Nari

a/n: back at it with shane and his girl :) i added a few dex tags again to find wilson bethel's princesses

part one

shane had taken to thinking of you as his bambi. he never referred to you as such, of course; it sounded too much like a pet name (which it very much was).

it was in the way your eyes always seemed to have a slight sheen on them, regardless what emotions they were projecting. it was in the way your legs sometimes quivered—like the day he first saw you, the nights you spent drinking with him.

after you had inadvertently sparked his arousal with your gratitude, the grass and splinters beneath the tent carved indents into your back—he held you down so hard it felt redundant; he knew that you wouldn't fall through the earth, so he weaponised his strength to find the angle that'd help him find the spot in you that makes you scream.

indeed, you did.

it surprised you, but he eased you into hit. you had expected a man rough around the edges like him to spend the time with you relentlessly driving his hips against yours as if he was trying to shatter your pelvis. whilst the sex was by no means gentle, he rolled his hips against yours, nudging just a couple inches of his shaft into your pussy. he forced his thumb between your lips and watched you accept it, swirling your tongue around the digit without even being told to.

"that's it, attagirl." he rewarded your initiative by letting his fat tip slid against your velvet walls and finding the spongey part in you. when he did you let slip an embarrassingly needy whine around his thumb. "shane--"

he smiled as he fed your pussy a few more inches before bottoming out and staying there for a while, revelling in the ridiculously warm moisture he found in you. "i know, baby," he cooed, completely unempathetic as he extracted his spit-covered thumb from your mouth, snaked his hand between your bodies, and pressed his thumb to your clit. he began to move his hips again, slower this time, as he lightly circled your bud. "that feel good? i'm takin' good care of you?"

it almost seemed like a rhetorical question. the way your eyebrows contorted and your eyes got that glaze in them ten times more than usual. the involuntary clenches around his cock and the minuscule jerks of your hips chasing friction. regardless, you nodded as you gazed up at him.

he nodded and continued moving in and out of your pussy. the girth of his cock stretched you out just enough to push the limits of your comfort without literally splitting you open, and you couldn't be any more grateful for the leftwards curve of it as hit just the right spot by your cervix. fuck.

it had been a while since you'd had sex so good, you came with a lilting cry just a few minutes after he began moving again. the spasm of your walls around his cock and the sounds of your pleasure mingling in his head prompted his own orgasm not long after, his head buried in the sweat-slick crook of your neck.

after a few seconds he didn't pull out, but turned you to lay on your stomach before he started at it again. the repetitive drive of his cock in and out blended his release with yours, and you felt impossibly full.

a/n: i thought about shane being prickly like he always is but with a slightly (probably ooc) soft edge for someone he felt the urge to protect. as well as someone he always wanted to have a little control over :) also, i added a few dex tags due to both characters being played by daddy wilson :p

part two

mdni, fem!reader, afab!reader, implied age gap, predator/prey dynamics if you squint, reader is doe-coded, slightly dark themes, psychologically abusive themes

shane saw you just a few yards out from where he was camping for the time being.

as soon as he laid eyes on you, he could feel his cock twitching in his pants. you were sniffling, lifting your sleeve to wipe at your nose every few seconds. your eyes were red and watery.

he watched you through the scope of his rifle for a while, relishing the feeling of the power he quickly found over you: he could kill another predator who tried to stake a claim on your life just as easily as he could make you his prey. he felt he already had.

after he had got enough of watching you, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and stalked his way over to you.

"not very perceptive," he thought as you startled, only noticing his presence when he called out to you. just about a foot behind you.

you didn't seem stirred from your stupor by his heavy and foreboding gait, the crackle of leaves beneath his boots, not even the flee of a doe a few metres away when it caught his downwind scent.

he turned his head downward to you while introduced himself, probably overstating the authority he held as a wildlife officer. whatever made his energy seem that much more imposing to you. he tried to calmly ask what on earth had you stumbling through the middle of nowhere, tripping over your own feet.

it was slightly challenging to decipher your response.

"he--" referring to your boyfriend, but you couldn't quite get it out. you practically whimpered an apology. "he just--!" hopelessly trying to explain that your boyfriend—now an ex, shane assumed—had kicked you out of his van, curbing your plans to travel the world with him for the rest of your lives.

shane felt almost annoyed by your lamentations. despite your vulnerability fuelling the stubborn tent growing in his pants, he couldn't help but feel a little turned off by your impassioned display of emotions spurred on by another man.

regardless, he was making a list of your critical spots, so to speak. you had just been broken up with—discarded, really—in such a violent manner; you were all alone in a state you didn't know your way around; you had no money to get back 'home'. it almost seemed too opportune.

as soon as he had resolved to pursue you, he didn't care much to listen to you cry more. he planted a firm hand on hardly above the curve of your rear and rasped a husky "c'mon" before guiding you back to his camp.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

shane didn't seem to have the self-consciousness to be even a little embarrassed at the fact he had nothing to offer you besides a can of beer dripping in condensation. he sat you down on a folding chair and tossed it to you before settling himself. he said nothing when you fumbled the catch, and still nothing when you cracked open the can and its overexcited foam spilled over your fingers.

he leaned forward marginally, planting his elbows on his knees. he watched you take a tentative sip from the can before your gaze shyly flitted to him.

the all-consuming pit of arousal started again in his abdomen as he watched your lips form a small pout. your gaze averted from his as you stared down at the can.

"i...have nowhere to go. i left home a while ago."

he tried his best to appear understanding at best. listening, at least.

"my parents won't wanna see me. i know they won't."

this acknowledgment, he noticed, seemed to aggravate your tears again. you buried your head in your hands and wept, as did the tip of shane's cock. he ran a hand over the scruff of his beard, his jaw clenched and relaxed as he listened. how you didn't "know what to do," and how you were "all alone." it all made his head spin a little.

he turned over different ideas of comfort in his mind. he ultimately didn't know what to do. with you or people in general. wasn't that why he opted for a life of solitude? surrounded by nothing but wildlife, he didn't think he'd have to know what to do in a situation like this.

he simply grunted under his breath, like the words were clawing at his throat trying to avoid expulsion. "look, uh..." he didn't quite know what to refer to you as, considering your tears had made you forget to tell him your name.

"you can stay with me. here. 'til you...work somethin' out, i guess." he took a seemingly embittered swig of his own beer. "'til you figure out how to get back on your feet."

the way your eyes turned up to his face was almost pornographic to him. your widened, red-rimmed eyes? your damp lashes? the newly dried tears and the tears that still threatened to fall? he carded it all away in his memory to use for later.

"really?"

he nodded gruffly.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

weeks passed and shane was convinced you didn't want to leave. you hadn't seemed to make an attempt to contact anybody or reach out for help getting out of california.

he couldn't blame you, though. from what you had told him, you had family on a mere technicality. shockingly, he could sympathise with your isolation.

sometimes he would allow you enrichment outside wherever he moved your camp to. he'd take you to a bar, let you have more drinks than you both knew you could handle. he'd stand over your shoulder as you tried to line up a shot on the pool table. you'd miss pretty terribly every time, looking at him over your shoulder and flashing him a timid grin. if he had enough alcohol in him, he would smile back. a little, at least.

you enjoyed falling into this routine with him. even in the moments you spent with other people, you felt like it was just you and shane. shane and you.

a daunting thing, though, was that he always insisted on sharing a tent with you. when he noticed your apprehension the first day you met, he drove the point home.

"it's dangerous. how could i possibly keep you safe if you're so far away from me?"

at your silence, he tilted his head in a way that suggested he was expecting an answer.

"you couldn't," was the only response that came to mind, muttered in slight trepidation after practically being scolded.

his eyes fluttered shut briefly as he turned his head towards the horizon. "that's right. don't ask me again."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

after a particularly long night out, shane all but carried you home. you were limp against his side the entire walk, yet still apologised every time your hand brushed against his. he eventually grew frustrated with your inability to walk straight while drunk and he tried to lift you up over his shoulder.

to his surprise, and vague annoyance, you resisted and jumped away from him when you caught on to his intention. he fixed you with a cold glare. "what's the problem?"

he just watched as you swayed slightly, clasping your hands together in front of you. "i don't like being upside down."

he rolled his eyes, noting that despite how pliable your intoxicated body was, your resolve against his demands was stronger than usual. he grabbed your upper arm and wrestled you over to a parked car before lifting you onto the hood. he turned his back to you, gesticulating in a way that countered his usual aloofness.

