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A very short story

Jimin:Y/N..

Y/N:yes,jimin🤨

Jimin:I have feelings for you.🤭🙂(shy)

Y/N:oh! I have feelings for you too.

Jimin:So,what are we?

Y/N:Feelers😏

Jimin:(shocked)😐

Happy birthday Yoongi, can't wait to see you again🥺🐈‍⬛🤍

im a sucker for mafia yoongi!! but again who isn't?

corrupted | myg

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; what's worse than living in a fucked up and corrupted world?

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: yoongi x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: mafia au, angst (?)

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, misogyny, no feminism here, everything is fucked up here (hence the title lol)

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.9k+

While the world's riots and country has been unsettled for a while now, rotten and violated by local gangs, it is not the most unsettling part though. Citizens say it is controlled by someone of a higher and more dangerous status. Someone whose people always lurk in the shadows, doing dirty business. One, many people don’t know any details of.

You being one of them.

Being just another person who has been forced into living in today’s world, not that anyone had a choice, there is not much knowledge. People talk, they gossip and jump into conclusions. It’s hard to say what’s true or not. So naturally, they speculate and it’s always something harsh and scary.

After all, that’s how it works now.

Unless you’re not a part of one of the gangs, earning your rightful place there and doing all the dirty work of all kinds, you’re just a basic human trying to survive and not get into any trouble.

People work where they can. Just enough to earn money and buy themselves food, somewhere they can live and stay. The amount of homeless people who steal has rapidly increased since the government is gone. Everything is corrupted. Empty. Without life. Just darkness and fear.

There were times when the world has progressed.

Not for women, it is hard to find yourself a good living. Unless you don’t want to be a part of any brothel that’s almost at every corner. People are desperate. Some women love to do it, perhaps they feel powerful that way. Some are not there because they want to be. They use their bodies to bring food and a proper living either to themselves, or to their families.

It’s one of the things you refuse to do. As anyone could imagine, it’s not the cleanest and safest work. One you really refuse to succumb to.

But enough to go out, praying no harm will come to you during your time out of the comfort of the rented small and old apartment that you're staying in.

Clubs and bars are no safer than what is outside, right behind every wall and door. You still consider it as a better alternative of how you could earn enough money to cover your rent and bring food for yourself.

Some women, actually a good part of them, latch themselves to a gang man. It is one of the choices that secures you at least some kind of protection, money, food and roof under your head. They’re known to have more money and security. You see a member of a gang? You run. You don’t indulge yourself with any of them. They’re dangerous. Don’t take no for answers. Most of them.

So far, you haven’t had the chance to really talk to any of them. You avoid them at all costs.

People come out to drink and have fun, even if they know that if someone just got killed at this very moment, only few would react. That’s how fucked up this world is.

No one is truly safe. Even under the fake facade of the world being relatively at peace right now — the words of whispers saying it’s the big boss controlling the country — no one guarantees you safety. Whoever is “up there” and is not afraid to kill or do different sorts of fucked up actions, does not care about anyone’s lives. So many people lost their lives.

People you knew.

And no one cared.

Relatives can’t get any justice. Not even revenge.

A gang member kills someone you know? Someone you loved? There’s nothing you can do, unless you or someone you care about wants to be killed. It’s fucked up.

It’s almost ironic how people dance to the loud music, seeming not to care about how truly fucked up it really is. It’s almost like the world hasn’t changed, people laugh, have fun and are getting drunk. However, there is still a shadow casting upon everyone’s head, filling up every inch and corner available. Nothing is the same anymore.

You would be stupid to tell yourself anything different. Even if it was under the mask of pretending. Even if it’s for a while.

Sitting on a hardened bar stool, you shift in your spot to make yourself comfortable which is very impossible. The bar is hectic. It seems to be doing well considering the amount of people here. One of your neighbors told you they could possibly hire you. It does sound a little silly considering there are no contracts now. They either take you and you do what they say, or you can forget about any job.

As you scan your surroundings in this dim lighting, you spot someone sitting in the corner of your eyes. An empty barstool between you as that someone happens to be a man. You wouldn’t pay him that much attention, you’re just merely cautious when it comes to anyone that’s an arm length from you. He’s just sitting there, enjoying the drink that’s in front of him. It’s hard to spot any of his features, the lack of lights here make it very difficult.

You’re in your own thoughts, focusing on the sounds around you which are just loud and blasting music when suddenly the stranger stares dead in your eyes. Something clenches in your chest, a good portion of shock at the sudden eye contact as he must’ve felt you watching him. There is so much darkness that you fail to notice the tiny smirk that curls the corner of his lips.

He’s got strong features, a smaller and slightly rounder nose — at least that’s what you guess from the seconds that he stares right back at you until he turns back and focuses his eyes on his drink. He plays with a glass, long fingers wrapped around its neck as his fingertips brush ever so slightly against it.

Gulping, you look away, embarrassed that he has caught you so easily. So much for staying low…

“Hiya, cheeks. What can I get ya?”

Head snapping at the bartender who chews on his gum, you suppress the need to glare at him and his stupid nickname, you clench your jaw for a second before you allow yourself to relax.

