Opportune
My Cruel Kidnapper: Chapter Seven
Yandere! Jungkook
Summary: You see the chance to escape. Freedom is right there. But should you take it?
Trigger warnings: Imprisonment, restraints, threats, violence, kidnapping, swearing, abuse. 18+ readers only.
A/n: If you are new to this story, please go to the cover page for the chapter list and the story disclaimer. 18+ readers only.
Enjoy. 💜💜💜
Previous Chapter
Your mind is at war.
He shouldn't have been able to do that to you. You shouldn't have felt that kind of way- not with him.
Laying in a whimpering, tear-soaked mess, you're in pain, filled with self-pity, and racked by guilt that you can not entirely understand. Feeling as if you are being consumed by a numb void until Jungkook comes out of the bathroom and once again, all your attention goes to him.
"Are you just going to lay in bed crying all day?" He scoffs accusedly. Seeming frustrated, almost repulsed by your crying.
I can't move, you ass! is what you scream at him- but only in your mind. You didn't go through all of that to derail your plans now. You need to do what you can to grit your teeth and bear it. Don't fight him. Be appeasing. Wait until an opportune moment, or until you are saved.
In place of any kind of truthful remark, you stay silent. Sighing in defeat as you sink your head deeper into the pillow. Your gaze fixated on the blank ceiling.
Coming into your eye line Jungkook jumps onto the bed, throwing his leg over your waist. While you restrain yourself enough at first, as his hand reaches up to your cheeks you can not keep yourself from bucking away.
"You know, it's cute how you always flinch." He laughs, roughly grabbing the sides of your face to insist that you comply.
The smug look he has fills your chest with a fit of white, hot anger. Eating you from the inside out. Does he think this is entertaining?! Is he having fun?! What if he were the one being treated like this? If he were the one who couldn't fight back? He would flinch. He would cry too! And then to mock you on top of that? He is irredeemable. You hate him so much.
His lingering touch slowly raises up, caressing along your arms, making too much-unwanted contact as he uncuffs you. When finally he climbs off your lap, you spring upright, quickly adjusting your shirt. Pulling it down as low as you can take it. Trying to ignore the cold, wet, sticky feeling that is pooled between your legs.
Sat there, consumed with a mix of visceral emotions as you rub your bruised wrists, the one you can feel the most is anxiety. You're obsessed with every move he's making, anticipating anything he might do. Every single thing he has done so far has been nightmare-ish. And you can't shake the fear that it is only going to keep getting worse.
Flinching again, you yelp softly in reaction to him throwing something at you. Harmlessly landing on the bed, though, is a pair of boy-cut shorts.
"You want to wear them?" He points to the underwear.
It takes a second for your mind to race through what he said, what the possible negative ramifications might be, and what to say back. You're so traumatised that even a simple gesture has you second-guessing everything. You decide on nothing as a response and waste no time getting off his bed and putting on the additional clothing. They're too big, they sit like bicycle shorts on you. But for the first time in days, you feel somewhat protected.
It feels strangely wonderful. You never would have expected how consequential underwear or pants were until you were in this very specific, very vulnerable situation.
He's standing in front of you dressed in grey sweat pants and a loose white tee. His hair is still wet from his shower, and it's even darker because of it. It's spiked up at strange angles from his hand running through it. He's watching you again with that zoned-out stare that he has. Making you shift uncomfortably. Looking in any other direction to avoid making eye contact.
"I just realized I haven't fed you yet." He gasps. "You must be starving." You can see his thoughts trail off and a smirk creeps it's way onto his face. "Well, I haven't fed you food anyway," he blurts out under his breath, his smirk turning to a full smile, verging on a laugh.
What a pig.
Holding his hand out he turns to the door, but steps further towards you, motioning for you to take his offer. "Com'on, I'll make you something to eat."
Now that he has finally mentioned food you're realizing that you haven't eaten in 2 and a half days. You are starving, but with everything else that has been going on, food has been the last thing on your mind. Even now, you feel more queasy than hungry.
Reluctantly you accept his hand, gnawing the inside of your cheek to try to curtail your disgusted expression. Despite your subtle attempts to wriggle out of his grip, he doesn't let go until he sits you down at the kitchen bench.
Observing him cook, smelling the onions, ham, and mushrooms sizzling in the pan you're nearly salivating. Never would you have thought a simple omelette could look so appetizing.