"get on."

you smiled to yourself before climbing onto his back and wrapping your legs around his waist. you slung your arms over his shoulders and rested your head against the back of his, inhaling the woody and slightly sweaty smell of him.

shane silently locked his arms under your knees and continued the trek back to your camp.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

shane initiated your usual bedtime routine. he took off your shoes, then your top and your pants. he laid you down in the tent and knelt over you. sometimes, in your drunken haze, you felt he was contemplating your sensuality. he looked at you. examined you in your underwear. on nights after you drank he would pick up your wrist with a gentleness you had never seen from him in any other setting. it was intimate. he was just checking your pulse.

he set your arm down, never forgetting to brush his knuckles against your thigh.

he unceremoniously turned you on your side, facing away from him, before laying behind you.

feeling his warmth behind you spurred on your sentimentality. "shane. thank you." you paused and waited to see if he'd urge you to shut up. when met with silence, you continued. "thank you for taking care of me, and...yeah. thank you."

shane listened. his eyes rolled to the back of his skull. your voice that night was impossibly soft, even for a girl who he had surmised was made of cotton wool. he felt that familiar twitch in his pants he got whenever you became that little bit more vulnerable. you exposed your tender underbelly to him, like an invitation for him to run his hand over it—tease it with the pinnacle of a blade.

in an instant he manhandled you onto your back. the rustle of the tent beneath you made it almost hard to hear his breathing become shallow.

your sensitivity didn't implore him to handle you like ceramic. he never really felt like it was appropriate to cradle you like the fragile earthenware you appeared to be. his rough hands fisted at the most plush parts of you. he didn't take care when feeling up your thighs or your breasts or your stomach.

he knew full well that his grip on you was bruising. he intended it to be so when he forced you onto your stomach and lined his cock up with your entrance. he knew that when he bullied his cock into your pussy it would hurt tomorrow morning. he thought it'd be okay as long as he made you feel good tonight.

i listened to the trip hop remix of white feather haw tail deer hunter while proofreading this :p

Krem didn't deserve to live. He was a pedophile, a murderer, and a sex trafficker

Kara Zor-El knew that he shouldn't be allowed to live bc he'd just keep doing what he was doing

But does her murdering him in place of Ruthye invalidate her teaching Ruthye "murder is wrong"?

Well, no bc i dont rlly think the message was "murder is wrong"

It was "dont let your grief and rage consume you"

If Ruthye had murdered Krem in her grief and anger it would've consumed her. Kara didnt want her to live with that. She sacrificed a part of herself to kill Krem, so Ruthye wouldn't have to be the one who did it

Yes, Krem was a piece of shit who deserved to die

I need more fanfics of my mannnn

| in where It started off a normal Friday night out became the most important accident of a lifetime. it started off when your best friend Mina had dragged you to a rooftop bar in itaewon, the last thing you expected was to spend 3 hours talking to a stranger for the rest of the night. And that man just so happened to be the JEON JUNGKOOK.

Pairings - idol!jk x non!idol reader

Chapter warnings - fluff, a little angst, suggestive, kissing, smut, Jk being a absolute SIMP for his girl, oh and did I tell you fluff because there is ALOT of it, them just being couple goals.

(do not own any of these characters and this is purely just fanfic)

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The thing about living in Seoul for 5 years is that you stop being impressed by things. The Han river at sunset? Sure, pretty. Gyeongbokgung lit up at night? Sure it was nice. A rooftop bar in itaewon packed with overly pretty people on a Friday? Just another Friday.

That’s what you told yourself anyway.

As the night grew on Mina dragged you through the crowd by the wrist her other hand clutching her phone like it was a weapon which was typical of Mina. “I told you we needed to leave by eight” she shouted over the loud music “I told you”. You look at her and speak “you told me nine” she looks back “eight thirty” I respond back “that’s not eight”

She gave up with the arguing , she wouldn’t have won it with you anyway. Instead she pulled your wrist harder and you stumbled past a group of guys in some questionable bucket hats and tight skinny jeans, walked past a table of women celebrating something maybe a birthday? No maybe a breakup, or just the fact it was finally a Friday which meant looking forward to the weekend with no work — and finally out onto the terrace, where the air was cooler and the music was just a pulse beneath your feet.

“Okay” Mina dropped your wrist and smoothed her dress “we’re here. We’re fabulous. Drinks” I look at her “you didn’t tell me we were celebrating” she smirks at me that mischievous smirk like she was gonna do something stupid tonight “we’re celebrating the fact my boss approved my leave request and I don’t have to see his face for two weeks” she flagged down a sever. That’s worth at least three drinks tonight or more, definitely more” she winks. She was right because her boss was definitely a more than a dickhead he was one of those old creepy men that thought he was better than everyone else so yes it did call for celebratory drinks.

You laughed and Leaned against the terrace railing, looking out over the city. Seoul at night always did ignite something in you — all those city lights stacked up against the dark like someone had spilled a jar of fireflies across the hills. you’d come out from Busan to Seoul for a job opportunity and stayed because of moments like this. That was the truth even if you didn’t say it out loud to others.

“Stop thinking and and help me choose” Mina said, shoving the drinks menu at you. You had ordered something with a lot of alcohol something like a Long Island ice tea with far too much ice and turned back to the railing and that’s when you noticed him.

He was standing at the far end of the terrace, slightly apart from the group he was with, looking out at the same view. Dark jacket, hood half up, hands in his pockets. Not trying to be seen. There was something deliberate about the way he stood — like he’d found the one spot on the terrace where the light didn’t quite reach.

You looked away. Seoul was full of handsome men. Everyone knew that, it was a fact.

But then Mina pressed your drink into your hand and said “don’t look now” and of course you looked I mean that was the rule when someone says don’t look you have to anyway right? But of course, she meant him.

“Who is he?” You asked like a stupid person because right she would know a stranger looking at me but instead she just says “I said don’t look” I look at her again “you knew I’d look”. She laughed into her glass “I don’t know but I’ve been watching him for the last ten minutes and he keeps looking over here”

“At you?”

“No at you” she says sipping her drink. He was looking at me? I didn’t believe her. You sipped your drink and talked about her boss and the trip she was planning to jeju and whether or not you needed a new apartment. The normal things girls would speak about in their late 20s. Friday things. But every now and then you felt something, something like a pull like a thread being tugged from across the room and when you finally glanced over he was looking at the city again, or maybe he’d never been looking at you at all.

It was Mina who had moved first, because it was always Mina. She had said she needed the bathroom and disappeared, leaving you alone with your Long Island ice tea and the city lights and the distinct feeling of being watched. “You look like you’re trying to solve something” said a voice behind you.

You turned around. He’d moved without you noticing — or maybe you’d just stopped paying attention. Up close he was almost unfairly good looking. Strong jaw, dark eyes, lip piercing that just made him 10x more attractive. He was watching you with an expression that was hard to read. Curios, maybe. A little careful.

“Just looking at the view” you said

“Sure” he leaned on the railing next to you, not to close. “You’ve been staring at the same spot for twenty minutes, though”

I look at him “you’ve been watching me for twenty minutes?” The corner of his mouth moved. “Caught”. You didint say anything and neither did he. Below you Seoul kept doing its thing — taxis, neon lights and the distant sounds of someone’s music drifting up from the street.

“Do you come here a lot?” You asked, and then immediately wanted to die, because that was the worst sentence in the english language. But he just smiled— a real one this time, a little surprised, like he hadn’t expected you to be funny. “No not really, my friend picked it” he glanced back at his group “he has questionable taste”

“in bars?”

“In everything”

You laughed. He looked at you when you laughed, and something about the way he did it made you feel like you were the only person on the terrace.

His name, he told you was Jungkook.

────────────────────────

You had talked for two hours.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. You’d planned on two drinks, maybe three, a plate of something fried and home by midnight. Instead you ended up at a corner table with a man you’d met 2 hours ago and Mina had texted you a string of emojis that you chose to interpret as I’m fine, don’t worry about me and enjoy your evening.

Jungkook was easy to talk to. That was the disarming thing. He didint perform — didn’t lean forward too much or laugh too loudly or ask questions he clearly didn’t care about the answers to. He just listened. Actually listened. When you talked about your job — graphic design mostly for international clients, which meant weird hours and too much coffee — he asked follow up questions that made it clear he had heard every word.

“Do you like it?” He asked. I look at him “work? Yeah most of the time”

“There’s always a client who wants everything in comic sans” you watched him laugh. “What do you do?” A small pause echoed through the room before he spoke up “music” he said.

“Like producing? Or performing?”

“Both, Kind of”

“Are you good at it?”

He looked at you like that was the last question he'd expected. "I think so. I hope so." He turned his glass on the table. "It's hard to know. You get too close to it." "Yeah." You knew exactly what he had meant. "I have that with my personal work. The stuff I do for myself, not clients. I can't tell if it's good or if I just love it too much to see it clearly."

"Exactly." He said it quietly like you'd confirmed something. "Exactly that." His friends had mostly drifted inside. Mina had reappeared at some point, caught your eye from across the bar, given you a look that contained approximately six different emotions and disappeared again. You made a mental note to buy her dinner.

"Can I see your work?" Jungkook asked.

"Right now?"

"If you want." You pulled up your portfolio on your phone — not the client stuff but the personal pieces I had created, the ones you almost never showed people. He scrolled slowly, not rushing. He stopped on one a digital piece you made last winter, all blues and grays.A figure in a window looking out at a city that might have been Seoul or might have been nowhere.

