#btswriterscafe

Chapter 7 'Non-negotiable'

Your first stage back after your week stuck in the trenches of your bedroom was, in a word, fine. You made a little change working the floor, warming up your joints, giving as many flirty smiles as you could manage.

You were dressed in mesh pink bodysuit and your most intimidating pair of heels, body glitter shimmering across every visible expanse of your skin and your hair up in a pretty, curly up-do. You weren’t doing any private dances so you didn’t have to worry about sending any of the guys home with a lap full of Fenty Body Lava smeared over their creased work slacks. 

Your regulars slide money into the seam of your bra, sleazy looks that last a beat too long, sly comments about not seeing you for a while and knowing why you were off - wanting to see you in the throes of heat and really show you how an alpha hunts its prey.

All things you’ve heard before so their words don’t even make you flinch. In fact, it almost makes you laugh. Pathetic losers who can’t satisfy anyone, so they pay girls and boys to take their clothes off while simultaneously judging them for their lifestyles and jobs. 

You don’t even take a step out of the dressing rooms before you feel someone’s grip on your arm, unyielding, and you are pulled face-first into a buff, broad chest.

“I missed you,” Jungkook murmurs into your neck, careful to not nuzzle your scent-glands but definitely scenting you chest-to-chest. “You still smell so good.”

“Jungkook?”

He pulls back a little, staring down at you with his chocolate brown eyes. Jungkook’s tail is swishing behind him, excitedly, and he’s wearing a grey t-shirt, tight around his chest and  biceps. The sight of his almost makes you start whining. He asks, brows pulling together, “Who else, Pretty? You expected my hyung or something?”

“No, just surprised,” you reply, hooking your arms tighter around his neck and pulling him into a warm embrace. “It’s the first time you’ve told me you missed me.”

“Really?” Jungkook seems genuinely surprised if his small pout says anything. “I always miss you.”

“Come up,” he says, gripping your hand in his larger one. His hand is warm, warmer than the average person, and strong - it grounds you. “Jimin-hyung wants to see you too. And… We’ve got a friend.”

You raise a brow, putting up a bit of resistance. “What do you mean a friend?”

He glances back at you, surprised. “My hyung. Another member of my pack. I wanted… I wanted to introduce you.”

You repeat, stunned, “To your pack?”

He bows his shoulders in a little, making himself a touch smaller, less intimidating, he hopes, before he nods, shyly. “Is that okay?”

You look around, a little dubiously, before you question, “I mean… Is this the right place for that?”

He tilts his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t think I look too much like a whore to meet your family right now?” you inquire, glibly, a touch of amusement in your voice. You mean it as a joke, a bit self-deprecating, to take the pressure off but it seems to have the opposite effect.

His expression stiffens before it grows incomparably dark. “What did you say?”

“That’s what they’ll call me when I leave,” you tell him, gently. You don’t notice how his eyes flash in rage, too busy trying not to look him in the eye, as you whisper, quieter, “They always do.”

“Who?”

You look back at him, taken aback by how harsh his tone is, and ask, “What?”

“Who calls you those names?”

“Clients. People who see us leave the club, on the bus or subway,” you respond. “I’m a stripper, Jungkook. I take my clothes off for money and I watch how they look at me. They take me apart on stage. I can smell what they want to do to me. It’s disgusting.”

He seems lost in his thoughts for a moment before he asks, “Do I… Have I ever made you feel that way?”

“Like what?”

He repeats, somewhat afraid, “Disgusted?”

“No,” you answer, honestly, reaching up to touch his face. His expression softens slightly, as if your words pulled a weight off his shoulders. “You’re very sweet. And you pay for my time.”

“I’m not always sweet,” he responds, pushing his face further into your hand. His eyes close automatically and your stomach swoops at the sight. It was far too romantic, too intimate, so you try to pull away but he doesn’t let you go. In fact, he growls a little when you try. “Don’t.”

“You’re always sweet to me,” you correct. “That’s all that matters.”

“Come,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles before pulling you up to their lounge. You learned that nobody but a select few people were even allowed to go up there. They even hired external cleaners who worked separately from the rest of the club. You hadn’t ever seen anything illegal happen when you had been in the lounge but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen when you weren’t around. “He’s pretty excited to meet you.”

“Who is it?”

“Joonie-hyung,” he explains. “Jimin’s husband and our owner.”

“Jimin’s actually married?”

“It’s the thing he’s the proudest of,” he informs you. “They got married in the Maldives.”

“I thought he was lying,” you admit, trailing behind the tall wolf-hybrid.

“Nah, Joonie-hyung loves him more than anything,” he tells you, strangely proud.

He opens the door for you, gesturing for you to walk inside first. Jimin is sat in another man’s lap, caressing his jaw and staring down, lovingly into his eyes. The stranger’s hair is short and dark brown, parted at the side, and he’s wearing a fitted, red suit with a black turtleneck underneath it. He’s handsome, with a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose. He doesn’t smell like alpha, or even beta, so you’re a little confused.

“Joonie’s human,” Jungkook whispers into your ear, making you shiver.

At the sound of his voice, Jimin glances up and sensually slides out of the stranger’s lap. “Kookie, you should’ve knocked. We could’ve been occupied.”

“It’s not like it’d be the first time I’ve seen your pale ass doing shit that haunts my nightmares,” Jungkook retorts.

“Kookie?”

“Nickname,” he informs you, ears burning embarrassedly. He sees the look on your face, he nudges you, playfully, and warns, “Don’t you start.”

“So this is the elusive YN,” the other man says, circling an arm around Jimin’s trim waist. Jungkook leads you further into the room and you feel so unbelievably exposed to the elements and their eyes. You wish you had thrown something over your shoulders, the cool temperature of the lounge making your nipples harden slightly. “Nice to finally put a face to the name. I’m Namjoon, but my boys call me Joonie.”

“H-Hi,” you reply, awkwardly reaching for the extended hand he holds out for you. “Nice to meet you too.”

He smiles, dimples deep and eyes light. He smells like cologne,  a woodsy and strong scent that makes you dizzy. You’ve always been a sucker for smells but you don’t usually interact with humans in a close way. Not the adults, anyway.

The adults’ questions were always too invasive for your liking.

Many human kids liked to come to your reading circle because they thought your ears and tails were cute. They liked to touch them sometimes, even though they were often told not to because some hybrids appendages were sensitive or needed careful maintenance to keep them smooth and shiny.

The adults, though. They always had this strange look in their eyes, like they couldn’t decide if they pitied you or if they envied you, if they lusted for you or if they wanted to study you.  It always set you on edge and so you tried not to interact with adult humans outside of your workplace for longer than necessary.

“YN, how do you feel?” Jimin asks, brow slightly pinched. “Your heat just finished. Do you feel tired or anything?”

At the mention of your heat, Jungkook stiffens, slightly.

“Three days ago,” you correct. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t allowed back at the club because of my scent.”

“You still smell good to me,” Jimin murmurs, eyes trailing down your body. “Right, Kookie?”

The wolf nods, vehemently, sidling a touch closer to you - close enough that his tails swishes behind you to pat, gently, against the back of your thighs.

“Maybe you should go home,” Jimin suggests, a little close to a pester. 

“I’m fine,” you retort, stiffly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I came here to work.”

He nods. “We were watching.”

Namjoon compliments, lightly, “Jungkook couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

Jungkook’s tail swishes more aggressively, the patting almost nudging you over, as his cheeks pink. “Hyung, please.”

Namjoon smirks a little at the youngest’s behavior. “Kookie. Get YN a drink, please?”

“Oh, I don’t usually drink anything when I’m working,” you tell him, politely. Namjoon tilts his head slightly to the side before sharing a look with Jimin.

“You aren’t working anymore,” Jimin replies, simply. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and taps away. “If you still don’t want to drink, that’s okay. But, you have the rest of the night off. Bill me whatever you want.”

Jimin hands you his phone and the screen is open to a mobile payment app. You see your name and bank information under ‘recent payments’ and you glance up at him.

“What if I sent myself a million dollars?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think they’d authorize such a big payment. And YN… Not to be an asshole, but I don’t think you’d know how to spend a million dollars, let alone what do with it in your account.”

“Prick,” you hiss but tap away double what Jungkook would have given you in bills for his sassiness.

He shoots a playful wink your way before turning back to one of the expensive couches once you hand him back his cellphone. You blink up at Namjoon before you nod, feebly. You tell Jungkook, quietly, “Gin and tonic. Please.”

“Classic girl,” Namjoon remarks. “Me too.”

“Whiskey on the rocks,” Jimin calls from the couch. Namjoon moves over to his husband to sit beside him. “Kookie likes tequila sunrises.”

Namjoon declares, “Taehyung and Hobi-hyung like Baileys.”

“Yoongi-hyung doesn’t drink anything but flavored soju,” Jungkook continues, shifting the mixed liquid into a shaker. He shakes it over his shoulder, biceps moving sturdily, and mentions, “Those are the other members of our pack. You’ll meet them another time.”

“Really?”

He nods, excitedly, tail swishing in excitement. Jungkook shoots a glance your way, shy, before he turns back to the glasses in front of him, pouring the liquid out into the ice-filled cups, “One day soon. They’re interested in meeting you too.”

“You talk about me enough for that?”

Jungkook half-shrugs. “I like talking about you. With them. They’re my family and you’re important to me.”

“That’s… a lot,” you admit, awkwardly taking the two glasses from him. He nods towards Namjoon and you go over to take his drink and place it in front of him. He observes you, intently for a moment before giving you a grateful smile. You miss the intense look between Jimin and his husband as you retreat. You take orders so well. You walk back to the wolf as he makes Jimin’s drink and you ask, “Jungkook, what’s going on here?”

He glances down at you, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do you want me to do for all this? Introducing me to my boss, to his husband, the rest of your pack? This is all a lot,” you say to him. He bites down on his bottom lip, upset painting itself across his handsome face. “Do you want something from me? Is this some kind of a… proposition? A group-sex thing or something else? I just don’t understand.”

He takes a deep breath, eyes moving somewhere above your head. “Why can’t I just be into you?”

Jungkook hoists you up so you are sitting atop the bar, nudging himself between your legs and pressing his nose against your chest. He takes in a deep breath of your scent as he asks, voice low, “Why can’t I just really fucking like you, YN?”

“It can’t be that simple,” you reply, heart pounding in your chest. His hands move from where they are bracketing you in place to your knees, trailing up your bare thighs to rest on your hips, thumb swiping across your skin, making you shiver. “Jungkook…”

“Don’t you feel anything for me?”

“I-“

You feel eyes on your back but you are too shy to turn around. Jimin and Namjoon must be glaring holes into your back for making their pack-mate feel so distraught, but you just can’t accept this for what it is.

He can’t like you this much - you’re a stripper, a random sex worker that he feels pity for.

Eventually, his attentions will move somewhere else and you can’t afford to rely on his word alone because the only one left on the ass-end will be you.

“I think you’re special,” you admit. “I just can’t trust in what you’re saying.”

He looks up at you before he takes another deep breath and drops to his knees.

An alpha on his knees in front of an omega that isn’t even his.

It doesn’t compute in your head.

“What are you-”

“I want you, YN,” he says in a harsh whisper. “I want you so badly that it burns. My entire pack wants to have you with us. I wasn’t going to say this yet, because I know it’s scary and overwhelming, but I wanted to- I just wanted to… Fuck, I want to have you bo-”

A silent alarm goes off, the lights in the corner flashing an obnoxious white that sets Jungkook’s spine ram-rod stiff.

“Cops,” a voice calls over a walkie-talkie that you never noticed. You look over just as Namjoon grabs it and hooks it to his waistband and something black catches your eye.

Was that a gun?

In a second, Jungkook has tugged you off the bar and rushes you over to the other two.

Does Namjoon have a fucking gun?

“Get YN in the panic room,” Jimin says, pulling up what had appeared to be an innocuous light-switch and tapping in a code. The wall that hadn’t seemed even a touch out of place shifts mechanically and to your surprise, it opens up like a door leading to a smaller room attached to the side of the building. Jimin looks out of the window overseeing the panicked crowd to see a crew of cops dressed for a raid. “Shit. Hurry.”

The walkie-talkie sounds off again. “They’ve got a search-and-seizure warrant. They’re closing us down tonight. Sorry, boss.”

Jimin grabs the walkie-talkie from Namjoon’s waist and curses, “You’ll only be sorry if they find anything, limp-dick.”

Namjoon stops in front of Jimin just as the shorter man nudges at his chest and holds out his hand. Jimin reluctantly puts something in it, a plastic baggie from what you could see, before the human kisses his hybrid deeply on the lips. He mutters against the other man’s mouth, eyes all dreamy and enamored, “I love you.”

Jimin nods, rubbing the taller man’s jaw equally as tenderly, “Love you more, handsome.”

The wall closes behind you before you can even whisper out so much as a peep and the room is bathed in dim light. The room isn’t nearly as extensively-decorated as the lounge, but it is comfortable with nude carpet, a wall of TVs linked to CCTV across the club and showing the outside (front and back doors), and even a stocked fridge and cupboards. There has to be a heater somewhere because the temperature didn’t change by much and Jungkook drops in the corner of the sofa, still not letting go of your hand.

Namjoon asks, not a hair out of place and perfectly calm, “Do you want to finish your drink?”

“Are you insane?”

Namjoon stares at you, a pensive look on his face before he murmurs, “I don’t think so.”

You ask, genuinely dumb-founded by his relaxed behavior, “You’re being raided by armed police and you’re asking me if I want to finish my drink?”

He nods, taking a short sip of his gin and tonic. He says, over your head, “Kookie, you always know how to make it just right. YN, you really should try it. He’s got gifted hands.”

Namjoon’s last words were filled with implication if his rapidly raising brows said anything.

You ask, brow furrowing, “Aren’t you worried about Jimin?”

Namjoon almost laughs around another mouthful of his drink. He responds, easily, “Not at all. My honey can take care of himself with a hand tied behind his back. He’ll be fine.”

“But-”

Jungkook tugs you into the sofa and locks you at his side. He unties your heels, holding your ankles gently as he frees your toes. He gently massages your feet with powerful hands, making your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. Jungkook says, comfortingly, into your ear, “Hyung knows what he’s doing.”

You look over at the human in the room and question, part of you not wanting to have your suspicions confirmed, “What are they looking for?”

Namjoon glances your way from the armchair opposite you, one ankle draped over his knee, and he shrugs. “Probably drugs.”

“You have drugs here?”

Namjoon cackles. “Not anymore, obviously.”

“But they wouldn’t be here without probably cause,” you suppose, frowning. “They wouldn’t have a warrant without it.”

Jungkook nods. “They’ll have one. But there won’t be any evidence. They have a hard-on for us, for our businesses. It’s always the same routine. They raid us, they don’t find anything, they leave after making a mess and we go about our day. It happens when we work in the business we work in.”

“And what business is that?”

Namjoon glances at you over the rim of his glass. “You sure you wanna know?”

He holds your eyes for a long moment before he raises a brow. “Well?”

You look away, turning to stare at the wallpaper, completely missing the look shared between the two men. Namjoon shakes his head, an aborted movement, and Jungkook’s shoulders drop slightly in disappointment.

You weren’t ready.

