BTS FANFIC Writer

The crystal chandelier in the dining room, and the massive floor-to-ceiling bullet proof windows of the mansion's penthouse literally rattled and shook from the sheer volume of your laughter. Jimin sat across from you, his expensive tailored black suit jacket draped over the back of his chair. He had just finished telling you about a tense, high-stakes meeting with his main rival, Ivanov, that had gone completely off the rails by your reaction. You were the only person he could vent to and find sanctury in.

The Joke and the Spurt of Wine

Jimin had leaned forward, his dark eyes sparkling with a rare, mischievous smitten glee as he delivered the punchline.

"Okay Okay, babe, so listen. So there we are, guns drawn under the table right, tension thick enough to cut with a knife," Jimin said, deadpan.

"Ivanov tries to make this big, terrifying power move. He stands up, glares at me, and screams, 'I will bury you under the foundations of your own empire!'

"But right as he slams his hands on the table to look intimidating, his custom-tailored trousers split completely down the middle. A loud RIP echoed through the silent room. And the kicker? The feared Russian mob boss was wearing bright pink, fluffy Hello Kitty boxers. He looked down, turned the color of a tomato, and tried to shuffle out of the room sideways like a broken crab while his bodyguards tried to cover his backside with their briefcases, but what he didn't notice was that from the back of his head, he was bald as his wig was hanging and jiggling as he ran."

You had just taken a large sip of expensive red wine.

The image of a terrifying rival mob boss shuffling sideways in Hello Kitty boxers hit you so hard that your brain short-circuited. A violent, uncontrollable burst of laughter exploded from your chest.

PFFFFFT!

A literal geyser of dark red wine sprayed directly out of your mouth, covering the front of Jimin’s expensive crisp white dress shirt and splashing right on his handsome, sculpted face. You instantly started choking on air, your chest heaving as you tried to breathe and laugh at the same time due to the residual wine entering the wrong pipe.

Jimin sat frozen. Drops of expensive Merlot dripped from his chin and eyelashes. At first, his mafia instincts sparked—no one alive sprayed the Don and lived. But as he looked at your face, his dark eyes widened, and a slow, helpless grin and cackle broke through the red stains on his skin.

You couldn't stop wheezing and cackling. You leaned over the table, your hand coming down on his arm, hitting it continuously and hard with a frantic smack-smack-smack as you cackled. Tears started streaming down your face, ruining your makeup. Your face turned a bright, dark pink. The laughter shortly morphed into a high-pitched, desperate wheeze—sounding like a deflating balloon or a broken squeaky toy.

"I can't, man!" you screamed-wheezed, and coughed, slapping his arm again. "This is so fucking stupid! How the fuck did you even control your laughter then?! Your mafia world is so FUCKING stupid!" You cackled wildly, gasping for oxygen. "AHHHH! I’m actually gonna pee my pants!"

Jimin’s reaction to your laugh was instant. He loved your laugh more than anything, but this absolute, unhinged, wheezing crackhead energy was taking him out. Hearing you call his dangerous, bloody underworld "stupid" made him snort.

You abruptly stood up from your seat, unable to process the hilarity of his story. You began walking back and forth across the dining room floor, looking down at the carpet, giggling frantically. As you paced back and forth, you continuously waved your index finger left and right in front of your face—the universal "no" gesture—as if your brain literally could not process the absurdity of pink fluffies on a Russian hitman along with visualizing his jiggling wig hanging from the back of his head as he ran out.

Jimin watched you pace with intense amusement and love, his head turning like he was watching a tennis match. Your finger-waving made him burst into a loud, melodic laugh of his own. He loved how completely unbothered you were by his status, reacting to his deadly business like it was a comedic reality TV show.

Suddenly, you lost all remaining strength. The picture you were denying yourself to visualize suddenly came across your mind. You stumbled to the side and leaned heavily against the professionally sculpted dining room wall for support, sliding down it slightly.

"HOOOLY SHIT..... OOOOOOOO... OHOHOHOHOHOH!" you yelled at the top of your lungs, shaking your head, your whole body vibrating with cackles. "Man, I ACTUALLY PEED A LITTLE I'M NOT Gown LIE!"