"This one," he said.

"What about it?" I say

"It feels lonely but not in a sad way." He tilted his head slightly. "Like the person chose it."You stared at him. "That's yeah that's exactly what I was going for." He handed your phone back your fingers brushed and neither of you made a thing of it which somehow made it worse.

The bar was thinning out, the music had shifted to something slower, you were on your fourth drink, which was one more than you'd planned, and you were very aware of how close he was sitting — not inappropriately close, just close enough that you could have moved an inch and your shoulder would have touched his.

"I should probably find my friend," you said, not moving.

"Probably," he agreed, not moving either.

"She's going to have a lot of opinions." I say

"About what?" He says

"About this” you gestured vaguely at the table, at him, at the general situation. He smiled "What is this?"

"I don't know yet." He looked at you for a moment really looked, the kind of look that makes you feel slightly transparent — and then he said

"Do you want to get out of here?"

────────────────────────

Three: The Bunker Beneath the House

The staircase spiraled downward like it was swallowing you whole.

Stone walls. Dim lights. Air that smelled damp and cold—like the mansion above was only a beautiful mask, and this was its true skeleton.

Jungkook’s grip on your wrist never loosened.

If anything, it tightened the farther you went down, as if he was afraid you might disappear.

Or worse…

As if he was afraid someone might take you.

Your feet stumbled on the steps.

Your dress felt wrong now—too tight, too delicate, too expensive for the terror clawing at your throat.

You could still hear the chaos upstairs.

Faint, muffled echoes of shouting.

The crack of gunfire.

The unmistakable sound of glass shattering.

Your lungs burned.

Your heart pounded so hard you thought it might tear through your ribs.

And Jungkook…

Jungkook didn’t look afraid.

He looked furious.

Like the world had insulted him by daring to step into his territory.

You hated that he could be so calm while you were barely holding yourself together.

You hated that he was dragging you like a possession.

You hated—

You hated that your body felt strangely safe behind him.

That was the worst part.

The most disgusting part.

Because even while your mind screamed that he was your enemy…

Your instincts were whispering that he was the only reason you were still breathing.

Jungkook pushed open a steel door at the bottom of the staircase.

A keypad beeped.

He typed in a code without hesitation.

And the heavy door unlocked with a mechanical click.

Then he shoved you inside.

You stumbled forward.

The door slammed shut behind you.

The sound was deafening.

Final.

Like a coffin closing.

You spun around instantly, panic rising in your throat.

“What is this?” you demanded.

Jungkook didn’t answer right away.

He leaned his head back against the door, chest rising and falling as he breathed hard, like he’d been holding his breath since the first gunshot.

His eyes were dark.

Not with fear.

With something else.

Something sharp and violent.

“Underground bunker,” he finally said.

His voice was flat.

Like he’d said it a hundred times before.

You stared at him.

A bunker?

This house had a bunker?

Of course it did.

Because rich men didn’t build safety.

They built fortresses.

You turned around, scanning the room.

It was bigger than you expected.

Concrete walls. Steel shelves lined with supplies. Medical kits. Water. Canned food. Flashlights. Weapons.

There were cots along one side, and a small table with radios and monitors.

A security room.

A survival room.

A place built for war.

You swallowed.

The air was cold, but sweat dampened your palms.

“How long are we staying here?” you asked.

Jungkook stepped away from the door and walked toward you.

Slowly.

The way he always did.

Like he didn’t need to rush because everything would always move at his pace.

“As long as I say,” he replied.

Your jaw clenched.

“I’m not—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off.

One word.

And it silenced you.

Not because you were weak.

But because the tone in his voice was so different now.

Not playful.

Not teasing.

Not cruel for fun.

This was real.

This was Jungkook stripped down to something primal.

He stopped in front of you, towering over you.

“You’re going to listen,” he said quietly. “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you.”

You glared up at him, trembling.

“And if I don’t?” you whispered.

Jungkook leaned closer.

His eyes locked onto yours like he was chaining you with his gaze.

“Then I’ll make you,” he said.

Your stomach dropped.

Your skin prickled.

His words weren’t a threat meant to scare you.

They were a promise.

You swallowed hard.

Then you forced yourself to breathe, forced your voice steady.

“Where are my mom and the others?”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened.

“Safe,” he said. “Probably in the other wing bunker.”

You blinked.

Other wing?

“How many bunkers does this house have?” you asked bitterly.

Jungkook’s mouth twitched.

“Enough,” he said.

Your chest tightened.

So they had prepared for violence.

Prepared for enemies.

Prepared for blood.

Which meant this wasn’t the first time someone had tried to attack this estate.

And you knew what that meant.

This family wasn’t innocent.

Not even close.

You stepped back, putting space between you.

But Jungkook stepped forward again immediately.

Like he didn’t allow distance.

Like space between you offended him.

Your back hit the edge of the table.

Cold metal.

Jungkook placed his hands on either side of you.

Caging you in.

Your breath hitched.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

You glared at him.

“No shit,” you snapped.

He ignored the insult.

His gaze dropped to your throat.

Your collarbone.

The pulse beating violently under your skin.

Then his nostrils flared.

You felt it again.

That subtle inhale.

That sickening attention.

Like your scent wasn’t just something he noticed.

It was something he needed.

His eyes darkened.

And you watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

Then he spoke, voice lower.

“You smell even stronger down here.”

Your stomach flipped.

Heat crawled up your neck.

“Stop,” you whispered.

Jungkook tilted his head.

“Why?” he asked softly.

His voice was too calm.

Too intimate.

Like the world above wasn’t exploding with bullets.

Like none of it mattered except the space between your bodies.

Your hands trembled.

“This isn’t the time,” you said.

Jungkook’s gaze flickered to your lips.

Then back to your eyes.

“Maybe it is,” he murmured.

Your pulse spiked.

You tried to shove him away.

But he caught your wrists effortlessly, pinning them against the table.

Hard.

Your breath punched out.

“Let go!” you hissed.

Jungkook didn’t.

He stared down at you like you were the most infuriating thing he’d ever wanted.

His grip tightened.

Not enough to hurt.

Enough to remind you he could.

“Do you have any idea,” he whispered, voice shaking with restrained rage, “what happens if Rossi takes you?”

You glared at him.

“Why do you care?” you spat.

His eyes flashed.

And for a moment, you saw it.

Not just hatred.

Not just cruelty.

Something deeper.

Something broken.

Something possessive.

His jaw clenched.

Then he leaned closer, so close his breath brushed your mouth.

“I don’t,” he said harshly.

You froze.

His eyes bored into yours.

“I don’t care about you,” he continued. “I care about what’s mine.”

The words hit you like a slap.

Your chest tightened.

“You think I’m yours?” you whispered.

Jungkook’s lips curved.

A dark, dangerous smile.

“You became mine the moment your mother married my father,” he murmured.

Your throat burned.

“That doesn’t make me your property.”

Jungkook’s gaze dropped to your lips again.

“Doesn’t it?” he asked quietly.

Your breathing turned shallow.

The air between you was too hot.

Too tight.

Like the bunker itself was suffocating.

You could feel his body heat.

Could feel the tension in his arms.

The way he held you like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

Then, above you—

A sound.

A muffled explosion.

Dust rained from the ceiling.

You screamed instinctively.

Jungkook immediately pulled you into him.

Your face slammed into his chest.

His arms wrapped around you so tightly you could barely breathe.

But the embrace was firm.

Protective.

Possessive.

Like a shield.

You froze.

Your body reacted before your mind could.

Your hands grabbed his shirt.

Clutched.

Because you were terrified.

Because the sound above felt like death.

Jungkook’s grip tightened.

His hand slid up your back, fingers spreading as he held you against him.

You felt his heartbeat.

Fast.

Hard.

Not as calm as he pretended.

His lips brushed your hair.

Not a kiss.

Not yet.

Just a touch.

But it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Shh,” he murmured.

His voice was low, soothing.

Too intimate.

“You’re safe.”

Your chest rose and fell against him.

You hated how safe it felt.

You hated that your body was betraying you, leaning into him.

You pulled back slightly, breath shaky.

Jungkook’s hands stayed on your waist.

Like he didn’t want you to move away.

Like he didn’t want you to remember you hated him.

You glared up at him.

“This is your fault,” you whispered.

His eyes narrowed.

“My fault?” he repeated.

You shoved at his chest again.

“Your family,” you hissed. “Your father. Your stupid mafia ties—”

Jungkook’s expression snapped.

His hand shot out, gripping your throat.

Not choking.

Not squeezing.

Just holding.

But it was enough to make your blood run cold.

He leaned in, eyes blazing.

“Don’t talk about my father,” he growled.

Your breath hitched.

His thumb brushed your jaw.

“You don’t know anything about us.”

Your voice came out trembling, but you didn’t back down.

“I know you’re all sick,” you whispered.

Jungkook’s eyes darkened.

His grip tightened slightly.

Then he smiled.

