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Bonne Nuit, My Angel

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“Reporting live from Dongdaesin 3-dong, Seo-gu at Kyungnam High School, this is Kang So Ra with KBS Busan. Local police officers and outside detectives have converged on yet another brutal crime scene early this morning, in what we are being told is a new edition to the kill list for the aptly named ‘Busan Butcher’. Details are sparse, but what our early camera men were able to capture before being held back appears to be a gruesome case of…decapitation. More information to come this afternoon as Seoul detectives Kim Namjoon and Ok Taecyeon have taken over joint control of what’s verging on the most prolific serial killer case the city of Busan has ever fallen victim to. The Seoul detectives announced a press conference to be held-“


Park Jimin stretches over the thick white of his duvet to hazily mash the off button on his TV remote with a yawn, smacking sleep-plump lips. He’s left with the unnerving buzzing of white noise filling the absence of the gruesome report. Too depressing this early in the morning, and at his old High School? Jimin always turned on the TV after snoozing his morning alarm. This was done mostly in a feeble attempt to keep himself from falling back into a deep rem cycle. Not always successful, but this morning the human tradition of Murder and Intrigue kept his eyes wide open. This Busan Butcher guy was he a guy? had already killed some old woman atop the observation tower at Yongdusan Park in broad daylight, and Jimin had heard his landlord gossiping with the old woman in 2A about him possibly being tied to the death of a 20 year old guy down the alley by the 7-Eleven off Sincheon-daero.  

The newest murder finding a home at his old high school aside, the killer’s calling card was enough to send chills down his spine: he didn’t have one. Unless you counted about a gallon of blood at each crime scene a calling card. Blunt force trauma, several 2-inch knife wounds to the neck and face, and now what sounded like decapitation? The world just kept getting crazier. Pushing himself out of lingering on the macabre early morning news story with an eerie shiver, Jimin glances to the left of his bed to check the time and sighs; 6:45 a.m., officially time-to-get-the-fuck-up. Flexing thick carved thighs out in a kitten-like stretch, he curls his fingers into the mess of blonde fluff atop his head with a huff and kicks at his ruffled covers childishly. “Too earlyyyy!” he whines, pushing up from the safe haven of his bed to land his feet on the rough fiber of the cheap apartment carpeting. His schedule for the day is the same as every other day of the week: rush through a shower and shovel whatever food was available into his mouth, make it to Hoseok’s studio by 8 a.m. to warm up for the first of three dance classes he lead, practice his own choreography, then finally drag himself back to his trash third floor apartment. Wash, rinse, repeat. At least he loved the dance studio his friend Hoseok owned, and found some sort of sanctuary within the four walls of his designated studio. It was the only place Jimin felt he could find happiness; where he could like himself for once.

 Jimin rubs at his flushed cheeks and blinks his eyes groggily as he shuffles towards the bathroom. He can see the tired bags taking over his face in the mirror through the door, but he smiles. The motion causes the corners of each eye to crinkle and the apples of his cheeks to damn near meet the curl of his lashes. He giggles with a satisfied sigh at the image reflected back to him; beatific, almost angelic with the glow from his bedroom window casting a halo around his golden hair. He feels happy today, thinking about his favorite 5-7 year old contemporary class he got to lead on Wednesdays. Happy wasn’t an emotion he felt often, but he was trying. Some days were better than others. He’d gotten damn good at faking it, too.

Before Jimin can step up to his sink to start his morning routine, the upbeat pop tune LOVE ME LOVE ME by Winner plays muffled underneath the covers of his bed, alerting him to an incoming call. Jimin usually sets his ringtone to whatever song he’s currently choreographing to, so he can’t help that his naked torso does a little shimmy as he moves from the doorway of his bathroom back to the bedside to grab his phone.  A quick glance at the display screen wipes the bright smile from his lips. The early morning energy he’d managed to buoy up froze in his chest, heart clenched in a vice. Today isn’t going to be one of the better days. Mother flashes brightly up at him from the screen in stark divergence from the dread suddenly overcome him, and he can feel his grip tightening unwittingly around the phone. Why is his mother calling? Their phone calls are nothing more than an excuse for her, and occasionally his father, to vent any and all frustrations onto the son they trashed and discarded like skid-marked underwear. He is nothing to them but a punching bag. A punching bag she only calls once a month, so why now? Jimin thought he’d heard enough whoreslutcunt rhetoric to effectively fuck up his self-esteem for the month last week. Jimin breathes in and huffs out a deep gulp of air, and with less than half the enthusiasm he woke up with answers her call.

“Hello, mother.”

 Jungkook’s been sitting awake for about an hour now, body thrumming with anticipation. He should be out, anywhere but here, yet he’s in this shitty living room.  He’s in this shitty living room, in this shitty apartment he shouldn’t have, but he’s ecstatic. Jimin should be leaving shortly. He’d long since memorized the man’s usual schedule, and it’s about time for him to be leaving for the dance studio in Dongnae-gu. Jungkook falls into a deep trance-like state sitting in the padded chair in his shitty living room, and he thinks back on the first moment he’d laid eyes on his angel…

Jungkook had been living peacefully in this building for a few months now, and he’d finally begun to settle into a semblance of normalcy when the vacant unit next door was rented out. Move-in day brought in the sun so bright; Jungkook might have missed Jimin walking up the stairwell if it wasn’t for the man’s brilliant smile. The landlord was in front, helping him carry a box, while Jimin remained illuminated behind the man, the brightest sunlight streaming in from the transom windows above the stairwell. Each light particle seemed to beam perfectly off of the golden ends of Jimin’s curls, and the man gave Jungkook the most radiant, innocent smile, cheeks scrunched so high he almost couldn’t make out the man’s dazzling eye smile and supple skin. He’d waved with one hand, a box in the other, and one word repeated itself inside Jungkook’s mind…angel angel angel angel angel angel…  

Jungkook knew, then, that Jimin was made for him. He just needed the cherubic male to see it, too.

Jungkook breaks his disciplined position when he hears the faintest murmur of Jimin’s voice through the paper-thin walls of his apartment. He could tell it was low-pitched and truncated now, far different from the lilting honeyed tone he usually spoke with. Jungkook guesses he’s on the phone with his parents again. Sensing his opportunity to learn more about his Angel and to see him for the first time this morning, he finally pushes himself up and moves towards the door. The slippers on his feet mask his movements, and he holds his body flush to the wall connecting his doorway to Jimin’s, listening for the words to go along with his dull murmured tone.

“I-I’m sorry, please don’t! I thought we agreed, but-“ after this point the boy’s inaudible words are hard to make out, but with his ear pressed bodily against the wall to pick up whatever sounds he can Jungkook catches the watery intake of breath breaking on what sounds like a muffled sob.

“Please, I-“Jungkook could hear the boys words abruptly cut off, and feels the reverberation of his body crumbling against the opposite wall. As he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend to feel the warmth of Jimin’s lithe form pressed against him. He hums in excitement.


As quickly and noiselessly as possible, Jungkook switches from house shoes into sneakers and slips out his front door. He doesn’t bother to lock it, as he doesn’t plan on going any farther than around the corner of the stairwell. To wait. For Jimin.

 All Jimin can do is stare at the phone he let clatter to the floor in wide-eyed panic at the end of his mother's surprise call. This can't be happening, they made a deal.

Back pressed against the hallway wall of his apartment, Jimin attempts to control the heaving sobs ripping out of his chest, trembling hands gripping tightly to the hem of his sleep shorts. They were cutting him off. For good this time. Shit… After a minute...two...three, his hiccupping sobs subside into a dull, detached feeling of self-loathing. His mother’s words roll back in Jimin’s mind over and over, settling at the very bottom of his gut.

“Are you happy now, you filthy little slut?! Your father has lost three clients this morning, boy. THREE! It’s not enough for everyone to know we’ve raised a whore, but God sees fit to continue our punishment. Don’t expect any more money from us.”

Jimin’s eyes feel heavy lidded from the tears, so he presses both palms against each eye harshly in an attempt to bring feeling back to his numb features. He’s going to lose his apartment. The money he makes teaching at Hoseok’s studio was barely enough to cover his utilities and phone bill, let alone this shitty place. Jimin rubs roughly at his eyes again and pushes his body up from its crouched position. He’d been in the process of taking out the garbage, actively trying to distract himself from the conversation with his mother until she’d dropped her bombshell. Typically she only uses phone calls to him as a chance to berate and belittle, but Jimin can barely wrap his mind around the implications of this one…can only repeat what he knows to be true over and over and over.

Whore. Filthy little slut. Whore. Filthy little slut. Whore. Filthy little slut. Whore. Filthy little slut.

The mantra continues as Jimin mechanically pockets the phone he dropped, picks up his trash, and opens the door to his apartment. Continues as he turns to close it. Jimin doesn’t realize he’s been muttering the words over again out loud until the repetition is broken by a sick, slithering feeling that brings the blonde hairs at the nape of his neck to stand on end. Someone’s watching him. Ever since he’s moved in, Jimin has felt this nauseating prickle of paranoia that someone’s watching his every move. Whenever he comes and goes, following him. Jimin’s spine stiffens at the thought of the building’s landlord, and the lurid words he throws Jimin’s way every time they cross paths. Or the man at the dance studio. Or-

“This is what she meant, huh?” he mutters brokenly, “Always such a filthy little-“

Jimin startles when he catches movement out the corner of his eye, but instead of ratcheting his feelings of apprehension he lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Jungkook. The tension melts from his body as he sniffles up the rest of his self-pity.

“Jungkook, good morning.”  He murmurs demurely, the ghost of his morning smile threatening to retake it’s hold on his face. “Ah, are you back from your run?”

Jungkook steps around the corner from the apartment stairway and smiles at Jimin's question, looking like nothing less than a God in his eyes. If there's been one good thing about being tossed away to the armpit of Busan, it's Jimin's next door neighbor. A sharp jawline and supple cheeks framed by soft auburn hair belied the strength of the man's body, and Jimin has a hard time not feeling utterly effected. The man's beautiful, corded body of muscle alone left him at Jungkook's mercy, but ever since the first day he's met him, Jimin has been utterly captivated by the depth in the man's eyes.

It seems like every time he's felt at his lowest, after yet another phone call from his mother, or after suffering another bout of harassment from their lurid landlord living downstairs, Jungkook is there. And it's felt like the greatest relief. The prickling feeling of anxiety fades, the self-pity and numbness he's often drowning in replaced with that childish feeling of longing you get when you have a grade-school crush-and Jimin has it bad.

"Actually, I was rushing back upstairs to lock my door. Haven't made it out the building yet," Jungkook chuckles easily, striding towards his door keys in hand. Jimin feels like a creep just watching him lock his door, so he fiddles with the trash in his hands and shuffles his feet around in an attempt to wait and walk downstairs with Jungkook at his side. A slow blush creeps up the back of his neck in anticipation.

