each of your friends had already found theirs, had met up with them and felt the bond cement within their souls.

You couldn’t help but to grow envious and jealous of their happiness, even now, as you watch your closest friends pledge their lives and souls to each other. You were a bridesmaid, right behind her own sister, the maid of honor. You were like a sister to Anna, having grown up with her and her family. But you never felt so out of place, like you didn’t belong as you stood there.

You were beyond happy for Anna and Chris, love in your heart for them as you witness their love for each other. But you couldn’t help but to feel your own heart break at the sight.

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Before I Leave You (Pt. 42)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Tae has a bad dysphoria day, luckily she has you and Hobi to help take her mind off of it. 

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

Tags:  Fluff, hurt/comfort, Dysphoria, Vhope x reader focus, Trans character’s, Trans! Taehyung slow burn, Anxiety, melancholy, Brief mentions of Eating disorders, Denial, Unrequited feelings, seizures, hospitals, Doctor! Joonie

W/c: 8.0k

A/n: i hope everyone uses this little chapter as a chance to de-stress and take their mind off of recent events <3 please remember to treat yourself gently in the next few days! Softness is the only way to get out of hard times like this. I’m thinking of doing a little Ama/ Loveletter/ Mini story session on halloween night just to help people take their minds of things if you wanna stop by and talk <3 

Previous Chapter- Masterlist

The Monday after Tae comes out, Hobi brings home a bouquet of ranunculus for her. A beautiful purple and white pink mess of little perfect ruffled blooms tied the classy way- with lavender ribbon and butcher paper. Hobi makes sure there isn’t a bloom out of place. 

He’s careful to open the front door gently, mindful of who might be sleeping inside. Everyone had gotten the picture from Yoongi in the group chat earlier; you and Tae curled up on the living room couch, a small nest around you. Tae’s already blond/leaning roots fluffing over the top of your head. Pink at the ends, orange in the middle, and bleached at the base. 

Pink dye always did struggle to stay put, same as happiness. 

Seeing a picture of her asleep and relaxed was quite honestly a relief compared to how they found her this morning. 

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Before I Leave You (Pt.44)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: You should have come to jungkook about your predicament with the pack alpha sooner. He’s got solutions and a box full of sex toys. “There you go- oh my god you’re soaking the pillow- guess you really like this one a lot huh?”

Tags: Sub! M/c, Implied switch! Jk, Jk has a small dick, Pillow princess m/c, Dildos, Use of Sex toys, Penetrative sex, Pussy dilation, Size Kink, Pain kink, Rough sex (m/c deals with soreness and discomfort after), Squirting, Cuteness kink, Humiliation kink, voyeurism, Biting, Rule Breaking, dumbification, dacriphilia, Improper aftercare, morally grey bdsm etiquette, Referenced passed eating disorders, a dusting of Mafia shit as per usual. 

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

W/c: 13k 

A/n:  Happy Jinnie Day! there isn’t too much of him in this chapter- although there is a bit of him in the next one. it probably won’t take me a full three weeks to get the next chapter out as it’s already partially written <3  This chapter was greatly inspired by Jungkook’s world cup performance. 

Previous Chapter -Masterlist

Yoongi never thought he could Murder a cat, But staring at you and noodle; happily curled up in your lap where Yoongi’s head would be on any other morning, Yoongi starts to reconsider his stance on Cat-ricide.

The offending animal glares back with as much spite as his 12-pound 6 oz frame can muster. You’d told anyone who would listen about noodles vet visit; the cat’s weight, his prognosis on a nasty scar on his tummy, preening at how he’d only bitten the vet tech once.

(Namjoon might have slid the vet a 50 after, as an apology.)

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The Woman with the Black Cat on Her Shoulder | MYG

Fearful, they buried them, stomped them into the dirt. Underneath their boot, scared men were unaware the seeds of hope had planted by their own volition. From the dirt and grime, grew flowers, blooms so tall, eclipsing their hatred. You were strong and unwilling to be cut down any more. 

Dystopian Fantasy AU. Shapeshiftercat!yoongi x reader

Warning: 18+ adult themes, dystopian futuristic society (IS IT THO?), graphic violence against women, animal cruelty, attempted SA, mention of suicide, police brutality, angst, sex so soft and sweet and full of consent

Word Count: 9.1k

---

“It’s her,” they said. Whispers in the crowd, repeating the phrase to one another, like a wave of hope rippling over their bodies, energizing their fight.

It was true. She was there, and the crowd could feel her power, her anger, forged from pain. Because it was their anger too. It was familiar, it was a friend reaching over their shoulder and telling them, ‘It will be okay. I’m here now. You don’t have to fight alone. You won’t lose this time, because you have me now.’ 

The rumors spread far, even the law-forcers knew of her. They knew of her as a myth, a story the people would tell to ease the pain of their subjugation. An empty promise shouted at the law-forcers, that one day they’ll be sorry, that one day victory won’t be theirs to take. She was the woman with the black cat on her shoulder. One look into those feline eyes and judgment is swift. 

Some believed the cat is a creature from the underworld. The beast heard the people’s cries and clawed its way up into this world, collecting souls of abusers and assaulters, dragging them back down to its dark home. Some people believe the cat is part of her, she wields and controls the beast like a limb, that she isn’t human, but an angel, the savior of the people.

But she is neither and the cat is neither. She is like them. Born without wealth, without love, abandoned and alone, she grew up too quickly. A sad story told a million different ways by a million different girls. She lived her life as they all did, she worked and worked and worked and worked, and lived. She didn’t want anything more but to live...

You didn’t want anything more but to live, and perhaps it was by some divine intervention, you don’t know, that you crossed paths with a lonely black cat, so small and broken, so desperate to survive like you. You freed him and in ways you could not imagine, he freed you.

---

From the crowd of bodies, the woman with the black cat on her shoulder stepped to the front. Her clothes were black, pants torn and patched, sewn back stronger. A tight shirt so they made no mistake, it was a woman under that mask. Black cloth covering her face and hair, the amount of her hair hidden under her hood. But they could still see her eyes, accentuated by black eyeliner and hatred. And on her shoulder, a large black cat, long wild hair to match its wild eyes. 

The law-forcers stood in a line, guns and shields ready. The angry crowd had nothing but hope now. 

The law-forcers didn’t really believe it was her, looking down at her still. Any woman could find a black cat and pretend. They saw her as a martyr, a faker, their trigger fingers itching to make an example of her.

The cat hissed, mouth stretched wide open and long fangs displayed. The hiss was loud and piercing and the law-forcers flinched, embarrassingly reacting. The crowd jeered and laughed and the law-forcers pointed their guns at the black cat, growing in anger for being made fools. 