And the smile was terrifying.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “We are.”

His gaze slid down your face.

Your neck.

Your collarbone.

His thumb traced the pulse point under your skin.

Your body shuddered involuntarily.

And he noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His eyes gleamed.

“Still shaking,” he murmured.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whispered.

Jungkook leaned closer.

His voice was almost gentle now.

“Like what?”

You swallowed hard.

“Like you want to—”

Your voice broke.

You couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t admit it out loud.

Because saying it made it real.

Jungkook’s lips curved.

He finished your sentence for you, voice a whisper against your skin.

“Like I want to ruin you?”

Your stomach dropped.

Your breath caught.

And you hated yourself for the heat that bloomed between your thighs.

Because your body reacted.

Even while your mind screamed no.

Jungkook’s eyes sharpened instantly, like he sensed it.

Like he could smell it.

Like your arousal was a scent he could taste in the air.

His nostrils flared again.

And he let out a slow breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered again.

His grip on your throat loosened.

His hand slid down to your shoulder.

Then your arm.

Then your wrist.

And he pinned your hands above your head against the wall.

The cold concrete bit into your skin.

You gasped.

Your eyes widened.

“What are you doing?!” you demanded.

Jungkook stepped closer, pressing his body against yours.

You could feel him.

His hard chest.

His hips.

His thigh sliding between your legs to force them apart.

Your breath stuttered.

And he didn’t kiss you.

Not yet.

He just leaned down, his mouth hovering near your ear.

“I’m reminding you,” he whispered, voice low, rough, “that you should be terrified of me.”

Your heart slammed.

You whispered, voice shaking, “I am.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched.

His lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“Liar,” he murmured.

Then he dragged his nose along the side of your neck.

Not kissing.

Just inhaling.

Breathing you in like you were oxygen.

You froze.

Your entire body went rigid.

Because no one had ever touched you like that.

Not like you were a drug.

Not like you were something he couldn’t stop himself from consuming.

Your breath came out in a shaky gasp.

“Stop,” you whispered.

Jungkook’s voice turned dangerously soft.

“I can’t,” he admitted.

And those words…

Those words scared you more than the gunfire above.

Because they weren’t teasing.

They were true.

His lips brushed your neck, barely there.

A touch so light it made you shiver.

Then he pulled back, eyes dark, jaw clenched.

His restraint looked painful.

Like it was taking everything in him not to devour you.

He stared at you for a long moment.

Then his voice came out rough.

“If you weren’t such a problem,” he murmured, “I wouldn’t want you this much.”

Your throat tightened.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

Jungkook’s eyes softened for half a second.

Then his smile returned.

Cold.

Cruel.

“Good,” he murmured. “Hate me.”

He leaned closer again.

“So you won’t notice when you start needing me.”

Your stomach twisted.

Your body trembled.

Then a sound cut through the tension.

A loud beep from the monitor table.

Jungkook’s head snapped toward it.

He released you immediately, stepping away like he’d been burned.

You stood there, panting, hands shaking, your skin still buzzing where he’d touched you.

Jungkook walked to the security monitors.

The screens flickered with camera feeds from around the estate.

And what you saw made your blood turn to ice.

Men in black.

Masks.

Guns.

Moving through the gardens like shadows.

A guard collapsed near the fountain.

Blood spilled across the stone.

You covered your mouth, horror choking you.

“What… what is happening?” you whispered.

Jungkook’s face hardened.

“Rossi’s men,” he said.

Then he reached for the radio.

A crackle.

Static.

A voice came through.

“Namjoon to Jungkook.”

Jungkook grabbed it instantly.

“I’m here.”

Namjoon’s voice was calm, but strained.

“We’re holding them off. But they’re pushing in.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched.

“Where’s Y/N’s mother?”

“Safe,” Namjoon replied. “Elle’s in the west bunker with Jin and Hoseok.”

Jungkook exhaled.

Your knees weakened slightly in relief.

Then Namjoon’s voice changed.

“Jungkook.”

“What?” Jungkook snapped.

Namjoon hesitated.

Then—

“We found a message.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed.

“What message?”

Namjoon’s voice turned colder.

“It was carved into one of the dead guards outside.”

Your stomach lurched.

Carved?

Your skin went numb.

Namjoon continued.

“It says: Give us the girl.”

Silence filled the bunker.

Your heart stopped.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t move.

Your eyes slowly lifted to Jungkook’s face.

He didn’t look at the monitor anymore.

He looked at you.

And the look in his eyes wasn’t hatred now.

It wasn’t cruelty.

It wasn’t teasing.

It was something terrifyingly possessive.

Something feral.

Something that made your blood freeze.

Because he wasn’t thinking about whether you’d survive.

He was thinking about whether he’d let you go.

Jungkook’s voice dropped.

“Tell them no,” he said.

Namjoon’s voice was sharp.

“Jungkook—”

“Tell them no,” Jungkook repeated, louder.

Then he slammed the radio down on the table.

You stumbled back instinctively.

Jungkook turned toward you slowly.

His eyes were dark.

Wild.

And you realized something then.

You weren’t trapped in this bunker because he was saving you.

You were trapped because he was keeping you.

Jungkook stepped toward you.

You backed up until your spine hit the wall.

Your breath came out ragged.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, voice trembling, “don’t.”

He stopped inches away.

Then he leaned down, his lips close enough to feel.

His voice was almost gentle.

“They want you,” he murmured.

Your throat tightened.

“I don’t want them,” you whispered.

Jungkook’s hand slid up your arm.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist again.

That same possessive grip.

He lifted your hand and pressed it against his chest.

You felt his heartbeat pounding beneath your palm.

Fast.

Feral.

His eyes locked on yours.

“But you’re not theirs,” he whispered.

Your lips parted.

Your breathing shook.

He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching yours.

“You’re not Rossi’s,” he said.

His voice turned rough.

“You’re not my father’s.”

His grip tightened.

“And you’re not even your mother’s anymore.”

Your eyes widened.

“What…?”

Jungkook’s lips brushed the corner of your mouth.

Not a kiss.

A warning.

A promise.

Then he whispered the words that made your stomach drop into hell.

“You’re ours.”

You tried to pull away.

But he caught your waist.

Held you there.

Pinned.

His breath fanned across your lips.

And you could feel it—how close he was to losing control.

His voice trembled.

“You smell like temptation,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard, voice barely there.

“I’m not…”

Jungkook cut you off, voice sharp.

“Don’t lie.”

His nose brushed your cheek.

His lips hovered over yours.

And then he stopped.

Like he was fighting himself.

His jaw clenched.

His eyes squeezed shut for a moment.

When he opened them again, his gaze was darker than ever.

“You’re going to stay here,” he said.

His voice turned commanding.

“Don’t move. Don’t touch anything. Don’t open the door.”

You stared at him.

“And if I do?” you whispered.

Jungkook’s smile was cruel.

“Then I’ll punish you,” he said softly.

Your breath hitched.

Then he turned away, grabbing a gun from the shelf.

Your eyes widened in shock.

“You’re going back up there?” you demanded.

Jungkook looked over his shoulder.

His gaze raked over you one last time.

And the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

“I’ll come back,” he said.

His voice dropped, almost intimate.

“And if you’re not here when I do…”

His smile sharpened.

“I’ll tear this entire house apart to find you.”

Then he walked to the steel door.

Typed the code.

The lock clicked.

And before he stepped out, he looked at you again.

Just once.

A glance that felt like chains.

Then he left.

The door slammed shut.

And you were alone.

Alone in the bunker.

Shaking.

Breathing hard.

Your skin still burning where he touched you.

Your lips still tingling where his mouth almost met yours.

And above you…

Gunfire continued.

You slid down the wall slowly, hugging your knees to your chest.

Tears blurred your vision.

Not because you were weak.

But because you were trapped.

Because Rossi wanted you.

Because the Jeon brothers wanted you.

And because the most terrifying part of all…

Was that your body was starting to understand something your mind refused to accept.

You were afraid of Jungkook.

But you were also beginning to crave him.

His scent.

His heat.

His voice.

The way he looked at you like you were something forbidden.

You buried your face into your knees, trembling.

And you whispered into the darkness:

“This is hell.”

But deep down…

You already knew.

Hell wasn’t outside.

Hell was inside this house.

Two: Dinner With Devils

You didn’t sleep.

You tried.

You lay in the middle of a bed too large, under sheets too soft, in a room too perfect—while your mind replayed the sound of Jungkook’s voice like a curse branded into your skin.

You smell good.

The words shouldn’t have mattered.

They were nothing.

A stupid comment. A childish insult disguised as something else.

But they clung to you like smoke.

Because he didn’t say it like a compliment.

He said it like a warning.

Like he’d already decided your body belonged to his senses.

Like your existence had become a craving.

You stared at the ceiling for hours, listening to the mansion breathe. Pipes humming. Wind whispering against the balcony doors. Distant footsteps of staff moving like ghosts.

And then, at some point, you heard laughter.