“Soda will do.” You almost wave him off, oblivious to the deadpanned look you so easily earn in return as soon as you look away from him, not paying him any more attention or eye contact.

That’s until he laughs, rubbing his nose. “Soda? That’s what you fucking order when you’re in this bar?”

Startled at the attitude and obvious mockery, you frown. “I’m not here to get drunk. I’m here on business.” you justify, even though you don’t feel like you have to at all.

But to avoid any more reaction or attention from this dumb fuck, you have to keep it casual. You don’t want to draw any more attention. Fucking hell, you’re the most clothed woman in here. You already do draw enough attention for people to think you’re weird or sketchy. The truth is, not many people have seemed to notice you and you would prefer it that way. Knowing it’s just wishful thinking, you gulp down any insult that wants to come out.

“Ah, got it.” He nods and for a split second, you sigh in relief. But then the dumb fuck has to open his mouth again. “Perhaps you would find the time for me after I clock off here too.”

He smirks, walking away too quickly for you to even react. Your mouth opens agape, knowing what he thinks of you and what he initiated. He thinks you’re a hooker. Well, they’re known for drinking and taking drugs. On rare occasions, there are some who don’t do any of this. Their clients prefer them to be not under any influence. But again, it’s just what you’ve heard and learned to know from a third party.

It’s the deep chuckle beside you that makes you snap out of your offended state. There’s no one beside the man, he’s smirking at his drink and undoubtedly, he’s heard the entire exchange between you and the shitty bartender. It’s the audacity of him that he laughs at that, clearly mocking you just like the bartender did if not even more. He hasn’t been even a part of that ridiculous conversation.

And before you know it, your ego and irritation gets the best out of you. “What?”

You say loud enough for him to hear. You know he does but he still reacts as if he doesn’t hear you. He’s smirking at his glass, tapping his fingers on it a few times. Enough for you to notice the rings on his fingers. It’s like an alarm ringing in your head but it’s already gone by the time he suddenly and slowly looks up. He slowly turns his head, giving you a look with a raised brow. Almost as if he’s questioning if you were talking to him.

And despite the little nervousness inside you, you keep your ground and still stare at him. Even have the audacity to raise your brow at him, making it clear you’re talking to him. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Not a hooker, huh?”

Is he trying to be funny?

Narrowing your eyes, you hide your clenched fists in your lap. “What? You were interested?”

Oh fuck. Where is this boldness coming from? What the fuck are you doing?! You’re usually careful of how you speak to others. What if he’s a gang member and he’ll pull out his gun and shoot your brains out? No one would bat an eyelash here if that really happened. They would just be annoyed they have to clean your remains. God, the thought of that makes you almost gag.

He breathes out what sounds like a chuckle, it’s hard to tell because it’s too silent for this loud surroundings. “What a girl like you is doing here?” he asks instead.

A girl. Did he just call you a girl?

You’re sure it has something to do with your appearance and a choice of clothing, but the fact he hasn’t referred to you as a woman bothers you. Not that women mean something in this world anyway. Sad to say but for most men and parts, they’re good for sex and that’s about it. It’s a rotten world.

Women barely get any respect.

This time, you use your brain in a better way and settle upon honest and casual information, which you shouldn’t exactly share to a mere stranger. But what harm could it do? It’s not like you just shared your name or any personal information that could tell him your identity. For him, you’re just another… girl in this bar. Perhaps he thinks you’re strange to come here, not drinking and wearing the shortest dress you own. You don’t even do that anymore.

You can’t remember the last time you wore a dress. You choose not to, not wanting to catch an unwanted pair of eyes and attention which is brutally sad and upsetting.

“I’m looking for a job.”

“Here?” he chuckles humorously almost immediately.

You frown, “What’s wrong about here?”

“Why here out of all places?” he questions instead.

“I don’t know if you haven’t noticed, but we don’t have much choice. I gotta live somehow.”

“I suppose it’s better than visiting a brothel, no shaming though.”

“What? Because you’re a daily client there?”

He looks up again for a moment, breathing out a light chuckle once again. Are you this funny? “You don’t belong here.”

You frown in confusion this time, “And where do I belong?”

He licks his lips, reaching for his glass as he silently sips onto whatever drink he has there. The liquid is darkish brown, you would guess that’s neat whiskey right there.

“They shot the latest bartender here.”

“Are you trying to scare me?”

He smiles, but it doesn’t offer any sweetness to it. “No. Just being informative.”

“You barely answer any of my questions.”

“Didn’t know it’s an obligation.”

You groan, rubbing your forehead just as the bartender brings you your alcohol free drink. Fuck. Maybe you should’ve ordered alcohol after all. You definitely might need it for this odd conversation.

“What do you do then?”

He taps his fingers against the counter, relaxed and smoothly as if he has a world in the palm of his hands. “Just here and about.”

“Hm, informative as always.” you mutter, ignoring the burning glance at the side of your face. It’s your time to sip on your drink, enjoying the lack of attention you give him.

You could imagine what kind of dirty work he does. Everyone does one in a way.

“Why are you sitting here then, when you’re looking for a job?”

You sigh, “I’m mapping out this place. I won’t show interest when something might happen here.”

“I just told you someone got killed here like a week ago. Shit happens here.”