Namjoon says, “If you don’t want to drink yours, I’ll have it.”

You nod, tucking your feet under your butt and curling in on yourself.

Jungkook shucks off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulder. “You looked cold.”

His jacket is huge on you, practically swallowing you whole, and he snakes his hand under the jacket to grab your hand once more. The wolf asks, “Is this okay?”

Strangely needing the support, you nod, tentatively. He pulls you over to his side of the couch and tucks you under his arm. “Come here.”

You watch intently on the TVs as Jimin goes down the stairs to meet the cops, a carefree expression on his face. He doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. You can’t hear what’s being said but you are relatively proficient at reading body language and it seems the cops get more frustrated the longer that Jimin’s calm facade maintains.

One of the cops, a woman with a fluffy white tail, probably a spitz-hybrid, shoves Jimin aside to pass by him, which, for one moment, breaks Namjoon’s carefully put-together expression. His dark brows pull together as his lip curls in anger, and Jungkook whistles lowly.

“Well, that’s a wrap for her career,” he whispers to himself.

You look over at him, brow furrowing in curiosity.

Jungkook explains, just as quietly, “Joonie-hyung… really doesn’t like people touching Jimin.”

“I hate it,” Namjoon explains. “I hate people touching things that belong to me.” He looks over at you, then down at the way Jungkook is wrapped around you, then he amends, “Most of the time.”

“The police are gonna be here for a while,” Jungkook declares after a while. “You might as well get some sleep.”

“I won’t be able to sleep with you here,” you admit, awkwardly.

He frowns. “You’ve napped with me before, Pretty.”

“On accident,” you comment.

He huffs, then adjusts your body so you are lying with your head in his lap, petulantly tugging you in place. “Lay down and close your eyes.”

You do as he says, turning into his stomach so you are facing him, eyes directly in line with his hard stomach. He cards his hands through your hair once he takes out the pins in places, keeping your curls all fluffy and delicate. “You changed your hair.”

You nod, sleepily. As much as it annoyed you to admit, Jungkook did have magic hands and he put those bad boys to work.

“It’s so pretty,” he whispers into your ear, bowing over a little. His hair tickles at your neck from where he is nuzzling your skin, gently. “You’re always so fucking pretty, YN.”

His lips linger on your collar for a beat longer than he needed to.

You groan, quietly, “Jungkook…”

Jungkook pauses, exhaling against your gooseflesh, and he asks, his scent pumping out stronger at your whine, “Yeah, baby?”

You open your eyes to stare into his lust-blown orbs and you whisper, “I’m still sensitive…”

He bites his bottom lip, hard. “Really, baby? Where?”

Namjoon calls, firmly, “Kookie, not here.”

Jungkook freezes once more, shooting a look up at his owner before he exhales, frustrated but compliant. “Okay, hyung.”

That doesn’t ease the pressure that has built up in you and you try to secretly clench your thighs together under the jacket. Jungkook catches you, however, fingers sliding down the outside of your thigh from your hip and his digits still at the back of your knee.

He pauses there and you look up, alert.

Jungkook bites down on his lip again, raising his eyebrows in challenge before shooting a look at Namjoon’s back where he’s intently watching Jimin on the cameras, headphones over his ears.

You wonder if the place has been bugged or something.

You wonder if they’ve ever watched you from here, secretly. 

There are cameras in the changing rooms, obscured by the walls where the girls are supposed to change, but most of the dancers take their clothes off in the main room. You’ve done it before, too lazy to go into the bathrooms.

Shock, and strangely enough, a sliver of pleasure runs down your spine at the thought of them seeing parts of you that this job doesn’t always get to see.

Jungkook puts the index finger of his other hand to his lips as he nudges your knees apart with his dominant hand. He doesn’t have to do much, considering you’re barely wearing anything, pushing the material to the side easily and working a finger across the seam of you.

You inhale, sharply and close your eyes, hoping that Namjoon’s dull human senses wouldn’t have noticed the sound.

Jungkook removes his finger and pushes the digit into his mouth, eyes rolling into the back of his head at your taste. Now that he’s gotten your essence on his tongue, he wants to drown in it. His eyes flash to something darker, something more intimidating, before he can hide it. You rear back, your instincts telling you that you are in danger, but Jungkook ducks down to kiss you, hard, on the mouth before you can pull completely away.

“So fucking good,” he whispers before nudging his spit-slick finger inside of you again. Gently, so gently at first. It felt more like a probe, tentative but the thickness of his dexterous fingers was enough to make you tense. He mouths, eyes tender and amused, “You gotta relax, Pretty.”

He begins to corkscrew one digit into you, a gentle rhythm that keeps your hips undulating beneath the jacket, practically riding his fingers in time with each brush of his thumb against your clit.

Jungkook nods along with you, holding your eyes, as your breathing grows heavier.

“Good girl,” he whispers against your lips. He kisses you, still soft and warm, “You feel so soft inside. I wonder what you’d be like wrapped around my d-“

“Jungkook, when I said not here, did you think I was fucking around or something?”

Both of you still instantly, having completely tuned Namjoon out until the man was hovering over you. He wasn’t angry with you, not even looking your way, but still, the weight of something was pressing down against your neck. It might have been your instincts to submit being raised up from somewhere due to the natural deference that Jungkook and Jimin showed this human, but he was making you respond as if he were an alpha.

It didn’t make sense.

“Look at me, Kookie.”

Jungkook raises his head, irises blown out a little as lust still wrecks his head, and he whines, a purely apologetic sound that comes from in his chest. He had pulled his fingers out of you as soon as Namjoon had spoken, but he covered you as best he could with his body. Even now, he was defending you from his owner.

“I’m not going to do anything to her,” Namjoon says, gently. He cards a hand through Jungkook’s long hair. “Cover her up and don’t do it again. She’s only just finished her heat. God knows how sore she might be.”

“She wasn’t with anyone,” Jungkook says, a touch petulantly. He looks down at you, imploringly. “You weren’t, right? Hyung told me that he didn’t smell anyone at your place.”

Jimin shouldn’t have been able to be at your place. Not in person. You assume he was being hyperbolic, shaking off your suspicion.

“I wasn’t with anyone,” you respond.

Jungkook looks over at Namjoon and says, “See?”

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t sensitive or sore,” Namjoon pushes, swatting at Jungkook’s arms around you. “YN, I’ll get you something to wear. You must not be comfortable.”

“Thank you,” you reply. On-screen, Jimin catches your attention. You walk over to where the tabby-hybrid is making a show of insulting whichever police captain had just arrived on scene. It was obvious that the hybrid enjoyed watching the cops search aimlessly for whatever paraphernalia that they came for. You enquire, eyes never leaving the tabby-hybrid on the TV, “Jimin gave you something before we came in here. What was it?”

Namjoon looks over at you from one of the cupboards. He’s surprised you caught that, thinking you had been shocked by the surprise of the raid to pay attention to anything specific. Namjoon pulls out some sweats, way too big for your frame, but he still hands them over. “Yoongi is the closest to your size.”

You repeat, stepping into the pants, “What did he give you?”

Namjoon leans against a desk and says, lowly, “As much as I like you, that’s Jimin’s business. Not my place to say. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you.”

You look up at him, briefly sharing a loaded stare, before you glance away, back down at your feet poking out of the bottom of the sweats. You mutter, struggling to keep the pants on your hips, “These are still too big.”

Namjoon comes over, reaching down to handle the strings and he pulls them tight, purposefully pulling your body closer to his own until you are chest-to-chest.

You aren’t sure but you think he glances at your lips for a moment before he asks, mouth quirking into a small smirk, “Better?”

You nod, eyes fixed on the man’s charmingly lazy smile. His dimples were stunning. Namjoon continues, licking his lips, “Good. Put the hoodie on, too. I can’t keep looking at your tits without wanting something else.”

You prompt, surprised at his flagrant flirtation, “What about Jimin?”

“He wants to, too,” Namjoon explains with a casual shrug. “We share in our family.”

You look back at Jungkook, eyes wide as saucers, and he gives you a shy, small smile. “It’s complicated which is why I told you I had wanted to bring it up later.”

- end -

Now that you’d gotten a taste of what life outside your quarters in the manor could be like, you quickly grew restless in your room. You’d always been independent, after all, and being stuck inside with only your cat for company grew old fast. The vampires – at least the ones you’d met so far – seemed nice enough, and maybe if you played nice, they’d eventually let their guard down and agree to let you go back to the Guild.

With that goal in mind, you suddenly couldn’t wait to set your new plans into motion. You’d never really kept tabs on the boys and what they did when they were up since you were usually asleep at night, but you figured it couldn’t hurt to check it out tonight. You’d slept most of the day away, anyway, after coming back from the garden with Namjoon.

Come 11pm, you were standing in your nice walk-in closet getting dressed. You’d been caught in your pajamas by Namjoon this morning, but that was not going to happen again – if you were to be an ambassador, the manor was technically your place of work, and you could not be seen walking around in sleepwear. It was unprofessional, to say the least.

You pushed aside the little voice in your head informing you that you were being ridiculous, that there had never been an ambassador for the hunters and there was no reason to have one now, that your current title was a farce.

Strapping your hip holster on under your jacket and hiding your knives away in your boots, you gave Injeolmi one more round of scratches      behind his ears before you left your room. “All right…” you muttered to yourself, going back down the hallway to the stairs you’d found this morning. It didn’t take long for you to run into one of the vampires – Jungkook, the youngest one, had his head inside the massive fridge in the kitchen downstairs.

You hesitated to make your presence known, standing next to the wall, but he turned around to give you a friendly smile. “Hello Y/n-ssi,” he greeted you politely. “What are you doing here?”

“Good evening, Jungkook-ssi,” you responded with a bow. “I got bored hanging around my room, is all,” you said with an awkward shrug. If he noticed how weird you were being, he didn’t mention it.

“Well, it’s nice to see you,” he said, looking awkward as he slowly closed the fridge. He was still empty-handed when he withdrew, and you raised your brow at him.

“Didn’t you come to grab something from the fridge?” you asked, looking down at his hands.

“Oh, I… uh-” He fumbled awkwardly, flushing. You bit back the urge to pinch his cheeks or give him a cuddle. Get a grip, you ordered yourself. He was a vamp, not a dongsaeng from the Guild, even if he looked like it from his boyish demeanor and simple black clothing. There would be no casual affection, even if you could form a cordial working relationship with the other vampires in the compound.

As you chastised yourself, frowning slightly, Jungkook grew more uncomfortable, dithering in front of the fridge. Your appearance was definitely welcome, but he’d come down to grab a bag of blood after waking up, and now he didn’t know if you would be comfortable seeing him drink it. He still vividly remembered your reaction to the frozen blood bag Taehyung had given you, and didn’t much fancy staring down the barrel of a gun again. As he watched your face twist into a light scowl, he began panicking even more, wondering if he should just get out of here. He could smell the gunpowder on you and knew your gun was somewhere on your person.

Snapping back to attention as he began to fidget, you smiled at him. “You can grab the blood bag, you know,” you offered, figuring that was probably why he was there.

“Oh, uh, okay,” Jungkook responded meekly, opening the fridge again. From your vantage point, you could see neat stacks of blood, but the drawers at the bottom looked to be filled with fresh produce. He picked a bag from the pile and closed the fridge again, still looking unsure of yourself.

“Where do you get these?” you asked curiously, taking a closer look. They looked like they were hospital bags, now that you were paying attention.

“Uh… the blood drive center gives us the unusable or extra stuff,” Jungkook explained.

“Huh. That’s very… efficient,” you said with a raised brow, and Jungkook squeaked, wondering if you were mad. The noise was so adorable you smiled at him, though, and it made his dead heart squeeze.

“All right, go enjoy that,” you nodded at the blood bag he was holding. Jungkook wasn’t quite ready to leave your presence, but figured he might as well cut his losses and stop embarrassing himself in front of you, so he just nodded and bade you goodbye as he started to run back to his room.

“Wait, Jungkook-ssi?” you called as he started going up the stairs, and he paused, turning to see what you wanted. “Do you know who’s been cooking my food?”

“Ah, that’s Jin-hyung,” he told you before disappearing.

Jin, hmm? That was interesting, you thought. You didn’t know that vampires could cook, since it wasn’t like they were eating the food they made, and for the vampire you’d previously known to be stoic and kind of mean, if you were being honest, to be cooking all your meals every day, without any thanks…

Somehow that felt weird. Not bad weird, but it made you feel a little fuzzy inside, something that had previously only happened to you when Jennie came by with some extra treats she’d managed to smuggle off the streets during her patrols. Still thinking about it, you started going up the stairs, following the path Jungkook had taken. You hoped you wouldn’t get lost again.

Wandering down the empty halls, you could take your time absorbing your surroundings. This was a part of the manor that you’d never been to, and it was somber and quiet, without any of the windows that were part of the décor of the wing you were housed in. That made sense, you supposed, since based on your interactions with Namjoon earlier you knew that they were sensitive to the light.

As you were walking past one of the doors, it popped open unexpectedly, giving you the fright of your life. You screamed and whipped your gun out as you spun around to meet this new threat, coming face to face with Taehyung, who jumped when he heard you scream and quickly put his hands up.

“It’s just me! I’m not going to hurt you!” he cried, trying to look as un-intimidating as possible. A little hard for a vampire who towered over you, but his big eyes and guileless expression did make you feel a little better. Squinting suspiciously at him, you nonetheless lowered your gun but didn’t put it back in its holster.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” he offered, relaxing and putting his hands down.

You scoffed. “You didn’t frighten me,” you lied.

His lips twitched, trying to hold back a laugh at how cute you were, but he didn’t respond, instead falling into step with you. You didn’t recoil from him or tell him to leave you alone, which he took as a good sign. “What brings you to these parts of the manor?” he asked, trying to make conversation.

Glancing askance at him, you asked, “Am I not allowed?”

“Uhhh…” he backpedaled furiously. “N-no! Of course I didn’t mean that, I mean… you can go wherever you want to, it’s just…”

You couldn’t hold back your giggles anymore. “Relax, man, I’m just kidding,” you managed to get out. Now that you weren’t incapacitated in some way, you felt a little better around Taehyung. He seemed innocent enough, if you put aside the unfortunate way you’d first met him. Even though he was taller and broader than you, you got the sense – at least when he wasn’t charging at you – that he would never hurt a fly, which was strange considering      he was literally an apex predator.

“I heard Seokjin-ssi has been cooking my meals,” you said with forced casualness once you calmed down.

“Uhh, yeah,” Taehyung said carefully, watching you. He might crave your approval and attention, but Seokjin was still his brother, and he was a little cautious about where this was going.

“Is he around? I’d like to pay my compliments to the chef, as it were.”

Brightening up, he nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’ll take you to him!” When he strode ahead of you to show you the way, there was a bounce in his step and you shook your head almost fondly before catching yourself. Nonthreatening demeanor or not, he was still a vampire. There must be something in the water here, if it was making you feel this way towards vampires. What next? Wanting to sleep with them?

You let Taehyung chatter on, only half paying attention to him as he took you to Jin’s study. You were almost surprised when he stopped in front of an imposing double door. “Here he is,” he giggled before busting the doors wide open without so much as a knock.