Male laughter.

From down the hall.

Deep. Low. Mocking.

It sent cold dread crawling across your skin.

You didn’t know these men.

Not really.

You knew their names. Their faces. Their cold eyes.

But what you didn’t know was what they were capable of.

Or worse…

What they wanted.

Because you could feel it.

You didn’t belong here.

And they didn’t want you to forget it.

By the time the clock struck seven-thirty, your mother knocked on your door.

Her face was pale.

Her hair was pinned neatly, and she wore a dress that was too expensive for a woman who’d lost everything a month ago.

She looked like she was trying to convince herself this was a new beginning.

But her eyes betrayed her.

They were tired.

Afraid.

“Y/N,” she whispered as she stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t answer immediately.

You didn’t want to lie.

And you didn’t want to tell her the truth.

That you felt like prey.

That the Jeon brothers looked at you like they were already deciding how to break you.

Instead, you forced your voice steady. “Do I have a choice but to be okay?”

Your mother’s lips trembled.

She walked closer, reaching for your hands.

“I didn’t do this to hurt you,” she said.

You pulled away.

Not harshly.

But enough.

“I know,” you murmured, staring at the floor.

Your mother swallowed hard.

“I just…” she whispered, voice cracking. “I didn’t know what else to do. Rossi’s men—”

“I know,” you cut in quickly, sharper than you intended.

Her eyes widened.

You sighed and softened your tone, because no matter how angry you were, you knew she was drowning too.

“I know,” you repeated quietly. “I know why you did it.”

She nodded, tears shimmering in her eyes.

Then she wiped them quickly, forcing a smile.

“Dinner is at eight,” she said. “You should… you should wear something nice.”

Your stomach twisted.

Something nice.

For them?

For men who already hated you?

You didn’t respond. You simply nodded.

Your mother hesitated before stepping out.

“Please,” she whispered at the door, “don’t provoke them.”

The words hit harder than you expected.

Because it meant she knew.

She’d seen it too.

The tension.

The danger.

The silent cruelty in the way those men looked at you.

And she was asking you to survive it quietly.

Your throat tightened.

When she left, you stood still for a moment, breathing through the anger rising inside you like poison.

Then you turned to the closet.

It was filled.

Not with your clothes.

With new ones.

Designer dresses. Silk blouses. skirts, heels—things you never owned, never asked for.

A wardrobe bought for a doll.

A doll meant to be dressed, displayed, controlled.

Your fingers trembled as you touched a black dress.

Simple.

Elegant.

Sharp.

You chose it because it felt like armor.

If you were going to walk into hell, you would do it with your spine straight.

You changed slowly, brushing your hair back and leaving it down. No jewelry. No softness.

You stared at yourself in the mirror.

And for a moment, you didn’t recognize the girl staring back.

She looked older.

Harder.

Like grief had carved a blade into her bones.

You whispered to your reflection:

“Don’t let them see you break.”

At exactly eight, you stepped into the dining hall.

And the first thing you noticed was the table.

Long.

Too long.

A feast laid out like royalty was expected.

Crystal glasses, gold cutlery, plates decorated with fine patterns you couldn’t pronounce.

And at the head of the table sat Jeon Kangtae, your stepfather.

He looked satisfied.

Like a king pleased with his new acquisitions.

Your mother sat beside him, posture stiff, her hands folded in her lap.

And the brothers…

They were already seated.

Namjoon at the left side, calm as ever, eyes briefly flicking toward you before returning to his wine.

Jin leaning back in his chair like the world belonged to him.

Yoongi lounging with a bored expression, one arm draped over the chair.

Hoseok smiling politely, but his eyes were sharper than his lips.

Jimin sitting with perfect posture, beautiful and composed.

Taehyung twirling his glass lazily, watching you like you were a new character in his favorite drama.

And Jungkook…

Jungkook was standing near the window, one hand in his pocket.

He wasn’t looking at you at first.

Then he turned.

And the moment his gaze landed on you—

Your breath caught.

Because he didn’t just look.

He took.

His eyes traveled over your body slowly, openly, without shame.

Like he didn’t care if you noticed.

Like he wanted you to.

His gaze lingered at your collarbone.

Your waist.

Your thighs.

Then lifted back to your face.

And the look in his eyes was darker than yesterday.

Less hateful.

More hungry.

Your pulse spiked.

But you didn’t drop your gaze.

You walked forward.

And the silence that followed you felt like a trap tightening.

“Y/N,” your stepfather greeted smoothly, gesturing toward the empty chair near the middle.

Your chair.

Your assigned place.

Between Jimin and Jungkook.

Of course.

Because they wanted you surrounded.

You swallowed, then sat down.

The chair felt cold.

But the presence beside you was hotter than fire.

Jimin leaned slightly closer, voice soft enough only you could hear.

“You look pretty.”

Your jaw tightened. “Don’t.”

Jimin’s lips curved, amused.

“Why not?” he whispered. “Compliments make you uncomfortable?”

You didn’t answer.

Jungkook sat down on your other side.

The moment he did, your senses sharpened involuntarily.

His scent.

His heat.

The quiet dominance in the way he claimed the space next to you.

You didn’t even look at him.

You stared straight ahead.

But you could feel him.

And then you heard it.

That sound again.

A small inhale.

Not subtle this time.

Jungkook leaned slightly closer, as if drawn by something.

His voice dropped near your ear.

“Black suits you.”

Your fingers curled tightly under the table.

You forced yourself to breathe.

Then finally turned your head slightly.

“What do you want?” you asked coldly.

Jungkook smiled.

“Dinner,” he said simply.

His eyes flickered to your lips again.

Then he leaned back in his chair, satisfied.

Like he’d already won something.

The servants began bringing food.

Plates filled with expensive dishes you couldn’t name.

Steak. Seafood. Garnishes that looked too pretty to eat.

Everyone ate like this was normal.

Like bringing a grieving girl into their home and circling her like wolves was normal.

Your stepfather raised his glass.

“A toast,” he said. “To family.”

Your stomach churned at the word.

Everyone lifted their glasses.

Even the brothers.

Even Jungkook.

You didn’t.

Your stepfather noticed immediately.

His eyes sharpened.

“Y/N,” he said with a warning edge, “a toast.”

You met his gaze.

You didn’t want to make an enemy of him.

Not yet.

So slowly, you reached for your glass.

Raised it.

But you didn’t smile.

Your stepfather’s lips curled in satisfaction.

“To new beginnings,” he said.

Everyone drank.

You took a sip, forcing the liquid down even though it burned your throat.

Then dinner continued.

But the tension didn’t ease.

Not for a second.

Because the brothers kept doing it.

Little things.

Small, cruel, deliberate things.

Yoongi kicked your chair lightly when the servant poured your water, making you jerk.

Hoseok smiled at you and asked, “Are you eating enough? You look fragile.”

Taehyung asked if you missed your old house, his tone dripping with fake innocence.

Jin asked your mother about her wedding night.

Right at the table.

Right in front of you.

Your mother choked on her drink.

Your stepfather laughed.

The brothers laughed too.

Except Namjoon.

Namjoon didn’t laugh.

He simply watched.

And that somehow felt worse.

Because it meant he wasn’t here for entertainment.

He was here for control.

Then Jin leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand.

“So,” he said, eyes glinting, “tell us, Y/N…”

Your stomach tightened.

“What?” you asked.

Jin smiled wider.

“Did you cry when your father got arrested?”

Your blood went cold.

The fork in your hand froze midair.

The room fell silent.

Your mother’s face drained of color.

Jeon Kangtae’s eyes narrowed.

But he didn’t stop Jin.

Of course he didn’t.

Because this was allowed.

This cruelty.

This humiliation.

It was part of the house rules.

You swallowed.

Slowly, you set down your fork.

And you looked Jin dead in the eye.

“No,” you said.

Jin blinked, amused.

“Oh?” he said softly. “Not even once?”

You forced your voice calm.

“I cried when I realized he was stupid enough to trust Rossi.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows lifted.

Hoseok let out a low laugh.

Jimin’s lips parted, impressed.

Taehyung’s smile sharpened.

Even Jungkook looked slightly surprised.

But Jin’s smile didn’t fade.

It only turned colder.

“Careful,” Jin murmured. “You’re brave.”

You leaned slightly forward too.

“So are you,” you said quietly.

The silence grew heavier.

Jungkook shifted beside you.

His knee brushed yours under the table.

Not accidentally.

Your skin flared with awareness.

Then Jungkook spoke, voice calm.

“She’s not wrong.”

All eyes turned to him.

Jungkook leaned back, looking at Jin lazily.

“Her father’s an idiot,” Jungkook said. “But she’s not him.”

Jin’s eyes narrowed.

“Defending her?” he asked, teasing.

Jungkook’s gaze slid toward you.

And his eyes lingered.

“I’m not defending,” he said. “I’m just observing.”

Your stomach dropped.

Because the way he said it felt like he was studying you.

