FirstLove

[sweetdreams1994]

Chapter 10: "Medical Leave"

Summary

A digital lockdown begins as Namjoon confiscates Y/N’s phone and updates the dorm's security locks, severing her final ties to the outside world. Under the new schedule, Monday belongs to Jin.

Content Warnings: 

Intense competition & high pressure, verbal & emotional manipulation, psychological stress & anxiety, favoritism & corruption, Strong language, detailed smut, y/n is 18+, drugging

The air in the HYBE dorm didn’t just feel still; it felt stagnant, like a tomb made of silk and expensive candles.

You woke up with a dull, throbbing ache behind your eyes—a lingering souvenir from the "sleep enhancers" Namjoon had insisted you take after the debut interview. For a moment, you stayed beneath the lace-trimmed sheets of your perfect bed, staring at the soft pink ceiling. You were a soloist. You had performed on Inkigayo. You were supposed to be the happiest girl in Seoul.

But as you reached for your nightstand, your fingers met only cold, empty marble.

Your heart gave a sharp, erratic kick against your ribs. Your phone—your only connection to your parents in Canada, your old trainee friends, the real world—was gone. You checked the floor, the drawers, even under the bed, your breath hitching into a panicked rhythm. It wasn't there.

When you pushed open your bedroom door, the hallway felt longer than usual. The silence was broken only by the low, melodic clinking of silverware from the kitchen.

As you rounded the corner, you stopped dead.

The seven of them were already there. It looked like a promotional shoot for a luxury lifestyle magazine: Namjoon at the head of the table with a tablet, Yoongi leaning against the far counter with a cup of black coffee, and Jin meticulously plating breakfast. But the atmosphere was toxic. The air was so thick with unspoken vitriol that it felt hard to swallow.

"Where is my phone?" You voiced, confusion making your voice sound far younger than eighteen.

Namjoon didn't look up from his screen. His glasses caught the morning light, masking his eyes. "It’s being 'cleaned,' doll. There was a security breach on the HYBE servers last night. We can’t risk any unauthorized access to your private data. Not now."

"A security breach?" You walked toward the table, your hands trembling. "I need to call my mom. She was going to call me after she watched the broadcast."

"I've already handled it," Namjoon said, his voice smooth and clinical. "I sent a message from your account explaining that you’re on a strict digital detox for your mental health. She understands."

"You did what?"

"He did what was necessary," Yoongi interjected, his voice like gravel. He moved from the counter, his slender, cat-like eyes narrowing as they raked over your pajama clad form. He looked at you with a hunger that made your skin hot, but then his gaze snapped to Namjoon, turning razor-sharp. "Though, some of us think Namjoon is getting a little too comfortable playing God with your schedule."

Namjoon finally looked up. The "Leader" facade was firmly in place. Cold, logical, and immovable. "I am managing a crisis, Yoongi. If the fans find out anymore about the... tension... in this house, her career is over before it begins."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Jin’s voice was sweet, but there was a serrated edge to it. He set a plate of perfectly poached eggs in front of you, his fingers lingering on the table just inches from yours. "A crisis? I thought we were calling it 'protecting our investment.'"

Jin leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as he whispered, "Don't mind the namjoon. He thinks big words make up for the fact that he has to drug his artists to get them to stay in his studio."

You felt the blood drain from your face. "Drugged?"

Yoongi let out a dry, humorless laugh, stepping into Namjoon’s personal space. "Oh, he didn't tell you? Our brilliant leader thought a little sedative in your tea would be better than letting you walk home alone at midnight. He wanted to be the one to carry his 'precious doll' back to bed."

Namjoon’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his tablet. "I did what I had to do to ensure she didn't collapse from exhaustion. Unlike you, Yoongi, who seems content to watch her break as long as she’s singing your lyrics."

The tension was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Jimin and Taehyung entered, followed by a silent, brooding Jungkook. Jimin immediately slid into the chair next to you, his thigh pressing firmly against yours.

"Good morning, princess," Jimin purred, his hand finding your wrist and squeezing gently. "You look pale. Did you have bad dreams?"

"I want to go to the company," you whispered, looking at Jimin with desperation. "I want to speak to the CEO. I want my phone back Namjoon."

Taehyung, who was leaning against the doorframe, tilted his head. His eyes were dark, unreadable. "The company is closed to you for the next three days, Y/N. Pre-recorded content is being rolled out. You’re on 'medical leave.'"

"I'm not sick!" you shouted, standing up so abruptly your chair scraped harshly against the floor, tears brimming.

Jungkook moved then, faster than you could react. He was behind you in an instant, his large hands resting heavily on your shoulders, pinning you back toward the chair. "Sit down," he murmured. It wasn't a request. "You need to eat. We have a lot to discuss regarding the new house rules."

"Rules?" You looked around the table. They weren't looking at each other anymore. They were all looking at you.

"For the sake of harmony," Namjoon began, "we’ve realized that leaving your care to chance isn't working. The infighting is... counterproductive. So, starting today, your time will be divided. One day for each of us. No interruptions. No interference."

"You’re talking about me like I’m a piece of equipment," you breathed, a tear finally escaping and tracking down your cheek.

Yoongi stepped forward, his thumb reaching out to catch the tear, his touch surprisingly soft but possessive. "We’re talking about you like you’re the most valuable thing we own," he corrected. "And I don't like sharing my things, Y/N. Especially with people who don't know how to handle them."

He shot a pointed look at Hoseok, who had been sitting silently in the corner, nursing a glass of orange juice. Hoseok’s expression was the scariest of all. Blank, focused, and utterly devoid of his "Sunshine" persona.

"She’s scheduled for dance review at 2 PM," Hoseok said, his voice monotone. "I don't care whose 'day' it is. Her technique was sloppy on the second chorus of the Inkigayo stage. She stays with me until it’s perfect."

"Not today, Hoseok-ah," Jin said, his voice airy. "Today is Monday. And according to the rotation... Monday belongs to me. If we want her to be as well rounded as possible, we have to follow the schedule. That is what we discussed… isn't it?”

Jin smiled at you, a wide, handsome smile that barely reached his eyes. "And I have so many things planned for us, doll. No dancing. Just us, and some fun."