“Shit happens everywhere. Thanks to this corrupted world and whoever is controlling it.”

It’s a silence between you for some time. Your curiosity rising up. He seems to be a regular here considering he knows about the shooting. Perhaps he could’ve heard it. You don’t ask any details about that though, settling on something much more curious. Many gossips are around and you do wonder what could he bring.

“Do you know who’s behind this?”

He stays silent, slowly turning his head to look at you again. None of you seem to be looking at each other the entire time.

“Does anyone?”

“Well, people talk. Everyone assumes it’s a man. What if it’s a woman?”

He chuckles.

“What? You think a woman is not capable of ruling the country?”

“I heard a lot of rumors but never that one.” he admits.

“What did you hear then?”

He does that thing again — the corner of his lips twitch in amusement. You don’t care about that though. For once, you actually feel nice to have a conversation. You don’t get a lot of opportunities to talk about this kind of stuff. It is dangerous to be talking about it so freely. Let alone with a stranger. But this one, you’re cautious about but he seems to be chilled out.

However, your guess of people might be wrong.

“Whoever rules it is ruthless.”

“He must be. Who’s okay with killing, violence and drugs? And I just named a very short list of them.”

“He? I thought you considered a female here.”

Popping your chin on your palm, you rest your elbow on the counter. “When you think about it, today’s all about dominance, power and money. Women mean nothing here.”

It’s the brutally honest truth.

“Besides, I don’t think a woman could be so ruthless to the point when people just kill each other.”

“You would be surprised.”

You narrow your eyes at him, not quite agreeing. Surely there could be a woman that would match up to any violent man there is. “I’m not misogynistic, so I won’t completely disagree with that. What makes me think it’s a man is a fact of how it is in here. Women are left fending for themselves and the most protection or at least the slightest feeling of power they can get, is through men.”

“Hm, that’s an… interesting observation.”

“What? You don’t agree?” you ask, snapping your head at him as he chuckles, in a low and vibrating tone.

“Nah, I think you might be onto something.”

You sigh, staring ahead. “Well, I’m just thinking out loud. I don’t get anything.”

There’s a silence between you two, the blasting music remaining in the background as a loud noise which you’re trying to block. It’s not like you’re not a fan of rap but come on, you’re about to get a headache.

The man suddenly stands, chugging the rest of his drink as if it’s nothing. No grimace, nothing. He doesn’t look drunk to the point where he could no longer feel the burn of alcohol.

“You should not work here.”

Your eyebrows shoot up and a speechless grimace makes it on your face. “Why?”

“It’s not safe.”

“Is there any safe place?”

He chuckles, scratching his eyebrow as he stays silent, giving you no proper answer.

“What’s your name?”

“Mingi.”

You frown, “You don’t look like Mingi.”

He snorts, rubbing his mouth for a quick second. “What do I look like?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble honestly. “But it’s not Mingi.”

He doesn’t disagree, he lets you think whatever you want. Again, you don’t know this man and you have no clue whether he’s lying or not. You do have a suspicion because something radiates from him, you’re just not sure what.

“And what’s your name?”

You scoff humorously, “I’m not telling you.”

There’s a breaking sound on your right side, glass breaking and a few people yelling at each other. From the looks of it, it’s two groups getting into a fight where a security tries to take care of it. There are punches thrown and you gasp at the violent image, even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. People fight on the streets all the time. You just hope whenever you see someone laying on the ground is a homeless person, and not a dead body.

You turn around, guessing the man is already giving you a knowing look where he warned you about this place.

However once you turn around there’s no one there.

There's an empty spot, almost like he’s been a friction of your imagination. A ghost. Someone that wasn’t even here.

But then there it is.

The empty glass he drank from.

It is enough to assure you that he was real.

*and the plot thickens*

h a e g e u m | 02 (M)

p a i r i n g. yoongi x female reader

g e n r e. crime au. two-shot. thriller. angst. smut.

e x t r e m i t y l e v e l : 6

w. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS WELL BEFORE YOU PROCEED. 18+ o n l y.

(M) non-Idol!BTS; psst, not much edited, i’m tired ; major story unfolds right from here; italics are the flashbacks , explicit scenes in form of injuries, blood, angst + amygdala lyric parallels, please, this fic is not for minors at all, reader is kept hostage for a while ; slight gore ; multiple POV’s, cameo of a certain bunny (classic) , (explicit scenes of) panic attacks, mentions of being drugged, sexual harrasment innuendos and slight mentions, yoongi and the chopstick scene, rifles and Jeongguk, someone gets actually k#lled by them, passing out of exhaustion, Yoongi is mean.

w c. 5k+

I couldn't go on writing the continuation of this in this same part, for when you'll read, you'll understand. This was originally planned a two shot, but for the sake of my readers, I left it as where the last scene ends. I promise that the third part would be the last.

p a r t 0 1

--

02. WHO'S FAULT?

--

Your throat burnt.

At first, you couldn't understand why did you wake up— your head felt heavy on your neck, eyes burning at the sensation of keeping them open. Throat felt as if raw salt was rubbed furiously over a wound. Sweat stuck on your flesh like your second skin, and your muscles felt painfully sore.