Like you were something he couldn’t stop thinking about.

Your stepfather cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation away.

But the damage was done.

Your appetite was gone.

Your hands were cold.

And the room felt like it was closing in.

Then, halfway through dinner, the lights flickered.

Just once.

Quick.

Almost unnoticeable.

But everyone stopped.

Namjoon’s head lifted instantly.

Yoongi’s hand paused midair.

Jungkook’s posture stiffened.

Even your stepfather’s smile disappeared.

A second later, a loud bang echoed outside.

Not fireworks.

Not thunder.

A gunshot.

Your blood turned to ice.

Your mother gasped, dropping her fork.

Jeon Kangtae stood abruptly.

The brothers stood too.

Like soldiers responding to instinct.

And then another sound—

A scream from outside.

A servant.

You shot to your feet, heart pounding.

“What’s happening?” you demanded.

Jungkook grabbed your wrist.

Hard.

The grip was firm, possessive, unyielding.

“Sit down,” he ordered.

You tried to yank away.

“Don’t touch me!”

His grip tightened.

His eyes locked on yours.

And for the first time, the playful cruelty was gone.

Now he looked deadly.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low and sharp, “if you don’t shut up and listen to me, you’ll die.”

The words slammed into your chest.

Your breathing stopped.

Another gunshot cracked outside.

Closer.

Your mother screamed your name.

Jeon Kangtae shouted orders.

Servants ran.

Chaos erupted.

But Jungkook didn’t let go of you.

Instead, he yanked you toward him and shoved you behind his body.

You stumbled, catching yourself on his back.

And you realized—

He was shielding you.

Namjoon pulled out his phone, barking commands.

Yoongi moved to the door, eyes cold.

Hoseok flipped the table slightly, pushing your mother back.

Jimin grabbed your arm.

“Stay behind us,” he hissed.

Taehyung’s expression was calm, almost amused.

But his eyes were darker now.

Predatory.

Like he’d been waiting for this.

The door to the dining hall slammed open.

A guard rushed in, blood on his sleeve.

“Sir!” he shouted to Jeon Kangtae. “They’re here!”

Jeon Kangtae’s face hardened.

“Rossi,” Namjoon muttered.

Your stomach dropped.

Rossi’s men.

Here.

At the estate.

Your knees went weak.

Your mother began sobbing quietly.

And Jungkook—

Jungkook leaned closer to your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“You brought them here,” he murmured.

Your heart shattered.

“I didn’t—” you whispered.

But he didn’t care.

His voice turned vicious.

“You and your mother walked into this house and now Rossi’s dogs are sniffing around.”

His fingers dug into your waist, keeping you close.

Holding you.

Possessing you.

Like even in danger, he couldn’t stop himself.

Another shot rang out.

A window shattered.

Glass exploded across the floor.

Your scream tore out.

Jungkook spun instantly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and dragging you down.

You hit the ground hard.

His body covered yours.

Warm.

Heavy.

Protective.

Your cheek pressed into his chest, and the smell of him invaded your senses.

Then you heard his voice.

Not to you.

To his brothers.

“Get her out,” Jungkook snarled.

Namjoon’s gaze snapped to you.

“Basement,” he ordered.

Jimin grabbed your arm, hauling you up.

Your legs trembled so badly you could barely stand.

You looked at your mother.

She was crying, shaking.

But Hoseok was already pulling her away.

Taehyung stepped close to you, eyes glittering.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, almost sweet. “If Rossi wants you…”

His lips curved.

“…we’ll just have to keep you first.”

You felt sick.

Jimin yanked you toward the hallway.

You stumbled.

Then Jungkook was suddenly there again, gripping your wrist, pulling you away from Jimin.

“No,” Jungkook snapped. “I’ll take her.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed. “You sure?”

Jungkook didn’t answer.

He just dragged you through the corridor like you weighed nothing.

Your heart pounded, your breath sharp and panicked.

You could hear shouting behind you.

Gunfire.

Glass breaking.

Guards yelling.

You were shaking so badly you couldn’t even speak.

Jungkook shoved open a door near the end of the hall.

It wasn’t a basement.

It was a hidden staircase.

He pushed you down the steps.

“You’re hurting me!” you cried.

Jungkook didn’t slow down.

“Good,” he said coldly.

Then he stopped suddenly, forcing you against the wall.

Your back hit stone.

Cold.

He stood over you, breathing hard, eyes blazing.

His hand came up and gripped your jaw.

Not gentle.

Not kind.

Possessive.

Like he couldn’t decide whether to kill you or kiss you.

“You don’t understand,” he hissed. “If Rossi gets you…”

His thumb brushed your lower lip.

Your breath hitched.

His eyes darkened at the reaction.

He leaned closer.

Close enough that your lips almost touched.

And his voice dropped into something terrifyingly soft.

“I won’t let anyone take you.”

Your heart slammed.

You hated him.

You hated him.

But your body—

Your body betrayed you, trembling under his touch.

His nostrils flared again, and his gaze flickered down your throat.

Then he inhaled.

Deep.

Like he couldn’t help it.

Like your scent was driving him insane.

His grip tightened on your jaw.

“Fuck,” he muttered, barely audible.

And then his eyes snapped back to yours.

Full of rage.

Full of hunger.

Full of obsession.

“You’re a problem,” he whispered.

Your lips parted, breath shaky.

“Then stay away from me,” you whispered back.

Jungkook smiled.

A slow, dark smile.

“I can’t.”

Then he released you abruptly and yanked you down the stairs again.

“This way,” he ordered.

And you followed—because you had no choice.

Because the house above was under attack.

Because your life was being hunted.

And because the most dangerous man in this mansion…

Was the one holding your wrist.

One (full length) Welcome Home, Little Prey.

BTS OT7 x Reader | Dark Romance | Mafia AU

The Jeon estate didn’t feel like a home.

It felt like a museum built for monsters.

Marble floors that reflected your face back at you like a stranger. Gold-framed portraits lining the hallway—men in suits, men with dead eyes, men with power carved into their posture. Chandeliers dripping with crystals that glittered like they were mocking the idea of warmth.

Even the air smelled expensive.

Polished wood, luxury perfume, and something faintly metallic… like the ghost of violence soaked into the walls.

Your suitcase felt heavier than it should’ve. Not because it was full, but because it was all you had left.

Your mother stood beside you, dressed in cream like she was trying to look pure enough to be forgiven. Her hand trembled when she touched your shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, too softly.

It wasn’t okay.

Nothing about this was okay.

A month ago, you were still standing over your father’s courtroom seat, watching him get dragged away like a criminal animal. His face was bruised. His eyes were empty. You didn’t even know if he looked at you because he felt guilty or because he didn’t care anymore.

He’d betrayed the wrong man.

Benjamin Rossi.

A name spoken in whispers.

A mafia boss who didn’t just kill people—he erased them.

Your father had stolen from him. Taken money, weapons, information. And then tried to disappear.

Now he was behind bars.

And you and your mother were left as the price.

Protection, they called it.

A marriage contract dressed up as romance.

Your mother had met Jeon Kangtae at a charity event. A man too handsome, too calm, too polished to be real. He offered her safety. Offered her a way out.

But safety didn’t feel like this.

This felt like being sold.

The front doors shut behind you with a heavy, final thud.

The sound echoed through the mansion like a lock clicking into place.

Your chest tightened.

And then…

Footsteps.

Not the soft kind.

Not the kind belonging to maids or servants.

These footsteps were slow. Deliberate.

Like whoever was approaching didn’t rush for anyone.

You looked up.

A grand staircase curved above you like a throne’s path.

And standing there—

Seven men.

Seven shadows shaped into something dangerously human.

They were lined at the top of the stairs, not welcoming you.

Judging you.

The first one you noticed was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black like it was his natural skin. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp enough to slice.

Kim Namjoon.

The eldest.

He looked like the type of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to ruin someone’s life.

Beside him stood another—handsome in a way that felt unfair. His lips were curved into a smile, but it didn’t feel friendly.

Kim Seokjin.

He leaned against the railing like he belonged there, like this house was built for him.

Next was a man with pale skin and tired eyes, his posture lazy but his stare heavy.

Min Yoongi.

He looked at you like you were already exhausting him.

The fourth one smiled.

Bright. Beautiful. Almost charming.

But something about his grin made your stomach twist, like he enjoyed games that ended in screams.

Jung Hoseok.

The fifth was breathtaking.

There was no other word.

His face was delicate, almost angelic, but his eyes were not. His gaze traced you from head to toe like he was memorizing where you’d bruise first.

Park Jimin.

The sixth man tilted his head slightly, hair falling into his eyes. His expression was amused—like he’d been waiting for this moment.

Kim Taehyung.

And the last one…

He stood one step behind the others.

Not because he was shy.

Because he didn’t need to stand at the front to be dangerous.

He was younger. Dark-eyed. Sharp-jawed. His presence felt like a storm locked behind a calm face.

When his gaze landed on you, your skin prickled.