Seokjin, who was sitting at his desk as usual, looked up with a scowl at the disturbance. He’d heard Taehyung’s voice approaching and knew that he would be dropping in, but that didn’t make it any less irritating. As much as he loved his younger brother, the man needed to learn about boundaries. “How many times have I told you-” he started ranting, before trailing off when he spotted you standing next to Taehyung.

“Oh,” was all his mouth could manage, and Taehyung smirked knowingly at him.

“Right, here he is! I’ll leave you to your very important discussion,” he fairly sang as he wandered back down the hallway he came from.

Seokjin shook his head at his brother’s antics, then turned his attention towards you. “Did you need anything?” he asked, trying for cordial but falling slightly short.

“Yes.” Undeterred by his unwelcoming demeanor, you entered the room, going to stand behind the chairs on the other side of his desk. “I heard that you’ve been cooking my meals.”

At your tone and the way your hands were still stuffed into your pockets, Seokjin stiffened, on high alert now. “Yes,” he said warily. “Is that a problem?”

Realising how confrontational you must look and sound right now, you quickly adjusted your posture, letting your hands relax by your sides. “I, um… just wanted to say thank you,” you said slightly unsurely, looking away awkwardly. Why was this so difficult? “They were really good.”

At your words, he brightened up. “Thank you, Y/n-ssi,” he said formally. “It’s my pleasure.”

Your eyes darted towards him, saw the almost tender expression he was wearing as he smiled at you, and immediately darted away again, a flush now stealing over your cheeks. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from cooing at how cute you were. “Is there anything else?” he prompted, because it didn’t look like you were going to leave.

“Uh, yes.” You gathered yourself enough to appear professional, clearing your throat and smoothing your hands over your jacket. “I wanted to know if there are official duties for me…? As ambassador…?”

“Yes, take a seat.” Seokjin took his glasses off – you hadn’t even known vampires could be shortsighted, how about that – and leaned back in his chair. “Since your primary role will be to improve the relations between hunters and vampires, I think it would be best for you start by cultivating good personal relationships with the vampires.”

Cultivating good personal relationships…? He just wanted you to make friends? You blinked at him, surprised. Somehow you’d thought your role would involve more actual… work. Still, you shrugged it off. You’d never been the diplomat, after all. Being a hunter was more like being the muscle of the operation.

“All right, and how do you suggest I do that?”

He smiled at you and leaned forward.

---------------------------------------------

It was five am, and you weren’t sure if this was a good idea. You stood in front of the mirror in your walk-in closet, clad in the one dress you owned. Injeolmi was seated on the padded chair – in the closet! – staring at you calmly. Clearly, he didn’t share your trepidation.

“What do you think, baby?” you asked, giving yourself a critical once-over. The dress was black and modest, and, in all honesty, before tonight you’d only worn it at funerals for fallen hunters.

He meowed at you, looking unimpressed, and you sighed. “Yeah, probably,” you conceded, but didn’t change. Instead you said bye to him – with a good dose of pets and ear scratches – and left the room for your dinner/breakfast with the vampires. Seokjin had told you that it would be a good way to get to know the others, and you’d agreed hesitantly.

You walked down the now-familiar path from your room down to the kitchen. The dining area was next to the kitchen, and as you came through the arched entryway, you paused for a moment. The six vampires you’d already met were all seated, and there was a strong smell of blood permeating the entire room. Wrinkling your nose, you steeled yourself. The metallic scent wasn’t something you were necessarily squeamish towards, but you did have certain negative associations with such a strong scent of blood. You swallowed hard, trying not to think of the last bloodbath you’d walked into that had smelled very similar, and entered the dining hall.

“Good morning,” you said, smiling politely as all of them rose out of their chairs. They echoed your greeting and you walked over to the only place that had an actual meal with table settings laid out. The rest of them had what looked like soup bowls full of blood in front of them, and you shuddered inwardly, but tried not to show your aversion on your face. Jin grinned at you proudly as you sat down, looking at the meal laid out in front of you. Today, he’d gone with a traditional Korean meal, with a soybean stew, steamed rice and a collection of side dishes laid out neatly.

“Thank you,” you said, smiling at him while trying not to take deep breaths. You could do this, you thought to yourself, clenching your hand into a fist on your lap. With the other hand, you picked up your chopsticks and levelled them against the table. “Please, dig in,” you invited as you picked up a piece of kimchi to put it in your mouth.

It seemed that, as with most things, you’d overestimated yourself. As you started eating, all of them started drinking the blood like they would soup, something you’d think was strange if you weren’t currently too busy sprinting to the garbage bin in the kitchen to empty your stomach. When they started stirring the blood, the smell had gotten even stronger and watching them slurp it down, you couldn’t stop seeing all the traumatic battles you’d been in, images of bodies torn up by vampires and your own fallen brothers and sisters playing on a loop in your mind that you couldn’t stop.

“Jesus, what-” One second you’d been digging in, and the next you were abruptly gone from the room, so quickly that all of them wondered, even though they knew it was impossible, if you were actually a vampire.

The answer to the question in all their minds became clear a moment later when the sounds of you gagging and retching reached them. The boys reacted immediately, springing out of their seats and dashing to the kitchen where you were currently bent over the bin.

“Oh, God, are you okay?” Jimin sprang to your aid, coming to stand beside you and helping you hold your hair away. Now that he was doing it, you released it and used your now free hand to brace against the bin.

“Jesus, hyung, what did you feed her?” Yoongi asked, his face screwed up in disgust.

Seokjin puffed up his chest angrily. “Yah, this isn’t my fault! It must have been because she saw your ugly face!”

Finally done, you staggered over to the sink and turned it on to start rinsing your mouth. “Sorry,” you mumbled. “That was really gross; I’ll take out the trash.”

“No, no, Jungkook is already taking care of it,” Jimin said, still stuck to your side. You turned slightly and saw that Jungkook was, indeed, already tying off the trash bag.

“Are you okay? Do you feel sick?” Taehyung asked, hovering nearby.

You shook your head, embarrassed by all the attention you were getting now. “No, it’s just the smell of blood…”

All of them blinked, clearly not following.

“Uh, when it’s too strong, it kind of reminds me of…” You trailed off awkwardly, not wanting to go into the gory details, mostly because you didn’t want to keep thinking about it.

They got it nonetheless, grimacing as they realized what had set you off. “Right…” Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck and the others similarly looked guilty. Looking around at them, you felt bad for ruining the dinner/breakfast. They looked like they’d tried real hard about it too, all dressed up nicely.

“Do you want to go back to your room to rest?” Jimin asked, holding on to your arm like he was worried you were going to topple right over if he let go.

“Uh, no, I’m fine,” you said, trying to shrug off his grip subtly. He noticed and let you go, but cast you a slightly wounded look that you ignored. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth, but I’ll be right back,” you promised.

Back in your room, Injeolmi cast you a judgmental look. “Stop it,” you muttered defensively. “It wasn’t my fault.”

--------------------------------------------------------

Despite the somewhat rocky start to your first official interaction with them, things did get better. They learned to use straws to suck the blood out of the blood bags like Capri Suns around you, which didn’t result in that overly strong blood scent that had set you off the first time, and you grew used to being around them. It wasn’t difficult to see, now that you were around them most of the time, that what you’d learned about vampires was incomplete at best.

After all, there was no way a soulless vampire like the ones you’d known in the past could make such delicious meals when he couldn’t even taste them, or be so utterly whipped for your cat. Being in the manor around the boys, you learned a lot, too – about yourself, and the world. Namjoon let you have free access to his library, and you’d never seen so many books in one place before. Unsurprisingly, reading wasn’t a common hobby among hunters, and the Head had never encouraged it either. Yoongi let you sit in the room and listen to him while he played the piano, and even taught you how to play simple nursery rhymes. The maknaes were always so welcoming – although to be honest, you weren’t sure if they were more interested in you or your cat. Jin made it clear that his study was always open to you, and was surprisingly easy to talk to once you got past his rather aloof exterior.

You quickly developed cordial friendships with the six of them, and Injeolmi adored that you now let him roam basically freely around the manor. There was just one thing you were curious about – every time you entered the main hall, you saw that painting of the vampires, but there were seven of them.

Namjoon looks around the gallery, still unable to comprehend what he's seeing.

Everywhere he looks, all he sees is his face staring back at him.

Countless of photos blown up to cover each and every wall. All of them are selling, not a single photo hasn't been bought and Namjoon can't believe it.

People have been introducing themselves to him all night. A few managers, a few model companies, and countless artists have given him their business cards. He takes them and shoves them in his back pocket, not doing a very good job of hiding how distracted he is.

No one seems to mind that he can't tear his eyes away from the photographs because everyone else can't keep their gazes from them either.

There are so many photos and so many moments captured that Namjoon can't even remember when a camera was pointed at him. Of course, he can tell which ones are the earlier ones back when he was still camera shy because there's a nervous look in his eyes that has been captured perfectly by the camera.

Captured perfectly by Jeongguk.

As Namjoon ventures even deeper into the gallery, he finds that the photos are taking on a different feeling now. There are soft touches and edges to the photographs, some taken at twilight, others at sunset and one at sunrise when Jeongguk dragged Namjoon out of bed and took him to a hill. The only downside to having a photographer as your roommate.

Getting up at the asscrack of dawn and having your face blown up to cover walls for the general public to view is probably another downside as well. But Namjoon can't be all that sure.

They say that a picture holds a thousand words, and with how many photos there are of Namjoon right now, he's pretty sure they'd be longer than his college thesis.

Jeongguk's saying a lot. Saying the same thing in different ways. Saying different things in the same way. It's chaos and it's not at the same time.

There's so much going on, but Namjoon knows. He knows what Jeongguk is saying with each and every photo.

It's the same thing Namjoon has been wanting to say for a while now and as he keeps walking, he keeps progressing into the photos, following the timeline.

Adoration is shining in his eyes whenever he finds a photo of himself staring into the camera. His dimples sink into his cheeks and there's just so much love in his expression that Namjoon could pretty much choke on the sweetness of it all.

It's love. It's love that paints every photo, love that pours out of Namjoon and when Namjoon finally finds Jeongguk, his roommate is surrounded by people singing praise to him. Jeongguk looks up to meet his gaze and Namjoon can tell that he's nervous, but he smiles at the elder anyway and Namjoon smiles back.

There's love between them and Namjoon intends to lay it all out on the table soon, but for now, right here at Jeongguk's debut on the art scene, he'll wait until they're alone again to press his lips to Jeongguk's and tell him just how much he loves him. Just as much as Jeongguk has shown him.

Namjoon turns to the photo at his left and stares at his profile. Jeongguk had often taken photos of him while he was studying and this one isn't all that different. Only the title makes Namjoon pause.

When Time Stood Still

Namjoon examines how he hunches over his books in the photo, nose practically buried in the pages with a highlighter in his hand. His face is cupped in his palm, looking focused, but Namjoon knows that on that particular day, Jeongguk had gotten laid off his job at the coffee shop and decided to throw himself completely into photography. At that precise moment then, Jeongguk had told him his plans as he fiddled with the camera in his hands and Namjoon hadn't even bothered to look up as he responded, didn't even need to think because he already knew what to say.

"I'll support you no matter what, Gukk. If anyone can do it, you can."

Jeongguk had set his camera down and kissed him not too soon after that and though they never spoke of it again, Namjoon knows he's ready to now.

Chapter 5: ‘Writhing’

YN’s POV

Pre-heat hits you like a bag of bricks to the forehead.

You weren’t allowed on the club’s premises until your heat had completely passed, so it gives you one day before it starts and two days on the tail-end for scent regulation. According to legal regulations for both predators and prey working nightlife and entertainment. Even patrons existing on either side of the speciation spectrum had to abide by these rules as evidence of rut and heat was too obvious to hide.

Some used scent-blockers to try and wiggle around the rules but it never ended up well for anyone involved. Gang rapes, pheromone-induced premature rut or heat, neurotoxin-sickness brought on by rapid-exposure to uncontrolled semiochemicals. All of it, well-documented and heavily-regulated by employers and social-workers alike.

By purposefully triggering another person’s heat or rut, you could end up being imprisoned for up to two years or fined an exorbitant amount of money that would make you regret even bothering.

Technically, working at the library wasn’t dangerous despite your heat coming in tomorrow, so you tried to go in for a couple of hours to help re-arrange the new kid’s fiction section that you had created for the pre-schoolers that came in every other day for an hour in the mornings, but your cramps got so bad that your manager sent you some with some herbal tea and a gentle pat on the back.

Your manager, Areum, was a Beta owl-hybrid, with wide eyes and thick glasses that make her look far more innocent than she actually was. Her partner and wife, Mina, was an Omega owl-hybrid that liked to make sweet treats in her spare time. You had a number of her Tupperware containers in your cupboards that you were due to give back a long while ago.

You take the subway because you can’t afford another cab this month and it takes you about an hour before you can breach the safety of your own home, smelling your comfort scents.

A guy on the train makes a rude gesture at you, two fingers spread and his tongue working between the digits, and it makes you recoil in disgust. He doesn’t seem to like the fact that you aren’t into it, and he flips you off before he gets off at his station.

The whole ordeal makes you feel even more weary.

Blearily, you grab your blanket from the couch and undress yourself on the way to your bed, tripping a little over your pant leg and tossing your dirty clothes somewhere off to the side. Your sensitive nose can’t stand the scent of outside on your clothes. It almost makes you want to burn them but you know how delusional that sounds.

You bang your hip on the bedside table and you curse, side throbbing and your head banging along with it.

Disorientated, you rifle through your drawers until you lay your hands on medicine for the headache and wrap yourself up in the sheets without a second’s thought.

It takes you a little while to drift off, the effects of the medication ebbing at the aches in your body slowly - it feels slower than usual - and seconds before you actually dissolve into the welcoming blanket of black that bleeds into your vision, you hear your phone ping from somewhere in your pile of clothes.

When you open your eyes, your room is pitch dark. The curtains are drawn open, but the only passing light you can see are the lights from the buildings across the way. You are too high up to be bothered by street lights, but you can hear the distant car driving across the highway your building was built near.

The reason you woke up wasn't due to the arbitrary sounds of life outside of your window.

No, what woke you from your near-dead slumber was the incessant sound of your phone ringing that had bled into your dreams. In your dream-turned-nightmare, the talking beetle that had been your companion for your mythical journey spontaneously turned into a gigantic, human-eating cellphone and chased you down the street until you jolted out of bed, sweating.

Blinking away your bleariness, you roll out of bed and move to your feet, but, much to your shock, your legs turn to jelly. You have to drag yourself across the room to rifle through the pile of clothes, grimacing every time another smell hit your nose. Asphalt, grit, smog, cigarette smoke, human smell, other hybrids - it was all foul enough to make you feel distressed.

You grab the phone and push it to your ears. “Hello?”

“YN, are you okay?”

You pause for a moment, confusion taking over your features. “Jimin?”

He enquires, somewhat impatient, “Are you okay?”

You push your fingers into your eyes when a sudden burst of light makes your headache feel nauseous. “No, I feel shitty.”

“Why?”

You grumble, “Heat.”

A beat.

Then, “You’re in heat now?”

He sounds testy.

You clarify, “Not exactly.”

He grills, “Are you… Are you alone?”