"Let me help you with that," Jungkook offers, grabbing immediately for the trash in his hand. Jimin flusters weakly, but who is he to deny someone like him?

"Thank you, I never get to catch you before your run!" he babbles as they start to move towards the stair well. Jungkook is the first friend Jimin's made in his new home outside of the dance studio. He's sweet, always smiling at Jimin and helping him with his trash or groceries when he can. However, no one else really interacts with him, he's noticed. He never hears 2A gossiping about the young man, and he's never seen the landlord give him grief either, almost like he's a ghost there.

But he’s always around for Jimin.

As they walk through the maze of the apartment building, chatting about nothing, Jimin slowly feels his morning smile return. He's never been this enamored of a person so quickly, has never liked anyone ever, actually. There's just something about the attentive openness of Jungkook's face, his unexplainable presence in times of distress, and the intense way his eyes hold him captive.

"You know you don't have to keep calling me formally, right?" Jungkook nudges into his side playfully. Jimin's skin shivers deliciously under the t-shirt he'd unfortunately had the mind to slip on before thinking of taking out the trash. Filthy mind, you wh-

"You moved in 6 months ago, and I think we’ve yet to hang out outside the apartment. I feel like I’m missing out on that beautiful laugh of yours!" Jungkook's playful smile weathers at the many safeguards around Jimin's heart, and he huffs out a giggle at the younger man's forward behavior.

"Cheeky little..."

Jungkook gestures for him to continue on towards trash pickup first, dropping the trash bag to the floor in order to adjust it in his grasp.

As Jimin rounds the corner ahead of him, he's stopped dead in his tracks by a low, dirty whistle calling out from his left. His skin prickles in irritation as he turns to give a wary eye to the apartment landlord. The only way to the trash is past his room, and he knows it. He leans himself against his doorframe to angle himself closer to Jimin as he attempts to pass through peacefully, makes a juvenile kissy face at him. He used to be so nice when Jimin first moved in.  

"Give it a rest, Donghyun. I'm just taking the trash out," he speaks lowly, trying not to alert Jungkook to the situation. He's managed to find time alone with him and talk for once, it would be humiliating for him to see what type of deviant behavior he provokes.

"I don't see any trash, Min, all I see is you. You shouldn't be wearin' those shorts if you don't want me looking at'cha." Donghyun reaches his hand out lazily to palm at Jimin's bare thigh, but he flinches back in disgust. 

“I don’t wanna see you pursing those pretty little lips at me…should be wrapped around my dick, sucking me dry. You’d be good for a cock warmer-“

"Don't-" Jimin's outcry is interrupted by Jungkook rounding the corner, trash bag in hand. It's only for a second, but Jimin swears he can see Jungkook's eyes tighten as he looks between him and the landlord, but his confident smile is quick to replace any look of disdain.

"Ah, Donghyun, good morning!" he says pleasantly, settling a firm hand against the small of Jimin’s back. Jimin stiffens at the contact, not used to them touching in any way. He can’t lie to himself and say it’s unpleasant, but it is rather forward for someone he’s trying to get to know better.

“I hope you’re having a good morning.” Jungkook smiles at the man again, and Donghyun smirks in response.

“Of course I am Jungkook, our sweet Jimin and I were just talking here.” At the mention of the word sweet, Jungkook’s hand at the small of Jimin’s back becomes more of a hold as he grips into his side and pulls him into his body. Jimin is more than surprised at this point; he’s in a state of shock. Jungkook’s grip on his side is just on the right side of bruising, and he’s not sure he’s comfortable with the lack of distance between the two. When Donghyun’s smile falters at the move, however, Jimin feels a spark of relief. Maybe Donghyun will leave him alone if Jungkook is here to look out for him.

Jungkook says his now clipped goodbyes to Donghyun with Jimin waving limply, and he practically drags them around the corner and out the front door. Once they get near the trashcan, Jimin stops Jungkook and pulls his arm from around him quickly, turning with a frown on his face to question the man. Before Jimin can utter a word, Jungkook’s look of cold fury catches the words in his throat.

“Is that how he always talks to you? Coming on to you, tries to touch you?”

So Jungkook heard the whole thing.

“Jungkook, it’s hardly something I can’t handle, but what-“the space Jimin was able to create is eliminated again in a second as Jungkook grabs back a hold of Jimin. This time, his arm.

“Promise me you’ll tell me if this happens again, no- promise me that if you need to take out the trash you’ll bring me with you, hmm?” Jungkook asks with a worrying tremor to his voice. Jimin doesn’t know how to react to a request like that, doesn’t understand why Jungkook would make it.

“Jungkook, I don’t think I-“

Please, Jimin, just- promise me. Please,” he says again, more like a command than a request. The hold he has on his arm tightens, and he winces as he pulls his arm free quickly. Jimin’s skin shivers along the surface bringing up goosebumps along his arms where Jungkook held him, and all he can manage is a nod that yes, he’ll do as he says. Jungkook smiles in relief and waves Jimin off to his dance class, wishing him a happy Wednesday. Jimin is so lost as to what just happened, but he doesn’t have much more time to dwell on it; his class starts in 10 minutes. Did I ever say anything about teaching dance…?


Arriving at the studio provides Jimin with a sense of soothing relief from his racing thoughts. From the landlord's constant harassment, to Jungkook's protective, borderline possessive behavior, his mind finally whirls to a halt when he gets to dance with his students. Their excited, cherubic faces brighten his mood considerably, and he's left with nothing but to smile and lead their early morning contemporary class.

As the day goes on, Jimin's heart is filled with elation, finally, as he's given the chance to move and indulge in his passion. He's gone through the novice contemporary dancers, intermediate hip-hop, and he's finally ending with his contemporary class full of high-schoolers. Sweat dampens his brow heavily, but his smile practically splits his face in two as he coaches the 10 young ones behind him on how to properly relax, and feel the movement of their bodies.

"Keep your movements fluid! I know it's boring, but you all looked a little stiff today. That doesn't work in this studio! We've gone through a little choreo today, but our warm downs are to learn to release tension from our limbs and to feel the movement flowing through your bodies," Jimin instructs his students through their breathing and stretching exercises. As he winds his teaching day down, he's itching to stay behind in the studio to work on his own choreography.

"Thank you guys! Keep stretching and I'll see you next Wednesday!" he waves warmly, dropping to the floorboards in front of the door to massage at his calves. He nods and speaks with a couple of his students as they leave, answering off questions about choreography. As the students continue to trickle out, a dull sense of familiarity sinks into his chest. His last student to leave on Wednesdays, like clockwork: Jang Hwiyoung.

"Hwiyoung-ah, aren't you going to be late to catch the bus?" he asks nervously, pushing himself up from his seated position. His skin no longer held it's warm, post-workout glow, instead feeling cold and sticking to the thin tights he wore underneath his dancing shorts.

"No, my brother should be here in a couple minutes! You've gotta teach us some more of the ballet moves you threw in today, please! That was really cool." Jimin tries to match the eager grin his student gives him, but the twitch in his smile would give him away to anyone paying attention. His student, luckily (or unluckily), isn’t the observant type. Hwiyoung brushes past Jimin to leave through the entry-way, the rest of his students long gone. He shivers at the lingering feeling of the contact and moves to follow his students out the front doors. Hwiyoung stays late every Wednesday, and Jimin changes his mind from this morning, is beginning to think he hates Wednesdays.  It has nothing to do with his lingering student.


Jang Wooyoung. If Jimin's landlord can be described as lewd and suggestive, Wooyoung is...

"Hello, Jimin." Wooyoung eyes him heavily, a pointed gaze raking down Jimin's toned arms, bared by his sleeveless tank, to the swell of his ass in his dancer's shorts. His hand reaches out and around his younger brother's shoulders.

"Hey lil' bro how was class?" he asks, but he doesn't mean it. He ruffles Hwiyoung’s hair and plays the part, but his eyes never leave the dance teacher’s lithe frame. Jimin shuffles his feet in apprehension at the obvious act being led by Wooyoung. He needs to get them out of here.

"It was awesome, bro! Mr. Pa-"

"Actually," Jimin interrupts, "Hwiyoung brought up some of the ballet incorporated into today's lesson. He learned a lot!" he chirps, forcing a smile and beginning to move back into the dance hall.

"Have a good day Hwiyoung-ah, get home safe!" he attempts to wave. However, Wooyoung one-ups his escape attempt.

"Actually, you go on ahead to the bus station kiddo. I have to talk with Mr. Park about your class payments, okay?" he manages to shoo the student away before Jimin can get another word in edge-wise, and he sighs, resigned to deal with Wooyoung as quickly as possible today. Jimin pushes the door to the studio until it's barely cracked open, in an attempt to not be overheard. He's talked to Hoseok about Hwiyoung's elder brother's unwanted and persistent advances before, but Hoseok doesn't know that it’s still happening. Or how bad it’s seemingly gotten.

"Why haven't you been answering my calls, Jimin?" Wooyoung fixes him with an angry stare that unnerves him. His eyes are unnaturally beady, with a heavy brow that throws weight behind each gaze. Jimin is taken aback at this line of questioning, more so than his typical stare.  Usually he starts with inappropriate comments about his ass, or comments on the last unsolicited dick pic Jimin refused to open. Today, he seems more upset. His posture screams aggression, with his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. Wooyoung's left eyebrow twitches where his brows are drawn tightly together, and Jimin feels a warning shiver run down his spine. He crosses his own arms subconsciously to mirror his aggressive stance. 

"I blocked your number, Wooyoung. I don't have time for your games. I'm still in session, and I'd like to get back to it. Please stop calling." This is his best attempt at keeping Wooyoung’s usual Wednesday intrusion cordial. Short and direct. Jimin turns to get back into the building and far away from the older man, but his wrist is caught in the man's grasp before he has the time to reach the door. The hold on his wrist is bruising in strength, Wooyoung's fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist like a vice. He steps closer into Jimin's body, caging him roughly against the wall beside the door and effectively trapping him in place. Jimin presses himself into the wall and away from his body, feeling the grit of the concrete rough against his back. He fixes Wooyoung with a cold stare and rips his wrist from the surprisingly violent hold. This is the first time Wooyoung has gotten physical with him, and it’s grating on Jimin’s already frail nerves. Before he can make a move to shove the man away or attempt to diffuse the situation from taking a further violent turn, he's frozen by Wooyoung's words. 