You whisper to your companion to wait. Let them attack first. Show the world the true aggressor before them. 

You waited because you knew the beast on your shoulder was a magical being. And the thing about living magic in a world filled with human creation, is that magic and technology reacted like oil and water, coexisting but unable to intermix, and magic was by far the stronger force. 

Red lasers land on you and your companion, but you stubbornly stand tall and the crowd mirrors your actions. The cat growls low and menacing and hisses again. It only took one scared threatened man, one trigger happy finger, and then it was all over...for them.

-

A gun shot rang out, and smoke appears where the black cat on the woman’s shoulder stood, weaving and twisting in the air like black rivers, dispersing and covering the empty zone between the crowd and the law-forcers. Bullets entered the smoke and the magical force created a barrier, stopping them in midair. That is when they all knew, they knew she was not just a myth.

As quickly as the magic appeared, electricity disappeared. The energy sent a shockwave across devices. Cameras and lights, the law-forcers military grade machinery, and all that expensive technology the law-forcers depended on broke and malfunctioned. Precious moments without their weapons that give a perfect window of attack. 

The crowd stands transfixed and the woman screams, loud and deep within her gut…

A roar. 

The black cat appears and reappears, so quickly it’s impossible to follow the cat’s path. Fangs piercing through skin and muscle of the men paid to silence the people’s cries, now crying for help, crying in pain as sharp claws rip through kevlar and tear the flesh from their bones. She runs towards them without fear. That's what the crowd sees, they don't witness her fear of losing what she loves most that carries her feet forward. And then the crowd begins to run forward too, headed straight towards men with bullets ready to fire. 

It’s chaos. 

---

“Dinner’s ready.”

His voice was soft and calming but you startle awake. You don’t mean to, you’re just always on alert and so anxious these days. 

His hand moves from your back to your shoulder, fingers pushing into your tight muscles. His way of telling you to relax. You place your hand over his, pulling him into bed. You’re so tired, he must be too. You wish he wouldn’t worry over you, you could have heated some left overs up instead.

The news plays loud on your home's display screen, events of afternoon recorded right before the blackout replay from many different angles. You listen to the cheers of your arrival, inwardly groaning.

Tonight it’s going to get worse, you’ve bruised the egos of the elite, and men like that always lash out in anger, unable to take a loss so great.

“We should go out tonight, just in case,” you sigh. Your companion doesn’t speak, he’s tired. He fought so hard. And he might have to do it again. But this is the life you both chose. Somehow, it has become this, nights upon nights of this. You wonder, if others had this kind of power, would they be able to sleep at night knowing they could have done something more, or would they be like you?

It wasn’t always like this. Before you were a fighter of the system, you were a victim of the system.

Like the night your companion, Yoongi, showed you what he truly was.

---

“Sweet kitty.” He purrs loudly while he eats, broken purrs between grumbles as he devours his dinner. The sight makes you laugh as he eats the meat leftover from your lunch. He waits for you, always in the same spot. The black cat you saved has taken to following you from work to your home at night. Every night you try to coax him into your house, but he never does decide to join you. He’s a cat of the streets.

You click your tongue softly as his fluffy tail wraps around your calf. Using two fingers, you run them along the cat’s back as he eats. “I have to get going, kitty, sorry for making you wait,” you muse, scratching behind the cat’s ears as he finishes. It’s later than you usually leave. Hours at the warehouse seemed to stretch longer and longer these days. 

You move quickly and quietly, kept your purse tight to your side. You walked behind restaurants, away from drunken men and street girls that took over busy streets at night. Walking these dark alleys alone was daunting, but better than dealing with confrontation and a quicker route. And you had kitty. The animal gracefully walks next to you, happily bouncing along with his tail held upright. You somehow felt safer walking with the tiny street cat.

Age thirteen was the first time you encountered the wandering eyes of strangers, walking the district’s marketplace with your friends from the learning center. Three teenage girls enduring the catcalls of grown men, following you for blocks. You knew the feeling of someone watching you all too well, it was the same feeling you felt tonight.

You stop and bend down, petting kitty, cooing at how cute he looks when he stretches his neck towards you and in the corner of your eye, you noticed them, two men in the shadows following close behind you. There is no safety at night for a woman in this world. You learned that not this night, but you felt the fear of your reality in waves, stronger than any night before.

Standing up again, you ignored them and kept your pace. You were too scared to run. Running escalated things. You learned not to do such things. Once you ran they would chase, they could catch you, they would hurt you. And you knew you couldn’t fight two and win, you weren’t confident in one. You fiddle with your e-bracelet. You could signal an emergency, but the law-forcers took hours to come to this part of town, even as attacks continue to escalate, you knew they wouldn’t save you.

Kitty meows next to you. He meows, he meows, did kitty notice them too? “I know,” you whisper.

You think if you keep this pace, you can make it past the corner, and run then, hide yourself in the crowd. But like you, it was not the first time for these men either. Experienced predators, they noticed your hunched shoulders, the concentrated steps slowly escalating. They attacked.

Dirty hands grab at your body, your hair, yanking you backwards into pavement. It was too quick, too forceful. 

You fought, you fought hard, with everything you had. You kicked and you screamed, and when fingers covered your screams you cried, when stronger arms and legs kicked back and shoved you back down, you pulled your limbs tightly together, protecting what they wanted from you.

You tasted your own blood, felt the sting of cuts and bruises on your body just formed and yet you still fought, unwilling to let them have any of you.

Acting on instinct to protect yourself until your legs were ripped open and your arms were held down and you retreated into your mind, thinking of what you could have done to stop this outcome, was there anything, one small difference, that could have changed everything? You were asking yourself these questions when the heaviness lessened, and your voice was no longer the only screams in the night. 

You lifted your head at a terrifying sight. Limbs reacting quickly to move away from the bloodshed. You reminded yourself to breathe.

Breathe out. You looked down at the scene, the two assaulters were dead, their bodies covered in scratches. 

Breathe in. And another man, black hair wild and covering his eyes. Hands red, covered in blood that wasn’t his. 

Breathe out. He walks closer to you, bends down, covers your bruised cheek with his bloody hand. Street lights flicker and static electricity stings you at his touch, but you don’t flinch away, feeling a familiarity that didn’t frighten you. 

Breathe in. Somehow you knew the most improbable situation was what this was, you knew what he was.

Breathe out. “Kitty?”

Even with all your breathing, you still passed out at the revelation.

---

You sit straight up, yelping, breathing eratic.

‘What's this?’ You stare at napkins and plastic bags, the trash falling away from your body. You're outside on your porch. Your purse had been underneath your head.

“Ow.” Your ribs hurt, your legs hurt, your arms hurt, your temples hurt. You run your tongue over your dry lips, over a cut and wince. Your bracelet beeps. You’re late for work.