Your frown deepens as you query, “Why?”

Jimin commands, amusement leaking into his tone, “Just answer the question, Pretty.”

You grumble, “Only Jungkook calls me that.”

He retorts, silkily, “Exactly why I’m doing the same.”

You decide to drop it. It didn’t matter what he called you, not right now. The blistering headache that had felt like it was burning through your body mere moments ago seems to be lessening gradually the longer you talk with the man. “I’m alone.”

Jimin replies, “Good. Keep it that way.”

“Why?”

He replies, simply, “You don’t need anybody. Not anymore.”

He’s lucky that pre-heat only gave you headaches and body shivers. You didn’t get horny until day two or three of your heat, especially considering you were without a heat-partner. But, something about his tone was testing that theory.

“I’ll bring whoever I want into my bed,” you respond, pressing the button for loud speaker. Your stomach pangs in hunger and now that your headache isn’t as over-bearing, you finally feel it. You move to your feet, kicking past the clothes you dropped on the way, and into your small kitchen. “That’s got nothing to do with you. Boss.”

You tack the end word on purpose, to remind him of his position in your life. “We might have shared a fun night of conversation, Jimin, but don’t get that confused with anything else.”

He lets out a gruff sounds, annoyed but not angry, before he answers, “And Jungkook? What about him? You think he’ll be happy with you spending your heat under somebody else?”

You barely hold back a sardonic laugh. “You were the one to remind me of my place in Jungkook’s life. Or did you suddenly forget that?”

He goes quiet on the phone, so silent that you have to look at the screen to check if he’s still on the line, before he grits out, “I’m sorry. For saying that.”

“No, you aren’t,” you return, cracking another egg into the bowl. A stuffed omelette sounds like just the right. Your heat was making your mouth loose, ignoring the risk to your job in that moment to get the truth off your chest. You continue, “Alphas like you never are. You just say whatever, do whatever and everyone else just listens. You’re never sorry because you don’t feel like you have to be.”

“I could be a different kind of Alpha,” he bargains, always the charmer. “You don’t know that.”

“Our first encounter says otherwise,” you answer. “Jungkook’s impression was much better.”

“He’s not as nice as you think,” Jimin grumbles like an admonished kid. “You wouldn’t like him more than you like me if you knew.”

“He’s already told me how bad of a guy he is,” you respond. “It’s kind of like a broken record at this point.”

He asks, noting your distracted tone of voice, “Are you doing something?”

You respond, shoveling the cooked mushrooms into the one half of the still-cooking omelette, “Cooking.”

Jimin remarks, “It’s eleven at night.”

You respond, absently, “I’ve been asleep all day.”

He asks, attentively, “Where does it hurt?”

You respond, honestly. You rummage through the refrigerator for some hot sauce to go over the top, “Headache, mostly. I feel better now though.”

Jimin prompts, “Since you slept?”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see you, and you return, honestly, “Since we started talking.”

He acknowledges, and you hear the pride in his voice so clearly, as if he were standing right next to you, “I’ve heard that just by hearing an Alpha’s voice, sometimes the effects of heat can relax.”

You riposte, almost amusedly, “Oh really?”

He hums. “How about we try something next time?”

You suggest, annoyance leaking into your tone, “A sex thing?”

Jimin laughs, the sound bright and buoyant, before he teases, “Your mind’s in the gutter.”

Unable to help yourself, you palliate, defensively, “I am in heat.”

Jimin tuts gently before he says, “I just meant we spend a little time together. See if we’re compatible.”

You respond, with an eye roll, “So this is about sex?”

He takes a moment to mull over your words before he clarifies, “That’s something we could work out later.”

You bite on your bottom lip, the suggestion of mind-numbing, deeply-satisfying sex making a coil of tension grow in your lower stomach.

You shove another mouthful of omelet into your mouth to stop yourself from letting out the breathy whine that threatens to escape your throat, and you grumble, “Talking about this with me is a little improper right now. I’m not in the right headspace to make these kinds of decisions.”

Jimin says, simply, “That’s why we’ll talk about it later.”

You clear your throat and reply, “Look, I’m eating and talking to you is making me jumpy.”

He counters, easily, and you can just imagine him, sprawling out on the couch, spreading his legs apart to just occupy space, “Okay. If Jungkook or I call you over the next couple of days, can I ask you to just pick up?”

“Why?”

“Not being able to see you is hard for him,” Jimin explains. He pauses for a moment before he carries on, “He’s scheduled for a couple fights over the next week or so and he gets into these funny head-spaces where he can’t talk in full sentences or empathize with anyone about anything. So, I told him I’d check on you.”

“Jungkook doesn’t care about me,” you grumble around a mouthful of cheese, egg and mushrooms. “He’s got a hard-on for me. There’s a difference.”

He makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat and he mutters, “If only you knew how wrong you were about that, Pretty.”

Something in his voice almost sounded regretful, but you ignore it, chalking it up to your heat making you crave things that you need to lock up tight in your heart.

“I have to go,” you say, suddenly.

He demands, hurt, “What? Why?”

“I’m tired again,” you respond, quietly, looking down at the half-full plate of steaming food, and the lack of appetite that washes over you frustrates you deeply. “I just want to sleep.”

“O-Okay, Pretty. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promises. “Pick up when I do... Please.”

Quickly, you end the call and toss the phone into the sofa. You toss the food into the refrigerator, knowing your body well enough to know that the urge to eat has disappeared for at least another three hours and in that time you know you can catch a bit of sleep before your body was thrown into over-drive.

Jimin’s POV

Letting YN put the phone down was harder than he thought it would be. His instincts were growling at him to go and see you in person - just to make sure you were okay with his own two eyes. He’s almost confused as to why he cares so much, considering he isn’t the one who wants to claim you.

Or, at least, he doesn’t think he does.

Not like Jungkook does.

Jungkook’s been on your ass like white on rice since the day you ran into his chest at the club, all teary-eyed with a rabbiting heartbeat. The wolf excitedly came home to tell the rest of the boys about this pretty little gazelle that he couldn’t keep his eyes or hands off of, and that made him curious.

The others too.

Namjoon even had someone follow her at one point without Jungkook’s permission to make sure she wasn’t on the take or working with the cops. When he showed her picture to the rest of us, Hoseok almost jumped out of his skin with how fast he snatched it out of Joonie’s hand, eagerly explaining about how he knew about her.

The whole story about her friend working the blade and getting caught selling ass to a cop, then getting feisty with him and get popped in the mouth a couple times. YN came into a den of predators, an alpha-beta medley of pheromones that would have any prey skittish and crawling out of their skin, nervous but determined, and helped her friend home.

Hoseok found her unbearably cute, and brave, and he couldn’t stop himself from following her home. Hobi was a great tracker, his nose was better than any cop in his graduating class, and he found your apartment easily. He couldn’t enter, of course, with it being a prey-only complex.

But, he did sporadically park his car in the lot outside of your place or follow you home once he figured out you were working at the library, and then later at the strip club. He didn’t like it, thinking that it wasn’t a good place for you, thinking that it was dangerous, but he knows that it was only because he couldn’t go inside. He couldn’t risk you remembering his face, not when he hadn’t figured out how he wanted to approach you.

Hoseok surveilled voluntarily, never telling any of us about his pet project, but he did enjoy recounting all the times he got to see you in your element, much to Jungkook’s displeasure.

Hobi spent a whole lot of time gloating about how pretty you were, how kind you were even when eyes weren’t on you, how special you were, how brave you were, how sweet you smelled even on rainy days.

It was enough to bolster Jimin’s interest in you.

Jungkook was picky about things like this. It was his first time actually having someone catch his eye like this, so he wouldn’t let anyone come near you. Every time Jimin even mentioned coming into the club for a peek, Jungkook would start his posturing, tail swishing and a growl growing in his chest until Jimin eventually reneged.

Jungkook was technically higher up on their pack’s hierarchy than he was, although they never needed to enforce their dynamics at home. The only time they ever had to was during negotiations with other gangs to prove that there was a clear line of deference that ended with Namjoon, their leader.

Even though their home life wasn’t the same way, they needed to have the respect of the usually-traditional syndicates that they dealt with, otherwise they would be considered weak and would attract problems from other sadistic Alpha packs who thrived on violence and domination.

To do so, they had to show other people in their line of work that they had an unshakeable foundation built on deference and inflexible respect.

Although, they had mouth-pieces to work in their stead so they didn’t have to risk having their names and faces circulating. Men and women who, using their connections and endless streams of income, they had hoisted out of the dumpster and turned back into working, living human beings.

Men and women who they didn’t have to ask twice to do anything.

Men and women who owed them their lives, the very breath in their lungs.

Men and women who would die for them if they asked, falling on their sword without a moment’s hesitation.

As far as they knew, no law enforcement had their faces or real names, but a few members had a more public role.

Jimin, as the silent owner of a series of discotheques and strip clubs.

Jungkook, who was an under-ground fighter and wan involved with a couple of the big players pushing drugs out of his and some other gyms in the state. He didn’t just push drugs out of the gyms, obviously, but that was where he liked to prowl around the most.

Even Namjoon, whose official job was that of an international trader of foreign and exotic hybrids, meaning that he had to work closely with customs and even sometimes cops.

They knew our faces but have no idea just how deep the rabbit-hole goes. Never would they actually guess that the seven ‘menial players’ were the cruel and vengeful organization that left fear in the hearts of criminals and cops alike across the country.

Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung and Jin all made the rest of their substantial income and their illicit connections being knee-deep in the illegal.

So, when Jungkook ended up falling into a rut after taking one too many sniffs of your underwear in bed, Jimin took that opportunity to go around his order.

The tabby-cat walked into the strip club, smelling the sex and sin in the air, and immediately spotted you on the top of the pole, dressed in ostentatiously bright zebra-print with a charming, seductive smile on your face that was equal parts siren as it was endearing. He could see it - the pretty in you, the softness in you, the sexy in you.

Jimin was techincally the boss’ boss’ boss so while Rocky knew him by name, the others staff didn’t.

Just the way he liked it.

He got his favorite drink sent up to their private VVIP lounge (somewhere that only he and the other six could even access) and spent the next hour silently lusting after you. He watched you, observed your behavior so closely that it was concerning, and he sent photos of you in all kinds of positions to Jungkook for spank-bank material.

Jimin felt the cravings before he started to notice the changes in his body. Alcohol stopped doing it for him a long time ago, which is when his habit started. He could control himself, most of the time, but when he got antsy and needed to ground himself in Joonie’s scent (and Namjoon had been out of the fucking country for half a month scouting for omega predators on behalf of some perverted oil tycoon in Dubai so he was already pissed off and uncomfortable), sometimes he had to rely on other means of calming himself down.

Jimin couldn’t help it. When he saw you walk in in the reflection of the glass, he let out some of that frustration on you - innocent and adorable you - and had you on your knees in seconds. He didn’t really expect you to be able to withstand how strong his compulsion was, but he was surprised by how queasy you looked.

It made him feel guilty.

Which is an emotion he wasn’t accustomed to feeling, not even towards omegas. He liked them, any alpha would, but he didn’t feel sorry for the things he did to them, especially if it wasn’t his fault.

None of them felt feelings of guilt or regret. It had been long beaten out of them at the group home, or after many years of working knee-deep in murder, drugs and solicitation.

That should’ve been the first indication that you weren’t going to be a normal omega to him.

But, Jimin wasn’t always quick on the up-take.

- end - 

Chapter 7: ‘Integrity’

It doesn't take long to get back to their apartment - their safe space. You try to track it, keeping an eye on the turns left and right that they make, but it all gets too confusing in your brain after a while.

Initially, the car ride is filled with barely tolerable silence.

Jungkook was insistent on sitting next to you, despite the other two boys telling him it might not be the best idea. He hardheadedly refused to stray from your side, despite your icy expression and the stiff line of your shoulders, and the obvious disapproval of his brothers. You hardly get a word out before the shaggy-haired asshole with the intricate neck tattoo takes the wheel and Jimin hops in the passenger seat. The pink-haired bastard doesn’t waste a second before he tips an imaginary hat in the rear-view window when he catches your eye.

His lips curl up in a smug smirk and you snarl, “I should’ve taken your eye out when I had the chance.”

He blanches a little before locking eyes with Jungkook in the same mirror. Jimin grumbles, insolently, “I told you I wasn’t lying.”

Jungkook sits a touch closer to you, cautious as to not touch you too much, as if scared of setting you off somehow.

Good, you think. He shouldn’t want to get close to you.

Despite the impromptu hugging session you had found yourself in some minutes before the start of the drive, the boy seemed awfully… Well, shy. He couldn’t maintain eye contact for too long, eyes flitting down to his fingers, twisting them in his lap, and picking at his cuticles.

The driver glances back when he stops at a red light and reaches back to clasp his hand, gently. He chastises, softly, “Don’t do that, Kookie. You might start bleeding.”

Jungkook shoots a side-long glance your way, cheeks ruddy. He whines, brow puckering in embarrassment, “Hyung.”

The driver snorts before turning his attention back to the road. “Sorry, kiddo.” He glances over at Jimin and asks, “Pretty, you wanna listen to some music?”

Pretty?

“We’re in the middle of an active kidnapping and you want to put on a soundtrack?” Jimin asks, quirking a brow, very obviously amused. “Really, Taehyung?”

The other guy - Taehyung - shrugs, disinterestedly. “I was just askin’.”

“Of course I do,” Jimin responds, easily, shuffling through his playlist on his phone. A satisfied expression overtakes his face when he finds the song of his choice. He looks back over his shoulder, catching your eye, and says, “I hope you like Hot Girl Shit.”

You roll your eyes and turn your eyes back out of the window.

Megan Thee Stallion’s voice filters through the speakers, practically vibrating through your spinal cord with how loud it is. You try hard as you might to ignore the three other bodies in the vehicle. In fact, you close your eyes, hoping like hell you could just turn back the last twenty-four hours and never go back to that crappy coffee shop so you wouldn’t have ever had to meet the pink-haired fucker in the front seat.

Maybe then everything you had put together wouldn’t be falling apart so easily right in front of your eyes. Your flimsy house of cards was tumbling to the ground and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Alas, wishing alone did nothing to change the direness of your situation and that left you in a wretched mood.

A petulant part of you wants to kick the back of his seat but you were sat behind Taehyung and he seemed like more of a hard-ass than Jimin was, so you let the idea, no matter how pleasurable, go and slowly find yourself melting into the heated seats.

A brush of skin on yours sometime later has your eyes flashing open, suddenly painfully alert. You glance over to see Jungkook, seemingly exhausted, relaxed in the seat beside you. His eyes are closed and he is breathing slowly, but he’s holding your pinky finger as if it’s a lifeline.

Jimin asks, softly, “Is he sleeping already?”

You look over to find Jimin already looking at you, intently. You respond, tersely, “Guess so.”

Jimin gets this pinched look on his face and Taehyung mutters, shooting worried glances at the sleeping man beside you, “He’s been running on adrenaline alone for over an hour. I’m not surprised.”

You move your hand from his hold, putting it firmly in your lap, but it seems to trigger something like panic in Jungkook. He huffs, furrowed brow deepening as his lip curls. In his sleep, Jungkook gnaws at his bottom lip and stretches out, pushing his hips out, shifting to try and get comfortable.