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The breakfast ended in a heavy, suffocating silence. One by one, the others filed out, each leaving a sense of their presence. A hand ruffeling your hair, a squeeze of your arm, as if reassuring you before yielding the floor to Jin. But really, their fleeting presence was a blessing to you.

Namjoon was the last to leave. He paused at the doorway, his back to you.

"The locks on the main doors have been updated, Y/N," he said calmly. "Your fingerprint won't work anymore. Only ours. It’s a safety precaution. There was a sasaeng spotted near the perimeter this morning."

You didn't believe him. You knew there was no sasaeng.

As the front door clicked shut with a heavy, final sound, you realized the "Digital Blackout" wasn't just about your phone. It was about your voice. And there was nothing you could do about it. 

Jin turned to you, his expression softening into that terrifyingly kind mask. He reached out, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "Finally," he whispered. "They’re gone. Now, why don't we go back to your room and pick out something pretty for you to wear? I bought you a new dress. It’s white. Very cute. Just like you."

You looked at the door, then back at Jin. The realization hit you with the force of a tidal wave: the "Final Evaluation" hadn't ended on that day.

It was happening right now. And you were failing.

he silence following the members' departure was heavy, vibrating with the ghost of their possessive energy. Jin stood by the sink, his back to you for a moment as he adjusted his cuffs. When he turned, the sunlight hit his face, making him look devastatingly handsome—and utterly terrifying. The "Worldwide Handsome" smile was there, but it was brittle, like glass that would cut you if you leaned too close.

“You’ve barely touched your eggs, doll,” he said, his voice a melodic coo that made your hair stand on end. “I made them just the way you like. You need your strength. Today is going to be quite long.”

“Jin, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Just give me my phone for five minutes. I’ll tell my mom I’m fine, I’ll tell the company I’m ready to work—just let me talk to someone who isn't... this.”

Jin’s smile didn't waver, but his eyes darkened. He walked toward you with a slow, rhythmic gait, the heels of his loafers clicking against the tile. He stopped right in front of your chair, leaning down until his face was level with yours. He smelled like expensive cologne and Earl Grey tea.

“‘This’?” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. “You mean your family? Your protectors? Namjoon is... difficult, I know. He’s all logic and cold calculations. He sees you as a career to be managed. And Yoongi? He wants to turn your pain into a melody he can sell. But I’m not like them, Y/N.”

He reached out, his long fingers trailing down the side of your neck, ghosting over the pulse point that was fluttering like a trapped moth.

“I want you to be happy. But you can’t be happy out there. The fans... they’re already turning on you. They call you a homewrecker, a distraction. If I let you go out there now, they would tear that pretty skin of yours right off your bones.”

He stood up straight, offering you his hand. “Now, no more tears. It’s Monday. My day. And I’ve decided we’re going to start with a fresh look.”

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He led you back to your room, his hand firm on your elbow. It wasn’t a painful grip, but it was absolute. When you entered your bedroom, you saw the garment bag hanging from the center of your wardrobe. It hadn't been there when you went to sleep.

Jin unzipped it with a flourish. Inside was a dress that looked like it belonged in a Victorian painting—stark white silk, high-necked, with delicate lace trimming the hem and cuffs. It was beautiful, but it felt like a shroud.

“I had this commissioned the moment I saw your final evaluation,” Jin murmured, his eyes scanning the dress with an artist’s fervor. “The blue skirt they made you wear for the photoshoot was... too much. It showed too much of you to the world. I prefer this. It makes you look like the angel I know you are.”

“I’m not an angel, Jin. I’m a performer,” you said, trying to summon a spark of the fire that had gotten you through years of training.

Jin’s expression shifted instantly. He grabbed the dress and turned toward you, his height looming over you, blocking out the light from the window. “You are whatever I say you are today,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of its previous warmth. “Now, change. Or I’ll have to help you, and I think we both know how much that would upset the others.”

You took the dress with shaking hands. He didn't leave. He simply sat on your bed, crossing his legs and watching you with an expectant tilt of his head. You turned your back to him, your face burning with shame and fear as you shed your pajamas and pulled the heavy silk over your head. The fabric felt like a weight, pulling you down.

When you turned back around, Jin was standing. He walked toward you, his hands moving to the back of the dress to zip it up. His fingers were cold against your spine.

“Perfect,” he whispered against your ear. “My little dove.”

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The rest of the morning was a masterclass in psychological isolation. Jin took you to the living area, where he had set up a tea service. He spent hours talking to you about his childhood, about the group’s early days, acting as if you were a loving couple on a quiet afternoon.

But every time you tried to steer the conversation toward the future, toward your career, or toward the locks on the doors, he would shut down. He would touch your cheek or adjust your hair, a silent reminder that your only function today was to be his audience.

“Hoseok is going to be furious that you're keeping me from practice,” you said, hoping to spark the rivalry you had seen at breakfast. “He said my technique was sloppy.”

Jin let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Hoseok doesn't understand that a star needs to be rested, not broken. He’s obsessed with perfection because he’s afraid of his own flaws. He’ll try to run you into the ground tomorrow, Y/N. He’ll make you dance until your toes bleed, just to feel like he has control over you.”

He leaned forward, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing your knuckles while his eyes remained locked on yours.

“That’s why you should stay with me. I’ll protect you from his 'lessons.' I’ll protect you from Namjoon’s 'tea.' If you’re a good girl for me today, maybe I’ll talk to the others. Maybe I’ll convince them to give you a little more freedom.”

Was it a lie? You could see it in the way his grip tightened on your hand, a split second of possessiveness that leaked through the cracks of his mask. Maybe he wasn't different than the others; he was just the one holding the leash today.

“Do you like the dress, dove?” he asked, his voice returning to that terrifyingly sweet coo.

“Yes, Jin,” you whispered, the words evoking a mixed feeling in you.

“Good,” he said, pulling you closer until you were tucked against his side on the sofa. He picked up a book and began to read aloud, his voice steady and calm, while outside, the world you had worked so hard to join continued on without you, unaware that its newest star was being systematically erased.

And as Jin’s hand settled on your thigh, pulling you firmly towards him, you realized that Monday was only just beginning.