You didn’t have time to think about last night until lunch time. Unable to make food, you stood in line to pay for lunch. Waiting for your turn in line, you listened to today’s gossip. The women of the warehouse discussed in hushed voices last night's murder. “An animal attack, they think.” “What kind of animal could do such a thing?” “Not too far from here at all, two men.” “Men?!” “From the Financial District at that.” “No CCTV either. It made the trending headlines this time.” “Maybe now they’ll do something about the attacks.” “Y/n, what happened to your face?”

“Went drinking last night, went home with the wrong one.” you mutter, running your fingers over the cut on your eyebrow.

The women look over at you with sympathetic eyes, “Please, y/n, my nephew is a good one, I wish you would give him a chance,” your coworker says, a lovely old woman who treats you like a daughter. 

“You didn't met him in VR first?! They have apps now to vet men like that,” another says in an accusing tone, “I would never.”

“Men can still pay to scrub that info from the V life,” the older woman says, rolling her eyes.

You wrap your leftovers in a napkin, pocketing the food. “I don’t have time to take care of a man, sorry Auntie!” Hugging her goodbye, you try not to wince when your ribs touch.

You head back to work, lost in your thoughts, piecing together what your mind allowed you to remember from trauma of last night.

After work you wait at your usual spot, clicking your tongue, but the black cat doesn’t come.

So you wait stubbornly, until it becomes even later than the night before. You check behind trash cans and old boxes, huffing. You were so certain you saw him in the morning, scampering away from you as you woke. Where is he now? You're certain you remembered the events of last night correctly, you're sure of it...aren't you?

Your usual route has been taped off, now a crime scene, so you’re forced to walk through the crowds, weaving through drunken bodies.

Drunken men won’t leave you alone, especially one, even when you tell him off, even when you push him away, he jeers and makes fun of your bruises.

“Looks like someone already taught you a lesson on manners. Didn’t you learn anything?” he slurs, following after you.

You turn down a deserted alleyway and feel small pads hit your shoulder, the warmth of a large cat pressing down onto your back, fur ticking your cheek. You reach up to steady the cat's body, pulling him into a protective embrace close to your chest. The black cat purrs as you stand stunned, looking down at the black cat. “When did you get so big?”

The man takes a swaying step forward and the cat hisses and swats a large paw in his direction, making the man flinch back, chuckling in his drunkenness.

“Leave me alone.” 

He’s too drunk, eyes glazed over, unwilling to stop now that it’s started. He lunges forward and the cat jumps out of your hands, claws aimed at the drunken man’s face. He screams as you attack as well, pushing him away as hard as you can, anger overtaking you. You don’t feel remorse as he hits the ground with a thud, blood pooling around his head, just stunned that it actually worked.

The crowd hears the commotion, men begin to head towards your location. Your heartrate spikes, preparing yourself to run, but instead someone pulls you into a hug, concealing you in the shadows, lifting you into his arms easily instead.

You’re both gone before anyone can reach you, left only to look at the drunken man, now dead.

A piercing scream echoes, but you’re already so far away. He holds you in his arms, moving across roofs with agility like you’ve never seen before. You kept your head buried in his shoulder until he landed in front of your doorstep. Placing you down, your legs buckle once they touch the ground, unable to stop yourself from falling into his arms.

You apologize, searching for your keys as he holds you upright. When you finally unlock your door he turns to leave. Just like that. No!

You find his hand, “Please don’t go, please.”

Smoke appears like a gust of wind, black and thick, and the hand you held evaporated in your palm as you coughed. When the smoke clears, a small figure stood, a cat with wild hair, his back towards you. The black cat looked over its shoulder, green eyes piercing yours.

You held in your gasp, and bent down, bruised knees hitting hard ground.

Reaching a shaky arm towards the cat, he stills. You hold your breath petting soft fur, hands delicately lifting his body into your arms. You couldn’t help the tears escaping, the wetness falling onto his soft hairs.

“I’ll stay out here then.” You whisper into fur, body shaking.

A meow erupts from the cat in protest.

For the second time you fell asleep on your front porch, for the second night you watched a man die and felt no remorse.

---

The next day at work the second murder was all your coworkers could talk about. Trending reports of another slashed bloody, a dead man found blocks away from your own warehouse. The news had trended statewide too, the headline was too juicy, too scandalous; a tourist visiting the labor district, brutally murdered on the night strip, presumably by a prostitute, a dirty woman! He was a father, a leader in the community, a good man!

Fuck him. You kept your head down and worked and didn’t entertain their gossiping. You were on edge all day until you stepped out of work and a familiar feline stared up at you, tail swishing back and forth.

You bent down and wrapped your arms underneath his fluffy belly, pulling him close to you, head nuzzling his furry body. He wiggled in your embrace but did not try to leave, paws instead reaching for your shirt and eventually jumping onto your shoulder. 

That’s how your walks went from then on. You talked to him like always, but now with the understanding that he really knew the words you spoke. He never changed back into the man who helped you, and he always jumped off your shoulder before you could walk inside.

“Please come in, please.” you always said.

But he didn’t, he wouldn’t. ‘Stubborn kitty,’ you thought, and your heart hurt.

-

One night, instead of going home after work, you went dancing. 

“Meow.”

“Is it just me, or is that stray following us?”

“Just you,” you joke, giving your date a small unconvincing smile.

You finally agreed to go out on a date with your coworker’s nephew, Hoseok. “Maybe it’s hungry.” He wonders, laying his arm over your shoulder, confused by its strange behavior.

You looked down at the black cat, walking back and forth gracefully, and looking very much annoyed. “Maybe.”

“My house or yours?” He asks, voice gruff, eyes downcast. Even the good ones still act all the same.

You smile. “Yours.”

A loud deep meow erupts from the black cat. 

-

The next time you left the warehouse, there was no black cat. He’s mad at you. Did you deserve it? He doesn’t expect you to feed him every single night, does he? If he just accepted your offer to stay inside your home, he wouldn’t have to worry about such things, you thought, offended and weary to walk home alone, cautiously making your way down the usual path.

You heard soft footsteps behind you. ‘Not again,’ you thought. Fearing the worst you spun around, coming face to face with your ‘black cat.’ You met deep brown eyes with flecks of green that almost seemed to glow when he stepped cautiously out of the shadows.

He crossed his arms over his chest and walked towards and then past you, looking over his shoulder, an annoyed look on his face. You took the hint and stepped in line. “Um, are you hungry?”

He didn’t speak.

You dug into your purse. You held out the leftovers wrapped in foil to him. He took it and ate as he walked, big urgent bites that made you frown, noticing his hunger. 