I don't know your name

Raindrops. The raindrops felt gently on your cold, yet burning skin as you struggle to keep your eyes open. It was dark, dark all around. Your ankle was in pain, yet you remained lying down in the floor, listening to the rain drumming on the roof. You felt your jacket cling uncomfortably to your damp skin and you shiver at the feeling of the your blood mixing with the rainwater which clung to your flesh. You don't honestly remember wearing a jacket, because you were dressed in a tee..

You felt the dotting scabs on yoir skin moisten as water dripped down, feeling your body convulse with the cold which blows over the haunted room.

A journey through memories

Your hair falls on your sight of your now blurry vision. Your eyes are tired, and irritated. They feel painful to be opened, and cold droplets travel down your cheekbones, dripping down your hair tresses. You gasp pathetically trying to breathe, twisting your head to find a certain someone.

Him.

You spot him, lying right beside you. His white tee, transparent due to the rainwater, sticks to his pale skin, propped half-way through his upper torso. His messy parted bangs fall over his eyes, making them disappear.

His lips are slightly parted, trying to gasp air just like you, water dripping down his temple just like yours, his skin shining with the small droplets of water taking homage on his small, button nose. He's drenched as you are. And even more injured; his jeans, once a light faded uraniun blue, is now soaked with blood and mud, ripped open at his knees. The flesh of his right thigh was sliced open, blood clogged down in between the fabric and his flesh.

A blood chilling shiver runs down your spine at the sight; at how you feel the pain in your chest despite yourself.

His white tee is already ripped in half, a long, throbbing scrape extending from his sternum to his belly button.

Your vision travels upto his face, noticing bruises on his neck and cuts on his lips, and when you reach his eyes, you notice that..

His scar is bleeding.

Though you don't see the whole of it, covered with his mass of hair, but you see a droplet of crimson bleed out of the scar, now a maroon transversal thick line, dried scab. It bleeds out and mingles with his silky, wet skin with the rainwater, but the bleeding didn't cease. A drop falls out, slowly, slowly.

Your chest tightens at the sight, yearning to reach out to him and wipe it off, and even without thinking twice, you cup his cold, wet cheek. Wiping off the blood which trickles down. You wonder if it hurts him as much as it hurts you to look at.

Though you yourself feel shocked at your action, you don't budge. You simply stare at him, and your touch has maybe stirred something in him. You see the brown of his eyes sparkle open at your touch, barely a creak, as he sighs, softly in your touch.

A journey through memories

“ Run. ” his voice came out rather hoarse, as if not been in use since a long time.

Tears threaten to well up in your eyes at his words.

“ But Yoongi, you're injured..” your voice is shaky by the time it reaches out of your throat. He shakes his head, a small, tired huff coming out of his lips which sounds quite like a laugh.

“ I'm all fine, Bonbon.. ”

and when his eyes meet your own, a thunder cracks up in the now distant, weeping sky.

And the rain increases in its entirety when his blood soaked hands reach up to cup your cold, now drying cheek, wiping off a lonely tear with his thumb which made its way down the confines of your eyes.

A sob threatens to bubble up it's way up your chest seeing him so weak, so vulnerable like this, all this because of you, you feel like drowing and never getting up. His brow furrows as more tears slip down your eyes, a sob spilling out of your lips as you break down completely in his touch.

“ I can't leave you like that, Yoongi, please..” you're sobbing by the time you hold his wrists cupping your cheeks. He pulls your face closer to his, not untill your foreheads touch. His breath mingles with your own as his eyes locked to yours own, and even if they weren't clearly visible, they were filled with emotions, glossy.

How do you feel these days

You cannot afford to lose him. You cannot be selfish. You want to stay by his side, hold his hand and treat his injuries. Just not the physical ones, but also the ones which take time to heal, leaving behind scars for eternity.

“ Bonbon, you have to stay strong for me. You would, won't you..? ”

You have to stay strong.. for him ?

A small cry of his names leaves your lips as you hiccup, his gentle, yet patient fingers caressing your burning skin with delicacy.

It's just not a simple question, it's a ask for a promise. A promise which you grant him with shaky hands and trembling voice, with slurred sobs and a broken heart.

You know that he's hurting as much as you are, even if his own emotions are buried inside for your sake. He's not pretending, he's being real here. If you die, you both will die. It's funny really, how you feel your heart cracking as pain blooms from the lower ribcage to right at the centre of your chest, the tightening knot in your chest which threatened to break at any moment.

But if one of you escapes, you— you don't know.

The shed under which you're resting feels small as you run, run in the downpour which doesn't seem to cease at ay point. The earth is gloomy with grey skies and grey beach sand as the shine, leaving behind footprints of your own. You struggle to see your path infront because of the never ending tears welling in your eyes as your body screams to stop, stop behind and take him with you, take his pain away with you, your whole being screeches with pain.

But you don't stop, because you have made him a promise.

Memories I want to have erased

You gasp as your eyes fly open, searching frantically for whatever you just saw infront of your own eyes. But what your eyes met..were certainly not what your dreams did.