Taglist:

@misbangtan @knjkitten @mystica1whore @mageprincess7 @illnevertrustmyselfagain @princess-angele333

[sweetdreams1994]

Chapter 9: The Gilded Cage

 Summary

While the older members are busy marking their territory through public declarations and professional dominance, Jimin and Taehyung realize that the most effective way to "own" you isn't through a press conference, it’s through your mind.

Content Warnings: 

Intense competition & high pressure, verbal & emotional manipulation, psychological stress & anxiety, favoritism & corruption, Strong language, detailed smut, y/n is 18+, drugging

The stillness of the HYBE dorm was more deafening than the roar of the Inkigayo crowd.

Just hours ago, you were a star under the burning neon lights, the center of the universe. Now, you were tucked away in a corner of the world that felt less like a home and more like a high-security vault. You sat on the edge of your bed, the blue light of your phone illuminating the tears you refused to let fall. Your thumb hovered over the screen, scrolling through a battlefield of comments that had turned your triumph into a tragedy.

“She’s tearing them apart,” one fan wrote, garnering thousands of likes. “Did you see the way Yoongi looked at her? He looks miserable. She’s a homewrecker.”  > “Hoseok deserves better than a rookie who can’t even handle a simple interview without causing a fight.”

Each word felt like a physical weight, pressing the air out of your lungs. You dropped the phone onto the plush rug, the "perfect" pastel pink walls of your room—walls they had picked, in a color they decided you liked—suddenly feeling like they were shrinking. You had won. You had debuted. You were the girl every trainee in the building wanted to be. So why did you feel like a ghost in your own life?

A soft, rhythmic knock at the door made your heart jump. You didn't answer. You didn't want to see Yoongi’s dark, demanding eyes, or hear Hoseok’s strained, fake-cheerful critiques. You certainly weren’t ready for Namjoon’s "logical" explanations for why you were being kept behind tinted glass.

The door creaked open anyway. The lock, you realized with a jolt of terror, didn't matter if they held the master key.

It wasn’t the hyungs.

Taehyung stood in the doorway, the dim light from the hall casting long, sharp shadows across his face. He was dressed in an oversized silk robe that flowed like liquid as he moved, a glass of dark red wine held loosely in his hand. Behind him, Jimin leaned against the doorframe, his hair pushed back, his eyes narrowed with a sweetness that didn't reach his pupils. It was the look of a cat watching a bird in a cage—relishing the fact that it had nowhere to fly.

“Our little star looks dim tonight,” Taehyung murmured. His deep baritone seemed to vibrate through the floorboards, settling in your chest.

“The comments…” you whispered, your voice cracking. You gestured vaguely at the phone on the floor. “They hate me, Taehyung. They think I’m the reason you guys are fighting. They think I’m ruining the group's dynamic.”

Jimin stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft, final click that made your pulse skyrocket. He walked toward you with a slow, deliberate grace, sinking onto the edge of the bed. He didn't ask for permission before pulling your trembling hands into his. His skin was cool, his touch practiced and firm.

“They don’t hate you, darling,” Jimin purred, his thumb tracing slow, hypnotic circles on the back of your hand. “They’re just jealous. They see what we see. They see something so precious that it deserves to be fought over. The world is a cruel place, Y/N. Only we can see your true value.”

Taehyung didn't join you on the bed. Instead, he sat on your vanity chair, spinning slowly to face you. He looked like a king surveying a new territory. The moonlight caught the sharp edge of his jawline as he took a slow, languid sip of his wine.

“Yoongi and Hoseok are loud,” Taehyung said, his voice trailing off as he studied the crimson liquid in his glass. “They think that by shouting the loudest, they own the most of you. They’re so busy fighting over who ‘made’ you that they’ve forgotten to actually look at you. It’s... exhausting, isn't it? The way they pull at you.”

You nodded fervently, looking at him as if he were a lifeline. “I just want things to go back to how they were. Before the debut. Before everyone started… looking at me like I’m a prize.”

Taehyung let out a dry, melodic laugh that sent a chill down your spine. “It’s far too late for that, Y/N. You were a prize the moment Yoongi saw you in that practice room. You just didn’t know the price of the trophy.”

He stood up, setting his glass down on your vanity—right next to the expensive, hyper-feminine perfumes they had stocked for you—and walked toward you. He knelt between your knees, looking up at you with those swirling, dark eyes.

“The hyungs are messy,” Taehyung whispered, his large, warm hands coming up to rest on your waist. He pulled you just an inch closer, a move that felt both protective and restrictive. “Namjoon treats you like a project. Yoongi treats you like an obsession. Hoseok treats you like a pupil. But Jimin and I… we just want you to be happy. Here. With us. Away from the noise.”

Jimin leaned in from behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder. His breath was hot against the shell of your ear, smelling faintly of mint and something metallic.

“We can make the noise stop, Y/N. We can make the world disappear,” Jimin whispered. His hands slid up from your wrists to your shoulders, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to remind you of his strength. “You don’t need the fans. You don’t need the cameras. You only need to look at us.”

The walls felt like they were vibrating. “I—I have a variety show appearance tomorrow,” you stammered, the familiar heat of shyness and fear bubbling up. “I need to be focused. I need to get some sleep.”

Taehyung’s grip on your waist tightened. “Do you really think we’re going to let you go out there alone? After the way the press treated you today? After those comments?”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. The scent of his expensive cologne—something deep and woody—swirled around you, intoxicating and heavy.

“No, baby. We called the company. You’re ‘feeling unwell.’ High fever. Exhaustion. A few days of rest is what the official statement says. A few days for the ‘family’ to take care of you.”

Your eyes widened, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. “You cancelled my schedule? Without asking me? I worked for years for that appearance!”

“We protected you,” Jimin corrected, his voice dropping an octave, becoming silkier, darker. He moved around to stand beside Taehyung, the two of them looming over you—a coordinated front of absolute control.

“The others are too busy fighting to actually keep you safe,” Jimin continued, reaching out to tilt your chin up with his index finger. “But we’re not. We’ve been very patient, Y/N. We watched Namjoon take his turn. We watched Yoongi claim his territory. But now?”