You pass a man walking in the opposite direction and your companion presses his shoulder to yours. The gesture warms your heart. Usually, when a man passed by you, you were met with questions or a comment about your body. This time nothing. The stranger keeping his head down, walking away without a word, and you almost wanted to scoff at how invisible you became now that you were in the company of a man, annoyed that’s what it took for strangers to leave you alone.

You stopped once you saw your home in the distance. He looked at you in question, turning to you for the first time. “Thank you…for walking me home tonight. And all those nights. Thank you, kitty.” 

You hugged him, his body stiffened against yours and you didn’t let go until he relaxed, arms slowly reaching around you too.

“Yoongi, my name is Yoongi.” His voice was gruff and raspy like he hasn’t used it in awhile. It was the first time, in a long time he felt he had a reason to speak.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you whispered. And then you let him go, smiling, turning back to your home. 

---

The thing about injustice, is that those who wield it, do not have to live with the pain they cause. But for those who are hit, every day the pain builds upon itself, robbing energy and time to tend to wounds caused by injustice, leaving scars that make it impossible to forget. 

You’ve felt it growing inside you, the anger. The past continued to assault you, making you feel disgusted. You tried to ignore it, but the memories were scars inside you that keep opening, making you angrier, repulsed.

And worse, attacks in the district grew exponentially, outcries from the people were met with platitudes by officials.

And worst of all, the latest trending case involved an elite from the e-tech district. It took four women, the last one reported to have died from the trauma. Of course he faced no punishment. He was a powerful man from the e-tech district, and they were powerless labor women. Injustice upon injustice. The wounds kept on opening, your trauma you kept on remembering, again and again in the faces of these women, anger simmering and growing.

So when you walked your usual path with Yoongi high on your shoulder and heard a concealed whimper in the shadows, you didn’t just mind your own business, like you would have done out of fear no less than a year ago, you were too angry to be afraid.

“Get off of her!”

You hit his back, you hit his head, you hit any part of him you can reach. “Go! Run! Hurry!” you tell the woman, who chokes on her cries and looks at you with tearful scared eyes, nodding.

He is startled, but he is stronger, pushing you away, slapping you across the face. “Crazy bitch! You want to die, yeah?”

He hits you again and you don’t care. You kick him and hit him, knuckles hurting the most with how hard you swing.

He is surprised, but he is stronger, and it only take one solid hit to make you double over, wind knocked out of you and curling into yourself.

Legs trap your body to the ground and you feel disgusted all over again, gritting your teeth, angry tears escaping, your nails dig into his face, drawing blood that surprises you both.

He’s angry, and he’s stronger, fingers wrapping around your neck, a murderous look in his eyes that you match. You belt weakened hits down across his forearm. Part of you, furious, makes a promise that if you survive this, you’ll find a way to kill him and every man who hurts another woman with your bare hands. But another part of you, the part of you that’s tired, that expects this pain to never end, would rather just die. 

A single clawed digit runs across the man’s neck, ending the fight and silencing your thoughts. Yoongi pulls the man off with you ease, throwing his dying body to the ground.

Yoongi crouches down, looking over your battered body. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me!”

“We have to leave.”

“No, leave me alone!”

“Get up,” he says, insistent.

“NO!” Your breath out rapidly, unable to calm your nerves or your anger.

So Yoongi waits, sitting down next to you. “Then I’ll stay here with you.”

Finally, you calm down, tension growing as minutes tick by. “Let’s go,” you swallow, pulling off your blood soaked work shirt, revealing a black tank top underneath, standing up to leave.

“This is not the way home.”

“I know.”

Black smoke zips around you, Yoongi appearing in front of you annoyed. “Where are you going?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, you were going to find another drunk man, you were going to see if he deserved to die too. “Why did you save me?!”

He looks at you, “Because I wanted to.” His answer short, hiding his real answer.

“Why?!”

“When you found me, why did you save me?” He asks, temper rising.

You stumble over your words. “Because it was the right thing to do, how couldn’t I?”

You think back to the day you found Yoongi, thin as a rail, patches of fur missing, tape wrapped tightly around his body, barely clinging to life, you thought he was surely going to die.

It was too cruel, what happened to him, you hadn’t expected him to live through the night, but you wanted him to know kindness too, to know there were good people out there too who wouldn’t hurt him. You nursed him all night and all morning, for days, until he found the strength to walk again, and then one night when you came home from work he was gone, the following night began your walks.

“That’s why. Because it’s right,” he replies.

You swallow down angry tears. “This is not going to stop, it’s not going to stop unless someone stop it.”

---

Spring came and it became unbearably hot in your small home. You left the windows open at night to let the heat out. On your day off, you took to spring cleaning. As you cleaned you looked to the side and saw familiar black fur, Yoongi was outside your window. You put out a bowl of water on the window sill, adding an ice cube which he gratefully licked, slurping the water cutely. He looked bigger. Hair longer, he did not look like the straggly stray you first encountered. He kind of looked intimidating, you mused.

You lean your head against your window frame, running your hand through his thick fur. “You can come inside anytime you want,” you let him know, smiling.

With the spring heat, you traded pants for shorts, thinner fabric, your hair up and off your shoulders. Now that nights were no longer cold, that meant even more people outside. More attacks too, some trending cases coming in from the upper districts.

Once the brutality reached the elite, rallies begin to form, marches through the Neostate's capital. You watched on your home display, conflicted in emotions. It looked nice, but did it change anything? Maybe in those districts, but definitely not here.

It didn’t matter to you, because you promised yourself that night, you would die before you let another man take advantage of you.

So when a man put his arm over yours, pulled you out of the dance hall, and he thought of all the way he was going to have you that night, you thought of all the ways you were going to kill him.

Alone with him, you spoke low and direct, only once telling him to let you go before he regrets it. He laughs in your face, leans into you, whisky smell coming out of his slimy lips as he attacks the corner of your mouth. 

Ever since that night you let your nails grow. It made it a bit more difficult to complete your duties at the warehouse, but the trade off was worth it, watching men crumple to the floor, screaming in pain when you ripped gashes across their face. Oh, it was worth so it.

“You crazy fucking whore!” The man screeches expletive after expletive, anger growing. You don’t care.

Before you can attack again, before he can attack you, Yoongi attacks.

From behind you, moving quicker than either of you, Yoongi transforms in a man. He lands a series of punches, large hand definitively gripping his face, slamming his skull hard into the unforgiving pavement.

He looks back at you and you look at him and you don’t need to speak to one another before both running down the alley away from the dead drunk who could have saved his life if he hadn’t tried to impose himself on you.

You walk next to one another in silence. And then you decide to turn back into the crowd. Yoongi holds you back, asking, “What are you doing?”