The moment he sets the plate in front of you, however, something distant catches your eye. On the other side of the kitchen, just out of your reach is an unattended chef's knife. Jungkook has sat down at the far end of the bench to your right. There is nothing between it and you at this moment.
Your mind starts working a hundred miles a minute. With where he is sitting he could never reach you before you were able to get to it.
This is too golden of a chance to pass it up. But you can't simply lunge for it. If you miss or knock it onto the floor he'll surely realize what you're trying, and you'll be without the knife to protect yourself.
Fear of missing such a perfect shot makes your heart start to beat in your ears. You can't screw this up!
Planning your moves you accidentally get food on your hand. You lick it clean, but fake and mime as if there is an excess amount of stickiness left. Standing up without a word, you walk as paced as possible to the other side of the benchtop, hoping he thinks you are just going to the sink. Hoping that your sub-par acting stops Jungkook from being suspicious.
And he isn't. He doesn't bat an eye. He doesn't even seem to be paying any attention.
This is your chance!
Snatching the knife, you hold it at arm's length in Jungkook's direction. Tightly clenching it between your two palms. Standing strong and braced. But he doesn't react. He's hardly moved. Only his elbow is lifted up resting on the bench. Looking at you with lacklustre disbelief, his mouth hanging slightly ajar. His expression looking to ask you wouldn't be that stupid, would you?
Disregarding you, he returns to his breakfast. Completely unphased.
Uncertainty hits you like an oncoming truck.
You're already shaking with terror, but his lack of reaction is causing an emotion in you that is so intense and raw that you have to stifle the urge to be sick.
"Hey!" You shriek, "Don't look away from me! You- unless you want to be stabbed you should- you need to put your hands down. On the table. Put them flat." Mentally you berate yourself for sounding so unfocused and weak. This isn't the tone you wanted to take.
Unbothered, Jungkook looks up again. A small, closed mouth smile telling you how unintimidating he finds you. It's infuriating because it means that he's not taking you seriously. As if he doesn't see the weapon in your hands. As if he thinks you're not capable of hurting him.
Straightening up you take a half-step forward. Small cracks click from your stiff back as you try to appear taller and more confident.
"Now!" You howl, using volume to further assert your authority. Hoping to god that he can't see the shake in your hands.
Restaining a laugh, he raises his hands in a playful surrender, laying them as you instructed, palms flat on the bench. Not taking his eyes off you as he does. Not even blinking.
It's completely disorientating.
Maybe this was a bad idea. You don't know that if it comes down to you versus him that you can beat him. Even with a weapon. You panicked when you saw it just sitting there. Maybe you shouldn't have done this. He doesn't seem worried at all. How are you supposed to beat crazy?
"Now what?" he snickers.
You just- you just have to figure out how to get out of here. You have to follow through. He must have a key to the front door.
"Give me the keys," You demand, keeping the knife firmly in between the two of you as a source of protection. Trying to ignore his wide-eyed, unblinking stare.
"What keys?" He teases, his voice raising.
Oh god! Why isn't this working? Why isn't he doing what you say?
You're starting to wheeze. This is insane. What is he going to do to you if this doesn't work? What happens if you don't get out of here? This was such a bad fucking idea!
"Stop!" Your voice cracks. Your heavy breaths fill your words. "You know what keys I'm talking about. The ones for the front door. Give' em. Now!"
You need to get out of here this instant. You're beyond petrified. You have to rid the doubt from your mind. You have the power. You have the knife. You're fine. I'm going to get out of here. Stay focused. You'll be safe and won't have to think about Jungkook ever again once you're free.
He doesn't respond. Inch by inch you move around the bench until you come the end and only open space is standing between you and Jungkook. You know to stay back. You can't give him any chance to grab you.
"Jungkook. Now!" All strength disappears and all that is left is a plead.
"No." His casual reply makes your head spin. The ground falling out from under you.
"What are you talking about?" You squeal. On the brink of tears. Barely able to hold yourself together let alone keep up a facade of dominance. "Give me the keys. Now! Or I'll stab you!"
You have a knife. You're finally the one in control. He's supposed to say yes not no. He's supposed to be scared.
"Go on then; stab me." He shrugs. His aloof, cold demeanour pushes you past panic and helps you focus your rage and momentarily shore your voice, giving it much needed steadiness and power.