That did it. Jimin lost it completely. For the next hour, neither of you could calm down. The dining room became a zone of pure, hysterical chaos. Jimin was cackling so hard his eyes turned into tiny crescent moons, his head thrown back.

He picked up his wine glass to try and calm his throat, but you suddenly stopped pacing. Your face went entirely, deadpan serious. You locked eyes with him and did a highly professional, dramatic mimic of Ivanov. You stood up straight, puffed out your chest, glared at him with a fake, deep Russian accent, and said, "I will bury you!"—and then you realistically mimicked the loud RIP sound effect while doing a sideways crab shuffle.

Jimin wasn't prepared, being caught completely off guard by your talent. He took a gulp of wine right at that exact second.

SPFF-T!

Jimin accidentally spit his wine directly into your face.

You didn't even break character. Covered in wine, your serious face stayed on as you mimicked the bodyguard frantically trying to block the pink boxers with a napkin. Seeing your wet, serious face, Jimin choked and spit even more wine at you. The comedy chain reaction took over. For the next ten minutes, you both kept mixing up the situation back and forth, mimicking different parts of the story, causing a ridiculous loop where you were both constantly spitting wine at each other’s faces. The expensive mahogany table and the white rug became a disgusting, sticky red mess.

The sheer physical exhaustion of laughing, choking, coughing, and swallowing wine the wrong way caught up to your stomach. Your eyes went wide. You turned around and ran at full speed toward the hallway bathroom.

Jimin, realizing you were actually sick from laughing too hard, scrambled up from his chair, his shoes slipping slightly on the spilled wine. "Princess?! BABE!" he called out, his laughter instantly turning into genuine concern and morphing into intense boyfriend panic as he chased after you.

You burst into the bathroom, dropped to your knees, and vomited into the toilet. But even as it happened, the absurdity of the Hello Kitty boxers flashed in your mind again. You frantically hit the flusher, clearing the bowl just a split second before Jimin burst through the door.

You looked up from the toilet floor, still coughing and laughing, wiping your mouth.

After cleaning up, the storm finally passed. The house was quiet again, save for the faint sound of the dripping dining room table. You were sitting on the bathroom counter, and Jimin was standing between your knees, gently wiping the remaining red stains from your cheeks with a warm, damp towel.

You stared at him. The laughter was gone, replaced by a gaze filled with overwhelming, raw love. You smiled up at him, your eyes crinkling.

Jimin stopped wiping. He stared back at you, looking completely confused by your sudden shift from a wild, chaotic goblin to a soft, adoring partner. His eyebrows knitted together. "What?" he asked softly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

The confusion on his face was the funniest yet the cutest thing you had ever seen. A fresh wave of tears hit your eyes, and you burst into a mix of confused yet raw emotion of crying and laughing. You threw your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in his wet shirt.

"I love you so much," you sobbed-laughed, squeezing him tightly. "I love this moment so much. I want you to tell me more stories like this. I want to have more funny crackhead moments with you. You're the absolute best, Jimin. You're my future husband, one my best ever friend... I love you so much that I don't ever want to lose you. If I lost you, I’d kill my own self. I'd take my own life, I swear it."

Jimin froze entirely. The heavy, dark weight of your final words hit him like a physical blow. The absolute certainty in your voice when you called him your future husband sent a profound thrill through his chest, but the mention of you taking your own life made his heart squeeze with an intense, protective panic.

His eyes grew visibly teary. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands gripping your waist with an almost bruising intensity.

"Don't ever say that," he whispered, his voice thick with raw emotion, a tear finally escaping and cutting through the faint wine stains on his cheek. "Don't ever talk about leaving this world. You are my life now. My future wife."

He leaned in and kissed you passionately, his lips hot and desperate, tasting of sweet red wine and intense devotion. He pulled away for a fraction of a second to mutter fierce, loving words against your lips. "I won't let anything happen to me, and I will never let you go, nae sarang (my love). You're mine."

They say that when you experience an extreme, unhinged amount of happiness and laughter, the universe demands a balance-the "evil eye"

The next morning, the universe collected its debt.

You woke up feeling like you had been run over by a freight train. The sheer physical toll of cackling, screaming, choking, waving your body around, throwing up, and tensing your core for over an hour had triggered an incredibly intense, serious side effect: severe, acute abdominal muscle spasms and costochondritis (inflammation of the cartilage that connects your ribs to your breastbone).