"You've been playing games with me ever since I saw you teaching Hwiyoungie's class." he starts in with a low, threatening tone. He moves in closer, and one of his hands falls to the curve of his hip. Short, stocky fingers grip possessively into his flesh at the point where his shirt's lifted to show a sliver of skin. He stiffens, eyes widening in disbelief and fear. Why are Wooyoung's hands on him, he's never touched him, why is this happening again why whywhy? After a sharp intake of breath he thinks to scream to yell, alert anyone to their attention, but his voice is stuck.  Jimin can't fathom why his voice won't come to him, but he thinks this may be the most frightened he's been since being cast out from his family home. Since the last time he'd felt trapped...powerless.

Panicking, Jimin grapples with Wooyoung's position around his body in an attempt to escape, but the man is taller. Bigger, stronger. They always are. With another firm grip, this time to both of Jimin's wrists, he slams them overhead against the siding of the building. Jimin lets out a little yelp in pain, and tilts his face away from Wooyoung pressing bodily into him. The situation is escalating quickly, only heightening Jimin’s panic. Wooyoung’s eyes tighten and he looks upon him with an animalistic fervor, a look Jimin’s never seen on the man before. His hold against his wrists tightens impossibly as he slams them against the wall again to stiffen Jimin's struggle against him. 

"You've always got something skin tight on, showing off that tight little body. You like the attention, that's why you took my number." Wooyoung's words are dripping in entitlement and unbridled lust, making Jimin's stomach roil with bile threatening to rise through his esophagus.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t give you a nice, hard fuck right now Jimin. Fill you up nice and good, yeah? Just like you want it,” Wooyoung grabs at Jimin’s ass and he lets out a choked scream, wiggling to get away from his hands. His eyes fly wildly around, looking for anyone to hear him. There’s no one.

"Admit it, huh? How much you want to be a little slut for me anAH-" Wooyoung gives a short, violent cry at the knee Jimin hurled up, smashing into his dick. The panicked fight or flight reflex emerges as full on fight. Wooyoung stumbles back a few steps in a pained crouch. Jimin’s breathing is irregular as he pushes himself off the wall in turn. The look on his face is one gripped with a wild mixture of panic and now fury at Wooyoung’s vile words.

"Don't fucking touch me!" he snarls, barely controlling the tremor in his hands. Wooyoung eyes him warily, aware that he's crossed some sort of line but unwilling to back down.

"Leave now, or I'll call Hoseok and he'll press charges." Jimin hopes the weak threat will be enough to get him to leave. He’s never had to go this far, usually suffering through Wooyoung’s crude advances before he got bored with Jimin’s lack of response. He’s certainly gotten a response now. If he leaves now, Jimin will talk to Hoseok about everything this time; maybe make sure someone else is responsible for picking up the innocent Hwiyoung from his classes. Thankfully, Wooyoung takes the out, but makes sure to get his last dig in before he limps off after his younger brother.

"Piece of fucking work. Waste of time on a whore like you..."

Jimin slams the door on his retreating back and drops to the floor in a crouch, arms hugging his knees to his chest. He digs his face into his arms and curses. What did he do this time to cause this type of violent reaction? Is he really leading Wooyoung on if he takes his number? He’d initially only agreed for Hwiyoung’s sake, in case his brother continued to run late picking him up after class. Maybe I can wear the joggers to class instead of shorts…

Instead of using it to dance, Jimin takes the remainder of his studio time to close his eyes, breathe deeply, and count to 10 and back. Something his first and third psychologist insisted would help to soothe his anxiety. Talking to Hoseok would help more. Although a harrowing experience, there is nothing outwardly amiss about his appearance after all this, so he packs up the rest of his things and heads to Hoseok's studio at the front of the building. Jimin can hear the ending of another bass-heavy favorite of Hoseok's and figures the end of his solo work is the perfect time to talk to him about Wooyoung.

Maybe he will report the incident, and those prior, to the police, if only to have it on record.

Hoseok is wiping copious amounts of sweat from his arms as Jimin opens the door. He smiles wide, teeth bared in their natural heart shape, and Jimin feels his body relax slightly. Yes, talking to Hoseok is the right idea.

"Hobi!" Jimin calls, quickly making his way to his oldest friend. Hoseok drops his sweat towel to his bag and fishes his phone out of the pocket of his sweats.

“Oh, Jimin-ah. You’re still here? I thought you’d already left,” he answers, scrolling through the notifications on his screen.

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Jimin says lowly, steeling himself for the retell of events. He stops a few feet away from Hoseok and fidgets in place, feet tapping to an unheard rhythm. Hoseok has always been a good friend to him, there to be a listening ear since high school.  He’s kept in touch with him until now, and was grateful for the job opportunity after being thrown out of his parent’s house.

Jimin opens his mouth to start talking, but he can see Hoseok’s face light up at an incoming message, maybe a call. Jimin sighs, for the last time today, in defeat. Hoseok’s kryptonite, line 1.

“Yoongi! Are you outside?” Hoseok answered what turns out to be a phone call brightly, giving Jimin an apologetic look. The kind that says “I’m sorry, it seemed like you needed to talk about something, but bae is here.” Jimin half-heartedly waves him on as Hoseok starts talking animatedly about a planned date, and it sounds like Yoongi is waiting for him outside. He covers the mic to the phone with his hand quickly.

“Do you mind closing up the studio? Yoongi’s here and I don’t want to keep him waiting! Call me tonight and fill me in on what you wanted to say, okay?” he rushes out in a poor excuse for a whisper, maneuvering his dance bag from the floor to his shoulder with practiced ease. Not five seconds later, and Hoseok is out the door, waving to Jimin enthusiastically. It’s not his first time being asked to lock up, but Jimin feels a little hurt by how quickly he was dismissed for Hoseok’s boyfriend. The opportunity to talk to his closest friend about the Wooyoung problem and, maybe, the other wild stressors of his day swiftly disappears. Jimin’s had enough for today.

Fuck Wednesday’s.


It isn't that Jungkook likes inflicting pain on others. His brand of crazy is a little different. He is indifferent to pain, can inflict pain without remorse, but that isn't what drives Jungkook to do what he's done. No, pain is not his motivator, but control...and this man is out of control. Jungkook's watched every exchange, every Wednesday, for the past month, but he's never touched his angel. Filthy hands on his arms, his waist. Those who touch what belongs to him will be punished.  

"I hate this part, paper hearts...and I'll hold a piece of yours. Don't think I would just forget about it...hoping that you won't forget about it..." 

Jungkook continues to sing softly as he prepares himself. In the background he can hear muffled whimpering and the rustle of clothes against the hardwood floor of the dance studio. A dull thud sounds, and Jungkook turns back to see Wooyoung with his head lolled against the wall length mirror, blood smearing against it from where it's matted to his hair in the back. This won't do. 

"Ah, ah, wakey-wakey, Wooyoung-ah. I can't have you falling asleep before you receive your due punishment," Jungkook intones. He finishes pulling on a set of gloves and a cap for his head before he turns to attend to the man, bound at the hands and feet and gagged, at the other side of the room. He'd only knocked him upside the head to get him inside of the studio.

It wasn't difficult to crack a digital code, and he's sure that no one will step foot back into the studio tonight once he watched Jimin lock up and leave. At the thought of his sweet angel, he refocuses his attention back to Wooyoung, who continues with the pitiful whimpering sounds pushed past the cloth gag Jungkook has tied to his mouth. 

Jungkook grabs his last tool, a large hunting knife with a gut hook and wooded handle. The knife is a little dull, still slightly chipped with dried blood from some of his past endeavors. The how has never concerned Jungkook. It's always the why. He walks up to Wooyoung's seated form and nudges him roughly with the toe of his black boots, causing the man to jerk into full consciousness. His eyes flash widely and swivel to look at him, breathing growing heavier and more erratic. He attempts to wriggle out of his constraints in vain, as Jungkook never makes a mistake when it comes to doling out punishment. 

"Do you know who I am?"

A swift shake of his head in the negative. 

"Do you know why you're here?"

Another no. 

"Last you know a Park Jimin?" 

At Jimin's name, some amount of understanding flashes in Wooyoung's eyes. The fear already apparent in his eyes is now coupled with an equal amount of indignant fury, and he can be heard spitting what sounds like profanities into the white cloth still flooding his mouth. The irate little temper tantrum is amusing, but Jungkook is glad he can't understand him with the gag. He doesn't want this to end so quickly. Wooyoung's hissy fit stops and his body stills when Jungkook speaks again.

"I won't spend much time with the why's here, all you need to know is that you've touched something of mine, and you will be held accountable." At these last words, Jungkook brandishes the hunting knife in full view of Wooyoung, playing at the serrated edges with his gloved fingers. At the first glimpse of the knife, Wooyoung begins once again to struggle. Jungkook lets him. 

"What did you call him, whore? Slut? You touched him? Heh-" Jungkook gives a humorless chuckle. He squares himself up in front of the spineless, squirming, pathetic piece of shit that touched his angel, and his eyes darken. Large, usually child-like eyes tighten and narrow into feral slits. Boyish features sharpened and hardened into those of a predator. 

"I will cut your chest open. I will crack your ribs open to get to your still beating heart, and I will rip it out with my bare hands. Are you ready?" The words are methodical. Matter of fact, with no emotion behind them other than to convey a message. 

This will be painful. 

He can hear Wooyoung's muted screaming, begging, tears streaming down his face, snot running into the cloth of the gag. Jungkook straddles his lap and uses the serrated edge of the knife to cut his shirt open, exposing his sweating, panting chest. The hunting knife, so large against the man's body sinks easily into the raw tissue deep enough to hit the chest bone. Like cutting ribbons through butter, so soft and malleable. Wooyoung's screaming is intensified with the sound of gurgling, raw pain. His blood seems to flow slowly, then all at once from the first incision. Gushing...

It’s late in the day now, and Jungkook can see the sun setting through the windows set high above the floor, near the rafters. It’s time to finish things up here so he can get back to the apartment. He has unfinished business there as well. Also, there’s his Jimin to attend to. The time is right to put everything into motion.

Jungkook places his bloodied right hand over Wooyoung's clothed mouth while his left continues it's work, pressing down hard to muffle further his screaming.

"Let's begin."


“Reporting live from Dongnae-gu, at Hope on the Street Dance Studio, this is Kang So Ra with KBS Busan. The Busan Butcher strikes again at home, this time the victim an unnamed man in his older 20’s, heart cut out of his chest. Yes, you heard it folks, his-“

Detective Kim Namjoon proceeds to tune the reporter out, already irritated by her presence at the scene before he and his partner even arrived.

“We had a better handle on the mob-circus back in Seoul,” he grumbles weakly to his partner Ok Taecyeon. Both detectives have been stuck from dead end to false witness to leaked information, stalling their efforts on this Busan Butcher case. They’re the hotshots they brought in all the way from the big capitol, they’re supposed to solve this serial killer case in a fortnight and head back to the comforts of home. They… are at another dead end.