Taehyung’s hand slid up from your waist, his palm flat against your stomach, feeling the erratic rhythm of your breath.

“Now, it’s our turn to play house,” Taehyung whispered.

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the heat. You felt the familiar pull—the terrifying realization that you were trapped in a cage made of gold, and the only people who held the key were the ones who never intended to let you out.

“Are you going to be a good girl for us?” Jimin asked, his eyes gleaming with a dark, playful malice. “Or do we need to call Namjoon back in here with some more of that special tea?”

Your blood ran cold at the mention of the tea. The memory of that hazy, weighted sleep in Namjoon's studio flashed through your mind—the feeling of being handled while you couldn't move. You looked from Jimin to Taehyung, seeing the same unwavering possessiveness reflected in both their gazes.

You were the soloist. You were the star.

But as Taehyung’s lips finally crushed against yours, reclaiming the territory he felt he had been denied, you realized you were nothing more than the center of a storm you would never survive.

And the lockdown had only just begun.

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Authors Note:

Hi guys! It has genuinely been forever, so sorry! Been so swamped with uni and internships, but i'm back at it now! Hope you enjoy this, more chapters to come shortly.

Taglist:

@misbangtan @knjkitten @mystica1whore @mageprincess7 @illnevertrustmyselfagain @princess-angele333

[sweetdreams1994]

Chapter 8: Game Start

Summary

As a hardworking trainee, you’ve spent years pushing yourself to debut. When the final evaluation comes, you’re chosen as the sole candidate—but what you don’t realize is that your fate was already sealed. BTS, the seven men you idolized, manipulated everything to make sure you were theirs.

At first, their attention feels like a blessing to aid you as a trainee. Then, it becomes suffocating. Their possessiveness turns them against each other, each one willing to destroy the others just to have you alone.

⚠️ Content Warnings: ⚠️

Intense competition & high pressure, verbal & emotional manipulation, psychological stress & anxiety, favoritism & corruption, Strong language, detailed smut, y/n is 18+, drugging

The room was filled with flashing lights, the hum of quiet conversations, and the occasional click of a camera shutter. The aftermath of your debut was a whirlwind of emotions and media attention, and now, sitting before a panel of reporters, you were expected to maintain your composure under the scrutiny of the public eye.

The three senior members and leader sat around you, forming some protection. Yoongi was to your right, his expression unreadable, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest of his chair. Hoseok sat to your left, his body angled slightly toward you, an ever-present smile on his lips, though his eyes told a different story. Jin and Namjoon were placed next to Yoongi and Hoseok , making sure you were comforted within their presence. Safe. The world might not have noticed, but you did.

The interviewer, a polished woman with sharp eyes, offered a practiced smile. "First of all, congratulations on your debut! It was a breathtaking performance. How does it feel to finally step onto the stage after so much preparation?"

You swallowed, willing your voice to remain steady. "Thank you. It still feels surreal, honestly. I’ve worked so hard for this moment, and being able to finally share it with everyone means everything to me."

Namjoon, ever the leader, nodded beside you. "She’s incredibly dedicated. We’ve all watched her grow into the performer she is today, and we couldn’t be prouder."

The interviewer turned her attention to Yoongi. "I noticed you were watching the performance very intently. As someone known for your sharp critique, how would you say she did?"

Yoongi’s lips quirked up, but his eyes remained calculating. "She was mesmerizing. Every moment on that stage belonged to her. She’s not just a performer; she owns the music, feels it in a way that draws you in. That’s not something you can teach."

The air around you shifted, thickened. The weight of his words settled over you like a brand, and for a second, you found yourself lost in his unwavering gaze. There was something possessive in his tone, something that told you his praise wasn’t just for the public—it was a reminder.

The interviewer chuckled. "High praise from you, Yoongi-ssi. It’s clear you all have a strong bond with her. I imagine training together must have built a deep connection. How has your mentorship been? Anyone taken the lead in creating  the wonderful star we see infront of us?"

Yoongi’s fingers tapped lazily against his knee, but his eyes were sharp as he listened.

The interviewer smiled. “It’s clear you all have a strong bond with Y/N. Who would you say took the lead in mentoring her?”

Hoseok didn’t hesitate. “That’d be me,” he said smoothly, shooting you a knowing look. “We spent weeks together, perfecting her performance. Every move, every detail—I made sure she was ready.”

Yoongi let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah? And who do you think kept her from falling apart after those practices?” His voice was casual, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

Hoseok’s smirk faltered for just a second. “Training can be tough. We all helped.”

Yoongi leaned forward slightly, gaze dark. “Some of us more than others.”

The air grew thick, and the interviewer glanced between them, sensing the tension. But before it could escalate, Namjoon spoke, voice calm but firm. “We all played a role. She put in the work, and we supported her—that’s what matters.”

Hoseok’s hand briefly brushed against your knee, so subtle it could have been mistaken for an accident. "She’s family to us," he said smoothly, though you caught the slight edge in his voice. "We’ve made sure she’s always supported, both on and off stage."

The word 'family' sent an unexplainable shiver down your spine. It should have been comforting. Instead, it felt more like a declaration of ownership for some reason.

The interviewer nodded before flipping to a new card. "There have been some whispers about potential solo projects down the line. Is that something you're considering?"

Your lips parted, but before you could answer, Namjoon spoke. "Right now, she’s focusing on growing within the group. We believe in taking things step by step." His words were carefully chosen, his voice even, but when his eyes met yours, there was something else there. A silent warning.

They weren’t going to let you go that easily.

The interview continued, polite questions met with equally measured responses. But beneath the surface, there was an unspoken tension. A silent war between the members for something unnameable. You could feel it in the way Yoongi’s gaze lingered on you, in the way Hoseok’s hand remained just a little too close, in the way Namjoon took control of the narrative before you could speak for yourself.

Then came the real twist.

A reporter toward the back suddenly cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose. "There’s been a lot of speculation about a certain senior-junior relationship within the company. Some have noticed a particular closeness between you and—"

Before he could finish, Jin let out a laugh, effortlessly shifting the mood. "She’s close with all of us. We’re like a family. Isn’t that right?"