Every time you tried to take a breath, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through your chest and stomach, making you gasp in agony. Your core muscles were so deeply strained from the violent laughing fit that you literally could not sit up or lift your arms without crying out in real pain.

Jimin who's arms were tightly hooked onto your body frame as your big spoon, and who has buried his face into your neck from last night's sleep, woke up instantly to your groans. Seeing you clutching your chest in genuine distress, his mafia boss persona returned in full force. He immediately called his private, on-call underworld medics, convinced that the rival mob had somehow poisoned you through the wine.

When the elite doctor arrived at the mansion, rushing into the bedroom with medical kits, he thoroughly examined you while Jimin paced the room, looking ready to murder someone.

After a tense few minutes, the doctor turned to Jimin with a deeply confused expression. "Sir... there is no poison. Her ribs and abdominal walls are severely strained and inflamed. It looks like the physical trauma of an intense, prolonged muscle contraction."

Jimin blinked, his dangerous aura fading. "A muscle contraction from what?"

You groaned from the bed, holding a pillow tightly against your aching chest. "From the Hello Kitty boxers, Jimin..."

Jimin closed his eyes, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose as a small, reluctant smirk crawled back onto his face. He dismissed the doctor, walked over to the bed, and gently climbed in beside you, pulling you carefully against his chest to keep you warm and still throughout the day, babying and spoiling you.

Part 1: The Tactical Glam Assault

The vanity room is dead silent except for the aggressive click-clack of plastic containers opening. The air is thick, smelling heavily of premium setting spray, loose body glitter, strawberry lip gloss, and expensive vanilla perfume and high-end makeup products.

Park Jimin—the most feared, highly ranked mafia boss in the global underground network—is currently trapped in your vanity chair. He is staring at his reflection with a look that could kill a man at fifty paces. His jaw is locked, looking completely deadpan, as if he is trying to set his own reflection on fire with his mind. However, he couldn't really refuse you, as you were the one he loved more than life itself and more than himself. Your puppy eyes softened his heart instantly before asking him to do the challenge.

You, however, are completely unbothered by your dangerous boyfriend. You slap a fresh set of extra-long, neon-pink coffin acrylics onto the glass table with a loud clack.

"If anyone enters this room, you will be helping me burying them by midnight," Jimin mutters. His voice is a low, gravelly rasp. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, his dark, intricate sleeve tattoos flexing under his rolled-up shirt.

"Oh, hush. Shut up. Sit still," you laugh hysterically, shaking your phone in his face to show the recording light is already blinking. "The world needs to see the real you, Jimin-ah. You are a DIVAA a BADDIE."

"What is that? No. Absolutely not," Jimin growls, flinching away as you approach with a heavy tub of translucent setting powder and a massive, fluffy brush to set the full coverage matte foundation.

"It’s baking powder, Jimin. We need to lock in the canvas."

"I am a grown man. I run Asia's largest syndicate. I do not bake unless it involves cross-border smuggling," he hisses. Yet, he begrudgingly tilts his chin up anyway looking at you with grump yet pleading eyes.

You aggressively pack a mountain of white powder under his eyes. "Relax your face! You’re frowning so hard the concealer is creasing!"

"This brush feels like a tiny weapon," he grumbles, a cloud of translucent powder flying into his nose. He lets out a sharp sneeze, followed by a dark curse word in Korean. "And why is my left eye sticky? What did you put on it? Is this industrial glue? If my eyelid gets stuck together, I’m burning down the entire mall where you bought this trash."

"It’s glitter primer, you big ass baby. Now shut up and hold still for the eyeliner. I'm drawing this sharp wing."

You lean in close, pulling his eyelid taut to execute a sharp, lethal bold wing that could cut glass. Jimin’s breath is hot against your wrist. His hands grip the edges of the vanity chair and so hard his knuckles turn white.

"If you poke my eyeball out, your little Instagram account is getting permanently deleted by my cyber unit," he threatens. But his body remains completely frozen, so you don't mess up. He is low-key scared of the eyeliner.