“There’s nothing fucking connecting these victims at all, Kim. I say we finger the last guy, cut our losses, and head the hell home. What did they expect bringing us in, for us to work some kind of magic?” Namjoon sighs in apparent exasperation at Taecyeon’s ineptitude. He isn’t his regular partner, and he quite frankly can’t stand the man. It’s obvious he’s a hot head used to having it the easy way. He is the chief’s son after all.

“Shut up Ok and take me to Hoseok. We’re old friends from way back; he’ll be good to talk to us.” Despite his words, Namjoon separates himself immediately from his partner and heads to where he knows Hoseok to be, hoping Taec will just shut up and follow. He makes his way over to the ambulance where Hoseok is indeed waiting; being fussed over by one of the paramedics to make sure he won’t go into shock.

“Hoseok, I’m sorry we have to see each other again this way after such a long time,” Namjoon remarks solemnly. Hoseok was the one who called the body in, panicking over the phone about one of his student’s brothers, and a broken electric lock.

And all the blood.

“It’s okay, Joon. Middle school wasn’t that long ago, now was it?” Hoseok jokes feebly, arms weakly gripping at the ends of his jacket. The color of his face is an ashen grey, unused to the blood and gore that is par for the course with Namjoon’s occupation.

“I know you’ve talked to my partner here,” he looks back over his shoulder to find Detective Ok where he knew he’d be, “about what you found on scene immediately. Now I just want to ask you about…” he pulls out a notepad with details about the case. “Jang Wooyoung. I understand he was the older brother of one of your students…Hwiyoung? What more can you tell me about him?” he questions gently, giving Hoseok time and space to answer.

“I don’t know much about him, Hwiyoung isn’t one of my students.” Hoseok starts out calmly, face scrunched in contemplation as he tries to remember what he knows about the Jangs.

“Hwiyoung is in Jimin’s class, he’s one of my teachers here at the studio…actually, Jimin came to me a few weeks ago about Wooyoung. Saying that he’s been coming on to him. Sending him fucked up pictures and making him feel uncomfortable. Dude what the fuck man…” Hoseok ends his words with a choked, dry laugh, bordering on tears again.

“You said Jimin, one of your instructors?” Namjoon interrupts before Hoseok is lost in the trauma of the incident. “Can I get the instructor’s full name?”

“Park Jimin.” Hoseok hums. Namjoon can tell he’s shutting himself down, but that name shoots a jolt of electricity down his spine. He looks back at Ok and sees the same renewed intensity in his eyes. They’re finally getting somewhere.

“Was Park Jimin the last to leave the studio last night?”


Jimin wakes up to cacophonous pounding on his front door. His body jolts in shock, and he immediately pushes himself up and out of the bed. He’d slept in only an oversized t-shirt and his boxers, but he barely even has a second to move towards a clothes drawer before the sounds of his front door bursting in meets his ears.

“What the hell-“he murmurs gruffly, still rough and disoriented from being jolted out of a deep sleep. Jimin rushes into his front room and is met with about 3 uniformed police officers tearing his apartment to pieces. There’s a tall, glacial man standing in the doorway barking orders that Jimin can’t understand. He can’t understand anything, what are these men doing?

“What...get-STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! GET OUT!” Jimin is screaming as he’s rushing towards one of the officers upending each individual cushion from his couch. The officer stiffs his arm into Jimin’s shoulder, knocking him off balance and against his coffee table where he falls back.

“Step back! We’re in the middle of a search.” The officer drones haughtily, as the plain-clothes man at the door continues to shout out orders.  The noise must have been enough to wake up the whole floor, and it was certainly enough to bring Jungkook to his front door. Jimin meets his eyes in panic, and watches as Jungkook’s face morphs from one of incredulity to a steely fury.

He pushes past the man who appears to be in charge and grabs the arm of the nearest officer, pulling him into a standing position and pushing him towards his superior. By this point, Jimin is devolving into tears, and Jungkook risks a look in his direction before he squares up with the officers surrounding him and the man at the door.

“Look officers, I don’t know what business you have with Jimin, but I would like to see your warrant. You can’t just-“Jungkook’s words are cut off sharply by the officer in charge.

“I am detective Ok Taecyeon, and you are interfering in official police business. If you do not step aside, you will be put under fucking arrest, is that clear? Is that enough of a warrant for you?” The detective steps into Jungkook’s space and they both glare daggers at the other. Taecyeon has quite a few centimeters over Jungkook with his imposing physique, but the cold fury emanating from the younger’s stare makes the larger flinch.

“What the fuck is-OK WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE?” Jimin turns from the two men and their staring death match to a new addition behind them, an equally tall and statuesque man that is also now glaring daggers at the first detective. The detective Ok Taecyeon drags his eyes slowly from Jungkook’s as he turns to the new edition. His posture deflates some, and Jungkook takes the opportunity to come to Jimin and kneel in front of his forced seat atop the coffee table. His right hand grips Jimin’s bare leg tightly. His hand feels warm to Jimin’s skin, and he finds himself leaning into the young man who’s slowly becoming something of a safety net.

“An-Jimin, are you okay? Look at me,” Jungkook says soothingly, reaching his other hand out to turn Jimin’s attention away from the officers and back to him. The uniformed officers are now filing out of his apartment, and Jimin can hear a flurry of hushed conversation between the two detectives, the last to enter seeming furious with the other. With his focus now back on Jungkook, Jimin lifts the hand from his face and drops it.

“I’m fine, they didn’t hurt me, I just don’t know why they’re here! Do they have the wrong apartment, what the fuck are they searching for, I-“

“I can answer a few of those questions for you, Mr. Park.” The new detective is making his way over to Jimin, the other detective left scowling and dejected looking in the corner. Jimin stands up, and he feels the reassuring, but still puzzling, firmness of Jungkook’s hand at the small of his back. The detective reaches his hand out, and Jimin shakes it politely.

“My name is Detective Kim Namjoon, and I would like to apologize for the rash behavior of my partner.  It may be too early for you to have heard, but there’s been an incident at the dance studio you work for, Hope on the Street?” Jungkook shifts behind him at the news, and Jimin turns back to him in confusion before focusing on the detectives next words.

“There was a body found in one of the studio rooms, and we’d like to invite you to the station…just to answer a few questions.” Jimin stiffens at the detectives words, and Jungkook speaks up from behind him when he can tell that Jimin won’t be able to communicate for a moment.

“Excuse me detective, but why would you need to speak with Jimin about a dead body? Is he a suspect?” Jungkook’s voice is back to being cool and controlled. The detective frowns, and looks Jungkook fully in the face for the first time since arriving to the now trashed apartment.

“And you are…?”

“Jungkook. Jimin’s…next door neighbor.”

The detective postures himself a little straighter and turns his attention back to Jimin.

“The owner of the studio, Jung Hoseok, led us to believe that you were the last instructor on site the previous night. We just want to ask you some questions to determine whether or not you’ve seen anything that may be of help,” he says in a placating manner. Jimin turns back to Jungkook once more, and before his neighbor can speak for him again, he interrupts.

“Yes, I was the last instructor at the studio last night. I locked everything up, the same as I do every night. I don’t know how much help I can be, but I’ll come down to the station.” Jimin nods and the detective gives his affirmation before rounding towards the front door to grab his partner.

“We’ll wait for you outside until you’re ready, Mr. Park. Jungkook.” Detective Namjoon nods again before he’s off, detective Taecyeon leaving with a quiet scowl.

Once the door closes, Jimin turns swiftly to Jungkook in an attempt to speak before the man can change his mind.

“I’ll go get changed, just please…come with me? I don’t want to be weird, but I don’t know anyone here really, and I don’t want to go alone.” At his words, Jimin can see Jungkook’s eyes soften as he nods.



At the station, Jimin hangs his head in exhaustion and defeat. What good liars these detectives are. As soon as they got Jimin alone and away from Jungkook, they railed into him.

“At what time did you leave the studio last night? … What time did you make it home?” Detective Ok.

“Can anyone corroborate your statement?” Detective Kim.

“How did you know Jang Wooyoung?” Kim.

“How many times had the man hit on you before you snapped, Park? Or were you hitting on him? You look the type. What did he turn you down?” Ok.

On and on the questioning went until Jimin fleshes out 3 important facts: Jang Wooyoung was murdered in gruesome fashion sometime last night, Jimin was now their main suspect, and Jung Hoseok was the one who told the detectives all about the harassment from Wooyoung Jimin complained about to him.

“Wait, so…Hoseok is the one saying I murdered Wooyoung? Why would he say that?” Jimin’s voice is almost hoarse now with the amount of questions he’s answered interspersed with exasperated crying. More than this crazy turn of events, me… a murderer? Jimin can’t understand why Hoseok would be the one to bring his name up in a murder conversation.

“We asked Mr. Jung what he knew about Jang Wooyoung and he brought up your beef with the man… but that’s not the only connection we have to you and the rest of the murders, and you know it.” Detective Ok sneers at Jimin, and he’s plunged into further confusion. Did he just say-

“Murders? What do you mean murders; I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Jimin holds his hands to his head and grips his hair frantically. They’ve been at him for hours, drilling him about his interactions with Wooyoung, his history at the studio, when he’d moved to the new neighborhood, and now this?

“Bang Shi Hyuk, Jimin. Your Kyungnam High School English teacher? We know, Jimin, we may not be able to connect you to all the bodies yet, but…it’s not looking good for you. Not when you’re known as Busan’s most gruesome, prolific serial killer.” Detective Kim levels Jimin with an intense, accusatory look.

“The victim at Kyungnam High was Mr. Bang, Park. The Butcher’s 3rd victim...but you already knew that, didn’t you?” Detective Ok levels a condescending sneer at him. He removes his head from his hands swiftly as it snaps up, face contorted into wide-eyed shock. 

So this is why they wanted him to come to the station. 

Jimin’s blood has run ice cold. They think he’s a serial killer… they think he’s the Busan Butcher, they think he killed that old woman, that man at 7-eleven, and Mr. Bang…

Jimin stiffens in his seat and looks at the Detectives through the withered fringe of his blonde curls, still bedraggled from being dragged from his house into this ambush.

“Do you know about Mr. Bang, Detective Kim? About how I seduced my English teacher, sent him nudes, then dropped out of school? Fucking whore of Busan, right?” Jimin’s voice has turned steely, and he lifts his head up from where it’s drooped so low. He levels tired chocolate eyes at the detective in his own accusation.

“In not so many words, but yes, Mr. Park. We heard about your affair with Mr. Bang, and the grudge you probably hold against him for running you away from home. I understand what rejection must feel like, especially for someone at that age, but Ji-“

“It was never consensual, Detective Kim." He interjects wearily.