A wave of darkness washes over you, seemingly suffocating the air. Nostalgia floods over you for some unknown reasons, because this reminds you of something you don't wish to remind yourself. The walls, once painted a faded shade of white, are now covered in peeling, cracked wallpaper, revealing the decaying plaster beneath. The faint scent of dampness permeates the room, hinting at years of neglect and abandonment, along with the rough years of angst it might've faced throughout its years of youth.

You realise that you're alone and helpless. You do not wish to pry on your nerves any longer, because you remember him, and his face the last thing before you're met with darkness. You huff a small breath, you're alive.

But at what cost?

Dim light from an unknown source filters through the tattered, moth-eaten curtains, casting eerie shadows across the room. The floorboards creak underfoot, as if whispering secrets long forgotten. Cobwebs drape from the ceiling like forgotten tapestries, swaying gently in an unfelt breeze caresses your skin, comforting you in an eerie way. Overall this room is awful in its appearance, yet it's not so disgusting as you'd imagine it to be.

You soon realise that your hands feel numb, almost dead from the lack of circulation. It doesn't take a rocket science genius to find out that your wrists are tightly tied behind the chair you're seated, and so are your legs together. Your wrists jerk as a reflex as soon as you realise that you're still in your uniform, now soaked with sweat and your hair is tied in a ponytail, though you don't remember doing so anyway.

You exhale out a sigh through your nose as even you're gagged with a cloth tied over your mouth, feeling perspiration accumulate on the underside of your eyes are droplets, blinking away.

The room feels awfully quiet except the obnoxious winds blowing and the sound of rain mixing together, and you realise that you're done. Your eyes scan over to the room, squinting hard to make out the objects you can visualise in the centre.

In the center of the room, an antique wooden table sits, covered in a layer of dust and neglect. A single flickering candle, its flame struggling against the darkness, casts eerie, dancing shadows that seem to mimic the macabre atmosphere. A weathered, leather-bound journal lies open on the table, and you wish if you weren't seated so far away, you could've moved forward to take a look at the browned pages which seem so inviting right now. Alas, you're bound up.

It's actually intresting to you to know that you're still alive and not dead.

Your eyes scan everywhere they can, except that the room is bland. In the further corner of the room,there resides a weathered brown piano, standing as a silent sentinel of forgotten melodies. Forgotten, just as the memory you unlocked in your dream. A lump makes it's way to your throat at the awakening of the nostalgia seeing the old brown piano. The piano's once-polished wooden surface has dulled with age, now adorned with a delicate layer of dust that tells tales of neglect and solitude. Its deep brown hue, once vibrant and lustrous, has mellowed into a warm patina, revealing the passage of countless years. It seems like the piano hasn't been used since decades, the thick layer of dust being evident for the proof enough.

The instrument's elegant frame, though showing signs of wear and tear, still exudes an air of dignified grace; almost as if it weeps silently for it's forgotten, yet it keeps its head high, gracefully. The ornate carvings along the piano's legs and edges, while faded and partially obscured, hint at a bygone era when craftsmanship held great significance.

As your gaze moves closer, the intricately designed ivory keys come into view. Once pearly white, they now bear the marks of age, with slight discoloration and tiny cracks that betray the passage of time and the touch of countless hands. The ebony sharps, though darkened, provide a striking contrast against the aged ivory.

A sense of melancholy hangs in the air, as if the piano yearns to be awakened once more, to fill the room with its resounding melodies and evoke emotions long dormant. Yet, the room remains silent, with only the soft whistling of the wind filtering through the cracks in the timeworn walls. You can only let out a longing sigh, wishing if you could help the piano with it's melancholy.

Again, you're left with no hope.

A tattered sheet of music, yellowed with age, rests upon the closed lid of the piano, its notes long forgotten and its pages delicately curled. It speaks of past performances and cherished moments, now preserved only in the fading ink and fragile paper. There's something written in dark amd bold, a funky handwriting in black stands out the papers above all, but it's far away for you to read it. Only the winds which blow occasionally along with the splutters of rain reminds you that you're kept hostage, in an unknown place, now just a commoner, a no one.

You close your eyes.

You do not absolutely wish to dwell on your memories as a cop. You've tried to always be honest in your pathway of work, always working hard; but universe has always got different plans for people like you, and karma goes in her reverse path during times like these.

The same man who saved you from your demons, is now the same man who's possibly keeping you hostage, away from the world.

Yoongi .

Now known as agustD.

The room is filled with silence untill there is a creak of the floorboard underneath your feet; cracking obnoxiously. You know you had to be imagining things, but who knows? Anything can happen. You do not know how much time has passed since you were drugged and terminated as an officer, but you're sure it hasn't been way too long. You were possibly shot a dose of pentobarbital, and because the toxins are relieved from your body, you wish to pee so bad. Your throat is dying for a drop of water. You gulp down your own saliva painfully, thanks to the gag you're bound with. It cannot be more than 48 hours; and pentobarbitals aren't really such strong of drugs to be used. The floorboard creaks again. The air grew colder, carrying a faint scent of floral smear and an unidentifiable, sickly sweetness which you cannot recognise, but the smell floods you with an unknown memory which you cannot seem to unlock, yet.