Once the eyes are a masterpiece of hot pinks and blinding shimmers, making it look like he got a professional makeover, you grab his hand—the same hand that handles heavy machinery and signs multi-million-dollar underground contracts—and start gluing down the neon fake nails.

Jimin stares at his fingers in pure, unadulterated horror. "How the FUCK am I supposed to load a magazine with these? Look at this! I can't even pick up a pen! I look ridiculous. I am going to lose all my street cred because of a dollar-store plastic nail."

"It's a luxury set, you dumbo, now stop complaining!" you giggle, filing the edges down.

Before he can protest, you begin forcing the jewelry onto him. You grab heavy, chunky chrome rings and forcefully shove them over his new acrylics, ignoring his sharp groans. Next, you clip massive, swinging dangling diamond earrings onto his earlobes. To top it off, you layer three thick, heavy pearl necklaces directly over his collarbone with shiny pearly bracelets.

"You look like a wealthy cartel widow," you wheeze, snapping the last necklace shut. "Perfect."

Jimin was checking out his reflection, slightly impressed at your makeup skills.

Finally, you hand him the outfit: a tiny, micro-ribbed black crop top, a pleated plaid micro-skirt, and a pair of towering, five-inch patent leather platform heels.

Jimin looks at the tiny pieces of fabric, then at you, then back to the clothes. Sighing deeply, he said in deep a voice which turned you on "I would rather go to federal prison. Call the FBI. I'm turning myself in."

Part 2: Channeling His Inner Girly Pop

Ten minutes later, the transformation is complete.

Jimin wobbles out of the bathroom on the five-inch heels. He looks incredibly top-heavy but surprisingly stable and like a model, thanks to his flawless core strength.

The crop top completely exposes his toned eight-pack abs, lethal torso tattoos, with his bulky build, sharply contrasting wildly with the flawless heavy makeup, pink glittery eyeshadow blend, bright pink lipstick, the heavy pearls, and the neon nails.

You hit record on your phone, already hyperventilating with laughter behind the screen. "Okay, Jimin! Give the camera a little taste! Channel your inner Brentman Rock. BE A BADDIE BESTIE"

Something inside Park Jimin snaps. His brain short-circuits. Maybe it's the security of the five-layer setting spray intoxicating his lungs, or maybe it's the sheer adrenaline of looking this fabulous which he would never admit to you, but suddenly, his entire posture shifts. He hated every second of this but if he was going to do this, he wanted to give it his ALL, as he was a perfectionist. He drops his menacing shoulders, cocks his head violently to the side, and puts a hand heavily on his hip.

He lets out a massive, dramatic gasp that is pure Bretman Rock energy.

CLAP!

He slaps his hands together violently, the loud smack of the acrylic nails echoing off the walls.

"Okay, period! BITCHHH Because wait a damn minute!" Jimin screams. His voice jumps an entire octave into a flawless, sassy, high-energy girly pop register. He rolls his eyes so far back they almost disappear into his eyelids. "Bitch! Do you see the material?! Do you see the layout?! LIKE...."

You let out a loud, wheezing scream of laughter from behind the phone. "Oh my god, yes!" you shout.

Jimin struts forward, completely abandoning his slow, terrifying mafia walk. He aggressively whips his hand through the air, fanning his face with his fresh neon-pink acrylics, making loud clicking noises with his tongue, while sassing his body like a Instagram baddie.

"Listen, Linda! The broke ass girls are shaking! The boys are crying! I am literally the blueprint—visually, historically, emotionally, sexually, and spiritually, BITCH!" He gets right up into the camera lens, tilting his face to show off the makeup and snapping his fingers while clapping his hands in front of his face and posing with his hip pointed outward. "Look at this wing! It's giving lethal weapon! It's giving ate and left absolutely no crumbs! Its giving baddie, It's giving serving-face-down-to-the-ground, period ahh, period UHHH! SLAYYY puRRR"

He stops, pokes his tongue out sharply to the side while making a loud, wet "Pfft-cheee!" sound, and winks so hard his diamond earrings jangle against his jawline.

"Give us a catwalk, boss!" you egg him on, tears streaming down your face, your shoulders shaking so hard the camera status light is blurry.

"Oh, you want the runway? You want the absolute high-fashion, paid-in-full experience? Watch and learn, you peasant!"