“I’m thirsty. It’s hot. I want a popsicle.”

He stops you again. “Cmon on, I’ll buy you one too. A milk one.”

You sit on your porch, smiling at Yoongi who holds two popsicles, once in each hand, licking the frozen milk.

“You’re trending on the local page. Well I guess we’re both trending.”

Yoongi nods, focused on licking.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Yoongi nods.

“Why won’t you come stay inside?”

“My kind are territorial. If I choose a home, it’s um, important to choose the right one.”

You pout, “I know my house isn't big or fancy, but it’s sturdy. It’s not that bad.”

“That’s not what I meant! I just... I had a home once. I thought I would always be welcome. I...” He can’t finish, voice shaking.

You exhale, understanding. “I grew up in foster homes. Some were okay, but it never felt like a family. Some were...horrible...” You wince at memories. “Anyways, what’s the saying, ‘Home is where the heart is’?” You nudge his shoulder. “This feels like home right here. Here with you.” you smile. “Yoongi? Are you…purring?” You look over at him with wide eyes, hearing the familiar vibrations come from deep within his chest.

“No!” He looks away.

---

Neostate's capital never seemed to care about the attacks on women, but the attacks on men? More law-forcers tasked to your district. On every corner. Men protecting men. More arrests of street girls. A curfew for women (unless a man was with you). You could almost feel the fear and tension within the night crowds now.

The people didn’t like the constant watchful eye. Rallys were every day now. Violence was met with more violence. The women who were caught in the crosshairs weren’t taken to Neostate run prisons, no, they were taken immediately to special e-commerce owned prisons, forced to work in the gencrop fields with migrants and farmbots, forced to work with cancer causing chemicals that unions outlawed amongst its citizen workers.

And by some accounts, women were given a second, more heinous, option. Better than slowly dying from cancer causing chemicals, they could use their prison time to serve as live incubators, as human birth was always the more desired option to incubator births. That was Neostate’s answer to the violence, a more sinister, pathological brutality.

Where was the justice for the battered women? Where was the justice?

That kind of injustice, that kind of shared pain, it didn’t lessen or become better over time. It stayed, stretched and thinned, like a blanket, almost comforting at times, suffocating most of all. The hypocrisy was sparking an age old fire amongst the people who had let it simmer for too long. And now, that cloth caught fire, and there was no stopping it.

More rallies and more marches, in every district a curfew now.

The fire was flaming.

And inside danced one flame known as her. Rumors of a powerful woman, with a pet, no a beast, no a cat! People have seen her at night, seen her cat move, jumping over buildings. She walks the streets at night to deal out justice the law-forcers won’t, women she has saved talk of her all the time; the woman with the black cat on her shoulder.

-

One night, the men who deserved punishment, to your surprise, were in uniform.

You stood stunned, unable to process. “L-Let her go...”

“Grab her.”

Of course, unfortunately for him, Yoongi would never allow him to touch you. Larger than you have ever seen him, appearance more like a panther than a black cat, Yoongi attacked the law-forcer with ease. 

This was before you learned Yoongi’s abilities were unmatched by bullets. You jumped in the firing path of the law-forcers. Your vision blurred from the blood loss and the immense black smoke that suddenly appeared. It was everywhere, and Yoongi was unstoppable. 

Everything was destroyed. The destruction didn’t look human, didn’t even look monstrous, it looked like a killer force of nature.

You only heard rumors of it like everyone else, the unexplained phenomena that took the lives of two heroes, because you fell unconscious before you could witness Yoongi's true power.

You woke up in your bed, bandaged, Yoongi and an unfamiliar man at your bedside. 

Your throat itches, dry from days of sleep. Your muscles stiff, tight bandages around your stomach.

“Hello,” the stranger besides Yoongi speaks calmly. “I’m Namjoon, a friend of Yoongi’s. You’re okay now, we were able to stop the bleeding, no major organs or arteries were hit, you’re lucky.”

Lucky, he says. You groan. “You’re doctor?”

“Not quite,” he laughs uneasily. “A veterinarian.” He smiles sheepishly.

You fell asleep after the small exchange, and woke up with a small black cat purring across your chest, feet and tail tucked in, head resting under your chin.

You find enough energy to pet him softly. “Don’t leave, please,” you croaked out, half asleep. “You’re my home.”

Yoongi never left.

---

These days, when you walked with Yoongi, he walked in human form beside you. Yoongi stayed more and more in human form. Stray cats were being round up and euthanized. Animal hospital records were being sequestered and families who owned black cats were being investigated by the State. All over a rumor. Well, the rumors of the woman with the black cat on her shoulder had become more than just gossip between warehouse workers. Whispers of you were heard in every home, in neighboring disticts, in Neostate's capital! You and Yoongi have become a symbol of strength, of hope, a battle cry, a reason to keep fighting.

-

“What should we get? Hweh?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, shaking his head no.

“Hmm,” you browse through the food screen at the grocery kiosk, “Well I can’t afford steak,” you pout.

“What do you want?” he asks

“Noodles!” Yoongi visibly grimaces at the thought, making you laugh.

“How about we settle for chicken?” You smile. Yoongi smiles wide. You somehow always ended up buying the chicken.

“Y/n? Hey! How have you been?”

“Hobi, hey!” You turn around to see Hoseok’s cheerful face smiling down at you. “I’m great, all things considered.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. You know, I pick up my Aunt and some of the other girls from the warehouse after their shift ends. Has she told you? I can take you home too. It’s not safe to walk alone at night.”

“It’s never been safe,” you sigh. You knew, most women now walked in pairs or with a trusted male escort. “I’m fine,” you reassure Hoseok, “Yoongi walks with me.” you look over to your companion, smiling. If Hoseok only knew how many walks it has been now.

“Oh, nice to meet you! Are you…together?”

“He’s my fr-” You feel Yoongi’s hand reach for yours, intertwining his fingers as he stares down a confused Hoseok. “-iend.” You look down in surprise at his hand tightly holding onto yours.

“A-Ah, okay.” Hoseok looks away flustered by the way your companion stares daggers into him.

The screen beeps and the kiosk's door opens, your food bagged and ready to be picked up. “We g-gotta go.” You turn, pulling Yoongi along.

You walk home and Yoongi never lets go of your hand.

You don’t question him, afraid he might take it the wrong way, instead enjoying the moment, because as affectionate as Yoongi was in cat form, he never touched you unless absolutely necessary in human form.

Yoongi, however, silently stews over the brief encounter, feeling more and more threatened by the man who took you on a date so long ago. Once you enter your home you finally ask him, “Are y-you okay?”

“Yes.” He says, still holding your hand. Lips pressed into a tight line, full of jealous and quiet rage.