The moment was expertly diffused, but you felt the shift, the ripple of tension that passed between them. The way Yoongi’s fingers curled into a loose fist. The way Hoseok sat just a little straighter. The way Namjoon exhaled slowly, as if reigning in something unseen.

The interview wrapped up shortly after, but the energy in the room remained charged. As you stood to leave, Yoongi’s hand found your wrist, stopping you just as the others moved ahead. His voice was quiet, almost too soft.

"Be careful what you say next time."

You blinked up at him, searching his face. "What—"

His fingers tightened just slightly before he let go. "Just be careful."

From across the room, Hoseok was watching. And when you met his gaze, you knew—you weren’t the only one Yoongi was warning.

Something had shifted between them, between all of you. The performance was over, but the real show was only just beginning.

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It had been late one night, long after practice had ended. Most of the members had already gone to their rooms, but he had found you in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge with tired eyes and a furrowed brow.

“You know, most people sleep at night,” he had teased, leaning against the counter with that easy smirk of his.

You had glanced up, unimpressed. “Most people don’t have a schedule designed to kill them.”

He had laughed at that, genuinely amused. “Fair point. What are you looking for?”

You sighed, shutting the fridge with a little more force than necessary. “Something edible. But apparently, there’s nothing.”

Jin had tsked, stepping forward. “That’s because you don’t know where to look. Step aside, rookie.”

You had raised a brow but moved back, watching as he skillfully gathered ingredients with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times. Within minutes, he had a pan sizzling on the stove, the rich aroma of garlic and butter filling the space.

“I can handle myself, you know,” you had said, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “I don’t need someone cooking for me.”

Jin had glanced at you, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, I know. But I also know you’ve been running on nothing but caffeine and stubbornness all day, and if you collapse, the company will probably blame me for not feeding you.”

You had scoffed but didn’t argue, which he had taken as a small victory.

As he cooked, you had stayed close, your usual guarded demeanor softening just a little. You had watched him, curiosity flickering in your eyes, and for a moment, he had thought—maybe—this was it. The moment you would finally let your walls down, finally look at him the way he wanted you to.

But then, the moment had shattered.

Just as he had placed the plate in front of you, the door had creaked open, and Yoongi had walked in. His sharp eyes had flickered between the two of you, his expression unreadable, but the weight of his presence had been enough.

You had stiffened almost immediately, your attention shifting from Jin to Yoongi like it was instinct. And just like that, whatever progress Jin had made had slipped through his fingers.

Yoongi had said nothing. Hadn’t needed to.

He had simply looked at you, and you had followed—offering Jin nothing more than a quiet, “Thanks,” before leaving your half-eaten meal behind and walking out with him.

Jin had stood there, staring at the untouched food, annoyance curling in his chest.

That night, he had realized something crucial.

You weren’t just playing hard to get.

You were already being pulled in a thousand different directions, your mind tangled in the web they had spun around you.

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The current night was quiet, save for the occasional hum of a passing car outside the dorm. The rest of the members were scattered—Yoongi was in his studio, Hoseok had disappeared somewhere after practice, and Namjoon was likely buried in some book, deep in thought.

Jin, however, had spent the past hour watching. Observing.

You had retreated to your room after the interview, exhaustion evident in the way you barely spoke on the ride back. The day had been draining—being paraded in front of the cameras, answering questions designed to spark rumors, dealing with the ever-watchful eyes of the boys who seemed to think you belonged to them.

Jin chuckled to himself. That was their mistake.

They hovered over you, suffocating you with their presence, thinking it would make you fold. Yoongi with his silent intensity. Hoseok with his suffocating control. Namjoon with his calculated dominance. Even Taehyung and Jimin, playful as they seemed, were watching, waiting.

It was pathetic, really.

They thought brute force would be enough to claim you. But you weren’t some naive girl, dazzled by attention. No, you were smarter than that. Stronger. That’s why his usual tricks hadn’t worked on you.

And yet… he knew you could be won.

It just required a different approach.

Jin had stayed in the background for a reason. He wasn’t like the others, driven purely by impulse and desire. He knew how to wait. How to strategize. How to make sure that when he moved, the victory was absolute.

He had tested the waters before, back in the kitchen with YN, hinting at his plans, gauging how you reacted to charm. It hadn’t been enough he quickly realized. So now, he would do what he did best.

He would play the long game.

You needed an escape from them, from the weight of their obsession. And he would be that escape. He wouldn’t rush. Wouldn’t overwhelm. He would be patient. Steady. The one you turned to when the rest became too much.

And when you did—when you finally let him in—he would make sure there was no way out.

Jin smirked as he pushed off the kitchen counter, finally heading toward his room. The others could fight over you all they wanted. They could hover, stalk, suffocate.

But in the end, it would be him you ran to.

And once he had you, he wouldn’t let go.

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

The morning after the interview, the media frenzy had exploded, and the headlines only deepened the cracks forming between the members. The articles and social media posts flooded in, each one more explosive than the last. Your debut was now surrounded by rumors, speculation, and a growing divide among the members.

One of the articles that caught your attention was titled “BTS's New Star: Mentorship or Rivalry?” It analyzed the tension between Yoongi and Hoseok, focusing on their differing approaches to your mentorship during the interview. They’d both declared themselves as instrumental in your success, but it was the undercurrent of rivalry that the media fixated on. The article suggested that their close bond with you wasn’t just about guiding you to success, but about something far more personal.

"Yoongi, who is known for his stoic nature and sharp critiques, seemed to imply that he had been the one to truly guide the rookie, while Hoseok, ever the optimist, declared himself the one who had prepared her for the spotlight. Their conflicting claims have led fans to question whether there is more to their mentorship than meets the eye."

It wasn’t just the words that hurt, but the images that accompanied the article: pictures of the two of them exchanging heated glances, the tension palpable. The implication was that this wasn’t just about your talent—it was about ownership. And beneath it all, the question lingered: Who did you belong to?

The articles speculated wildly. Some even hinted at a romantic relationship, suggesting that Yoongi’s intense gaze during the interview and Hoseok’s more overt attempts to gain your attention could be signs of competition, not just for your attention, but for something more. But none of the articles truly understood what was happening. None of them understood the jealousy, the possessiveness, the claim each of them had already staked on you.