Like your body recognized a predator before your mind could.

Jeon Jungkook.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t blink.

He stared at you like you were something he’d already decided he hated.

And then he started walking down the stairs.

One step at a time.

Slow.

Unhurried.

Your mother shifted beside you nervously.

Jeon Kangtae stepped forward, placing a hand on her waist like she belonged to him already.

“My sons,” he said smoothly, voice rich with authority. “This is Elle. And her daughter.”

His hand tightened around your mother possessively.

“And this,” he continued, “is your new family.”

Your stomach churned at the word.

Family.

Namjoon didn’t react. Jin’s smile widened. Yoongi’s eyes narrowed like he was already annoyed. Hoseok looked amused. Jimin’s lips parted slightly, as if tasting the moment. Taehyung’s eyes gleamed with quiet curiosity.

And Jungkook…

He reached the bottom step.

Now he was only a few feet away.

Close enough for you to see the small scar near his eyebrow. Close enough to see the way his eyes darkened as he looked at you.

Not your face.

Not your eyes.

Your throat.

Your wrists.

The way you held your suitcase too tight.

And then he inhaled.

It was subtle.

Barely noticeable.

But you saw it.

His nostrils flared faintly.

His chest rose.

And his gaze sharpened like something inside him snapped awake.

He stepped closer.

Too close.

Your heart slammed.

Your instinct screamed to step back, but pride rooted you to the floor.

Jungkook leaned forward slightly—not touching, not yet, but invading your space like it was his right.

And then his voice dropped.

Soft.

Dangerous.

“So,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours, “this is her.”

His tone made your skin crawl.

Like you weren’t a person.

Like you were a new toy brought into the house.

Jeon Kangtae smiled.

“Yes. She’ll be staying with us from now on.”

Jungkook’s gaze flickered briefly to your mother.

Then back to you.

“Lucky us,” Jin said lightly, descending the stairs with slow elegance. He walked past you like you were furniture, then turned and offered your mother a charming smile.

“Welcome, stepmother.”

Your mother stiffened, forcing a polite nod.

“Thank you… Jin.”

He tilted his head. “You can call me Seokjin. We’re family now, after all.”

His voice was sweet.

But his eyes weren’t.

Namjoon descended next, hands in his pockets, calm as a man attending a business meeting instead of welcoming strangers into his home.

“Rules,” he said simply, stopping near you.

One word.

Cold.

Your father—no, your stepfather—sighed as if he’d expected this.

“Namjoon.”

Namjoon’s gaze didn’t shift.

“In this house,” Namjoon continued, voice even, “we don’t like surprises.”

His eyes settled on you.

“So don’t become one.”

Your throat tightened.

You swallowed, forcing your voice to work. “I don’t want to be here.”

A beat of silence.

Then Yoongi laughed quietly.

It wasn’t a happy laugh.

It was the kind that came from disbelief.

“You think we want you here?” Yoongi muttered, walking down the stairs like he couldn’t be bothered.

He stopped beside Jungkook, eyes half-lidded.

“You’re here because your mother wanted money and protection.”

Your mother flinched like she’d been slapped.

“Yoongi,” Jeon Kangtae warned, voice sharpening.

But Yoongi didn’t care.

He shrugged. “Just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

Hoseok descended next, still smiling, still warm.

But the closer he got, the more you realized his warmth was a mask.

He stopped in front of you and leaned slightly, peering at your face like he was inspecting a bruise.

“Pretty,” he said softly.

Your stomach dropped.

His eyes sparkled.

“But pretty things break easy.”

Your fingers tightened around your suitcase handle until your knuckles turned white.

Jimin came down next, graceful and quiet, like a cat.

He stopped on your other side, so close his shoulder nearly brushed yours.

You could smell his cologne—sweet and expensive.

He smiled.

And it made you uneasy because it wasn’t cruel.

It was almost… delighted.

“You look like you bite,” he said softly.

Then he leaned closer, voice lowering into something intimate.

“I hope you do.”

Heat crept up your neck, but it wasn’t embarrassment.

It was anger.

Taehyung followed, hands in his pockets, his expression thoughtful like he was trying to decide whether you were interesting enough to keep alive.

He stopped in front of you.

His gaze was slow.

Heavy.

He looked at your suitcase.

Then your shoes.

Then your face.

“You’re smaller than I expected,” he murmured.

You narrowed your eyes. “Excuse me?”

Taehyung’s smile deepened.

“Oh,” he said, voice smooth, “you do bite.”

He turned away like he’d already grown bored.

And then Jungkook spoke again.

“You’re going to stay on the third floor,” he said, voice casual.

Jeon Kangtae frowned. “That’s not—”

“It is,” Jungkook cut in.

Your stepfather’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like being challenged.

But Jungkook didn’t look at him.

He looked at you.

“The third floor is ours,” Jungkook continued. “And if she’s family now…”

His eyes flickered down your body again.

Slow.

Possessive.

“…then she stays where we can see her.”

Your lungs forgot how to breathe.

Your mother stepped forward quickly. “I’d prefer if she stayed closer to me—”

Jungkook’s gaze snapped to her.

It was the first time his expression changed.

His eyes darkened.

His voice stayed calm, but the threat underneath it was unmistakable.

“You don’t get to prefer anything.”

Silence dropped like a guillotine.

Jeon Kangtae’s hand tightened on your mother’s waist.

Then he chuckled, as if this was amusing.

“Jungkook,” he said lightly, “be polite.”

Jungkook’s smile was sharp.

“I am being polite.”

Then his gaze returned to you.

And you felt it.

That sickening certainty.

That he wasn’t just angry.

He was fixated.

Like something about you offended him.

Like something about you tempted him.

You hated the way his eyes lingered on your throat again.

Like he could smell you.

Like he could taste you.

Like you were something he wanted to ruin.

“Come,” Namjoon said abruptly.

A maid appeared as if summoned by fear itself.

“Take their bags,” Namjoon instructed.

You instinctively pulled your suitcase closer.

“No,” you said.

The maid froze.

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed.

“You’ll learn quickly,” he said, voice low, “that in this house, you don’t say no.”

Your pulse pounded.

But you lifted your chin anyway.

“I’m not your servant.”

Jin laughed again, soft and amused.

“Oh,” he said, “you’re going to be so fun.”

Jimin’s lips curved.

Yoongi muttered something under his breath.

Hoseok looked entertained.

Taehyung’s eyes glimmered like he’d just found a new favorite show.

And Jungkook—

Jungkook stepped closer.

So close you had to tilt your head slightly to look up at him.

He leaned down, his voice only for you now.

“You’re right,” he murmured.

You held his gaze, refusing to flinch.

He smiled.

“But you’re also wrong.”

His fingers brushed your suitcase handle.

Not gripping it.

Just touching it.

And that touch felt like a warning carved into your skin.

“You’re not our servant,” he whispered.

His eyes flicked to your lips.

Then back to your eyes.

“You’re our problem.”

He tugged the suitcase gently, forcing you to let go.

You resisted, but he was stronger.

And when the suitcase slipped from your grip, you felt it—

The first piece of control leaving you.

Jungkook handed it to the maid without looking away from you.

Then he straightened.

“Dinner is at eight,” Namjoon said, turning away.

“Don’t be late,” Yoongi added lazily.

“Wear something nice,” Jin said. “Or don’t. Either way, we’ll enjoy it.”

Your stomach turned.

Your mother grabbed your hand as the men started walking away, disappearing into the mansion like they owned the air itself.

Which they did.

Because they owned this house.

And now…

They owned you.

You were halfway up the stairs when Jungkook’s voice stopped you.

“Y/N.”

You froze.

No one had called you that in a long time.

Your mother used to say it when you were little. When you’d cry over scraped knees. When you’d hide from storms.

Hearing it now from his mouth felt wrong.

Dirty.

You turned slowly.

Jungkook was still standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching you.

His eyes were unreadable.

His voice softened.

But that only made it worse.

“Don’t forget,” he said, “you’re here because we let you be.”

Your nails dug into your palm.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you snapped.

Jungkook smiled.

“I know,” he said quietly.

Then he tilted his head, inhaling again like he couldn’t help it.

Like he was addicted already.

“And that’s what makes it so interesting.”

Your skin prickled.

Your mother pulled you upstairs, whispering frantic reassurance, but you barely heard her.

Because your mind was stuck on his eyes.

On his tone.

On the way he said your name like it belonged to him.

By the time you reached the third floor, the hallway stretched long and dim, lit by soft golden lamps.

It was quieter up here.

Too quiet.

The air felt different.

More private.

More dangerous.

The maid opened a door at the end of the hall.

“This is your room, miss,” she said quietly.

You stepped inside.

It was large.

Bigger than your old bedroom. Bigger than your entire old apartment.

A king-sized bed. Velvet curtains. A private bathroom. A balcony overlooking the estate grounds.

It should’ve felt like luxury.

Instead it felt like a gilded prison cell.

Because the door clicked shut behind you.