You raise your eyebrow, “Are you sure?”

“You see me as a friend?” he snaps.

“You, um, don’t see me as a friend?” you ask confused.

“I see you as more.” He says it softly, eyes staring you down. He looked angry but he looked sincere, confusing you.

“What do you– What do you mean, Yoongi?” You heartbeat escalates in anticipation.

He didn’t have a proper word for it, the closest human word didn’t sound right at all. He saw you as more, yes, he felt a connection so deep to you, words couldn’t describe it.

He lifts your intertwined hands over his heart, struggling to say what he felt. “You’re– with me– You’re home.”

He raises your hand to his mouth, pressing the skin to his lips softly, before licking.

You smile, giggling at his cute affection before moving closer to him, burying your head into his chest, listening to his erratic heartbeat. 

“You’re…more than a friend.” You whisper. You look up at him, catching his eyes, irises such a deep brown shade with tiny flecks of green, his eyes so mesmerizing. “I love you.”

The words were barely spoken. He bends his head down, forehead meeting yours, long messy hair still as soft as a cat’s, ticking your skin. He's closer than he’s ever been to you. You took the chance to move one last inch, closing the distance, pressing your lips against his.

His soft lips brush against yours, making you feel so good you have to force yourself to pull away from him. “Was that okay?”

He answers you by kissing you again, this time with intention, his lips moving against yours, soft and hard and soft and hard and so so warm.

Your heart overflows, it makes you feel dizzy, a happiness you weren’t used to, only touching the surface of the love you felt for him but never diving in, and now it felt so strong and all consuming it left you breathless.

You hug him close again, anchoring yourself to him. “Did I do it wrong?” he hesitates.

“No, everything is right, everything.” 

---

You answered Hoseok's chat right away.

“How did this happen?!” You move beside Hoseok, staring at the hospital bed where his Aunt lies, bandaged and connected to tubing.

“She got caught up in the rally. The law-forcers thought she was a protestor. What shit, they hit her thirteen times! She was still in her warehouse uniform!” You put your hand over her bruised knuckles. Hoseok’s shoulders rack with sobs, Mrs. Jung was Hoseok’s Aunt, but she raised him like her own. “The march was so large I couldn't get my car through the crowd, I couldn't get to her!” He cries, feeling guilty and distraught. You turn to Yoongi, exchanging silent words.

You never attended the marches, deciding to pick your battles. But this time, you decided you enemy was not only a misogynistic bottom feeder from the labor district, not just a sadistic elite taking advantage of his status to hurt women, or a sexist law-forcer abusing his power, your enemy had become bigger, a system working against women like you at every turn. You were going to defend yourself and the women you loved, and even the women you didn’t, you decided.

And that is why you and Yoongi revealed yourself to the world. You had enough. The people had enough. And this time, because of you, the people had won. It showed the world, power is not just given to men.

---

“The Women’s Protection Act,” your coworker scoffs, moving the hospital food around her plate, “Sounds like Enslavement.” She frowns. “My husband is dead, how am I supposed to get to work if I can’t even leave my own house by myself?”

“I could take you.” Hoseok says.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s a nice thought, but doesn’t fix the problem.” 

“It won’t pass, right?” Yoongi asks.

“They’re scared of us, it will pass,” you say solemnly. 

“Then we fight.” Yoongi says. You all turn to stare at him. “Err right?”

“Fighting here does nothing, the elite districts have to join in, for real.”

“Those girls never worked a day in their life,” she groans, “you think they will dirty their hands for us?”

“If they had someone to rally them, I bet they would… The woman with the cat on her shoulder.” Hoseok says wistfully. “They would follow her, look what happened.” You catch Yoongi’s eyes and quickly look away.

“Yeah, can you believe it? Those fuckers’ weapons all jammed. Can you imagine that cat of hers in the e-tech district?” Hoseok’s Aunt cackles, “Oooh, the entire place would combust!” 

You swallow hard while Hoseok joins in on the laughter. “Ahh that would be great. But the capital has technology that hasn’t even reached us yet, I don’t think she could even survive a fight like that.”

“We should still try.” Yoongi murmurs.

“Yeah? Got a way to chat her? I’d love to meet her,” Hoseok laughs.

Yoongi leans back in his seat, crossing his arms, huffing.

You ignored Yoongi’s questions all night, until finally you snap.

“What if you die?!” 

Yoongi looks at you stunned, chuckling. “You’re not worried about yourself?”

You scoff. “I should have died a long time ago.”

“Me too, but a woman saved my life when she didn’t have to, gave me…a home.”

“W-We could expand our watch over to the agriculture district instead. That’s something we can fight and win. Maybe we should just focus on that?” Yoongi stays quiet. “Why help the Elites when half of them agree with the act?!” You ask angrily.

“If you want to stay…I’ll stay with you.” 

Every part of your being is screaming at you not to back down now. “I don’t want to lose you.” Yoongi kisses your forehead, hugging you close. 

To the capital.

You didn’t want to disappear and worry Hoseok and his Aunt, so you went to the antique store and bought paper, wrote a note using real ink for the first time in your life. You gave it Hoseok after leaving the hospital for the last time. Now three people knew your secret. Well, three people and a cat.

“Packed?” He asks.

You nod, on the verge of tears. You hated this place, why did it hurt so much to leave it?

Yoongi sensed your sadness, pulling you into a hug. “I’m sorry, I’m being silly,” you sniffle.

“You’re not, it’s okay to feel sad.”

You finally broke down in Yoongi’s arms. You were terrified and you were sad. You felt like you were being pulled away at sea, the currents of the revolution were too strong for you to swim through, you weren’t strong enough for this. You had no real power, it was all Yoongi, you were a fraud, and you were going to drown and take Yoongi down with you.

A soft purr pulled you away from your thoughts, Yoongi trying to console you the only way he knew how. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips, damn if it didn’t work. He’s too cute, too loyal, too perfect for someone like you. You didn’t deserve him, but you were too in love to let him go now.

You lay against him, sharing your bed one last time. “I’m sorry for dragging you into my fight.”

“I might not understand everything, but I know what you’re fighting for is what I want to fight for too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. No matter where we go, my home is you.”

He kissed you softly, wanting to make the moment last. Soft kisses became stronger, deeper. Hands wrapped loosely around your waist and became tangled in your hair, cupping your cheek, firm, pulling you into him.

You moved on instinct, nestling your body close to his, pressing tight to his strong frame. Your heart began to beat so quickly it matched his own, your breath escalating against his lips. You didn’t want it to end, you wanted to be closer, always closer. You wanted all of Yoongi.