As the articles snowballed, the fans’ reactions grew even more extreme. The pressure mounted. You received death threats on your social media accounts, your inbox filled with vile messages. “Stay away from them, you don’t deserve Yoongi!”“Hoseok has been nothing but kind to you. Yoongi doesn’t care about you, he’s just using you!”

The fans were clearly divided, some of them already picking sides based on the media portrayal. It was suffocating, and you found yourself retreating to your room to escape it all.

That evening, the members gathered for a meeting in the living room, the atmosphere tense. Namjoon was the first to speak, his voice steady but filled with concern. “We need to address this. It’s getting out of hand. The media’s twisted everything, and it’s putting Y/N in a really difficult position.”

Yoongi was the one who responded first, but his tone was colder than usual. “I’m not mad about the articles,” he said flatly. “They don’t matter. What matters is that no one sees the truth.” His gaze locked onto Hoseok. “The truth is, I’ve been the one to guide her. I’ve been the one who’s been there for her when things got hard.”

Hoseok bristled at Yoongi’s words, his normally cheerful expression replaced with a flash of irritation. “That’s rich, Yoongi. You act like you’re the only one who’s had a hand in her development. She’s not some doll you can claim as yours.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, his voice laced with frustration. “I never claimed she was a doll. But you don’t get it, do you? She’s mine. She’s mine in a way that you’ll never understand.” His words were sharp, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone.

Hoseok’s jaw clenched. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve been by her side from the start. I’ve helped her build herself into who she is. You’ve been too busy trying to control everything, making her into some kind of puppet.”

Yoongi didn’t flinch, but his anger simmered beneath the surface. “I’m not controlling her. I’m making her into someone who can stand on her own. But she wouldn’t have made it this far if I hadn’t been there—if I hadn’t shown her what it meant to truly own her power.”

Namjoon intervened, his voice calm but firm. “Both of you need to stop. Fighting like this only makes things worse. The last thing Y/N needs is for you to act like children over who’s been a better mentor.”

Yoongi ignored him, his gaze still locked on Hoseok. “She’s mine. You don’t get to act like you’ve had more of an influence. I’ve shaped her. I’ve made her feel what she needs to feel. I’ve been there when she broke, when she needed someone to pick up the pieces. You don’t even see it. You’re too busy trying to make yourself look good.”

Hoseok shot to his feet, his frustration boiling over. “You think I haven’t been there for her? You think I haven’t helped her through her struggles?” His voice raised, and there was a dangerous intensity in his eyes now. “I’ve made sure she feels safe. That she doesn’t feel like she’s drowning under the pressure. And if you want to pretend I haven’t had a hand in that, then fine.”

Namjoon stepped in again, this time with more force. “Enough.” He looked between Yoongi and Hoseok, trying to keep control of the room. “We’re not doing this right now. We need to stop pretending this is about who did what. This is about Y/N. We need to fix this before the press tears us apart.”

Yoongi’s expression softened, but his eyes still held an intensity that made Hoseok falter for a moment. “She doesn’t belong to anyone but me,” Yoongi said, his voice low and dangerous, as if it were a statement that was both an ultimatum and a promise.

Hoseok didn’t respond immediately, his fists clenched. He wasn’t about to back down. Not now.

The room fell into silence, the tension palpable. No one spoke for a moment, each member lost in their own thoughts. It was clear that things had shifted, and there was no going back. The feud wasn’t just about mentorship anymore—it was about control, about who would get to claim you fully.

And as they sat there, the truth hung heavy in the air: the real battle wasn’t just over who would guide you, but who would ultimately have you for themselves.

Taglist:

@misbangtan @knjkitten @mystica1whore @mageprincess7 @illnevertrustmyselfagain @princess-angele333

[sweetdreams1994]

Chapter 7: Debut

Summary

As a hardworking trainee, you’ve spent years pushing yourself to debut. When the final evaluation comes, you’re chosen as the sole candidate—but what you don’t realize is that your fate was already sealed. BTS, the seven men you idolized, manipulated everything to make sure you were theirs.

At first, their attention feels like a blessing to aid you as a trainee. Then, it becomes suffocating. Their possessiveness turns them against each other, each one willing to destroy the others just to have you alone.

⚠️ Content Warnings: ⚠️

Intense competition & high pressure, verbal & emotional manipulation, psychological stress & anxiety, favoritism & corruption, Strong language, detailed smut, y/n is 18+, drugging

The practice room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the mirrors reflecting back the slow, deliberate movements of your body. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the faint trace of Hoseok’s cologne, grounding you as you struggled to regulate your breathing. Your limbs ached, your heart pounded, but none of that mattered. Not when his eyes were on you like that—sharp, assessing, filled with something deeper than just critique.

“Again,” Hoseok murmured, his voice low, almost coaxing this time. He wasn’t instructing you as he had been before for weeks. This was different.

You swallowed hard and stepped back into position. The music swelled, your debut song thrumming through the speakers, wrapping around the two of you like something tangible. When you moved, it wasn’t just choreography anymore—it was instinct, it was feeling, it was raw emotion manifesting through every precise motion. Hoseok stepped in behind you, his body close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him.

“Loosen up,” he whispered near your ear, his hands grazing over your hips as he corrected your stance. “Let the music carry you.”

You looked up into the mirror to be met with an incriminating sight, Hoseok's frame leering over your smaller one with his hands on your shoulders. 

A shiver raced down your spine at his touch. His voice was smooth, but there was something deeper in it, something restrained. He guided you through the movements, his own body aligning with yours, moving in sync as if your shadow. Every time you turned, every time your eyes locked in the mirror, the air between you seemed to tighten.

He stepped closer still, his fingers ghosting along your wrist, up your arm, lingering longer than necessary. You let yourself sink into the feeling, into the moment, the dance becoming something more than just a performance—it was a conversation, unspoken but loud in its intensity.

“Good,” Hoseok breathed, his lips just beside your temple, his approval like a fire in your veins. “That’s it.”