"Listen here, you fucking lunatic. You have put me through hell, and I swear to God if you don't give me the key right now, I am going to-" he talks over you. Loudly and firmly cutting you off.
"No, you listen you stupid bitch. Because I'm going to give you one chance, just one chance to put down your little toy and then get on your knees like a good girl." His smile becomes wide and toothy. He is revelling in this. In his threat. In your fear. "Or you can keep this up and see how all those scary things I said I could do become reality."
You're wringing the handle but for a second you almost lose your grip on the knife. You're trembling. Your knees are weak. It feels as if you could collapse with just a tap. A replaying of every horrid, terrifying thing he has threatened begins to flit through your head. And for a split instant, you have the thought to do what he says. To throw down the knife, drop to your knees, and beg his forgiveness. Beg him not to hurt you. To not kill you.
But you can't. You see the cruelty in his eye. The sparkle of enjoyment. You don't trust that he won't hurt you. And you know that should he keep his word and not retaliate, this psycho doesn't think some of what he has done is harming you. Even in the best-case scenario where he gives you full amnesty, he is still going to force himself on you again. He's still going to tie you down again. To touch you again. And given time he is still going to hit you again. And surely he will end up killing you.
And once this opportunity is gone, he will certainly be even more careful going forward.
No. It's now or never. You have to get out. You just have to!
"Jungkook," Your voice is uncontrollably coming out as a hushed, timid whisper. "Please just give me the keys." you plead again.
His eyes are boring their malicious nature into yours. Reading you. Giving you the chance to rethink your answer and cave to his demands. But you don't accept.
"Fine." He states. His icy calm sends a shiver down your neck. Slowly he slips his hand into his pants pocket keeping his palm open and in view the whole time, showing you exactly what he is doing. He pulls out a bundle of keys that are all looped together, holding them in his forefinger and thumb. Crassly he sets them on the bench and slides them over to you.
This is it!
A ripple of excitement and fear attacks you as you snatch them up. Seizing the keys to your freedom.
In a thoughtless reaction, you stumble back, preparing to bolt to the front door, but catch yourself. You need to make sure Jungkook can't follow you. You have to be smart.
"Stand!" You bark. To your disdain, that goddamned smirk has returned to his face. But thankfully he does as you say. "Move," You point to the far door in the kitchen. The one that leads down the hallway into the dungeon-like room.
He follows your instruction slowly. Too slowly. You're planted firmly and buzzing with impatience but you don't follow after him until he reaches the first door, keeping a sufficient distance between you two. He opens the door and takes a step down the dark hallway, turning over his shoulder to look back at you.
"Go." You demand, deathly strangling the handle.
After what feels like an eternity filled with time that could allow for everything to go wrong, he, at last, opens the door at the end of the hallway giving you a final cold glance.
You're so close to crumbling. You haven't breathed the whole time. This needs to be over.
Belatedly the door closes and you sprint down the hall after him, twisting the lock shut. A heavy clunk sealing him in.
You did it!
He's trapped. You're free!
With all of your pent up energy you turn and bolt down the hallway into the light. Into the kitchen. Skidding the corner, your run past the bench tossing the knife into the sink making your hands free to properly handle the keys.
Through the living room into the entrance hall, you don't stop running and instead come to a halt as you make contact with the door. Slowing just enough to not hurt yourself.
Thumbing through the bundle, you're trying to find the most logical choice for which key could fit the lock. They all are mostly the same. Plain, silver, metal keys. But you choose the first that has a slight defining notch in it and place it to the lock. However, your hand is shaking so much that you are unable to insert it.
Scolding yourself, you chant a mantra to calm down. Breath. Calm. You're about to be free. Just breath.
Steadying your grip you attempt again. You place the key and it fits, but it doesn't turn.
That's okay, there are half-a-dozen here. One of them will work.
You take the next key and try it in both directions. It doesn't work. Then you try the next key and that one doesn't turn either. One by one you go through 5 more and not one of them opens. All of them are useless!
Every minuscule piece of restraint that you gathered together goes up in flames. Hysteria sends your chest into a wild rattling and you nearly collapse to the floor. Your body surges with an ache, every time your heart beats.
They don't work? How could they not work?!
Think calmly. Rationally. Please Y/n keep it together.
It's fine. They have to open something. They have to. There has to be a back door or a window. These keys will open something. And the worst-case scenario, if the keys don't work on any lock, you have Jungkook trapped. He isn't going anywhere. You have time to break a window or find a phone.