“Is this okay?” you ask between heated kisses, Yoongi nods quickly, groaning, head falling forward into the bend of your shoulder as your fingers wrap around his shaft, feeling him harden as you pump. His tongue runs along your shoulder, softly scratching your skin, making you shudder and moan.

His mouth envelops your own, this time with more urgency, tongue licking over your lips until you part them for him. He takes his time tasting and licking into your mouth, holding you tightly as you work to pleasure him.

“I want you, y/n.” Yoongi grunts, moving his body over yours, watching you intently, memorizing your heated expressions to memory. “Please?” he asks, licking his lips.

“Yes,” you nod, widening your legs for him. His fingers pull at your panties, growing a claw just to tear the fabric away. You pull your nightshirt quickly over your head before he can tear it off too.

He stills and admires your body before lips kiss the newly exposed skin as he presses his body down onto yours, slowly connecting himself to you, inside and out. You gasp, stretched by his length, try to steady harsh breathing. Having sex with Yoongi was nothing like you ever felt before, it was so gentle even when he rutted hard into you. It wasn’t just sex, it was making love. The pleasure, the love, it was overwhelming, his fingers exploring your body, pulling at your curves, pinching the most sensitive parts of you.

So much love, so much pleasure, your walls began tightening around his length until he couldn’t hold back any longer, mouth finding the sensitive part of your neck and biting down, releasing inside you. He relaxed into you, licking the mark, softly apologizing. It didn’t even hurt, you reassured him, the pain eclipsed by the pleasure and happiness you felt. It felt so good and right.

He kissed along your neck, down your shoulder, across your chest, moving lower and lower, determined to give you just as much pleasure as you gave him. Rough tongue licking across your sensitive skin until he fell in between your legs, admiring your beauty. You shiver as his fingers run along your sex, push the liquid overflowing out of you back inside, his come, possessively wanting to mark you still. He keeps his fingers deep inside you as he licks your core, tongue pressing over your nub sending shockwave of ecstasy  through you, building the pleasure inside you once more until you reach euphoria’s edge again, this time toppling over. He moans into your core satisfied, your walls clenching around Yoongi’s fingers. 

“Come here,” you finally rasp out, as Yoongi is all too happy to continue to lick you clean.

Hugging him close, tangling your limbs together, you fall asleep one last time in the largest district in the Neostate, the labor district.

---

“How the heck are we supposed to get a pass to visit the e-tech district?” you realize, asking Yoongi when you both step out of your home at sunrise.

He smirks.

-

“Hey Joon.”

“Ahh look at you! You look great.”

“Yeah...Well, Yoongi is not happy.” You frown.

“It will wash off, they do this to all the pets in the higher districts.” Yoongi growled and panted in his cage, his fur a bright shade of purple.

“Let’s go, ‘wife.’” Joon held out his elbow to you.

Loud hisses emit from the cage. You laugh awkwardly, wearing clothes that cost more than your entire wardrobe.

“So your family is from the financial district, eh?” You ask trying to break the tense silence. Joon, Yoongi, and you took a bus to the distribution district, and then once you arrived you transferred into a private driverless car sent by his family.

Namjoon smiles, “Yeah, want to know why I stayed down there, I assume?”

“The thought crossed my mind, yes.”

“Love is funny that way,” he sighs. “They really try to box us into different sectors, make it so hard for each of us to find happiness somewhere else, but when you find the one, nothing else matters.”

You clutch the altered ID card of Namjoon’s late wife.

“You stayed, even after, when you could have gone back...”

“I never had a reason to until now.” He taps on the cage, “Plus, I had a very stubborn patient who wouldn’t leave either,” he raises his voice, teasing Yoongi.

You make it to the financial district in Namjoon’s smart car. You walk with Namjoon to your hotel with Yoongi in tow and you've never seen so many...things. Useless things. What is that thing? Pouring out water you can't even drink. Where does the water go? Why are they wasting so much water?! Water is a scarce commodity, it doesn’t make any sense!

‘Neostate’s Safe Sector continues to riot as our Capital’s Citizen’s Defense Force begins deployment to our nation’s largest sector.’

“Did they just call our district…the Safe Sector.” You blink. “Namjoon places a finger over his mouth, signaling your silence.

He turns the hotel’s display screen’s volume up louder, closing the blinds. He clicks the release on your e-bracelet, placing both his and yours in his suitcase. “Surveillance here is much worse,” he whispers.

You mouth the words ‘safe sector,’ aghast.

Namjoon laughs quietly. “I mean, I don’t think they meant safe as in safety, but I see what you mean,” he whispers.

“Can I let him out now?” 

Namjoon nods and Yoongi stretches his tiny cat body outside his cage, bounding towards the hotel room’s bathroom. 

“Wait!” Namjoon whispers urgently, running after him. “Don’t transfo-”

“THE FU-” Namjoon covers Yoongi’s mouth. Finishing the proclamation, “ONLY ONE SINK?!”

“Huh?!” you rush towards the bathroom but it promptly shuts in your face.

“What’s wrong? I want to see!”

You hear snickering on the other end of the bathroom door and the soft whipping of a towel smacking marble, Yoongi taking out his anger on the poor bathroom’s sink. You can only imagine what he looks like now, you sigh, vowing to make Namjoon tell you in detail what happened.

-

“Do you know what a blueberry is?”

“No.” you say excitedly, you wait to hear Namjoon’s explanation.

In your lap, Yoongi bristles, purple tail puffing out in all directions.

-

“Even with your e-braclet completely offline, I’m still worried. An alert might still send off if they notice someone from the labor district in the capital. I sent it back to Hoseok, Yoongi said that it was okay.” Namjoon whispers.

You nod, a little disappointed your v-life was now truly non-existent. ‘Yoongi is home,’ you repeated in your mind, petting a purring Yoongi. “I got you a new one,” he hands you the shiny new tech. “It’s rudimentary, uses old satellite tech instead of the web. I programed my number and a few trusted others from other sectors. Now, remember your lines for the border-forcers?”

“Yeah, I’m visiting for the day to buy a dress because my husband is being honored with an award.” You say, gripping the leash connected to Yoongi as if your life depended on it, “...with my cat.”

Underneath your expensive clothes you wore all black. You walk in hand with Namjoon, pass a large metal installation sticking out of the sidewalk. It’s marked ‘emergency,’ a button with an icon of a woman engraved in the metal. You wonder what exactly would happen if you pushed it.

How many times has that button been pushed, you wonder, would this district even need a use for such a thing? You took in each passerby. There were so many…men. You’ve only passed by one other female and no children. The men here had manners, which only meant they kept their heated stares upon you for only moments before hurriedly going about their day. But as you pass another installation you think there must be a reason.

“I’m in surgery with a patient, that’s why I can’t come with you. But…” he waits for you to remember your lines.