“Hold his hand,” Jimin hisses, sharply.

You glare at him through the mirror, defiantly, ready for another argument, but to your surprise, he doesn’t look demanding or angry - only concerned for his friend.

“Please, YN,” he whispers, watching Jungkook start to twitch harder in his sleep.

You recognize the beginnings of a nightmare.

A small part of you pities him, he looks so uncomfortable and scared, but you step on it - the soft part of you that recognizes him as vulnerable and pitiable.

He’s your kidnapper, YN. Stop being so fucking weak.

You exhale, annoyed, but do as you are told, awkwardly nudging your hand back into his perimeter and you watch, slightly fascinated as Jungkook’s hand slowly searches for your own. His fingers brush yours, tentatively, before he encompasses your hand with his own and pulls it into his lap, making you nearly fall over in your seat. The crease of his forehead smooths out and his entire body relaxes, his head lolling back and his mouth falling open to let out barely-audible snores. Even though you are halfway leaning over the backseat, he seems more than comfortable, so you unenthusiastically shift until you are sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with the bulky, snoozing man.

Taehyung’s lips pull up in a small smile, and Jimin gives you a grateful look. He mouths, “Thank you” before turning back to face the front and he taps out the rhythm of the song against the hand-rest. Taehyung reaches over the console to grab his hand, drawing indiscernible shapes on the back of the pink-haired man's hand with his thumb.

Oh, you realize. They must be dating.

That makes sense.

You try not to stare but the sight of the lightly flushing pink-haired man and the intimidating pillar of misery sharing a moment of lovey-dovey, ooey-gooey romance doesn’t instinctively make your stomach turn.

Honestly, you have always found love relationships intriguing. Not in an envious way, you try to convince yourself. But instead, in a purely clinical, curious way. You watched romance movies often, people-watching at the library as couples sometimes come in to peruse the stacked walls, kissing in hidden corners of the bibliotheca, spending hours mutually lost in alternate worlds of fiction.

It always intrigued you, but you weren’t normal. Wishing for something so regular as a healthy love relationship was outside of your capacity. Nobody would understand all your quirks and idiosyncrasies - all of your traumas that made you so prickly, distant, and unapproachable. It was too much work. It was better if you just stayed alone with your imagination, with your movies and books.

You hear that the thought of love is better than the actual experience.

The car pulls into a private compound with high, expensive-looking buildings surrounded by patches of neatly clipped trees and playgrounds, pulling you out of your depressing reverie.

You already feel out of place but the two men in the front don’t even bat an eyelid at the luxury you were entering. The security guards bow respectfully as they permit access, neither eye finding yours in the backseat, but you don’t expect them to, taking into consideration the dark tint on the windows. You try to discern where you are, but nothing about your surroundings feels familiar, but why would it?

You are entering the upper echelon of Korean wealth and opulence.

They enter the underground car park and park in a private parking spot. The car to the right is a bulky black Jeep and the one to the left is one that you are sure you’ve seen on advertisements in passing - white, sleek, expensive, and totally out of your financial reach. You don’t even want to touch it as the door is opened.

Jimin gets out of the car and opens the door on your side. He makes some space for you to climb out and he says, when he notices your tentative expression, “Don’t worry. It’s mine. You won’t scratch it. Come on out.”

You gesture to where Jungkook has your hand in an even tighter hold than before and say, drily, “I would if I could.”

“Kookie,” Taehyung says, reaching back from the driver’s spot to tap the sleeping man’s knee. “Stop faking.”

One of his doe eyes cracks open and he flushes around his collar, clearly embarrassed over being called out. “Hyung.”

Stupefied, you ask, “You were faking this whole time?”

Jungkook goes quiet, letting go of your hand, albeit a touch reluctantly. “Not the whole time.”

You enquire, “When did you wake up?”

“When we pulled into the complex,” he admits, awkwardly. He tries to laugh, his bunny teeth peeking out, but he notices how unamused you seem to the smile slips from his face in an instant. He continues, more seriously, “The speed bumps always wake me up.”

“Oh my-”

Frustrated, you throw yourself out of the car and shove past an amused Jimin who is barely holding back his laughter.

You hiss, threateningly, “Quit laughing, dick-face.”

Jimin puts up both hands in surrender and comments, sarcastically, “Your word is my command, my Queen.”

Taehyung grabs you under the armpit, pulling you along towards the staircase.

Jimin complains, “Tae, it’s fifteen floors.”

“No cameras,” the other man retorts, simply. “Or, do you want the cops coming here?”

Jimin groans before he taps the elevator button and says, simply, “Ya’ll can walk. I’m taking the elevator.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes but he replies, good-naturedly. “Never a team player.”

Jungkook, who hasn’t taken his eyes off where Taehyung is touching you, jumps in. “I- I can walk her up, Hyung.”

“You can’t be trusted by yourself with her,” he retorts, easily. “She’ll just bat her eyelids and you’ll fold like a stack of cards.”

Taehyung gives him a long look over his shoulder as if daring him to deny his words but the other man just hangs his head and looks down at his hands.

“Exactly,” Taehyung says.

Jimin steps into the elevator once it pings and disappears, tossing a playful salute your way. You wish you could kick him in his stupid, smug face, but you have a feeling Taehyung would snatch you straight out of the air and toss you into the ceiling before you had a chance.

Taehyung opens the door and nudges you inside first, moving towards the staircase, but he is stopped by Jungkook grabbing your hand in a tentative grip. He holds your pinky and ring finger, tugging a touch insistently, but his eyes aren’t on you - they are on Taehyung.

“Let me hold her hand at least, Hyung,” Jungkook pleads, quietly. “Let go of her, okay?”

Taehyung shoots a glance down to where he is holding your arm before he promptly releases you.

“Go ahead, Kookie,” he responds, handing you over like a limp doll. He holds you for a moment, reclaiming your attention and he warns, seriously, “He can walk you up these stairs like a lady or I can knock you out and carry you like a sack of potatoes. Your choice.”

“Suck my dick,” you retort, lip curling in distaste.

Jungkook makes a noise of displeasure in the back of his throat but he pulls you to his side. “You shouldn’t provoke him like that.”

You glare at the taller man but say nothing, choosing instead to stomp by his side. He doesn’t struggle to keep up pace with you, which only pisses you off more, because of the three of you, it seems as if you were the only one who was having trouble with the stairs. And it only got worse the higher you got.

“I can carry you if you want,” Jungkook suggests, delicately. He moves to reach for you as if to offer you his back but you only feel yourself get angrier at him.

Where does he get off, treating you like you couldn’t take care of yourself?

Like you were weak?

It’s his fault you were in the situation in the first place.

You know while your anger is valid, it was definitely misplaced. But the look in his eye, that hopelessly adoring look, was too similar to something you only recognized in the eyes of the person who is the reason all of this bullshit in your life started and you got mad.

And, oh, you got so mad. Red bleeds into your vision and your body is moving without your permission.

Instinctively, you slap his hand away, the sound slashing through the air, loud enough to shock Taehyung who snaps his head to look back at you in surprise but you don’t lose your momentum. Instead, you glare up at him, fire burning in your eyes, and you spit, jabbing your finger in his direction, “I don’t need your fucking help. Don’t put your hands on me again.”

You stomp past Taehyung, who only watches you pass by, intrigued. Jungkook makes an aborted move to grab you but seems to think better of it.

You don’t know what you would have done if you felt his hands on your body for another moment.

Speedily, you reach the fifteenth floor, with Taehyung and a silent Jungkook hot on your heels and you rip the door open, rage pushing you ahead even though you know full-well that what awaits you is unlikely to be the definition of a ‘fun time’.

There is only one apartment on the floor, so you presume the door at the end of the corridor is theirs. Taehyung moves ahead of the two of you, tugging up the keypad and quickly tapped in the number. You couldn’t see what it was, his broad body hiding the password from your line of sight, but even if he hadn’t been standing directly in the way, you wouldn’t have been able to focus, considering the waves of awkward intensity rolling off Jungkook’s body as he hovers beside you.

You can feel his eyes on you, practically burning into the side of your face, and even from where he is positioned in your periphery, you can feel the tension in his body that betrays his distress.

Fuck him.

The door swings open and Taehyung steps inside, kicking his shoes off to the side, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Honey, we’re home,” he sing-songs.

Even from where you are standing, you have never seen such an elegant living space before in your life. The walls are embellished with bronze and lined with detailed, golden strips.

The reception is a wide area, an expensive rug beneath a heavy cherrywood table. Straight past there is a small foyer leading to three other rooms that you can’t see into from your place, awkwardly loitering in the reception area.

Jimin walks in from a room to the right and tosses his arm around Taehyung’s back, shoving a hand in his back pocket.

“Welcome to our home,” the pink-haired man says, eyes crinkling as he beams at you.

Your expression of annoyance doesn’t falter for even a moment and the tension between you and Jungkook must be palpable enough for him to notice almost immediately.

Jimin shares a brief look with Jungkook, and he seems to notice something unseemly on the other man’s face. He asks, “Why do you look like you’re about to cry, Kookie?”

Jimin looks up at Taehyung, the question clear on his face.

Taehyung gestures to you with his chin, disinterestedly.

“Ask your guest,” he retorts, sarcastically, scrolling through his phone.

Jimin prompts, eyes raised, “Well?”

“I didn’t do anything,” you deny, but it sounded weak, even to your ears. You continue, frowning, “I just didn’t want him to pick me up.”

“Don’t be mad at her, Hyung,” Jungkook says, and even though you refuse to look at him, you feel your heart twinge at the sorrow in his voice. He really does sound close to tears, voice thick and trembling. “I was being too much.”

Jimin stares, disapprovingly, but bites down on his bottom lip to stop himself from saying anything. He tosses his hands up and says, “Fine. I’m saying nothing.”

But he promptly turns on his heel and disappears back the way he came. He might not have said anything, but his distaste was clear and obvious in his attitude.

Not that you gave a fuck.

Taehyung follows behind his boyfriend, leveling you with a purposeful look as he goes.

Jungkook says, softly, “Do you… I can show you around if you want, YN?”

You turn your body to finally look at Jungkook to properly look him from top to toe, and you see how curved in his shoulders are, like he is trying to make himself smaller - less intimidating, you realize a moment later. Your brows furrow in upset and you ask, quietly, “Are you serious about this? You aren’t going to let me go?”

Jungkook’s jaw ticks and he avoids your eyes, looking down. His dark eyebrows draw together, as if in pain at the mere thought, and he whispers, “You’ll leave if I let you go.”

“Jungkook,” you say, reaching for his hand, hoping to appease whatever obsessive need to be around you. You barter, softly, “Come on…”

Jungkook looks up at you, one time, locking eyes with you, before he pulls himself away, wrapping his arms around himself, tight. He whimpers, “Stop doing that.”

“Jungkook,” you say, trying again. “Just- Let me go. I’ll stay around. I have nowhere else to go anyway.”

Jungkook shakes his head, some of his hair falling into his eyes, and he declares, seriously, “You can’t go anywhere. You can’t.”

He moves to walk past you but you grab for him, wrapping your hand around his forearm and you plead with your eyes.

For the first time, though, he rips himself away from you and he slams his hand down on the nearby table, the sound scaring the daylights out of you.

“No,” he snaps, eyes unfocused as he glares down at you and his nostrils flare as panicked breaths escape him. “If I have to lock you in this apartment for the rest of your life, I will. You- Just stop trying to leave me.”

Jungkook and you share an intense look, neither one of you relenting for a long moment, breathing heavily.

“I won’t ever forgive you for this,” you tell him, resolutely, after a long pause. “I’ll never forgive you.”

His lower lip trembles but he refuses to accede.

“Fuck you,” you hiss and storm past him, further into the house.

You have no idea what is waiting for you when you do, but you can’t stand being around him any longer. The smell of his cologne, the watery yet determined look in his eyes, the way his lips tremble as if he were the one hurt by the situation.

It was all too much - too fucking much for you to take.

You turn to the left instead of the right (where Taehyung and Jimin had walked off towards) and push open the door to reveal a nicely stocked library. An entire wall is filled with books of all thicknesses and heights, two oval-shaped tables, and a medley of armchairs dotted around the room. One sofa is against the opposite wall, next to the large set of windows.

The view is beautiful - truly. It is one of the most impressive vantage points of the Seoul sky-line that you had ever seen, but you are still filled with so much barely resolved anger that you can’t even take it in fully.

The door closes behind you but nobody comes inside, thankfully. You don’t know what you would do if he forced himself to be in your presence any longer. Still, the sound of the door closing behind you feels like a noose around your neck that only grows tighter with each second.

You drop down on the sofa, exhaustion washing over you instantly, and you close your eyes, trying to fight off the impending headache that is blooming behind your eyes.

Instead of being on a plane to an unnamed island somewhere hot and sexy, you are stuck in the (admittedly gorgeous) apartment of your obsessed stalker and his freaky found-family. Not only that, Seokjin’s words of warning echo in the back of your mind like a shadow, reminding you of the absolute danger you were still in.

If he found you again, there would be nothing you could do to escape this time.

The miserable thought used to pass through your mind that the last time you got away was a fluke. That the last few years had been some kind of sick and twisted foreplay, that he was just toying with you - letting you convince yourself that you were free, only to clench his fist around your throat and drag you back to his side, kicking and screaming.

A shuddering breath escapes your mouth and you feel it well up in the back of your throat.

Something you haven’t felt for a very long time.

The urge to cry.

What the fuck are you supposed to do?

-----

Jungkook POV

It was going to hell.

Nothing was going right. She kept trying to leave, so I had no choice - I know that, Jimin knows that, Tae knows that. But she... She just wouldn’t understand where I was coming from.

She wouldn’t see my side of things. All I wanted was to bundle her up in a warm space, to keep her happy and safe and with me - but she kept trying to leave me. 

How can I love her if she keeps me at arms length?

How can I be gentle with her if she keeps pushing me away?

I pace the length of the hallway once more, gnawing at my nailbed even though I had long torn my cuticles to shreds, my stomach rolling as another wave of nausea passes over me at the instability of my situation.

YN was in my bedroom. Proximity-wise, YN and I have never been closer. She was sleeping in my bed, accoridng to Jimin, after taking a shower in my bathroom and wrapping up her supple and warm body in my towels and dressing in my clothes. Nothing could get me harder, faster, than knowing she was waiting for me, balmy and warm and so fucking soft. My dick twitches again, my lower head and my upper head clearly not on the same fucking page.

Emotionally, however, we couldn’t be further from one another.

The way I went about the whole thing wasn’t the best - sure, I can admit that.

But I didn’t hit her. I didn’t bruise her or abuse her. I just needed her to stay fucking put, right where I can see her.

Taehyung laughs to himself, so unbearably amused by the whole thing that it was pissing me off. I didn’t mock him like this when he got so drunk, he pissed himself in the bathtub after the only time Jimin verbalised his desire to break up. They didn’t end up doing it, of course, but Tae was inconsolable for days. I can’t stand the smell of Jameson anymore and my nose bridge hasn’t been right since that four-day bender.

“You look pathetic,” Taehyung remarks, lightly. “Just go in there and show her who’s boss.”