Your chest rose and fell with exertion as the song came to an end, leaving the room in heavy silence, except for your mingled breaths. You turned, looking up at him, and for a split second, before stumbling back at the closeness of his face to yours. His hands tightened on your waist as he brought you closer to his chest to steady you before stepping back, his expression unreadable.

As you continued on practicing and hoseok continued on observing, you failed to notice a lingering figure just as you had before, 

Yoongi.

He stood in the doorway, his eyes dark, unreadable, taking in the sight before him. His gaze landed on you first—your flushed cheeks, the way your chest still rose and fell from exertion, the sheen of sweat on your skin. Then, it flickered to Hoseok and the way his eyes trailed over your frame.

His jaw tightened.

For a moment, he just stared, an unreadable emotion flickering behind his gaze. Then, slowly, his expression hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line. The warmth that had once been in his eyes the first time he had watched you dance was now replaced with something colder. Possessiveness. Resentment.

His grip tightened on the doorframe before he turned sharply, walking away without a word.

And just like that, the moment between you and Hoseok shifted. The room felt colder. The intensity between you replaced by something heavier.

Something that neither of you could ignore.

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

 The first time Yoongi had seen you was in that very training room. Had watched you move with the kind of grace that had first drawn him in—fluid, effortless, something almost hypnotic. And yet, seeing you now, with him, twisted something deep in his chest.

The way Hoseok stood behind you, his hands guiding your waist, his voice low and encouraging in your ear—it was too familiar, too intimate. Yoongi’s jaw tightened as he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. That should be me. He had always been the one to bring out your best, the one you turned to when the weight of this world became too much. But now, you were looking up at Hoseok like that, hanging onto his every word.

It made him feel sick.

Then, as the music swelled, you moved—spinning, arching, completely lost in the moment. And for a second, he was lost in it, too, just like that first time. The first time he had seen you dance, the moment he had decided you were his. That same fire, that same untouchable glow. But now, Hoseok was in the picture.

But perhaps Hoseok didn't really have to be in the picture.

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

The night of your debut arrived faster than you could comprehend. The dressing room was buzzing with stylists, makeup artists, and staff flitting around you, but their voices blurred into the background. Your hands trembled slightly as you adjusted the mic pack at your waist. The weight of it, the reality of what was about to happen, settled heavily on your shoulders.

Then, you felt it—warm fingers brushing against yours, steadying them.

“You’re going to be incredible,” Yoongi murmured, his voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the chaos around you.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze. There was no doubt in his eyes, only certainty. A quiet kind of devotion that made your heart stutter.

“You’ve worked for this. You deserve it,” he continued, his touch lingering just a second longer before he pulled back.

At the doorway, Hoseok stood, arms crossed, watching the exchange with a clenched jaw. He had spent weeks with you, pushing you, guiding you, bringing out a version of you that could take the stage and own it. He knew your every movement, the way you responded to his voice, his touch. But here Yoongi was, sliding in at the last second, as if he was the one who had carried you to this moment. As if he was the one who truly understood. No he had only started all this but he’d be damned if he’d end it too. 

Hoseok wasn’t blind. He saw the way Yoongi looked at you—the quiet possession in his gaze, the way his body angled toward yours like it was instinct. And worst of all, he saw how you softened under it.

“We gotta go,” Hoseok said simply, eyes flickering toward the hallway before landing back on you. “It’s time.”

His voice left no room for hesitation. You nodded, taking one last steadying breath before squeezing Yoongi’s hand and following him out.

Hoseok remained where he stood as you and Yoongi passed him, the weight of something unspoken hitting him as Yoongi knocked against his shoulder. He had trained you for this, poured every ounce of himself into making sure you were ready. But at the end of the day, it was Yoongi’s hand you followed.

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

The lights were blinding. The roar of the audience was deafening. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, but the moment the first note hit, everything else faded away.

The stage was yours. You’d spent countless hours preparing, perfecting every move, every step, every detail. Now, it was your time to shine. The music began, soft and playful, and you immediately slipped into the character you’d carefully crafted for this moment: a cute, schoolgirl concept. Your outfit was a perfectly tailored uniform, complete with a pleated skirt, knee-high socks, and a bright ribbon tied neatly at your collar. It was youthful, innocent, but there was something electrifying in the way you moved that elevated the charm into something magnetic.

You started with a playful skip to the beat, your arms outstretched in a soft, exaggerated gesture. The way you twirled on your toes, smiling brightly, was the perfect contrast to the complex footwork you executed with such precision. You hit every beat with flawless timing, incorporating quick spins and delicate poses that made the whole performance feel effortless. The playful vibe of the song matched your movements perfectly, from the lighthearted sway of your hips to the cute, almost shy glances you threw toward the audience, as if you were a mischievous student sneaking glances in class.

The choreography was intricate—fast, yet fluid. You executed sharp, high kicks that matched the beat, each movement more crisp than the last. There were moments where you bent low to the ground, snapping up with quick twirls, before playfully tossing your hair as you skipped from side to side. Your energy was infectious, and the audience couldn't help but be drawn in by the bright, cheerful charm you radiated. Even the smallest details—like the way you tapped your foot lightly to the music or the playful wink to the crowd—added to the schoolgirl persona that you had fully embodied.

But even with the cute concept, you didn’t hold back in terms of performance quality. You delivered every move with incredible precision, your body staying in perfect sync with the beat, while your expressions flickered between shy sweetness and bold confidence. The lightness of your movements contrasted beautifully with the power in your execution. There was a kind of magic in how you captured both innocence and strength simultaneously.

Behind the scenes, Hoseok watched with pride, feeling his heart swell as he saw you come to life on stage. The way you took command of the performance, weaving through the choreography with a natural grace, made every ounce of hard work worth it. He knew it wasn’t easy to pull off such a delicate balance, but you made it look effortless.

And then, the performance reached its climax—an intricate spin, followed by a sudden drop to the floor in a perfectly timed kneel. The crowd erupted in applause, but you didn’t let it distract you. You were too focused, too immersed in the moment.

And then there was Namjoon, standing by the side of the stage, arms crossed and gaze unwavering. His eyes were not just on the performer, but on you—the version of you only they had come to understand, the one who was more than just a talent. His presence radiated ownership, an invisible bond formed long before this moment.