Soon you can make out a silhouette in the dark, visibly a thin figure, possibly a man. If you're kept hostage, there's no need to pretend. You may will die or whatever, so pop off. The stranger's steps were unnaturally silent, barely making a whisper against the cracked floorboard; and you try to concentrate more on the noises of the crickets outside more than the throb of your head or the incoming steps of the stranger. His steps near you, this time, a bit louder, and suddenly comes to a stop.

Almost as if they're surprised to see your presence.

Your inner self is screaming over and over again to look up and take a peek at the stranger who's presence is felt in this room, and you finally raise your head up.

Your eyes widen.

Large, doe, coffee coloured eyes meet your own, and you swear you were just an inch away from gasping loudly into the cloth refraining you from doing so. His eyes are always capable of expressing his emotions, though his face remains perfectly stoic; slight almond shaped eyes with their gentle corners widen nevertheless his expression, and you can tell that he's as shocked as you are.

Jeongguk.

“Noona..?”

Aw hell man.

His voice has matured a lot, though the ridges of his voice retain the boyish charm you were once familiar with. It's now a lot more deep, more like a rasp in the beginning to a slow hum in the end, and you swear you feel your heart paining.

This kid has grown up to a man.

You're very well aware that he has grown lot much taller than he was, taller than how you are. He has a well built figure though he remains clocked in his midnight black shirt and skinny jeans. His short sleeved shirt gives you a full view of his arm littered with art pierced on them, and so are his eyebrows done with. His face is a lot more angular and defined than how it was years ago, now slightly tanned, even, with his midnight blue hair flowing over his eyebrows.

You hum back a greeting to him, muffled.

“ Noona.. ”

He repeats again, almost as if he's trying to work his own brains out. His voice comes out as a statement of confirmation rather than a question, this time.

Your eyes never leave his own, as if you're questioning him all the questions you've ever had in your mind ever since you've come here. You couldn't imagine that even Jeongguk would be with Yoongi, but somehow you had to keep that in mind, that Jeongguk grew up with Yoongi, practically. Even if that meant that Jeongguk was just a young teen when you left Yoongi, and you are only left to wonder what does the neglect of youth does to people. The innocence behind his bambi eyes retain themselves, and it aches you to the core to know that Jeongguk is just as pure that he chose to be with him, even if that meant that he has lost all of his means to live in a world of normal adulthood.

Why didn't you leave Yoongi? Why do you still work with him? Do you not know the dangers he possesses?

Jeongguk takes a few steps forward, his brows creased. But freezes immediately as you two hear the presence of another person. There's a small thump nearby, and you almost visualise his bunny ears peeking up at the noise, getting alert; only the difference was that he was a grown up man now with a huge body. He turns away immediately his arm slides over the door to wham it open and stride over to see who's the intruder in the dark night.

You're left alone, again.

But not for soon, though. This time, the woodboard creaks again, and this time you feel a lot more anxious than how you felt earlier. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest, perspiration gathering in yoir temples, and you breathe in wildly. The air around you feels suffocating as suddenly there's a gaint man in the entrance, stumbling his way inside. He sways on his toes as he walks with steps, with a flushed face and an disheveled appearance. You freeze in your chair immediately as you realise that this man is drunk, watching his dirty clothes and drool slipping over his overgrown hair, screaming lack of personal hygiene.

This man instills a sense of danger and unease with each step he makes inside the room, suddenly taking homage on the floor with his upper half propped up on the wall nearest to the door.

He slurs something in his speech which you don't quite understand, but you do catch on his satoori dialect as he speaks. You just pray to God Jeongguk appears soon as possible, because your restraints are bound quite tightly, a way where you feel is almost impossible to open up so that you can run. But you fear you cannot do it with how limp your body seems to be now. Even in a situation like this, you trust Jeongguk more than anything else because if he had any notorious intentions, he'd have executed it by then, but he didn't really, did he? You tug faintly at your wrists, only to feel a jerk of pain shooting up your arm at the loss of circulation.

Please, no. You cannot even fight back this man in this state. Even if you wrte trained enough for situations like these, panic fills your veins. You desparately try to free yourself without making any possible noise, as you see the man grunting to himself.

That's when his rusty eyes meet your own.

Shoot. His lips stretch to a grin, more like a smirk, and you know you're damned. He stumbles to get up properly, mumbling incoherent words as he nears your chair with such loud steps that they alone makes you want to throw up. You don't know whether to panic even more and trash around in vain, or just sit in silence and accept your destiny because this would happen whether you do something about it or not, no matter how strong your efforts are, but your body gives up.

You're kept in hostage by Yoongi, and you're bound to be eaten alive by monsters in the dark. You're about to die being captured by the flames you, in your whole career fought to extinguish all the life. His leather shoes are seen in your vision, telling you that he's standing infront of you.

Did Yoongi honestly hate you so much, now to have you in this situation ?

Tears sting in your eyes as soon as you watch the dirty, blood scabbed, glove clad hand of the man resting on the hand rest of your chair, right above your own. His hand feels disgusting to be on the top of yours and he fucking reeks of weed and cheap booze. His breath really brings up bile from your stomach, and your head feels light headed. You harshly turn your head to the side, hoping to cut off some of the stench.