“If you wanted me to get my eyes scratched out, that might be a good idea,” I retort, sardonically. “YN can’t stand to be in the same room as me, let alone let me close enough to toss my weight around.”

Tae hums. “You’re sure about her, right?”

I nod, without a moment of hesitation. “She’s everything and more than what I thought she might be. She’s so fucking perfect, hyung.”

“She sure is interesting,” he comments, brow quirking. “I still don’t like her for how she treated Jimin.”

My lips purse in agreement. “That wasn’t... That shouldn’t have happened.”

“Jimin is also at fault,” he retorts, fairly. “He was dicking around where he shouldn’t have been. YN didn’t deserve all of that.”

“Thank you, hyung,” I reply, unable to really smile considering the state of my emotions. I look up at him, gnawing at my bottom lip, and I ask, tentatively, “How... How did you do it?”

“Do, what?”

“Get Jimin to love you,” I finish, despondently.

Taehyung gives me a look, eyes softening at the corners and he reaches for my shoulder, squeezing gently. “Jimin already loved me long before ‘we’ happened. I never had to ‘get’ him to love me. He just did.”

I feel my shoulders drop at his words, my eyes filling with tears and a thick lump wedges itself in my throat, choking me.

“She’s never going to love me,” I whimper, falling into Taehyung’s chest. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me close and pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. “She h-hates m-me so m-much.”

“She doesn’t know how good she has it with you,” Taehyung says, softly. “You’re so special and loving. She just has to see that. Stop crying, kiddo. It makes me sad.”

He wipes my tears away, and rocks me tenderly from side to side.

“I can’t- I can’t not have her, hyung,” I whisper. “I think I’ll go crazy.”

“If she leaves?”

“If she takes a step somewhere I can’t see or touch her, I feel like my chest is going to collapse,” I admit in a fast whimper. “I get dizzy and irrationally angry. She asked to leave earlier and my ears went quiet and fuzzy. I yelled at her and I didn’t even realize it... That terrified me.”

Taehyung rests his chin on my shoulder as he asks, “When you think about her leaving, do you imagine yourself hurting her to keep her by your side?”

I tense up, pushing my head further into his chest. “I’d never hit her. I just can’t imagine her being away from me.”

“Then make it so that she can’t exist away from you,” he says, simply. “Push yourself so deep into her that she doesn’t even consider the world if you aren’t in it right next to her.”

“Does that make me a bad person, hyung?”

Taehyung shakes his head, eyes scanning my face softly. “It makes you a man in love.”

- end - 

Chapter 4: ‘Melancholy’

Jungkook comes back a week later, just like Jimin predicted, and is outside of the club, as if he had been there for a while, waiting for you to come in.

He looks different, a little buffer around the shoulders as the vestiges of his rut are still coursing through his veins. He doesn’t smell like a predator in rut at the moment, but the knowledge that he had just finished his cycle makes you feel shy to be in his presence.

You know it’s an archaic response but there’s something… unbearably sexy about a predator in rut - something that makes you just want to spread your legs and arch into them.

It’s a biological response and you have to pinch yourself, hard, as you walk towards the entrance.

He scurries over towards you from his shiny, expensive car - something you couldn’t be able to afford in your wildest dreams and a voice in the back of your head is singing, Look. He’s a provider! He’s got money. You’ll be safe with him.

You shake your head free of those thoughts just as he stops in front of you, hands hidden behind his back as if holding something.

His eyes are bright, excited almost, and you can’t stop your lips from quirking up in a small smile.

“Hyung told me he came and bothered you,” he says, breath puffing out in front of him in white clouds. His face is flushed, probably from the sudden change in temperature, and he seems sheepish, as if he’s expecting you to be angry with him because of Jimin’s behavior. He reveals what he had hidden behind his back and gently places a bouquet of pale pink and white tulips in your hands. Jungkook says, softer, stepping closer into your personal space, “I’m sorry if he said anything weird. He’s a bit of an asshole when he wants to be.”

You were too surprised by the presence of the flowers to even register what he was saying. You blink down at them, then back up at him, then down at the flowers once more to check if they were real, before you ask, quietly, “Are these for… me?”

He tilts his head to the side a little, tail wagging anxiously behind him. “Who else would they be for?”

“I just- I didn’t think you would do something like this,” you respond, holding the flowers tighter to your chest, worried he might take them back after reading your confusion as being ungrateful. You whisper, “They’re beautiful.”

He rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “The flower lady said they were a good flower for apologies. I think they smell a little strong but… Yeah. I wanted to say sorry… About him.”

“Things were fine,” you tell him, cheeks growing warm at the gift. You still couldn’t believe he gave you flowers. You don’t think you’ve gotten flowers from a guy since high school. “Jimin wasn’t that bad.”

His lip curls at the sound of Jimin’s name coming out of your mouth. Jungkook remarks, brows raising briefly in something akin to annoyance, “I didn’t realize you two were close enough to use first names.”

There’s an implication in his voice that gives you pause.

You explain, “He introduced himself. I can’t be rude to my boss.”

Jungkook glances away, biting his bottom lip and he reaches for your hand, grasping your pinkie finger gently, just barely touching you but it was enough to make those pesky feelings of shyness well back up in your chest. He responds, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just- I don’t like not seeing you. These last couple of days have been really shitty for me.”

He looks down at where his thumb and index finger are caressing your digit before he looks down to look directly into your eyes, bunny teeth peeking out from a charming smirk. “Did you miss me, Pretty?”

You choke on air at the sight of his expectant expression and find yourself unable to lie like you had wanted, Thandi’s warning flying straight out of your head at the sight of him.

“Y-Yeah.”

“Say it,” Jungkook says, a kiss closer to a command than you were used to with him but enjoying the feelings that it raised in you, moving even closer into your personal space. He ducks down a touch, eyes flicking to your lips briefly before they move back to your orbs, holding your gaze intently, “Tell me you missed me, Pretty.”

“I- I missed you, Jungkook,” you stutter, cheeks burning.

The smile he gives you in return is blinding.

He stands up straight, chest puffing up more in pride, and he says, “Good. I gotta run, but I’ll be back later, okay?”

You nod, dumbfounded.

Jungkook unhooks his scarf, a lightweight expensive thing with charming navy accents, and wraps it around your bare neck. As he’s doing so, he uses the ends of the scarf to pull you in, smoothly, and press a kiss to your forehead.

“See you, Pretty.”

And then he’s gone, tires squealing as he pulls out of the parking lot and down the street, disappearing into the early Winter fog, leaving you stunned, scarf draped tightly around your neck and flowers pressed tightly to your chest.

It takes much longer than you would like to admit for you to realize that he never told you that he missed you. He just had you say it, exposing all of your cards to his greedy eyes.

---------------------------------

Three things about Thandi that you could be certain.

First, she was always up for a good time.

Second, her nails were always going to be painted a beautiful ruby red, fingers and toes.

And third, she was never late to make some money.

Which is why it struck you so strange that she didn’t turn up for first call. You couldn’t see her on the club floor but you assumed she was doing a private room with a client. But then she missed her stage slot meaning someone else got to take her 11pm window (the most profitable time period for your club) and you have seen her slap the taste out of another dancer’s mouth over that slot before.

Rocky pulls you to the side and asks, “Have you spoken to Thandi today?”

You shake your head, frown deepening. “No. Should I call her?”

He curses before he fishes his phone out of his back pocket and waves you off. “Go back out on the floor. I’ll call her again and give her a piece of my fucking mind.”

You grimace at his tone of voice but you try to push your concern for your only friend from your mind to focus on work.

Which turns out to be infinitely harder than you thought it would be.

“Pretty, if I were less secure, I’d be upset you weren’t paying enough attention to me,” Jungkook murmurs from his spot on your lap. You jerk a little, putting your hands back into his hair and resume scratching at his scalp. He asks, “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry,” you mutter, shifting a little. “Is this okay?”

He twists onto his back to look up at you and levels you with a firm look. “I asked a question, Pretty.”

“I don’t-” You exhale. “My friend didn’t turn up today. And she isn’t picking up the phone for our boss. So, I’m worried about her.”

“Maybe she’s sick,” Jungkook suggests, fairly. “Or, maybe she’s in heat?”

“I doubt it,” you reason. “She would have told Rocky as soon as it started. He knows our cycles better than we do, so…”

Jungkook pauses, eyes sharpening. “Why?”

“Legally, we have to submit our heat schedules so they can give us paid time off,” you tell him. “It’s no biggie.”

Jungkook stares at you, brow furrowed. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

You shake your head. “It can be awkward if your boss is a creep. Sometimes they’ll offer to help you through your heat.”

He tenses up all over. Jungkook asks, a touch too airily to be convincing, “Has that ever happened to you?”

You shrug. “Once or twice.”

His voice drops an octave when he demands, “What are their names?”

You give him an amused look. “Why? What’re you gonna do? Beat them up or something?”

He pins you with a firm stare. “Or something.”

You push his hair back and his eyes flutter closed without his permission, relaxing into your touch.

You tease, “You’d probably kill them with those fists of fury. Jimin told me about your job.”

Jungkook looks up at you, betrayed before he childishly grumbles, “Hyung talks too much.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask, trailing your fingers down the side of his face, scratching at the stubble on his chin. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, cheeks rougher than you have ever seen them, but it suits him. Everything suits him. It’s obscene how handsome he is. “You ask all these questions about me, but I don’t know anything about you. That doesn’t feel really fair to me.”

He exhales, rubbing at his thick eyebrow before he grumbles, “I don’t want you to look at me different.”

You request, quietly, “Why would the way I look at you change?”

He shrugs, glancing away. “I’m not a good guy.”

“You’re good to me,” you tell him, honestly. “All that I can do is assume things if you don’t tell me what’s true and what isn’t.”

His forehead crumples. “I know, Pretty.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He nods, reaching for your hand. He presses a kiss to the back of your hand and holds it against his chest, right above his rabbiting heart beat. “Shoot.”

‘Do you work with the Dirty7s?’

‘Are you a drug dealer?’

‘Do you pimp girls?’

‘Are you using me?’

So many questions are flooding your brain as you stare into his eyes. He waits patiently for you to ask, swiping his thumb along the back of your hand.

You ask, “Are you going to hurt me?”

Jungkook frowns at the mere thought. “Never.”

“Then that’s all that matters to me,” you rebut. “You can tell me whatever you want at your own pace.”

He lifts himself up to press a kiss to your cheek, pausing for a moment there, before pulling back to give you a warm look. “My name is Jungkook Jeon. I’m 24 years old and an only child. I wasn’t born here. I have over eighty tattoos. I got my first at 13. No, you can’t see it. It’s been covered up and it was a very ugly stick-and-poke on my ankle that Jimin did for me. I like working out, eating my Hyung’s cooking and spending time with a pretty dancer who likes the color pink.”

He taps your nose when he says the last one, making you blush deeper.

“You didn’t have to tell me all of that,” you tell him, trying hard to hide your secret happiness over his confessions. “You and Jimin aren’t blood brothers?”

He shakes his head. “Do we look alike?”

You take a long look at him, bringing Jimin’s equally as handsome face to mind, before you shake your head slightly. “I don’t think so.”

“Jimin-hyung and I are in the same pack,” he tells you. “There’s seven of us in total. Two human owners, five hybrids.”

“Are all of the hybrids predators?”

He nods before he raises a brow. “Problem?”

You shake your head. “No. Just curious. I thought having so many predators would mean you clash a lot.”

He makes a face, like the idea itself is beyond ridiculous. “We’ve known each other too long for all that.”

“What do you mean?”

“The five of us met at a home for abandoned predator hybrids when we were kids. It was like an orphanage,” he explains. “We had formed a pack from way back then. I’m the youngest, and I was the last to join their pack. We got told that we wouldn’t get claimed because our pack was too big and too rambunctious. So, we kind of just assumed we would age out and probably get a job somewhere living some shitty life without much human interaction.”

“But you found your owners?”

He nods, little bunny teeth poking out as he smiles. “Yes, we did. Jin and Joonie-hyung found us and we all grew to love each other so much, we couldn’t be apart. They legally claimed us and we all live together.”

“Where?”

He nudges you. “Quid pro quo. I know where you live, you know where I live. Everything I’ve told you, you’ve told me the same about you.”

You think about it for a moment and he’s right - your name, your age, where you were born, your likes and dislikes and a bit about your family history.

“I live a little outside of the city, in a tiny studio apartment about an hour from here. It’s the only place I could afford without having roommates,” you disclose, honestly.

“We live in a high-rise in the middle of the business center,” he retorts, easily.

“I also told you about my job,” you prompt.

He nods, gravely, staring at his large hands. “I fight for a living.”

“Is it illegal?”

He bites his lip but nods. “Sometimes.”

“You never look hurt when I see you,” you say, reaching for his hand. You twist his heavy palm over in your hand and see that it’s free of most blemishes that you would expect. A beauty mark here and a callous there, but nothing that would belie a violent career.

Jungkook explains, eyes sharpening to remind you of his predatory nature, “I don’t lose.”

“Still, they should land a hit or two. A black eye or a cut lip,” you tell him. “You aren’t Superman.”

He snorts. “Rapid healing. You don’t heal?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t win that particular prize on the genetic hybrid lottery.”

Jungkook shifts his weight a little, as if suddenly conscious of how much he might weigh against your body. “How do you stop yourself from getting hurt?”

“I just have to be careful,” you reply, chuckling. “Ice on my joints before or after work, cheap massages once a week, wrapping my elbows and knees so I don’t bruise when I practice on the pole. Stuff like that.”

He frowns as he observes you, eyes flicking across your face. “You always give me new reasons to worry about you.”

You look away, suddenly shy, but he grasps your face with both hands, turning you to look back at him.

He asks, quietly, “Don’t you wanna look for somewhere a little closer to live? Or a little better? Why don’t you use the money I gave you?”

“I have bigger things I have to worry about,” you murmur, honestly. “Once I pay off my mom’s debt, I can think about moving.”

“Your mom’s debt?”

You nod. “I told you that I didn’t have a dad, right?” He nods. “Well, my mom died recently. And, she had to stay in the hospital because of her illness. After she died, I got sent some mail about owing money because of her therapy, surgeries and other things. Anything I earn that doesn’t go to my living expenses, goes straight to the hospital.”

Jungkook gets a contemplative look on his face. “How much?”

Your eyes widen, instantly. “No way.”

“YN, just tell me,” he pleads. You move to your feet, needing to put a bit of space between the two of you. He grabs your hand and turns you to face him, his hands moving to your hips to hold you in place, firm but gentle as if he’s holding something delicate in his hands. He swipes his thumbs along the points of your hips just above your panty line and he pleads, looking up into your eyes through long lashes, “I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” you respond, firmly, putting a hand on his chest to push him away. “You already do so much for me. I won’t let you do that.”

He licks his lips, a touch of frustration spreading across his shoulders, but he nods, thumbs still soothing your skin. “Fine. I won’t ask any more about the money, okay?”

You fix him with a long look. “Promise?”

“YN…”

“Promise,” you repeat, sternly.

Jungkook retorts, mocking your tone of voice, “I promise, baby.”

-----------------------

Thandi doesn’t turn up for work for the next two days. She also doesn’t answer the phone or respond to any text messages.

And that sets your stomach on edge.