And then…

You heard another sound.

A door opening across the hall.

Slow footsteps.

Coming closer.

You turned toward the window, heart pounding.

Then you heard a knock.

Not polite.

Not hesitant.

A knock that sounded like someone already owned the room.

You didn’t answer.

The door opened anyway.

Jungkook stepped inside like he belonged there.

Like it was his room too.

His hands were in his pockets.

His expression calm.

But his eyes were darker now, like something had settled into him.

Something obsessive.

You took a step back instinctively.

“What are you doing?” you demanded.

Jungkook’s gaze flicked around your room.

Then back to you.

“I’m making sure you understand,” he said.

Your throat tightened. “Understand what?”

He walked closer.

Slow.

Unhurried.

The way predators stalk prey that can’t escape.

He stopped right in front of you.

You could smell him now.

Leather. Soap. Heat.

And something else—something feral underneath the surface.

He leaned down slightly.

Not touching you.

But close enough that his breath brushed your cheek.

“You’re not just in our house,” he murmured.

His eyes locked on yours.

“You’re in our territory.”

Your heart hammered so violently it hurt.

“And if you try to act like you belong…”

His gaze flickered down to your throat again.

Your pulse jumped.

His lips twitched, like he was amused by your fear.

“I’ll remind you,” he whispered.

“Every day.”

Your voice came out shakier than you wanted.

“Get out.”

Jungkook paused.

Then he smiled.

A slow, sharp curve of his mouth.

“Not yet,” he said softly.

And then his eyes darkened again.

“Not until I get bored of you.”

He turned toward the door.

But before leaving, he stopped.

Looked over his shoulder.

“And Y/N?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Yes?” you snapped, trying to sound brave.

Jungkook’s gaze raked over you one last time.

Then he spoke in a voice so quiet it felt like a secret meant only for your skin.

“You smell good.”

The words hit you like a slap.

You stood frozen as he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

And only when the silence returned did you realize the truth.

This wasn’t going to be a normal life.

This wasn’t going to be a normal family.

This was a war.

CHAPTER ONE (teaser)

Welcome Home, Little Prey.

The Jeon estate didn’t feel like a home.

It felt like a kingdom built on marble, gold, and quiet violence.

The kind of place where footsteps echoed too loudly, and every hallway felt like it had eyes.

You stood at the entrance, suitcase at your feet, your mother beside you in a cream dress that didn’t match the grief still lingering on her skin.

Elle Castlemaine looked like she belonged here.

You didn’t.

Your gaze flickered over the grand staircase, the chandelier above, the polished floors reflecting your silhouette like a stranger.

Then the front doors shut behind you.

The sound was final.

A seal.

A sentence.

Your mother exhaled shakily. “It’s okay,” she whispered, as if saying it would make it true.

But your throat felt tight.

Because you already knew this wasn’t okay.

Not when your father was imprisoned.

Not when your family name was being hunted by Rossi’s men.

Not when the only reason you were here was because your mother had married a man powerful enough to keep you alive.

A man whose wealth was rumored to come from dealings that weren’t legal.

A man who didn’t look at you like a father.

He looked at you like an obligation.

Then you heard it.

Footsteps.

Slow. Heavy.

Descending.

And when you turned, your blood went cold.

Seven men.

Seven shadows carved into human form.

They stood at the top of the staircase like gods watching something crawl into their temple.

The first one you recognized was Namjoon.

Tall. Broad. Expression unreadable.

His gaze landed on you like he was measuring how much trouble you’d be.

Beside him, Jin leaned lazily against the railing, lips curled into a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Yoongi looked bored—until his eyes narrowed slightly, like you were an annoyance he hadn’t asked for.

Hoseok smiled warmly.

But it was the kind of warmth that felt fake, like sunlight before a storm.

Jimin tilted his head, studying you like you were something delicate he wanted to crush.

Taehyung looked amused.

Like he already knew exactly how you would break.

And then there was the last one.

The one standing just a step behind the rest.

Black hair. Dark eyes.

A sharp jaw.

A presence that felt too intense for someone so young.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t blink.

He stared at you like you were a problem.

Like you were prey.

Your stomach tightened when his gaze dropped briefly to your lips.

Then your throat.

Then your hands.

And then he inhaled.

A subtle breath.

But you noticed.

Because his eyes changed.

Just slightly.

Like he’d tasted something in the air.

Something that belonged to you.

Your scent.

And the look he gave you after that?

It wasn’t hatred anymore.

It was something darker.

Something hungry.

Your stepbrother’s voice cut through the silence.

“So,” he said, slowly walking down the stairs, “this is her.”

He stopped in front of you.

Close enough that you could smell him—clean soap, expensive cologne, and something dangerous underneath.

He leaned forward slightly.

Not enough to touch.

But enough to invade.

You stiffened.

His gaze locked onto yours.

And his voice dropped into something almost soft.

Almost intimate.

“Welcome home,” he murmured.

Then he smiled.

Not kindly.

Not warmly.

But like a threat.

BTS OT7 x Reader | Dark Romance | Mafia AU

PROLOGUE

Family is everything… until it becomes a cage.

I always knew my father was a cold-hearted bastard.

The kind of man who didn’t flinch at blood.

The kind who smiled at funerals.

The kind who could bury his wife and still smell like expensive cologne and power.

But the moment he brought her into our home—barely a month after my mother’s death—something feral woke inside me.

A rage so violent it didn’t feel human.

Elle Castlemaine.

A woman with soft hands, polished nails, and eyes that pretended innocence while standing beside my father like she belonged there.

And her daughter.

You.

You walked through the front doors of the Jeon estate like a ghost—quiet, pale, holding a small suitcase like it was the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

You didn’t cry.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Not when my father introduced you.

Not when the maids whispered.

Not when the chandeliers reflected off your eyes like shards of glass.

You just stood there, stiff, controlled, as if you’d already accepted the fact that your life was over.

And maybe it was.

Because everyone in Seoul knew the truth.

Your father had betrayed Benjamin Rossi, the Stidda Mafia boss.

He stole money.

He stole weapons.

He stole secrets.

And now he was rotting behind bars while you and your mother were dragged into my father’s home like trophies.

Protection.

That’s what my father called it.

A deal.

A marriage.

A convenient way to keep Rossi from slaughtering you both.

But I didn’t care about your ruined family.

I didn’t care that your father was a criminal.

Didn’t care that you’d lost your home.

Didn’t care that your life was being hunted like prey.

All I cared about was the sound that haunted the halls at night.

The moans coming from my father’s bedroom.

Soft.

Feminine.

Wrong.

And I hated you for it.

Even though it wasn’t you making those sounds.

It was your mother.

Still, when my father slipped a diamond ring onto Elle Castlemaine’s finger—

You became mine.

Mine to glare at across dinner tables.

Mine to make uncomfortable.

Mine to remind that you didn’t belong here.

Because you weren’t family.

You were an intruder.

A stain.

A replacement.

And I wasn’t the only one who thought so.

My brothers did too.

Kim Namjoon, the eldest, the quiet storm.

Kim Seokjin, who smiled like a knife.

Min Yoongi, cold-eyed and cruel in silence.

Jung Hoseok, whose laughter could turn into something dark.

Park Jimin, beautiful and dangerous.

Kim Taehyung, unpredictable, amused by suffering.

And me.

Jeon Jungkook.

The youngest, but the most vicious when it came to what belonged to us.

You became our favorite obsession.

Our sick game.

Our entertainment.

Because watching you try to survive in our house?

It was addictive.

Watching you pretend you didn’t flinch when we walked too close?

Even better.

But then something worse happened.

Something I didn’t expect.

I started noticing you.

Your voice.

Your stubborn pride.

Your eyes that held fire even when your hands trembled.

And your scent.

God.

Your scent was a curse.

Warm and soft, like something forbidden.

Like something meant to be held down into the sheets and ruined until it forgot how to resist.

I hated you.

I hated you so much it hurt.

But the more I hated you…

The more my body betrayed me.

The more my thoughts circled you like a predator.

And the moment I realized I didn’t just want to break you—

I wanted to keep you—

I knew I was already doomed.

Because in this house, nothing stayed innocent.

Not for long.

SUMMARY: When you were children, Jungkook promised he would always walk you home. He kept that promise for years, until the night he left you at a bus stop and you never made it home.

WARNING(S): kidnappings and captivity, missing persons, abuse of authority, mentions of stalking, forced sedation, prolonged unconsciousness, bullying, grief, psychological manipulation, dissociation, memory loss, unreliable perception, implied danger to minors, near-death experiences, animal distress, and supernatural themes. Brief indications of sex but no actual sex scenes, OC is a living person whose consciousness is caught in a bardo-like state.

WORD COUNT:

PAIRING: Jungkook x ghost!Reader  

A/N: I can't recall where exactly I conjured such a concept, but if you've been following me since like 2012, then me writing about death is not unusual, lmfao. I hope you enjoy it <3

the therapy:

i need him so bad it hurts me