"I was sexually assaulted, molested…raped. Whatever you want to call it.” The room falls silent; Jimin readjusts himself in his seat as he dredges up a part of his past that still haunts him. A part he’s been desperately trying to forget.

“When I was placed in Mr. Bang’s class senior year, he’d ask me to stay after class and talk. His class was right before lunch, so I didn’t think anything of it. A couple months in, and he’d start closing the door…locking it. Asking me to sit in his lap. To…to touch him. I was up for a possible dance scholarship, he was gonna fail me, I was young. Felt like I couldn’t say no.” Jimin’s voice trails off into a whisper, and Detective Ok readjusts his position against the wall behind Detective Kim who continues to listen on in stunned silence.

“Right before I left, Mr. Bang was escalating…and that sick fuck made me take pi-pictures for him.” Jimin’s crying in earnest now, too worn out to hold it back.

“I sent the pictures to the Principle, hoping that he’d be able to just make it stop, but…he took his side! He spun everything to make me out to be some desperate slut sending pictures to my teacher for better grades. My friends dropped me, the school forced me to drop out, my parents-my parents hid me away in the house until the rumors started. My friends had graduated, and word got out about that whore Park Jimin, the pictures…everything. My father does landscaping, started losing business, and my mother could never look anyone in the eye knowing she has a gay son. They threw me out, made me promise to disassociate with them and to never come back to our neighborhood if they paid to send me away. Now they don’t even care that much, they’ve disowned me completely. Probably want me to move to Seoul, out of Korea, or die…” Jimin sniffs hard and wipes the back of his hand across his eyes. This has taken just about everything he has in him out, and he just wants to go home.

“Mr. Park, this does give us new information to sift through, but you do have a personal connection with two out of the four victims-“

“What Detective Kim is trying to say, Park, is fess the fuck up. Confess now, confess later, but we’ve already set the nail to your coffin.” Taecyeon’s face is blustering as he sets his hands on the back of the other detective’s chair. His fingers grip roughly against the cool metal as he continues to eye Jimin with a look of disgust.

Detective Kim eyes Detective Ok tiredly, but turns back once he hears Jimin’s weak appeal.

“I know enough of my rights to know that I’m free to leave unless you’re charging me with something.” Jimin pushes himself back from the interrogation table and looks on numbly at the two contrasting faces of the detectives: one of muted fury, the other quiet acceptance.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to find Jungkook.” As he pushes past the detectives and out into the hallway, he hears who he thinks is Detective Kim utter hollowly.

“Thank you for your candor… Mr. Park.”

The officer manning the front tells Jimin Jungkook was ordered to wait outside the precinct, as he would not stop pacing and distracting the other officers. A flash of warmth sinks into Jimin’s heart at the words, and his steps quicken to him. He owns a simple black Kia, and Jimin can see him leaned up against it, arms folded tight against his chest, head bowed.


Chapter Text

Jimin falls into Jungkook with the last remnants of strength leaving him, allowing himself to be comforted once more by this man…he’s always there. When Jimin first moved into the apartment complex a few months ago, helping him with little things like trash day, his groceries…and now he’s proving himself to be a pillar in other ways. With the landlord, coming to his defense when the officers trashed his house, and even now, driving him home from an interrogation. He never asks questions, never passes judgement, he’s just…there. Jimin looks over the initial confusion and bewilderment at Jungkook's over the top behavior and sees it for what it really is: someone who cares about him. Trying to protect him. For once. 

Jimin settles himself back in the passenger seat and closes his eyes for the ride home. With his eyes closed, his mind races forward, attempting to process all that has happened within the last 48 hours. Jungkook’s actions yesterday may have been too much for Jimin to understand then, but he thinks he’s beginning to see something he’s been missing.

He’s rarely experienced the level of care and concern that Jungkook shows him, with parents who were absent at their best, and close friends not coming until high school only to mostly abandon him at his lowest point.  Jungkook, though intense, is one of the only people he has around him now willing to look out for him; protect him. Jungkook cares for him. Even Hoseok turned on me, making the police think I could be some kind of killer…

Jungkook is uncharacteristically quiet as they make their way back upstairs, which Jimin is grateful for. The door to the landlord’s suite is closed, a small blessing for Jimin in his fragile state. At the bottom of the stairwell, he stops Jungkook with a soft touch to the elbow.

“My apartment…it’s still trashed, and I don’t-“

“I was already taking you back to my place Jimin, c’mon.”

Jungkook wraps his arm around Jimin’s waist to lead him upstairs, and this time…he doesn’t mind.

At the door to his apartment, Jungkook speaks again while fiddling with his keys.

“Jimin, you know I’m here for you, whatever you need, right? If you need someone to rely on, don’t push me away.” Jimin thinks he’s referencing the distance Jimin has tried to create between the two whenever there was a chance to get close, so he’s quick to reassure him now. Jimin wraps a tentative arm around Jungkook from behind, head barely clearing his shoulders as he leans his forehead onto them in a loose back-hug. Jungkook’s hands still, keys in the door, and he melts into the hold.

“I’m sorry Jungkook. Everything has just been happening so fast, but you’re the only one who’s been there for me. Thank you.” His words are somewhat muffled into the back of his shirt, and he takes a deep breath in. Jungkook smells like a mixture of the rough spun cotton of the t-shirt and his own clean musk, like he’s freshly showered. He cheeks a small grin and lets go of him once he feels him move again to unlock the door. His words must have had an effect on Jungkook as he takes a hold of Jimin’s hand properly for the first time. His skin is surprisingly rough, but his large hand manages to dwarf Jimin’s short stubby-fingered paw, which is cute.

“Come inside, Angel.”

Angel? That’s new…


The door opens onto a scene of mass carnage, and before Jimin can fully comprehend what it is he’s seeing, the door is locked behind him, Jungkook at his back. He mimics their previous position in reverse, only his hold on Jimin is uncomfortably tight. Like he’s holding him in place. Without the arms holding him in place, Jimin may have fallen to his knees with what lay before him.

His eyes first track the deep mahogany color of half-dried blood speckled from the entryway along a thicker, goopier trail leading into the living room. Sitting in a chair, facing the frozen look of horror on Jimin’s face, is Donghyun. The landlord’s visage is unnerving in death, as his features have been mutilated almost past recognition. He only knows who it is by the familiar build and clothing, the rest a dripping mess.

The mouth that had dared to sneer so salaciously at Jimin every time he walked past is cut wide and sickly out of proportion, the bedraggled edges propped open with what looks like the severed ends of the man’s fingers: a gruesome parody of the ugly jeer he wore so well. Jimin’s eyes twitch down to confirm that yes, those are his fingers. The blunted edges where the fingers belong are tacky with drying blood, and he feels the bottom drop out of his stomach with a sickening swoop.

“I made sure that disgusting maggot took his last breath with that same pathetic smirk on his face.” Jungkook’s lips barely touch the outer shell of Jimin’s ear when he speaks, but the sudden movement and vibration of the words jump start his heart into overdrive. Panic, a fear so present he can taste it in the back of his throat.

“Blood-I-Ju-Jungkook what is this? You didn’t do this! What-“Feeble words keep bubbling up and then cutting off. Jimin is shaking uncontrollably now, unable to take in much more after the hours of questioning at the station. There is a dead, mutilated body in Jungkook’s living room. The landlord is dead. And in Jungkook’s living room…and he’s not at all phased. He tries turning within his hold, but Jungkook’s grip tightens around his waist. With his long arms he easily secures each of his wrists in an equally forceful hold and pulls them in flush to his body as well within the hug. Jimin lets out a pained breath in surprise, the grip is in bruising territory now and the shaking in his body worsens.

“I told you Jimin, I’m here to protect you. Do you think he’d only look for long? His words were vile enough, but that maggot almost touched you yesterday… I have him here now. Look, angel, see what I’ve done for you?” Jungkook lets one of Jimin’s wrists loose in favor of cupping his chin from his position behind the man. Jimin has his eyes screwed shut and head bowed as far down as he can maneuver to avoid the macabre scene laid out before him, but Jungkook’s gentle cupping motion to his chin turns rough when he fights the movement.

“Look, Jimin,” he commands, voice a tart honey in his ear, and Jimin does. He looks. His shaking gives way to a low-toned wail of wild revulsion and confusion.

“Why…”his voice is barely a whisper, tears exhausted for the day, but breath hiccupping in his chest. Jimin is beyond fear at this point, falling into that grey space before his mind goes numb from the shock of his reality.

“You’re mine.” Jungkook says simply, loosening his hold around the near-limp man. Jimin stumbles forward, foot sliding into an errant pool of half-dried blood. He inhales sharply and whips himself around to face Jungkook. His eyes fix widely on the man who not fifteen minutes ago Jimin considered a savior, someone he felt safe around.

The man he is looking at now doesn’t seem so different, but the look in his eyes has changed; where before Jimin had always been puzzled by the unfathomable amount of emotion his eyes held, now Jungkook’s gaze clearly designates Jimin as the object of it’s every affection and purpose. His eyes now never falter; never waver, from their favored subject. Jimin.

“These men, they’re all the same. Stunted humanoid husks that think only with the swollen head of their dick. Wooyoung mistook your kindness for permission, and laid his hands on what belongs to me. Bang Shi Hyuk…well, no man alive should get away with what he’s done to you. Would you like to know how pitiful he sounded when I began sawing at his neck with the dull edge of my hunting knife?” Jungkook’s pretty, pouted mouth twists into a cruel sneer of his own. Jimin is teetering on the edge of sanity, each of Jungkook’s words sinking deeper and deeper into his skin.

“Mr. Bang…you killed him…both of them? How do you even-how do you know what they’ve done to me?” Jimin is desperately clawing for answers at this point. He knows he’s missing something to tie everything together. Jungkook is a murderer, he’s just murdered the landlord and has now admitted to killing two lecherous men who-

“Busan Butcher.”

The words fall clearly out of Jimin’s mouth, and Jungkook flashes him an indulgent smile.

“Do you understand why, Jimin?” Jungkook asks, and his words sound oh so innocent. Minus the dead body, blood, and Jimin frozen in place across from him, this could be just another day where Jimin smiles and engages with his beautiful neighbor.

“No.”Jimin doesn’t’ t at the moment have the mental capacity to understand much more than he’s been living next door to the Busan Butcher for 6 months…and his heart still shakes under his gaze. Jungkook’s eyes flash briefly in disappointment, but he schools his face into a more clinical manner as he rummages through his pocket for something. Once he gets a hold, he pulls out a syringe a quarter full of a clear unknown liquid. If it’s possible, Jimin’s face blanches too it’s lightest possible shade at the sight.