Your phone!
You can't believe it's taken you this long to think of it. You had your phone in your backpack and you know your backpack came here with you because you were wearing it when he pulled you into the car.
If you can find your backpack, you can find your phone and you can call the police.
You have no idea where it is, but you have time to look.
From the entrance hall, there are 6 possible directions. The front door, the small bedroom, the downstairs bathroom, the stairs, and the hall to the living room. The 6th door is one you have never seen past.
Opening it, it leads you into the laundry. You nearly scream in elation as you find a heavy wooden door with a small window at head height. It's a door outside!
You turn the knob and predictably find no easy escape. Cycling through the keys again your heart sinks just that little further as none of them work to your advantage. Frustration fills you to the brim and you scream in anger, slamming your fists over and over, beating anything you can make contact with.
Why can't you just get out of here?!
Using that frustration you run in search throughout the remainder of the house, looking for any signs of your phone. Your sights first set on his room. You tear through his belongings. Ripping the room to shreds hoping to find your bag, or more keys, or anything. But after several minutes of scouring, left hot and sweating and panting, you have nothing to show for it but a sea of mess surrounding you. Y/n think. He isn't going to leave it anywhere you could find it. He's not that stupid. You're getting caught up and not thinking straight. Trying to find your phone is not the way to go. You need to focus on getting out of here first. There has to be a window behind that heavy curtain in the living room and a heavy chair should be able to do enough damage to get you free.
Calm down and think logically.
You take a step towards the door and your body crashes into the carpet. Your knees are too unstable to hold you. Your mind is swallowed by fear. You just can't believe that you're not out yet. It's been nearly 10 minutes. You were supposed to be free by now! No stuck wandering your prison!
What if Jungkook breaks the door down? What if he catches you? Oh, God! What would he do to you?
You're driving yourself crazy with these thoughts. Get free Y/n. Find a window and get free.
Burling down the stairs, your legs can hardly keep up with your momentum. In your head, you're picturing the broken open window you are about to create. You just need to throw the heavy black material to the side. Hell, one of these keys may even work on that back door.
You're going to get out.
No sooner than your foot touches the bottom step you see something incomprehensible.
Your body slams to a halt like you've hit a brick wall.
Jungkook.
No! How?! Your head is rampant with so many intrusive thoughts that you can't make a steady idea.
He's leaning against the hall entrance, his thick arms folded. Eyeing you with a haunting malevolence that you thought you'd never have to see again.
"How?" Is all you can manage. Your restraint breaking, a flood of tears letting loose down your cheeks.
Uncrossing his arms in a showy display, he lets you see a small black key in his palm. A boisterous laugh accompanying your wide-eyed despair.
Your vision is blurry, your ears are ringing. Oh God, please, someone save me.
There isn't any other choice but to run. You're so beyond fucked, the only hope you have is to hide and pray his anger subsides.
Quickly scanning around the room, you make the fast decision to retreat up the stairs. His bedroom was unsuccessful last time, but if you can drag the chest of draws in front of the door, that might barricade the room well enough. Or you can try the second upstairs bedroom. You know the window is too high from up there, but maybe you will be able to attract attention from anyone nearby if you scream loud enough. That room has a chair you can use to block the door. You just have to move fast.
Your darting look gives away your intentions. Seeing Jungkook notice your mental plan, you don't waste any time reacting. Stretching your legs as far as they will go, forcing as much power into them as possible, you bolt.
As you move so does Jungkook. But you're closer to the stairs than him. You're certain that you'll make it.
Just when your foot connects with the bottom step a painful large chunk of your loose hair is caught. Instantly yanking you back, pulling you off the stairs onto the floor.
Drawn up through your hair, Jungkook hoists you onto your feet. Gasping in pain, you're unable to vocalize anything more. Hanging limply as he lifts you to the point of extension that your tiptoes just touch the floor.
You want to thrash and kick and fight. But you can't. You've no control over your body anymore. A fear-induced disconnect is separating your limbs from your mind. All you can manage is to limply push against his chest, trying to shove him away.
His dark, horrid chuckle fills your ringing ears and with his free hand he holds up the black key and demonstratively puts it in his pocket. Slowly, he lowers his face to yours, breaking past your barricading hands at his chest. His mouth resting just above your ear.
"You're going to wish you did what I told you."