That's when you feel rough fingers grip your chin and turn your head to the person standing infront of you. Oh god, the stench is so fucking disgusting that you now seriously think you're either going to pass away or throw up all over. Harsh fingers raise your chin up and you finally get to see the man hovering over you. His eyes partially hidden behind long, unkempt bangs, adding a mysterious and unsettling element, adding to the dread already setting down your stomach. His gaze is intense, malicious even, piercing through you with an unsettling combination of amusement and malevolence. It's as if he knows something you don't, and he derives pleasure from your unease and discomfort. His body is so close to yours that you almost feel squished in between the chair and him. You wish to deliver a straight punch and run away from this punk, but maybe…this is your fate.

You squeeze your eyes close tightly, not wanting to face that motherfucker any longer. You feel his stinking breath near your lips, and you nearly lose it all. You grit down on your teeth, feeling your body give up as longer as you resist the restrains on your wrists; as you try to trash up your wrists in an attempt to free yourself up. But that goes vain when the front legs of the chair lift themselves up and the hind legs fall behind. Perhaps you lose your balance, or the chair gives way unexpectedly.

As you tilt backward, your feet lose contact with the ground, leaving you momentarily suspended in mid-air. A sudden rush of adrenaline courses through your body as you realize you're falling backward. Your arms instinctively shoot out to either side, attempting to grab onto something for support, but the momentum is too great. Time seems to slow down as you brace yourself for the impact, your heart pounding in your chest, realising that you're still very much bound and the man is free. You did the stupidest thing ever, and now he has access to you in a better position.

The chair tilts further back, and with a mix of surprise and panic, you feel the sensation of weightlessness. The man leaps forward, and you anticipate the harsh fall and the impact on your head as you'll fall. The chair's backrest supports your upper body, while your legs dangle in the air. As you continue to descend, you feel a moment of weightlessness..

But the fall never comes.

Only, it feels as if time as frozen— your eyes shoot open as you do realise that you're frozen mid air. The man is no where in front of you now— atleast not in your immediate vision. You realise that your chair is being held by someone in the position as you were.. You crane your neck, and what you saw was what you definitely did not imagine in the wildest of your dreams.

A single gunshot shatters the stillness. The sound reverberates through the room, jolting your somewhat sleepy and mild mind. A muzzle flash momentarily illuminates the darkness as the bullet is propelled forward at an incredible speed, and you're very well aware of the impact, because you expect yourself to flinch, but maybe years of handling a rifle has taught you better.

Time seems to slow down as the bullet finds its target, the shabby man. It strikes with unyielding force, tearing through the air. The man's body jerks backward, caught off guard by the impact. Pain and shock register on their face as they realize the gravity of the situation.

A red stain begins to spread rapidly across the man's clothing as blood seeps from the gunshot wound, right on his left, clothed calf. He stumbles forward, struggling to maintain balance, but the force of the shot proves too much. With a gasp, his body collapses down with a loud swear on the floor, the blood quickly forming a small puddle.

Your heart rate is thrice the rate as it was a few moments ago, knowing that the man was shot right infront of you by someone who's most likely holding your chair in the same position as well. Your breath gets clogged in your throat as you process the information, watching the man grunt and look up at the source of the gunshot; only for him to snarl with a curse, muttering something out with his arms trashing wildly in air, looking for leverage.

“ You're not a m..man..if you try sav..ing sl-sluts like he—”

You do not even have the time to blink when wiith lightning-fast precision, a shadow in the dark launches forward, almost like a wild cheetah hunting on his prey, closing the distance between them. Only then you realise that in the faint lighting, you saw a pair of chopsticks grabbed tightly in their pale, right wrist, hovering mid-air as he hunches the sticks forward, right where their target is. They strike with the precision of a predator, targeting vital points on the startled man's body, who screams in agony from the sudden attack.

The man's eyes widen in shock as they feel the initial stinging pain, realizing the severity of the situation. The man's strikes are precise and calculated, finding vulnerable spots between the victim's ribs and joints. Each jab and stab of the chopsticks draws blood, causing the man to weaken with each passing moment, grunting and screaming out curses. Blood squirts out with each jab, but the hunter never ceases his torment.

Despite his struggle, the man's strength begins to wane, his movements slowing as life drains from his body, with a final grunt.

And that's when the hunter raises their raven haired head up, to meet your eyes with his own, blazing with red hot anger, still hovering over the corpse of the man.

The same, pitch black, cold, raging, feline eyes which your vision last perceived before you passed out some forty eight hours ago. The same eyes whom you recognised deep inside yourself the apparent first time you saw them through a camera, but you were caught in the strings of denial for yourself, all throughout.

Yoongi.

Who just murdered a man right infront of you.

With a pair of chopsticks.

Your exhale comes out rather as a stuttering breath when you realise that a match target rifle rests on the chair edge, right beside your shoulders. Your eye follows the trail to the owner of the hand, the very beginning of tattoos littered on the tanned skin which glistens in sheen layer of sweat.

Jeongguk.