“Jungkook, please no-ahk!” Jimin shakes his head vehemently no, and his arms to up in a defensive manner. He easily takes a hold of one arm and pulls Jimin back into his body, holding him there in a restricting embrace.  Jimin is now far too weak to resist. Jungkook stretches Jimin’s arm out and brings his lips to the inner crease of his elbow. Jimin feels his lips flutter against his skin. Feels the instantaneous prick and rush of cool fluid into his system.

It only takes a moment, but Jimin can feel a final, lone tear tracking it’s way down his face as he stares at Jungkook in anguish and disbelief. The edges of his vision have begun to fade.

“Soon you will understand my angel…sleep.”


Jimin wakes up in the Blue Room again, legs still secured in makeshift handcuffs tied to the bed. Today, he assumes it’s another day, he’s a little more lucid. The ropes binding him feel like they’re made of a thick silk with how soft, yet firm, they feel around his ankles. They’re dyed the same blue color as the blanket beneath him covering the bed. The same color as the identical ropes keeping his hands tied together above his head. Jungkook must be removing and retying him in between injections when Jimin loses all consciousness because he doesn’t feel any irritation where any ropes tied for an extended period of time should have rubbed him raw. He must be bathing him as well.

Jimin groggily lets his head fall to look towards the door and he can see the clean, fluffy blonde tendrils of his hair falling into his eyes. His eyes roam to take in what he can of the rest of the room: navy blue walls, white dresser…another door that may lead into a bathroom, another smaller door that may lead to a closet. His arm twitches like he wants to move and brush the hair away from his face, but he gives a low muddled groan instead at the ache he can feel from the resistance of his silken constraints.   

The door knob turns, and Jimin blinks heavily in an attempt to focus on Jungkook’s blurred form walking into the room. His smile is gentle as he settles beside Jimin’s stretched frame on the bed. A large, warm hand cups Jimin’s cheek as he turns his face upwards. He meets Jungkook’s eyes with a heavy stare as they begin again.

“Good morning, Angel.” His words are soft, spoken adoringly as they have been every lucid moment Jimin can remember. There’s no way for him to tell how long this has been going on…how long he’s been drugged, been in this room. All he knows is that Jungkook is there every time he wakes. There to feed him, massage the ache out of his legs and arms. To talk. Get him to understand.

“Jungkook…” Jimin’s voice is weak, but Jungkook responds immediately. He moves in purposefully to meet Jimin’s lips in a bruising kiss. Jimin lets him take over his body once more, giving in to the man’s insistent desires. The same large hand that had cupped his cheek lovingly now roams to the back of his neck in a possessive grip. Jimin keeps his eyes open long enough to see Jungkook’s closed in fervor as his plush lips devour his hungrily, taking possession of him piece by piece with each nip and suck.

He finally closes his eyes tightly on a surprising moan that manages to burst from him as Jungkook’s licking tongue manages to part his abused lips and snake into his mouth. Until this point, he has been unable to respond much to Jungkook’s advances with the large amount of sedative in his system, but Jimin’s moaning reaction now with less of the drug spurs Jungkook into overdrive.

“Ah, you taste so sweet, Angel…”Jungkook breathes the words against Jimin’s skin as his lips trail across his jawline, down his neck, leaving darkening bruises with his teeth. Every bite is followed by a possessive latching of his lips onto the mark in a suction motion, tongue laving hotly over the skin, sucking to enhance the purpling welt. Jimin’s breath hitches at every bite, his sedation helping to meld the pain with the pleasure, relaxing him further into the blue of the bed below.

“So perfect for me…”his words are spoken clearer as he detaches his lips from Jimin’s neck. His second hand moves from the bed to curl tenderly at the curve of his slender waist. Jimin’s head lolls back into Jungkook’s hold.

“I love you… You’re mine, Angel. You belong to me, and that means no one will ever be able to hurt you again, hmm?” It’s the first time Jimin has heard a declaration of love from him. As he speaks the words, Jungkook is nodding along, staring into Jimin’s glazed eyes. It’s as if he’s expecting a response, wants Jimin to follow his lead, so he moves his head as much as he can in a slight answering nod. Jungkook smiles gently. That’s the right answer. He settles Jimin back against the cushions of the bed and repositions himself beside him, feet planted on the ground. Now comes the talking.

“I’ve told you almost everything, Jimin. I know everything there is to know about you, I’ve paid attention. Every phone call from your mother, your school records, I’ve even spoken with schoolmates of yours from your old neighborhood…it’s amazing what people will say when they think you’re a reporter.” Jungkook laughs lightly while Jimin continues to fix his gaze on the beautiful man, keeping their eyes locked. Beautiful, and so, so dangerous.

“Yes, I know everything about you. So what about me…”he trails off at this point, breaking eye contact with Jimin to stare blankly at a spot just above his head.

“You wouldn’t know as I haven’t gotten the chance to show you around the house yet,” Jungkook smirks, Jimin blinks.

“But my father is a wealthy man. Jeon Soo Hyun, I know you recognize the name.” Jimin does, but he thought Jungkook’s family name was Kang. That’s what is written on the mailbox for the apartment.

“Typical sob story, born out of wedlock, father never acknowledge me or my mother…but my mother was a different breed of woman, she’s-she was…the most emotionless, manipulative creature I’ve ever encountered.” Jungkook says this with little to no emotion, as if the fact is merely that. Nothing more.

“She never loved me, but I was the perfect tool to get everything she’d ever wanted. She was ingenious, really.” He breaks his stoic character here with a small chuckle.

“She conned my father into keeping me on the family registry, into buying us this house, into providing a generous monthly allowance. The only thing she never got was him back in her bed. Drove herself crazy when my father remarried, refused to eat. Killed herself a year ago, don’t think I’ve ever seen my father so happy.” At these words, Jimin can hear the bitterness seep out. He wonders why he never killed his father. Maybe he plans on it.

“With her gone, there was no real reason to stay here, filthy Jeon family secret. So I left…”he pauses, sounding confused, and Jimin thinks he finally sees.

“I left, and then…”

“…and then you found me,” Jimin finishes for him dreamily, still weighed down by the effects of the sedative. Jungkook’s eyes snap back to his immediately and he stills, searching for something in Jimin’s face. After a moment, it seems he’s found what he’s after.

“I think you understand now.”


Jimin and Jungkook are gone, they have another body to add to the Busan Butcher’s count…and they are nowhere closer to solving this case than the moment they had Park Jimin in their interrogation room. Then let him get away. Detective Kim had already heard enough from his mouthy partner at the Donghyun murder scene, now he has to listen to him railing in again on their escaped suspect.

“That filthy little minx has got to still be in Busan, somewhere. He didn’t graduate high school, I don’t see him with the brains to have slipped the city right under our noses.” Taecyeon is driving him up the wall with his incessant monologue about Park Jimin. Namjoon isn’t even sure Jimin could have done this, not after what he saw from him in that interrogation room. He’s made this point several times to the other detective, but he’s always met with another version of filthy little minx or Busan whore…this man has fucking issues. Issues Namjoon doesn’t want to even begin to try and understand, but they need to wrap this case up. He misses Seokjin.

“Run some of the facts by me again, Ok. I think I just need to hear it one more time. There’s something here that’s catching in my mind, I just need to nail it down. Like why the body was found in Jungkook’s apartment and not Jimin’s. Have they been working together this whole time? Jimin seemed to be so dependent on him…” Namjoon muses from his seated position at his desk while Taecyeon paces mindlessly in front of him.

“Okay Kim, we received a call on Saturday from residents at Park Jimin’s apartment complex about a foul odor coming from the 3rd floor. Upon investigation, we found the body of apartment landlord Yoo Donghyun mutilated in the living room of apartment 3B, rented out by Kang Jungkook. We find Park Jimin and Kang Jungkook missing after I told you not to let-“

“Wait,” Namjoon shushes him immediately, finally catching on to what has been bothering him about all this.

“Let me see the paperwork on Jungkook’s apartment lease. I only scanned it when we got it, but there’s something there, I can feel it.” Taecyeon gives a skeptical shrug, but grabs the file and hands over the information. Namjoon drops the reading glasses from atop his head to the bridge of his nose and looks at what’s written on the page closely, and there it is: Lease Applicant Kang Jungkook, Sub-Lease Applicant Kang Minah, Relation to Applicant Grandmother. He stands up abruptly and shoves the paper back in Taecyeon’s face.

“Read it Taec, right there under our fucking noses this entire time!”

“Son of a bitch, Kang Minah. That’s our first Butcher victim…”

“We’ve been looking at this completely backwards. It’s not Park Jimin, it’s Jungkook.”


It’s been three days since Jungkook released him from the Blue Room. Three days sober from whatever sedative he’s been feeding into his system, and Jimin is much more lucid now. Lucid Jimin has come to a resolution: he can’t possibly stay here, like this. There’s still a lot to sift through in his mind…Jungkook is a killer and feels some sort of possessive ownership over him. He’s protected Jimin, made him feel safe. He’s enacted some twisted sense of justice against almost everyone Jimin can think of that’s betrayed his sanctity of self: molested his body, saw him as nothing more than a piece of ass…a mouth for sucking, a hole for fucking. As morbid as it sounds, Jimin can’t find it within himself to hate him for what he’s done. Those men deserved what they got, and Jungkook would never treat him like that.

Jungkook loves him.

But if he loves him, he wouldn’t keep him here, locked up like a captive slave. There are no latches on any of the windows of what seem to be a spacious 3 bedroom home. Now he’s had the chance to poke around, he can see electric locks on all the doors, each requiring a passcode to activate the lock. He can’t stay here, not caged like an animal, so he starts thinking. Of a way out.

Jimin has a plan.

It’s nearing evening, he can tell by the beautiful orange to blue gradient in the glimpse of the sunset out the window. Whenever Jungkook goes out for groceries or whatever business he has outside the home, he always leaves covered head to toe in blacks and muted greys. Always locks the door, Jimin always on the inside. They must be looking for the two of them by now…must have found the landlord’s dead body. Jimin can only imagine the headlines now, and gives a sardonic chuckle at the embarrassment his parents must feel: Park Jimin, from Busan Whore to Busan Butcher. He’s made them so proud.

Jungkook likes to read in the study off the main bedroom of the home around this time, before he makes dinner. Jimin has taken to sharing the main bedroom with him. Anything to get out of the Blue Room and off the sedative. He moves deliberately there now, into what he calls the Red Room. The bed-things and walls are all a rich crimson in color, what lead to the name. With the setting sun, the color washes Jimin’s skin in a rosy pink hue as he heads to the bathroom to ready himself.

Jungkook hasn’t gone much farther with Jimin than the fevered kisses he pressed to his sedated lips in the Blue Room. Sleeping in the Red Room, they lay with Jungkook wrapped completely surrounding Jimin, his legs trapped between Jungkook’s surprisingly stronger thighs, arms wrapped up and pressed to his chest with Jungkook pressed to his back. Like Jungkook was sure Jimin would escape given the chance. All innocent though, light kisses before they head to sleep and when they wake up. Oddly domestic. He’s going to change that tonight. His body is the only leverage he has at this point, and he plans on using it against Jungkook to convince him to let him go. So he can be free.