You take a cab to her place and bang on the door, so hard and loud until your hand ached. A door opens next door and out pops a woman with dark mascara circles under her eye and clumpy, messy black hair. She seems hungover.

But she isn’t sick enough to stop herself from yelling, angrily, “She isn’t home. Hasn’t been for days. Quit banging on the door.”

“Are you sure?”

She gives you a sharp glare, flexing her claw-shaped nails against the door-frame. She was a predator, and it looks like she might’ve been an Alpha at that. You wonder how Thandi stomached to live here. You lived in one of the older government-assigned prey-only housing complex with a capped rent agreement because you were an unclaimed prey-hybrid with no familial ties since the death of your mother.

Still, if there was a prey-hybrid who could hold their own in a den full of predators and not lose their cool, it was Thandi.

“I said what I said,” she retorts, meanly. “Now get the fuck out. You’re stinking up the hallway.”

She wasn’t wrong - your hormones were going hay-wire as you were approaching pre-heat and the stress of your missing friend was driving you even crazier. You shouldn’t have any problems at work until you properly enter the heat stage but your scent regulation was a little out of whack.

You leave the apartment complex and make a bee-line for the nearest taxi to go to the closest police station.

Walking into an environment crammed full of testosterone-laden predator-hybrids brings you back to that moment, about a year and a half ago, when Thandi had been arrested and you were called to bail her out. You hated the feeling of being there as much as you did back then too, being in such an unsafe environment, but you home to find someone who would actually help you.

“E-Excuse me?”

An Asian woman, you can tell she’s a hamster-hybrid from her pine-dusted scent, glances over at you and instantly, her face becomes warm. She sees your tail, your ears and your demeanor and pegs you as prey. She says, softly, “Hey, honey. How can I help you?”

You stutter, nervously twisting your hands in your lap, “I- I want to report a missing person? Who do I go to see that?”

“You can do that with me,” she replies. “Who’s the missing person?”

“My friend, Thandi Rogers,” you respond. “She’s been gone since Monday, maybe Sunday morning, and she won’t pick up the phone. I was told by her neighbor that she hasn’t been home in days and I- I’m so worried.”

She nods, tapping away at her keyboard. “Do you have a picture of Miss Rogers?”

You nod, searching in your purse for your phone. “This is the two of us.”

The woman takes your phone and takes a picture of the photograph taken some months ago during a spa date that she had treated you to for one of your birthdays. The two of you looked so happy that day. It was one of your most prized possessions.

She inquires, delicately, “Is she your girlfriend?”

You shake your head. “Just a really close friend of mine. We work together.”

She asks, still typing, “Where?”

“At Opal City,” you reply, quieter.

She pauses, key-tapping ceasing for a moment, and you can physically feel the change in the dynamic between you. It always happens whenever you mention your job. She enquires, “The prey strip-club?”

You nod. Her expression sours a little, her nose twitching in distaste, before she proposes, “Are you sure she isn’t just off with a John?”

You rear back in shock. While you’re used to civilians being assholes when they find out about you being a sex worker, you would have expected the police to at least hide it a bit better. “She’s not a working girl. We’re dancers, not prostitutes.”

She raises a brow. “Same thing, isn’t it?”

You bite down on your trembling lower lip, eyes filling with tears, and you grind out, angrily, “Are you gonna help me, or are you just gonna keep judging us?”

“According to her sheet, she has been arrested previously for solicitation,” she informs you, detachedly. “She probably just got caught up with a client and hasn’t gotten to her phone yet.”

You are so caught up in your rage that you don’t feel the presence come up behind you until the shadow is looming directly over your body.

“Officer Kim,” a sharp voice snarls. “Did I just hear you deny help to a civilian?”

You look over to see a tense-looking dog-hybrid, dressed in a smart shirt tucked into black slacks. He looks vaguely familiar, so familiar that it makes you frown as you take him in. He wasn’t bulky or imposing, but still, he had a commanding air about him that forced you to pay attention to him. His hair was pushed back, neat and cut down at the sides, giving him a clean appearance, and his shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, revealing sinewy arms free of blemishes or tattoos. The frown on his face is enough to force you to look away, even as he glances your way, brow pitching briefly in what seemed like recognition.

“Detective Jung,” she says, jolting up in surprise. She looks thoroughly chagrined. “I just- I don’t believe the person to actually be missing.”

The man seems to be barely holding back his snarl of disapproval and his righteous anger makes you feel a little more relaxed - it felt as if someone was on your side.

Detective Jung bites out, jaw thrumming in annoyance, “Your baseless presumption aside, can you tell me what our protocol is for any and all potentially missing persons?”

“Make a report and chase it up the following day,” she repeats, awkwardly. She shoots you a look before looking back down at her hands, biting her bottom lip. She mutters, “I apologize, Sir.”

The detective levels her with a pointed look before he replies, “I’ll talk with you later, Kim.” He turns to you, eyes softening considerably, and he says, softly, “Miss, would you care to come with me to an interview room and I can find out the information necessary for us to help find your friend?”

You nod, shaken up but happy that someone was sticking up for you.

“This way, Miss,” he says, leading you by the arm to a room near the back. “Take a seat. Would you like some water? Or coffee?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think I can stomach anything right now.”

He takes a seat next to you, pulling a notepad out of his inside jacket pocket, and “I overheard the tail-end of your conversation, but not for all of it. Would it be okay for you to go over the information with me once more?”

“Yeah.”

He pulls a pen out and scratches the date at the top of the page. “Tell me all that you told the other officer.”

You do as he says, recounting the information your told the bigoted officer at the front desk, hesitating over the information regarding your job, worried that it would sour his perception of the situation and potentially lead him to behaving in the same way. However, his expression doesn’t even ripple slightly when you inform him of your job.

“Officer Kim mentioned a prior collar for solicitation,” he says. “Are you aware of that?”

You nod. “I picked her up when she got arrested. She tried to solicit a police officer. But, we sued the city for excessive violence and we won. She broke her ankle because the guy was really aggressive with her and it was caught on CCTV.”

“I remember that,” he says, a contemplative look taking over his face. “I think I remember you. Your friend, she was wearing this huge fur coat and broke a couple of her nails, right?”

You nod. “You were the one who helped me?”

His whole expression changes, his smile nearly keeling you over with its brightness. “That was me. It’s nice seeing you again. Not under these circumstances, of course.”

You try to give him a returning smile, but it comes out watery and pathetic. “My friend isn’t taking clients anymore. She… She used to, yeah, but she isn’t anymore. She doesn’t even talk to anyone from back then. She promised, you know?”

He puts a hand atop your own trembling one and looks into your eyes. “I believe you, YN. You don’t have to fight me so hard on this. I’m gonna do everything I can for you, okay?”

You nod, blinking through your tears. “T-Thank you. You’re being so nice to me… Why?”

He shrugs, removing his hand and placing it on his own knee. “I’m just a nice guy.”

“I can see that,” you retort, lips pulling up into a weak smile. “Can I… Can I give you my number or something? If something happens, you’ll call me?”

He pauses for a moment, hesitant. “I shouldn’t take your number, YN. It’s not really appropriate.”

You bite your bottom lip, saddened. “Can I come here, then? If I have questions, can I come here and find you? Or call, maybe? I promise I won’t call too much. I just don’t want you to forget about her.”

He levels you with a long look, sympathy written across his face, before he nods. “Call the precinct and give them my name. They’ll direct it to my desk and if I’m here, I’ll answer. If I’m not, they’ll leave a message on my work phone.”

You nod, resisting the urge to hug him. “Thank you, Detective Jung.”

“My name is Hoseok,” he replies, leaning forward in his chair. “I promise, YN. I’ll do all I can, okay?”

You nod and sniffle a little. “Can I have that coffee now? I feel kinda shaky.”

He smiles and moves to his feet, leaving you for only as long as it takes to make you a steaming cup of coffee. “Our coffee machine isn’t exactly top quality but it’s better than nothing, right?”

You take the spoon and spin it in the dark, steaming liquid. “Hoseok?”

He glances over at you from where he had been scanning his notes. “Do you think she’s alive?”

Hoseok pauses for a moment, running his tongue over the front of his teeth. “I think that she might be in serious trouble. Being gone for so long without any contact isn’t a good sign, but, and I’m gonna be frank, if we don’t find a body, we’ll always keep looking for her.”

You let out a sigh of relief, shoulders dropping as the tension leaves your body. “Okay. I’m sorry to keep you. I’ll finish this and when I calm down, I’ll leave.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll stay with you until you feel better. I don’t mean any disrespect when I say this but your scent is a little haywire right now.”

You take a gentle sniff of your wrist and your eyes widen, considerably. “I should probably go grocery shopping after this.”

“Just ask your owner to do it for you,” he says, gently. His eyes sharpen before they melt back into the pool of warmth that you had been staring into this whole time. “You shouldn’t put your body under unnecessary stress.”

You snort, but the sound lacks humor. “I would if I had one.”

“You’re unclaimed?”

You nod, taking a tentative sip of the coffee, wincing as it burns your tongue, eyes fixed on the brown liquid in the cup. You miss the excited uptick of his lips that Hoseok is barely able to hide, clenching his fists tight under the desk to ground himself. You explain, none-the-wiser, “Thandi’s my only bond in the city. She’s my whole world here.”

“No family?”

You reply, tongue still working around the words awkwardly, still not accustomed to how easily the words tumble out of your mouth, “All dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he responds, earnestly. “Do you have any access to family services? They specialize in helping unclaimed prey who might need help.”

You shake your head. “I’m 24. I’m old enough to look after myself.”

He snorts, and the smile makes him look ten years younger. “I felt the same at 24. Then I got claimed and I realized just how much pressure I had been putting on myself unnecessarily. It feels good to let go and actually be able to trust someone enough to catch you. It helps that I’m in a big pack. We all help each other in different ways.”

Stiffly, you reply, “I’m fine with the way things are.”

He notices the tension in your body and moves away a little, giving you some space. “I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t happy. I’m sure you and Thandi have a wonderful friendship. I hope you don’t think I was talking down on that because that wasn’t my intention.”

You stare at him in his eyes, measuring the earnestness in his expression, before you nod. “I understand.”

You glance at the barely touched coffee and Hoseok says, breaking the tension with ease, “I think you should get going home. Do you need me to give you a ride?”

“In a cop car? My neighbors might think I was being escorted for all the wrong reasons,” you try to joke but the words fall flat. You clear your throat and continue, “Thanks but I’ll just take the bus.”

“Take a cab,” he says, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out two twenties. “And eat something. Coffee won’t sustain you, especially if you’re in pre-heat. Your metabolism is going into overdrive just breathing right now.”

You try to give him the money back, too stunned by his kindness, but he shakes his head. “Just say thank you.”

“Thank you…”

He grins, brightly, tail wagging excitedly behind him. “Now, go.”

Hoseok leads you out of the room, walking through the sea of predators acting as your shield, and you find that you don’t feel the bubbles of nausea rising up in you that you did when you first walked in alone.

He hails a cab for you and makes sure you get settled in. “Tell him your address once I’m gone if that’ll make you feel for comfortable.”

You look up at him. “But you’re a cop. You could just find my address.”

He thinks for a minute before his brows raise. “You know, you’ve got a really bad perception of people like me.”

“Cops or predators?”

He raises a brow, amusedly. “Both.”

Hoseok pats the top of the cab and the driver takes off, leaving the man standing, waving you off, his gentle smile fixed in place.

As soon as you are out of his line of sight, his expression dims and the genial smile slips from his face. The detective fishes his phone from his back pocket and pulls open a hidden app, turning his back on his station and a darkness spreads in his orbs that, for a split-second, reflects the true depths of his depravity.

She’s just as cute as I remember.

Cool it, Hyung. We’re supposed to be playing it slow. Relax.

Almost lost it in there. Smelled so good.

She smells like us, doesn’t she?

Not enough. She smells too much like Outsiders.

It was making me sick.

Give me some time. I’ll get her smelling like us inside and out.

Then you all can have your turns.

Hoseok shoves his phone away and turns on his heel to deal with Officer Kim and her penchant for dismissing cases that she didn’t deem important to her. If it hadn’t been YN she had been talking to, Hoseok wouldn’t have given a fuck about anything and would have went about on his merry way.

But, as soon as he saw the familiar line of her back and the upturn of her pretty nose from the side, it was as if the whole world went silent and he couldn’t stop himself from lashing out.

He’ll teach the lazy officer a lesson and earn some brownie points with his superiors. Although he hates sucking up to the pathetic cops he should technically be stepping on the necks of, his position in the police force was essential for their slow and efficient take-over of the surrounding districts.

Of the pack, he was able to hide his blood-lust the best, and unlike Jungkook who had the physique but not the patience to work with others and Taehyung who had the charm but not the ability to hide his true personality like Hoseok could, Hoseok fit in seamlessly.

Being a dog-hybrid meant that he was more suited to working narcotics, which is where he had spent the last three years of his law enforcement career. Now, though, he had been moved to a larger precinct in the center of their neighboring district.

Their subtle acquisition plan was coming along perfectly.

All they had to do was do as they always did: obliterate the competition and absorb or demolish the supporting manpower.

Silent and successful, as Joonie always said.

- end -

(A/N: Jimin’s an asshole. Jungkook’s in rut. They steal hearts and other things.)

(yandere / angst / gore / fluff / smut / violence)

Chapter 3: ‘Thievery’

Your world was constructed of three major atypical gender tiers, outside of the typical male, female and non-binary categories. Outside of the predator and prey speciation classification with which you are born, there is another sub-category that most hybrids occupy.

Along with splicing human embryos with animal DNA, human scientists used these classifications to categorize and create a pecking order amongst herds.

Alphas, Betas and Omegas.

Previously, these categories would have been the be-all-end-all of the map of a person’s life. An omega prey-hybrid would have no rights outside of their human owner or their wider pack. They would be presumed to be weak, unable to defend themselves - a typical damsel-in-distress.

Whereas, alphas were physically stronger, protective, and more aggressive than the average person.

Betas exist in a happy place right in the middle: they experience neither heat nor ruts despite their predator or prey speciation, but they still held an invaluable position within the pack hierarchy. They were the class that you were the most envious of.

The typical hunter versus hunted social dynamic.

Alphas later created two further categories amongst their own community: Alpha and Super-Alpha. Super-Alphas are always apex-predators who have excess hormones that give them superior control and authoritative power amongst their packs. They aren’t always born with this innate ability to control or compel other people; they develop the ability over time with their changing hormones.

You think the whole label thing is a stupid dick-measuring thing, but apparently, Alphas take it very seriously, like the overly-proud knot-heads they were.

You occupy the ‘omega’ sub-category if that wasn’t already clear.

 This means that you were especially susceptible to Alpha hormones and struggled with emotionally regulating without external assistance. Thandi was a Beta-prey, so she could do a lot more by herself than you could. You tried your hardest to deviate from the assumptions people had about your gender and speciation classification, but some things were just set in stone.

 You were softer than most people, both emotionally and physically. Your body is physically not as hard or capable of taking on much muscle. This didn’t mean you were a pushover, but you liked being catered for and looked after. Living alone for so long, you haven’t allowed yourself to be in a vulnerable headspace with another Alpha let alone an alpha-predator.