Your thoughts raced like wild stallions, colliding into one another, as a desperate attempt to grasp reality became futile. Logical reasoning became a fragile thread, threatened to be severed by the onslaught of irrational fears; sure, you’ve done this countless times in the stretch of your career, but for the first time, you actually feel your heart thumping wildly at the sight of a rifle which, not even a few minutes ago, had someone fall victim to it's cruelty. Your mind was slowly becoming labyrinth trapped in a conflicting emotions, unable to distinguish between genuine danger and figments of imagination, trying to process if any of these were even real.

Your neck hurts by the time you're looking up at the younger man, still holding your chair in mid-air. His facial expression remains quite unreadable, with a hint of confusion in them; but as soon as your eyes meet his own puddle of coffee, they soften like butter kept in the open rays of warm sun. His ridges of eyebrows, though, remain a bit rigid as if still aware of the danger lying in the surrounding. But his voice comes out soft, soft, as he speaks to you,

“ Are you alright, noona..? ”

You almost wish to answer him; you truly do. Your chest heaved as a response from the adrenaline rush dying in your bloodline, leaving your body lax in the restraints. Your dry lips open themselves to speak, but close immediately as you find your throat dry, and the gagged cloth prying your vocal chords.

“ It's not the time for this shit, JK, ” a rogue voice interrupted your little trance you had fallen into, and you watch Jeongguk’s eyes travel to the source of the voice, of course, it's Yoongi. His brows furrow as you try your best to keep your eyes open, trying to turn your head at the man again, blinking with difficulty. The more your tried, vision blurred, colors blending into an indistinguishable haze. The piano reflecting a ray of light falling on the worn out ivory, a mass of raven black in the middle of your gaze, and a pale face. You try to clear your visions by blinking rapidly, but the attempts to steady yourself proved futile, as your body succumbed to the overwhelming burden of exhaustion, your unconscious mind succumbing to the blurred voices you hear, but failed to actually perceive them.

“ Hyung, listen to me. Noon— ”

“ Did you really think that she was in the condition to talk to you? ”

And finally everything was a darkness. You were far lost to realise that the raven head tried his best to not actually prounce on the younger man, with anger, keening to accept that something far more dangerous could've taken place if the man to whom he laid down the responsibilities to atleast keep you safe for the time being could've not heard the other bastard. You were far too fragile in a situation like this where he knew he had to do something to make sure you were okay, atleast, but right things never came in the right time for a man like Yoongi.

But he knew that maybe it wasn't Jeongguk’s fault, entirely.

-

what exactly are your thoughts on the ever mysterious yoongi? and our softie gguk who's soft for his noo— * gets dragged away *

taglist : @whipwhoops @bex-92br @secfir @cuntessaiii

m.list

Haegeum

Series snippet!

pairing: bodyguard!Yoongi x CEO!fem reader

genre: mafia, e2l

summary: As the youngest daughter of the most powerful family in the country’s crime syndicate, you never thought you would be forced to takeover your father’s money-laundering casino. Due to unforeseen circumstances, you and your brother, Jungkook, are left in charge to carry on with business. But in the absence of your father and oldest brother, Seokjin, the two of you are targets of rival bloodthirsty mobs desperate for power and turf and you must be protected. But the man who’s assigned as your personal bodyguard is someone you never thought you would see again. This wasn’t in the cards.

warnings: violence and murder (not explicit), one incident of partner abuse, guns, drugs, alcohol, smoking, gambling, smut, ANGST!!! So much angst, trauma, PTSD

masterlist

"Are you dangerous, Min Yoongi?"

"It's a little late to ask that."

this is my first fic! I’ve been working on this for a long ass time but only recently got the guts to start posting! This is heavily inspired by the bodyguard from the K-drama The King: Eternal Monarch. IYKYK!

GIF by casdecns

SHEEEEEEESH

Anyway. This is a longwinded story but I’m super proud of it even though it’s not all written out yet lmao. I hope you like it and I will always accept feedback and constructive criticism!

Masterlist

Series snippet!

pairing: bodyguard!Yoongi x CEO!fem reader

genre: mafia, e2l

summary: As the youngest daughter of the most powerful family in the country’s crime syndicate, you never thought you would be forced to takeover your father’s money-laundering casino. Due to unforeseen circumstances, you and your brother, Jungkook, are left in charge to carry on with business. But in the absence of your father and oldest brother, Seokjin, the two of you are targets of rival bloodthirsty mobs desperate for power and turf. You must be protected but the man who’s assigned as your bodyguard is someone you never thought you would see again. This wasn’t in the cards.

warnings: violence and murder (not explicit), one incident of partner abuse, guns, drugs, alcohol, smoking, gambling, smut, ANGST!!! So much angst, trauma, PTSD

upload date: pending

"Are you dangerous, Min Yoongi?"

"It's a little late to ask that."

Thanks to everyone who polled! Out tonight 23:59EST!

Not In the Cards sneak peek!

So instead of part 1, i’m posting a prologue tomorrow (9/16) at 23:59EST that features Jin and his background. Here’s a brief summary:

A tragic love affair sets the stage and unfolds the story yet to come.

warnings: mafia, angst!!!!!, alcohol, smoking, age gap, dirty cop, smut (not explicit), family drama, trauma, mention of su!c!dal thoughts, abuse

Masterlist

Taglist:

@polarnightmyg @rinkud

If you would like to be tagged in the next update, click here!