Jimin washes with scented soaps and luxuriates under the hot steam of the water to loosen his limbs. He lotions himself up. Fingers himself to completion once. He’s always felt more limber after his first orgasm. It’s hard work keeping himself quiet with three fingers up his ass, desperately trying to reach for prostate stimulation with short, chubby fingers. He manages to jab at it forcefully a few times before he releases into one end of a towel weakly, the other end muffling his pleasured cries.

After cleaning up the bathroom, Jimin walks over to Jungkook’s closet to find clothing for the battle ahead. He chooses a cream colored cable knit oversized sweater, one of the few items of clothing in the closet not black, white, or red. He pulls it over his head and feels the soft, cashmere material slide down his skin before it falls and settles right at the tops of his thighs. Jimin traipses over to the full length mirror on the closet door and has one last look at himself. The sweater is meant to be oversized on someone of Jungkook’s stature, so on Jimin it’s almost falling off, one shoulder almost bare with the way it slides to the side. His collarbones are on proud display, his hair half dried now in attractive blonde waves falling into his face. The hem of the sweater reaches the top of Jimin’s thigh, giving him enough modesty to cover the cusp of his ass and his dick. Barely.

He’s ready.

Jimin finds Jungkook right where he knew he’d be: in the study off the Red Room, book in his hands. Jimin falters in the doorway looking at the man before him in an attempt to steel himself. Jungkook looks up at Jimin’s appearance and his face freezes for a moment, eyes stuck on the large expanse of honeyed thighs bared for him to see. Jimin watches as his gaze trails hungrily up from his thighs to his exposed collarbone, to the pink flush running across his cheeks from his first orgasm until their eyes meet.

“Angel…” The endearment is spoken in the same reverent tone Jungkook has taken to using when referring to Jimin by that name, and despite his situation, Jimin thinks he’s never felt so empowered by a word, or a look. In lieu of a response, Jimin moves to Jungkook where he sits comfortably in the large leather easy chair at the corner of the study.

He sets his book to the end table beside him as Jimin climbs into his lap, muscled thighs rippling as they settle over Jungkook’s jean covered ones. He takes the opportunity to slide large, warm hands from the tops of his thighs up up and under the sweater to come to rest on his ample hips, all the while eyes religiously trained on Jimin’s chocolate orbs. Jimin wraps his arms around Jungkook’s neck and tangles his fingers into the messy black locks at his nape from his perch in the man’s lap. Jungkook gives a happy hum and smiles up at him.

“Jimin, what is thi-“the rest of the question is stolen from his lips by Jimin’s own. The kiss is messy and passionate, the first time Jimin’s been able to give as good as he gets since he’s been sedated. Jungkook lets out a growl from the back of his throat when Jimin’s hips begin undulating in small circles, his simple grasp of Jimin’s waist becoming a monstrous hold with bruising strength. Jimin works Jungkook’s bottom lip between his teeth and dips into his mouth on a pleasured gasp, tongue wrapping around his.

Jimin works his hips on top of Jungkook, grinding down until he can feel his erection pressing against his bare ass through the rough denim, until his own erection presses against the soft lining of the sweater, until both their breathing is too much to keep their kisses from being much more than tongues laving against open mouths. Jimin is pleased to hear Jungkook's absent-minded soft sounds of pleasure with each measured drag of his ass against the larger's lap, each sound wrapping tighter around him and sounding more desperate than the last. He can feel Jungkook’s hips pressing up into his own to match his rhythm in increased desperation, clothed dick humping up against Jimin’s ass and balls, and he pulls his mouth away from him without stilling his movements. This is where he wants him. 

“Do you love me, Jungkook?” he asks breathlessly, hips keeping up their rhythm. He hiccups at the intense feelings of pleasure he’s getting from the dual stimulation of the sweater rubbing against his erect length and the roughness of Jungkook pushing up into him, at times spreading his cheeks far enough apart to feel pressure on his sensitive hole. He needs to keep it under control. Jungkook’s face is scrunched in an equal amount of pleasure, but his eyes remain on Jimin’s. His answer is immediate.

“Yes, I love you. You’re my angel,” he pants out. Jimin takes his arms from around his neck and takes Jungkook’s face in both his hands. His hands are small, so his fingers are barely long enough to curve up to his cheeks.

“Let me go, Jungkook. If you love me…let me go.” Jimin speaks the words solemnly, but his eyes carry all of the emotion within him behind them. All of the fear, gratitude, resentment and attraction he’s grappled with throughout this entire ordeal.

If you love me, let me go…

“Do you love me, Jimin?” He’s taken aback by the question. Of all the responses he anticipated, anger, sadness, silence, this question is a surprise. And he doesn’t know how to answer. Jungkook uses his strength to still Jimin’s movements on his lap for a moment and asks him again.

“Do you love me, Jimin?”

“Jungkook, I’m not sure if- I-“Jimin fumbles with an answer, he doesn’t know how to answer the question at all. It’s not right for him to feel love for someone who’s done the kind of monstrous things Jungkook has done. But never to me. He kidnapped and drugged him for days. He fed me, bathed me, was so sweet. From what Jungkook told him during the days he was sedated, he’s been stalking him ever since Jimin moved into the apartment next door. He defended me, protected me, made me feel safe…loved.

“Answer me, Angel.” The demand was met with a sudden return to movement from Jungkook as he resumed pressing himself into Jimin’s behind, controlling the movement of his hips with the strong grip of his hands. Jimin gasps at the sudden pleasure bowing in on himself when his cock becomes trapped between their two bodies as Jungkook hugs him closer.

His hips are moving faster now, and Jimin can’t seem to stop himself from matching the pace. Jungkook bites roughly at his neck and he lets his head fall back in a silent plea for more. Keeping the rough pace of his hips, Jungkook slides his hands from Jimin’s hips to the swell of his cheeks, taking one soft globe into each hand as he begins to knead. Jimin moans his loudest then, hips jerking forward at the new stimulation. Jungkook spreads him wide open with each grab, and slides a long, slender finger towards his pulsating hole.

“I said do you love me, Jimin? Answer now.” Jungkook’s finger starts tapping at his rim, Jimin so sensitive at this point that his spine goes ramrod straight in pleasure. He’s hiccupping moans now, hips jerking at an erratic pace against Jungkook’s stomach to feel the slide of the sweater on his dick. The movement is sloppy and getting wetter and wetter with the almost constant stream of pre-cum leaking from his hardness. His mind is a jumble of pleasure, urgency, confusion, panic,

“DO YOU LOVE ME?” Jungkook’s voice is loud, commanding.

Yes.” Jimin’s answer is weak, defeated.

“Now I can never let you go.” The words are final. Jungkook stands swiftly from his seat in the chair, arms secure around the backs of Jimin’s thighs to hold him against his body.

“Jungkook, wait, I-“ It’s Jungkook’s turn to swallow his words with an animalistic kiss, more teeth than tongue. They’ve gone too far for it to be sweet now. Jungkook is wild, out of control as he tosses Jimin to the bed and rips the white V-neck his has on up and over his head. Jimin slides back on the red covers towards the head of the bed, chest heaving, as Jungkook removes his jeans and underwear. His cock is thick and swollen red, the tip beading over with pre-come. Jimin is still clad only in Jungkook's oversized sweaater, but he makes no moves to take it off as he's completely mesmerized by Jungkook's every movement. Finally succumbed wholly to the man before him. 

There’s no more talking now as Jungkook rummages through the bedside table for a bottle of lube, pouring a generous amount in his right hand before discarding the bottle. With his left, he grabs at Jimin’s ankle to pull him closer to the edge and flips him to lay on his stomach as he climbs atop the bed behind him. He gives a small yelp in surprise at the rough handling, but feels heat bursting from the very depth of his core in intense arousal.

He'd be embarrassed at the utter defeat of his plan for freedom, but all he can feel right now is a deep throbbing of desire. Want. Love, he says to himself. Jimin can hear him sliding his lubed hand over his cock once, twice, so he presses his chest to the bed and lifts his hips up with an enticing wiggle. Jimin feels the cool press of his lubed fingers to his hole, and Jungkook gives a surprised hum when he finds him already prepped and able to take two of his fingers with ease.

Jimin pants into the bed, hips twitching with the renewed attention to his ass. Another finger goes in and Jimin lets out a high pitched moan. His face is pressed to the covers, so he turns to the side to get a look at Jungkook. His pupils are blown, and it seems like he’s holding for a second to take everything in: Jimin presented before him, finally giving himself over to Jungkooks’s full control.

“Mine,” Jungkook growls before lining himself up and pushing in to the hilt on the first go. Jimin grunts in pain as the breath is knocked out of him at the swiftness of his first thrust. Jungkook is too thick. Jimin tightens down on the hard cock inside him, but the lube makes it easy enough for Jungkook to pull back and thrust in again, harder. With a gasp, Jimin takes his hand and tries to push back on Jungkook, it’s too much, too many sensations.

“Jungkook,” he manages to choke out before the man roughly grabs a hold of the arm stretched back and holds it tight behind him, continuing to drill into his overstimulated hole. Jimin cries out again, this time with as much pleasure mixed in with the pain. He can feel the drag from his rim along Jungkook’s massive cock every time he rocks out and drills back into him.

The restriction of his arm behind his back sends a sick thrill up Jimin’s spine, and he’s embarrassed to feel his own dick throbbing at the action, pre-come spilling over the swollen head and dirtying the red below. Jungkook pushes the oversized sweater up until it pools around Jimin’s neck and shoulders to get a better look at his cock sinking into Jimin’s ass.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect, Angel,” Jungkook heaves as he punctuates each of his words with a body rocking thrust. Jimin’s legs are shaking now at the sheer force of his cock slamming into him, so Jungkook lets Jimin’s body droop farther into the bed and drapes himself over his back with his lips pressed to his ear. Jungkook speeds up his movements, throbbing cock drilling faster into Jimin beneath him. The slapping of his hips against his ass has each soft mound jiggling on impact, and Jungkook is finally hitting the perfect spot inside of him, and-

More.” Jimin is able to gasp out between hiccupping moans. All the while Jungkook is spilling filth into his ear, biting down on the supple flesh of his shoulder. Marking what’s his.  

“Shit, do you feel how well you take me, huh? Fucking made for my cock, just for me.” Jimin can only whimper in response, brain in shambles from the fast, rough, non-stop fucking. His dick is rubbing against the covers of the bed, sandwiched between it and his stomach, and that coupled with Jungkook’s constant attack on his prostrate is making it hard for Jimin to hold his orgasm back.