 Jungkook was your first close encounter with one, and the extended exposure seems to have been messing with your body’s chemistry. Even though he never actually touched your glads directly, he still skirted close enough to make you twitch around nothing and crave a weight of a body on top of you.

 When you consider how easy it was for you to fall into the routine of being babied by the rich, mysterious man, it makes you wonder just how low you had fallen for such a frivolous flaunting of wealth to have you ready to spread your thighs and baring your scent glands for marking.

 …

  Quickly, you figured out that Jimin was mostly all talk. He wasn’t planning on tying you up and peeling your skin back to see how you worked on the inside. He just liked making you uncomfortable, if the burst of laughter that fell from his lips as soon as he saw how horrified you looked.

 The strange tabby-hybrid didn’t plan on letting you go back out until the end of the night. He didn’t push any more of his pheromones out but he spoke in this commanding tone that left zero room for misunderstanding - you were to stay exactly where he could see you and you were to be his little experiment. He didn’t touch you again, simply nodding to a corner and he told you to sit there, quietly. He fished some papers from his briefcase and the room fell silent.

 So you did, staring out at the party below, and to pass the time, you played a game that you often did as a child.

 Jimin glances over at you, watching in rapt fascination as you trace your fingers up and down the glass, tracking a person’s steps to and from their booth, to the bar, to the base of the main stage, to the bathroom, to the front exit.

 “What are you doing?”

 You jump out of your skin, terrified. Jimin is crouched beside you, his sleek tabby-tail swishing behind him, and he looks at you curiously. “What?”

 You demand, heart still racing in your chest, “Don’t you make any noise?”

 He looks strangely pleased as if you had complimented him. His tail swishes, proudly, and he states, “I’m a cat. I’m supposed to be quiet. Stop deviating. What were you doing?”

 “Playing a game,” you respond, drily, turning your gaze back to the crowd.

 You feel more than see Jimin perk up beside you. “I like games.”

 “I was playing alone,” you retort.

 He stares at you, uncomprehendingly. “Now you’re playing with me. Duh. Explain the game.”

 You sigh, frustratedly, but continue, “You pick a person and follow their movements, making a story about their life. I used to do it as a kid when I got left alone for too long.”

 He grumbles, “That’s kind of boring.”

 “You can go back to your paperwork,” you reply, smartly.

 He drops down beside you and shakes his head. “Let’s play.”

 Jimin tracks the crowd and in a second, he has his chosen player.

 “The fat guy with the roll of twenties trying to get a handful of the zebra’s ass,” he says. “He’s… a father of two. He hates his wife, so he sneaks out at night so come fondle boys. He’s a bulldog-hybrid, so he isn’t fast and he snores at night. He… works in an office, but everyone hates him. He sniffs his wife’s thongs when she’s out of the house.”

 “That’s gross,” you retort without looking at him. “Why the panty-sniffing?”

 He half-shrugs. “More people do it than you think.”

 You mutter, raising a brow. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

 Jimin grins, lecherously, before he retorts, “Something like that. Your turn.”

 You look around at the crowd before spotting your target. “The fox-hybrid at the bar nursing his third Negroni of the night by himself. He’s single, newly divorced, but he likes them young. Not illegal young, but enough to make you take a second look. He’s looking for a one-night-stand but his bald spot makes him self-conscious so he put a hat on to cover it.”

 “How do you know?”

 “Imagination,” you reply. Then, after a beat of silence where you feel Jimin eyeing you expectantly, you cave and explicate, “He took it off without thinking and I saw the shine from here.”

 Jimin snorts. “Nice. Carry on.”

 You contemplate for a moment. “His wife left because she fell in love with someone else. She found her mated pair and he hates her for it, but he’s secretly jealous. They don’t have kids but he always wanted them. He’s not gonna get any play tonight because he’s been here for over an hour and hasn’t got the confidence to approach anyone.”

 Jimin tacks on to your story-building, “Plus, it’s a strip club, not a bar or a dance club. The people who come here expect to see fat asses in their face, not a loser with a bald spot who wants his asshole licked open.”

 “That’s vulgar,” you retort.

 He shrugs. “Joonie… My owner says I talk nasty too much.”

 Surprise colors your tone as you inquire, “You’re claimed?”

 He bristles then as if offended, and you know by the darkening of his gaze that you’ve stepped on a live wire. “You thought I couldn’t be?”

 You hope you aren’t being offensive when you say “You’re a little… abrasive for the average claimed-hybrid.”

 Jimin scowls at you, lip curling up dangerously as he shows a sliver of fang. “You’re awfully mouthy for an unclaimed, single stripper.”

 Your eyes widen as you take in his words. You mutter, “And you get nasty when your feelings are hurt.”

 “Shut up,” he hisses, getting to his feet and rushing off back to his papers. He growls, “Don’t say anything else. Don’t even breathe too hard. You’re pissing me off.”

 Minutes pass between you with him furiously typing at his laptop, pointed ignoring you, before you sigh and move to your feet. Your mom didn’t raise you to ignore when you’ve upset somebody, so you gather your courage to ignore the radiating waves of annoyance billowing off his body and you approach him, slowly.

 “Ignoring me isn’t the most mature thing to do,” you remark.

 He says nothing, but his typing gets a little faster.

 “You know, they say only children act out when they’re displeased.”

 “Then I must be 6 years old because I’m annoyed as hell and you’re only making it worse,” he replies, curtly, eyes never straying from the screen.

 You peer over his shoulder to see him typing in code, nothing that your layman's mind could understand.

 “You could just let me apologize,” you suggest.

 He scoffs. “Can you even apologize?”

 “I’m not above saying sorry if I did something wrong,” you tell him, honestly. “Can I sit?”

 He spits, “Don’t care.”

 You retort, “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

 You drop in the sofa beside him and in response, he shuffles over, as if he doesn’t want your bodies to touch, and you covertly roll your eyes at his pettiness.

 “I saw that,” he remarks.

 You grimace a little and murmur, “I’m sorry for hurting your feelings. What I said was wrong.”

 He sniffs. “Whatever.”

 You ask, trying to come across as uninterested, playing with nonexistent fluff on your zebra-print bodysuit, “So… How is Jungkook?”

 Jimin’s brow twitches, eyes flicking over to you momentarily, before turning back to the computer screen. He responds, briefly, “He’s fine.”

 You continue, “You said he’s in a rut.”

 Jimin pauses, expression purposefully confused, before he replies, sardonically, “Did I? Must’ve been another one of my jokes.”

 You exhale, sharply, through your nose and complain, “Jimin, this is serious.”

 “This is me being serious,” he counters, tersely, going back to his annoying typing.

 You put a hand on top of his own in a bold display of assertion, and his eyes widen in surprise, and you demand, “Tell me what’s going on with him.”

 The tabby-cat mutters, teasingly “Aren’t you bossy.”

 You fix him with a hard stare for a long moment. The man seems to match your intensity, eyes never moving from your own, as if challenging you.

 Jimin's expression hardens slightly, so much so that if you hadn't been staring at him, you wouldn't have noticed, and he inquires, tone steely, “Nobody ever taught you it’s not a good idea to stare down an Alpha?”

 Immediately, you feel yourself lose air in your sails, picking at your nails in your lap, twisting your hands, but you try not to look away.

 Jimin slides a little closer to you, eyes still maintaining painfully intense contact, before he commands, “Look away.”

 You bite your bottom lip, then blink, feeling infinitely smaller, before you are forced to glance down - anywhere but at his eyes.

 He purrs, reaching over to twist one of your braids in between his fingers, “Good girl.”

 Jimin’s digits were shorter and a little chubbier than Jungkook’s, his whole body held a different coil of power in it. Both are equally as dangerous as each other, just imposing in different ways.

 Once he deemed you scared enough, he pulls back, a self-satisfied smile on his smug face.

 “Jungkook is in a rut,” he admits, tossing his hands up a little. His entire body radiated uncaring energy as if he didn’t really care. You suppose that it was normal for predators to go into a rut. You had never seen it in person outside of the porn movies you used to watch, and if it was anything like the heat you experience twice a year, you felt sympathetic to what the other man must be going through. Jimin explains, “It’s no big deal. He’ll fuck a couple of the prey that hover around us and he’ll be right as rain in a week. You’ll get your precious JK back.”

 His words make your spine straighten out as a nasty feeling claws its way down your spine. You don’t give it any thought, but the bitterness that spreads on your palette reminds you distinctly of the drink Rocky had given you some hours ago. Worse even. It tasted worse.

 You remark, “He didn’t tell me anything.”

 Jimin inquires, a touch mockingly, “Why would he?”

 That stuns you into silence.

 Jimin snorts, loud and strangely surprised. “You thought that you two were a thing or something?”

 You shake your head, and you don’t know if you’re trying to convince him or yourself. You explain, “No. I know what it is between us. It’s just a work thing.”

 Jimin pauses briefly before he responds, “Jungkook has nothing to do with the bar. I run this place. He came here as a treat after a fight.”

 You repeat, confused, “A fight?”

 Jimin balks. “Jungkook is a trained fighter. He works at the MMA center a couple of blocks from here. You never asked about his job?”

 “I asked,” you respond, hotly. “He just never told me.”

 Jimin tuts, then ponders aloud, purposefully, “And here you are, thinking you’re both so close.”

 You retort, barely holding back the urge to stick your tongue out, “You suck.”

 “A lot,” he replies, making an obscene gesture with his hand and an open mouth. “But, seriously. Jungkook has been coming here for weeks. I was expecting to see a skinny chick with huge titties or something more his type.”

 You cave in on yourself a little, self-consciously. You know you cater to a different crowd, the predators who come to see you like something exotic - what with your skin complexion and body shape. You know you aren’t as petite and delicate as other prey, something the doctors always commented on whenever you would go for check-ups during adolescence. It had always been a sore point for you.

 You snap, “Sorry I’m built the way I’m built.”

 “Nah, you’re sexy. You wouldn’t have been hired if you weren’t,” he adds, simply. “But, I just can’t see Jungkook fucking someone as tiny as you and not breaking you in half.”

 “We’ve never-”

 Jimin’s eyes got as wide as saucers and he inquires, dumb-founded, “He’s never fucked you?”

 Biting down on your bottom lip, you move to your feet and cross your arms over your chest. You thunder, “This is an invasive conversation. You don’t have the right to ask me any of this.”

 Jimin explains, calmly, “As your employer, I have the right to enquire about any and all potential illegal incidences on company property. If you fucked in here, I can ask about it.”

 “Well, we didn’t.”

 He prompts, “Not here?”

 You hiss, “Not. At. All.”

Jimin whistles, low and long. “Jungkook has the patience of a saint, I’ll tell you that.”

 You inquire, curiously, “Why?”

“He’s scented you pretty thoroughly,” Jimin retorts, taking a delicate sniff of the air. “That was the main reason I was fucking with you so much when you first came in. I thought he had already laid claim on you without talking to the rest of us first.”

 You request, “Why would he need to talk to anyone about claiming me?”

“Because,” Jimin starts but stops as if thinking. He continues, after a beat, with a shrug, “We’re close.”

It feels as if he’s not saying something, the glint in his eye making your stomach turn and twist in anticipation. He licks his fangs a little before he moves to his feet, smoothly.

“How about this, pretty girl?” He suggests. “I bring you to where Jungkook is tonight.”

“That’s not a good idea,” you respond, horrified. “He’s rutting.”

“That just means you’re guaranteed some dick,” he returns, offhandedly. “And Jungkook wants to fuck you. I can smell him all over you. Especially here.”

He’s beside you in under a second, a firm hand on the side of your neck where your scent glands are the most strong. He squeezes a little and the pressure makes your knees grow weak.

“Easy there,” he murmurs, gently, catching you in his arms. He continues, stiffly, almost a touch uncomfortable, “I didn’t think you would be so sensitive.”

“Don’t do that again,” you plead, gripping his shirt tightly. You feel strangely violated as if he had crawled into your body and you couldn’t get him out. It wasn’t all a bad feeling, and you hated the prey instincts that told you that you should enjoy the feeling. He didn’t have permission. He should know better. “I don’t— Nobody touches me there.”

He questions, fervidly, “Nobody?”

You shake your head. “It’s always been too sensitive.”

Jimin’s eyes grow sharp then, for a moment, before he relaxes. “Sorry. I crossed a line. I didn’t think. It won’t happen again.”

Surprised, your brows crawl up your forehead before you nod, slowly releasing the area from your tight hold.

“I don’t want to see Jungkook tonight. It’s not… good. He’s not in the right headspace to make that kind of a choice,” you tell him. Unbeknownst to you, Jimin’s perception of you only gets better with each word you speak. He doesn’t know you all that well, but he appreciates your staunch behavior. You aren’t like the other seedy people in his world who would jump at the opportunity to mate with a powerful Alpha from a strong pack. You continue, a little shyly, “Just… Can you tell him I hope he’s doing okay?”

Jimin nods. “Are you thirsty?”

 You shake your head. “Not really. Wearing these outfits can kind of get annoying when you have to go pee often so I try not to drink much at work.”

 He observes your outfit, his fingers itching to pluck at the material covering your heavy breasts to see how sensitive your body would respond. He blinks back the film of red that had started to cloud his vision and glances away and he murmurs, “I can imagine.”

 The rest of the night passes smoothly. Neither of you argue again. In fact, you get on quite well when he isn’t purposefully being an antagonistic prick.

 You leave the VIP room in one piece and Rocky seems genuinely surprised when he sees your descent.

 You want to kick him in his happy-go-lucky face but you barely hold back the urge.

 Later on, that night, when you’re trying to pack up and leave work, you find yourself frustrated.

 “Has anyone seen my scarf? The mauve thing with the little yellow stitched sun on the end? I just finished making that,” you complain. “It took so long to make!”

 None of the other dancers responded with a definitive answer, and if you left the club any later, you were going to miss the bus, so you had to brace the cold and rush outside.

 Little do you know that the thin mauve scarf, heavily saturated with your scent, would spend the next five days held in Jungkook’s tight fist as he grinds his spent cock into another person’s pliant body, pressed against his nose as his eyes roll into the back of his head, another wave of heat passing over his body.

 On his bed, he already has a pair of your shredded panties, a bra, a half-empty bottle of perfume that he had snatched some weeks ago, and the bikini that you wore the night you met.

 It hadn’t escaped your notice that these things were missing, of course, but you had no way of guessing that the true culprit was the near-manic man who had been using your things to furiously jerk himself off until his heaving chest was slathered in his own come and whimpering your name as he climaxed for weeks now.

 His thoughts filled with nothing but images of you being pumped full of his seed, legs spread as your juices spilled all over his fingers and tongue. He wouldn’t mind sharing, many of his fantasies splicing together images of his brothers grabbing at your supple flesh, tonguing your holes until you cry for each of them.

 Yes, he acknowledges it was a bad idea to take the stuff, but here, in the middle of his rut, with his brain so hot that he can barely think let alone rationalize or reason with himself, he can only delude himself into thinking that he did the right thing - because, with as unhinged as he has become since the dawn of his rut, he couldn’t bear the idea of touching the real thing.

 All he can do is convince his feral nature that the body he was pumping himself into was yours - the one who his wolf has been pining for.

- end -