Jimin turns on his heel with a dramatic hair flip—even though his hair is short. His hips sway like a clock pendulum. He walks a flawless straight line across the rug like a runway model, pauses, and suddenly drops into an incredibly low, bouncy, athletic squat. He pops his jaw to the side and aggressively slaps his acrylics against his thighs.

CLACK! CLACK!

"Purr! Slay! Real baddie hours!" he yells into the lens from his squat position, pointing a long pink nail right at the camera. "Don't play with me! Do not play with her! Because if you come for the queen, you best not miss, bitch! I will literally check your bank account, see it's completely empty, and laugh straight in your soul! Ah, ha ha! What's tea?! What is actually the tea right now?!"

He stands up in one smooth motion, fans his neck dramatically, and lets out a loud, vibrating sassy sound. "Chileee, formatting!"

He forces you to participate, pointing an acrylic nail directly at your face behind the phone. "Say it! Say 'You look good, diva!' Say it right now or you're sleeping on the couch!"

"You... you look good, diva!" you choke out through your tears, completely losing your breath, laughing so hard no sound even comes out anymore.

"I know, bitch!" Jimin screams back in his consistent high pitched girly pop voice he's been doing for the past few minutes, turning around to give the camera a view of the micro-skirt with flexing his ass. He does a dramatic, aggressive arm gesture that cuts through the air like a fan dance. "I'm sweating! This crop top is cutting off my circulation, but the body is bodying! The waist is cinched! The face is beat! You could never, BITCH, never! Period!" * He aggressively snapped his fingers, posed, and turned his back to cat walk and disappear back into the walk-in closet.

Part 3: The Instagram Drop and Global Chaos

You immediately upload the video to Instagram with the caption: Meet the new Mafia. 💅🔥 #MafiaMakeover #GirlyPopJimin #BaddieEnergy #PeriodAhh #Slayyy #GirlyPOPEnergy #GivingBestie #Sexymafiaboss #ParkJimin

Within three minutes, the internet completely imploded. The video circulated across everyone's phones and gained over 250 million views in 5 minutes after posting.

The comment section turned into an absolute war zone of confused underworld citizens, terrified gang rivals, and screaming international celebrities. Several of his own BTS gang members responded. and Jimin commented on your post

[@parkjimin_mafia_boss]: I would like to officially announce that I was forced into this situation by emotional manipulation, excessive glitter, and a person who said "trust me, you’ll look amazing."

[@v_taehyung]: OH MY GOD ??? Jimin-ah, the heels? The blend on the crease? I’m screaming, you actually ate this up. Please don't execute me for saying this but you look gorgeous bestie 😭💀

[@agustd_min]: I am officially stepping down as second-in-command of the syndicate. I cannot associate with a man who uses the phrase "period ahh" while wearing a plaid skirt. Delete this before the European cartel sees it. We have a reputation.

[@rkive_namjoon]: I have a peace treaty meeting with the Tokyo syndicate in an hour and their boss just texted me asking why our supreme leader is doing a high-fashion squat on my feed. How do I explain this. Please advise. I am losing my mind.

[@bretmanrock]: 👁️👄👁️ Wait because why did he actually hit that squat perfectly though??? The nails are tea! Let me come down to the compound and show him how to really do a lip liner! Slay bitch !!! I wanna do a collab!! HIT ME UPP BESTIEE🔥🔥🔥

[@cardi]: NOT THE PINK COFFIN NAILS 😭😭😭 track id on the heels immediately because the arch is crazy !! He ready for the club or the shootout? Yes look !!

[@lilnasx]: I opened this app expecting a normal day. Instead I witnessed a mafia boss discover his inner beauty influencer. The internet was not prepared. Neither was I. BUT SLAYYY BESTIEE WELCOME TO THE COMMUNITYYY

[@mafia_tracker_weekly]: Is this a tactical psychological warfare strategy? Is he trying to confuse his enemies into submission? Because honestly, it's working. I'm terrified but I cannot look away. He looks amazing.

[@user983274]: Imagine trying to extort someone and Park Jimin rolls up smelling like vanilla perfume, slaps his hands together, and says "Listen bitch, your debt is overdue, period!" 💀💀💀 I would pay immediately.