“Close,” he manages another word in a pitched cry. His moans are high and staccato now in tempo with Jungkook’s cock filling him over and over and over. He can feel the drag of his fat cock on his rim, inside him against his prostate, and he relishes in the heavy press of Jungkook’s body pressing his own into the bed.

“You’ll come just like this, for me. Only on my cock,” Jimin nods his head madly, too far gone to control his movements now. His voice is a stream of yesyesyesyesyes as he pushes back to meet Jungkook’s every thrust until it all becomes too much and he feels his body bursting at the seams. His orgasm rips through his throat as he screams Jungkook’s name, and he clenches down hard on his still thrusting cock. His climax moves through him wave after wave, his cock spilling load after load into the sheets until his body is thrumming in sensitivity. 

Jungkook’s not finished yet.

He squeals in overstimulation as Jungkook’s pounding thrusts turn erratic, the sensitive, puffy skin of his rim continuing to drag against his cock. It’s almost too much pleasure for Jimin to handle as his eyes roll back in his head. Jungkook starts chanting Jimin’s name as he gives him three last brutal thrusts before he’s spilling inside of him. Jimin feels his hole pulsing uncontrollably around Jungkook’s softening cock as he rides out his orgasm with a few gentle thrusts.

 He whimpers at the feeling of Jungkook pulling out, his semen leaking out of his abused hole, his body shaking uncontrollably, breath catching in his throat. Jungkook’s breathing is just as rough. He can feel it on the back of his neck before Jungkook flips him over and wraps his entire body around the smaller man. He slides a leg in between Jimin’s shaking ones, and presses his face into his chest in a tender hold.

His breathing is still heavy, trapping itself along with the moisture on Jungkook’s chest. He’s wrapped himself up in this man completely now, and he’s trying to figure out how he’s ended up here; what went wrong. If Jimin is honest with himself, he belonged to Jungkook the first moment they met, when Jungkook was still helping him with his groceries and taking out the trash. He’d given himself away the moment he felt more comfort and protection in Jungkook’s arms than in being alone. Because that’s what he would be without Jungkook: alone.

Jimin presses his lips into Jungkook’s clavicle, tasting the salt on his skin from his sweat. Their mess is still sticky between them, destroying the bed sheets and drying to their bodies, yet Jimin smiles.

“I love you.” He says properly for the first time, looking up into Jungkook’s eyes. He smiles the most contented smile Jimin’s seen yet, as if that’s what he’s been waiting to hear the whole time.


It’s almost 9 o’clock when the pair are woken up in a twin scenario to the one before: heavy banging on the front door, shouting voices. Jungkook shoots up from the bed in a split second, wearing nothing but a pair of sweats. They’d showered and stripped the bed before laying back in it for the night, so Jimin is clad only in an over-sized black t-shirt and boxers. He can hear the booming echo of Detective Ok before more banging on the door. Jimin is frozen in fear, and he turns to Jungkook, panicked.

“What do we do?” Jimin whispers, arms wrapped around himself tightly in a poor attempt at holding the panic in. Jungkook’s eyes have turned steely, and he grabs a shirt from off the floor to throw roughly over his head. His hunting knife is lying in a case in the closet. He moves to grab it while Jimin watches on helplessly.

“Stay here, don’t come out no matter what you hear. They don’t know you’re here.” Jimin nods frantically and falls backwards onto the bed, finding it hard to keep himself standing.

Jungkook moves out of the room and closes the door behind him. That does nothing to mute the sounds from the other side, however, so Jimin still hears when Jungkook pulls open the door. He jumps at the crashing sounds he hears, unable to tell who’s moving where or doing what. He hears Detective Ok more towards the kitchen on the right, Jungkook to the left near the entrance to the living room.

“You’re trespassing detectives, you have no right to be on this property.” Jungkook starts lowly. So the noises must have been the bullish detective pushing himself inside.

“We know who you are Jeon Jungkook. The game is over you sick fuck, we have you and-“ It sounds like the detective is stopped by something, or someone. Jimin can hear Jungkook growling menacingly, cool completely lost.

“No, shut up! He’s not-“

“Park Jimin.” The voice of Detective Kim. “I know you’re here…come out so we can talk.”

Jimin knows Jungkook told him to stay in the room no matter what he hears, but they do know that he’s here. He doesn’t want Jungkook to face them alone. 

He can see Jungkook’s face fall the moment Jimin steps from behind the bedroom door. He was right, Jungkook and Detective Ok are facing off on opposite sides of the room with Detective Kim standing stalwart at the front door. No different than before.

“Jimin, I want you to come with us. We know you didn’t kill anyone.” The detective starts. This was unexpected, so Jimin tilts his head to the side in confusion. Detective Kim can tell he’s confused, so he tries again.

“We know Jungkook has been stalking you, we know he’s the one who killed all those people. You’re innocent Jimin, you don’t have to stay with him here. Come with us.” He shoots a warning glare at Jungkook. His eyes are only for Jimin. They lock gazes before Jimin looks back at the detective.

“I’m not leaving him.” The words have two opposite reactions. They stun Detective Kim. They enrage Detective Ok.

“You filthy slut, I knew you two were in on it together! What did I tell you, Kim, a whore will always be a whore.” He taunts cruelly. Detective Kim looks as if he’s steeling himself to either tell him off or try reasoning with Jimin, but before anyone can make another move Jungkook is all liquid lightning as he plows into Detective Ok.

“Jungkook!” Jimin cries out as the men start grappling for power. It seems as if Jungkook has the upper hand. He’s on top of the detective with his knee to his chest, but the detective is quite a bit larger than the younger man and is able to topple him over. They both fall into a coffee table and continue to fight. Fists pulled back and catching either skin or air.

Jimin is panicking again as the two men are falling over each other. Detective Kim must have some confidence in his partner, because he beelines for Jimin instead of pulling Jungkook off.

“Jimin listen to me.” He reaches to grab Jimin’s arm and he yelps in surprise, head swiveling to face the detective.

“Did Jungkook tell you about how he killed Kang Minah, Jimin? How he bludgeoned her to death just to use her identity to rent out his apartment? Or how he stabbed that poor young boy in the face and neck fifteen times just to steal his money out of his account?” Detective Kim’s voice is raising now, whether in anger or an earnest desire to get Jimin to see reason, he has no idea.

“Jungkook-“The detective cuts his words short by grabbing at his other arm, Jimin completely in his hold now. Hearing the call of his name, Jungkook looks up and sees Jimin trapped by Detective Kim. In that split second of worry, Detective Ok sees his opening and slams Jungkook to the ground, finally gaining the better position. He’s on top of him now, every punch landing square on Jungkook’s face, to his nose, his eye, his cheek. With each hit landed, Jungkook slowly stops moving, but that doesn’t slow the detective down. His pupils are blown wide with his crazed attack, and Detective Kim has seen enough.

“That’s enough, Ok, lay off! Jimin! You need to choose now,” he says frantically, attempting to keep Jimin’s attention, but Jimin’s mind has shut off. His decision has already been made, and Jungkook is lying limp underneath the other detective’s vicious onslaught. He won’t stop unless Jimin makes him.

With a fluidity only born from Jimin’s dancing prowess, he pulls himself free from Detective Kim’s hold and ducks under his arm to grab at the heavy metal centerpiece adorning one of the side tables. He sweeps his arm back, catching Detective Kim on the side of the head. He falls, disoriented, giving Jimin a chance to run to Jungkook.

He heaves the heavy metal high above his head and swings it down hard at the juncture of Detective Ok’s head and neck. At the first hit, the man is thrown down to the floor, rolling away from Jungkook’s motionless body. He attempts to get to his feet, but before he can find his balance Jimin strikes him again. And again. And again. And again. He doesn’t stop until he hears the sickening crunch and squelch of bone and blood once, twice three times. His chest is heaving for air and he has blood splattered against his entire front, but Detective Kim draws his attention to the front door. He’s managed to get himself into a seated position, blood pooling from an open wound to his face, walkie in hand.

“This is Detective Kim, we have an officer down at-“ Jimin takes a second swing at the detective, knocking him out cold this time. He lets the centerpiece drop from his hands now and falls to his knees in disbelief. He killed a detective. He might have killed two detectives if-

“Angel…” Jungkook’s pained rasp has him crawling immediately to his side, tears in his eyes.

“Oh Jungkook, you’re okay look at me. You’re okay my love, you’re okay.” Jimin pulls his head into his lap and wipes at all the blood caking to his face to see his eyes. Jungkook’s breathing is pained, but even. Jimin strokes at his hair, matted from the fight and the blood from his hands. He feels a deep sense of calm settle over him, mind quiet for once.

“You’re safe.”


It’s Namjoon’s first day out of the hospital and already Seokjin is acting like he’s gonna pass out any second.

“Baby, just sit down for me, here. You’re making me nervous!” Namjoon hoped that he’d been able to sneak up on him, in the middle of snaking his long arms around Seokjin’s tapered waist before the man catches him in the act. He pushes Namjoon into a chair at the kitchen table and the s back to finish the dinner he has cooking in the stove.Namjoon gives a fake wince at the harsh treatment, hoping to draw his attention.

No dice.

“Why am I making you nervous, I just wanted a kiss,” he grumbles, though looks fondly on at the world’s sexiest cook. He’s wearing a black apron folded over and tied at the waist, hair styled back so he can see Seokjin’s beautiful forehead and bone structure. His Jin... Jin frowns at him over his shoulder, but he can only smile in response. How the fuck did he ever get this lucky?

in the midst of admiring the broad, muscled lines of his back, Namjoon sees them stiffen and inch towards his ears before he turns around to speak again.

“They said at the hospital that Detectives Ok’s funeral will be next Tuesday. Are we going?” Jin’s question is more subdued in light of the heavier topic. Namjoon shrugs, but nods his head in the affirmative. He never liked the man, but they served weeks together side by side. He was there the night the man died, brutally beaten.

It’s as if Jin can read his mind as he huffs in anger over the meal being prepared on the stove.

“I hope they catch those psychos. Do you think they’d still be in Busan? Maybe here in Seoul? They can’t get away with what they’ve done, can they?”

Namjoon thinks back to the officers who arrived too late to be back up, too late to save Taecyeon. They’d found a note near Namjoon, still knocked out cold from the two shots he took to the head. He’d been able to read it while he was in the hospital. Still couldn’t decide what to think about it.

“I don’t know, babe…”

Detective Kim,

I’m sorry about everything, truly I am, but I love him. I know you were trying to help me, but you should just let it go now. We’re leaving; somewhere you won’t be able to find us. Jungkook won’t hurt anyone ever again, I promise. He won’t do that anymore.

He loves me.


Park Jimin