“There’s a family friend waiting to escort me on the other side,” you repeat the lie.

“Great, you got this! Now, try to keep your chin up, act like you belong.”

Ugh.

---

You look across the city lights, so many buildings, so many people. Everything looked so new and clean and so different. The wind was even different here; crisper, fresher.

Under these circumstances, you could see why it was easier for most of them to ignore the abuse. You had to believe they wanted to stop it too. You had to believe the oppression broadcasted from other districts had echoed loud enough with an uncanny cry, familiar to them too.

Well, for now you’re here with just one other by your side and the hopes of your people on your shoulders.

“What do you think, Yoongi?”

Yoongi turns his head and smiles, stealing a kiss. “I’d say I have seven more lives, at least,” he muses.

“What’s the supposed to mean,” you huff, weary. You hold up the plastic map, it generates the landscape, Yoongi studies nine Xs across the terrain. “You know there are only two women on the council? And one of them is in favor of the act! Well,” you sigh, “I guess a 50/50 vote is the best odds we could hope for.” You think out loud.

Yoongi crouches down, as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, settling on his back. “Ready?” he asks.

“No,” you mumble, “What did you mean by seven lives?”

“Just that...my last life, I want to spend just being happy with you.”

You hug him tighter, nodding. Smokes appears around you and wherever you and Yoongi go. The power goes out and the city shuts down. It’s not the women who are afraid, it’s the men.

---

The line “forged from pain,” what I meant was, written from pain. This is pain and anger and sadness of a woman in a society that wages war against women. Sorry, no lightheartedness from me for awhile. If you didn’t like this story or its ending, I’m not sorry. I will finish my WIPs soon, but I’m going to keep writing stories like this for now.

Spring Fling Masterlist

💜💜💜

baby (you complete us) 2

C H A P T E R   T W O

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

chapter warnings: lots of insecurities, upset bangtan, determined bangtan, bangtan become simps, mentions of depression, mentions of disability, negative feelings towards disability, 

masterlist // chapter 1 // chapter 3

taglist: @imnotlauriane  @mageprincess7 @m1sss1mp @0funsite0  @strawberry-moonpies @this-isthe-way @singukieee @btsw1fe @gooooomz  @fluffy-canada-pancakes @carolinexkpop @agusfree @sakurarukas @iamkookiesforyou @skyys-universe @toughbook @plutoneu @whisperssuga @welcometomyworld13 @yuzon3 @wittyreader @jnghs @cyd0129 @exfolitae​ @queen-in-the-shadows​ @nen-nyy​ @pandxthings​ @schniti-is-in-the-house​ @juju-227592​ @jinseartharmysmoon​ @wooya1224​ @ddaeng-angmoh​ @gratefullygrateful​ @rorythme​ @gratefullygrateful​ @kimrona​ @jjjj-ssi​ @maysgarden​ @lovelgirl22​ @doublebunv​ @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d​ @reallysparklychaos​ @jayjayy-57​

permanent taglist: @yourleftsock​​ @cryingpages​​ @strxwbloody​​  @drissteele​​ @dustyinkpages​​ @crushedblackroses​​  @blaaiissee​​  @iiitsmaria​​  @azazel-nyx​​  @g-h-o-s-t-b-a-b-i​​ @knjkitten​​ @kleirielk​​ @foreverweareyoung7​​ @lachimolala22019​​ @namuficxs​​ @94z-93​​ @kimgmzmc​​ @thenaverse​​ @veronawrites​

—————————————

Previously on baby (you complete us): 

They had another soulmate.

One who had been wearing theirs for ten years.

One who had been messaging them.

And their last message said they lost hope and were going to take the bracelet off.

Keep reading

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cry me a river | the liar

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

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 9.1k

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

— PART 17 / previous post / masterpost

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

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

So petite and fragile.

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

And down the doll falls in an instant.

Breaking.

Dasom doesn’t flinch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So. Do you believe her?”

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

The White Room.

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

It’s almost been a year.

A year.

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

It won’t be unexpected.

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

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

It’ll end soon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hallway down the annex is daunting. 

Terrifying.

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

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

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

The silence.

The silence.

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

You can’t have it.

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

You stand there, staring.

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

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

Him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No warmth. No smile. No kindness.

No Mister Butler.

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

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

But he never left and sometimes you wonder.

Was it because of you?

Did he stay because of you?

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

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

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

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

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

He could have lived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to be strong.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But..-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you fell silent. Completely silent.

When you broke.

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

Those precious eyes that you yourself had to rid of.

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

And perhaps that’s why you let her in.

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

Yuna remembers. She remembers everything.

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

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

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

She was too young.

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

And Mingyu came.

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

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

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

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

Not even Mingyu.

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

Your eyes can no longer cry.

Father has trained you well.

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

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

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

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

You ignore it.

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

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

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

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

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

You hear it loud and clear in your head.

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

Yeonjun runs out of here in an instant.

.

.

.

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

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

A facade.

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

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

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

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

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

Anything.

Before it’s too late.

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

“Why would I have told you that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not—”

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

It’s silent.

A deafening silence.

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

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

You hate silence.

Hate it more than anything.

More than your father perhaps.

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

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

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

That’s right, hate me some more.

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

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

“Y/N.”

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

“Y/N.”

On your knees, “I apologize for—”

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

Namjoon is a man who holds his walls up high.

Not as high as you but high enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pawn, right.

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

He hates that silly little smile you press his way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How is that my fault?”

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

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

Ended up fine?

Your father welcomed you back with open arms?

You laugh.

Laugh.

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

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

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

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

Your father.

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

Once? Twice? No.

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

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

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

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

So when you returned, the nightmares and fear returned. 

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

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

But you’ve always been afraid of food.

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

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

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

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

The only one.

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

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

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

No one.

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

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

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

Hurting even more.

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

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

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

You want to feel the pain.

“You..you’re a monster.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you push his buttons even further.

“Kill me, Namjoon.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why don’t you just kill me?”

“Are you crazy?! Let go of me.”

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

“Stop!”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“She’s not in her right mind.”

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

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

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

“Y/N-”

“Get off me!”

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

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

The room falls silent.

Frozen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How funny is that?

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

Everyone lived happily ever after.

Everyone but you.

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

No one says anything, no one answers.

It’s silent. You hate silence.

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

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

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

And cold.

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

You hate the cold.

Hate it.

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

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

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

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

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

Get away. Please get away.

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

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

You’re shaking.

Shaking.

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

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

A second passes.

A heartbeat.

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

One beat. Two beats. Three beats.

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

Until he comes.

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

Four beats. Five beats.

Six. Seven. Eight…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“.....Take me home, Mingyu.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re saying..”

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