But it was Yoongi who made Hoseok’s chest tighten. His eyes were cold, calculating, but there was something else there—something fierce and raw. His gaze never wavered, locked on you, like you were the only thing that mattered in that instant. Hoseok saw the hunger in Yoongi’s eyes, the depth of need, and for the first time, he understood.

This wasn’t just a debut. This was something far more complicated—something that bound you to them, something they saw in you that the world couldn’t understand. And as much as Hoseok could feel the pride for you building, there was an undeniable truth—there was more at play here than just your success. The stage was yours, but you belonged to them in a way that was impossible to ignore.

The final note rang out, and you stood, your chest heaving, eyes scanning the crowd in the darkness. The energy of the performance lingered, thick in the air, and as the applause rolled over you, you instinctively searched for them. Your eyes sought Yoongi first, locking onto him immediately. His gaze was piercing, unwavering, as though he was the only person in the world who truly saw you in that moment. 

But as you held his stare, a shift happened. From the corner of your eye, you caught the intensity in Hoseok’s gaze. He was standing at the back, his expression unreadable, but his eyes... they held something different. They were filled with pride, yes, but also something far more personal—something only you understood. The approval you had worked so hard for was there, but it was more than that. The way he watched you, as if you had surpassed every expectation he ever had for you, struck something deep within you.

And in that moment, your focus wavered, shifting from Yoongi’s intense gaze to Hoseok’s quiet approval. The connection you shared with him, that bond of trust and support, was undeniable. You held his gaze for a moment longer, feeling the weight of it, before turning your attention back to the crowd with the smile Jin made you practice relentlessly.

But even as you felt the energy of the moment swirl around you, you couldn’t ignore the presence of the others. Namjoon’s gaze was still on you, unyielding, as if he had a claim on you that no one could break. And Yoongi, still locked in his focused intensity, never left your sight.

Hoseok’s quiet pride and approval remained in the back of your mind, and as the crowd erupted in applause, you knew—whatever this was, it was just beginning. The performance was only the start. You had given them all a piece of you, and now, they each held a part of your heart.

And there was no going back now. Not for you. Not for them. Not for any of you.

Authors note

Sorry for the late update guys, I've been busy traveling lately but I promise I'll be more consistent now! Let me know if you want to see anything in future chapters! All the love!

Taglist:

@misbangtan @knjkitten @mystica1whore @mageprincess7 @illnevertrustmyselfagain @

[sweetdreams1994]

Chapter 6: Plans.

Summary

As a hardworking trainee, you’ve spent years pushing yourself to debut. When the final evaluation comes, you’re chosen as the sole candidate—but what you don’t realize is that your fate was already sealed. BTS, the seven men you idolized, manipulated everything to make sure you were theirs.

At first, their attention feels like a blessing to aid you as a trainee. Then, it becomes suffocating. Their possessiveness turns them against each other, each one willing to destroy the others just to have you alone.

⚠️ Content Warnings: ⚠️

Intense competition & high pressure, verbal & emotional manipulation, psychological stress & anxiety, favoritism & corruption, Strong language, detailed smut, y/n is 18+, drugging

After five weeks of staying with the boys and constant training, it was your most important meeting with HYBE yet, your debut schedule.

The conference room at HYBE was thick with tension. You sat at the far end of the long, polished table, Yoongi beside you, his fingers tapping impatiently against the wood. His usual calm demeanor was laced with an edge of concern, but you were too distracted to acknowledge it. Across from you, Namjoon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes studying everyone in the room. Jimin and Taehyung flanked him, their gazes fixed on you—intense, but not in a way that unsettled you. It was just… familiar. You trusted them.

To your left, Hoseok and Jin sat quietly, both of them giving off a different vibe. Hoseok's smile was absent, a rare seriousness shadowing his expression. Jin, as always, was calm, his eyes not leaving you for long as if silently assessing your reactions.

A staff member stood at the head of the table, his voice breaking the silence. “We’ve decided to push up the debut. It was originally scheduled for later, but we believe the timing is right now. You’ll be performing on Inkigayo.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the suddenness of it taking you off guard. You opened your mouth to speak, but Yoongi cut you off, his tone firm, though gentle. “Soon. I know. You’re ready.”

His words, though confident, seemed to carry a weight you hadn’t anticipated. You glanced at him, his eyes softening as he met your gaze. There was something protective in the way he looked at you, and for a brief moment, you felt comforted. Yoongi had always been there for you, pushing you to be your best, guiding you through every step of this journey. He saw the potential in you when you couldn’t see it in yourself. This felt like his way of giving you something to hold onto, something to keep you grounded.

You didn’t suspect anything was amiss. Not with him. Not with any of them. You had always trusted them—trusted them—because they were family, right?

Namjoon’s lips curled into a small smirk, breaking your thoughts. “You look surprised,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “Didn’t think you’d be debuting so soon, huh?”

You shook your head, offering him a small smile. "No, just a little shocked," you admitted, your tone light. It was a big change, but you didn’t feel *scared*. You had Yoongi’s faith in you. That should have been enough. 

Jimin, ever the tease, leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “I hope you’re ready for the spotlight. It’s a lot to take in, but you’ve always been strong. Right?” His voice was playful, but there was something about the way he watched you that made you feel… seen. Really seen. “I know you’ve got this.”

You nodded, your confidence growing with his encouragement. “I’ll be fine. I trust you all,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to anyone else.

Taehyung gave a low chuckle, his gaze flickering between you and the others. “You’ve got it in you. It’s going to be amazing. But we all know the pressure’s going to hit hard. Are you ready for that?” His tone was casual, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t match the carefree words. He was so sure of you. 

But there was a lingering uncertainty building inside you, something small but growing. You couldn’t place it. 

Suddenly, Hoseok spoke up, his usual cheerfulness absent. “This feels rushed,” he said, his voice quieter but firm. “She needs time. We can’t just push her like this.” His eyes flickered toward Yoongi, but his concern was aimed at you. You appreciated it—he cared. “We’re talking about her debut. It’s not something we should rush into.”

You turned to Hoseok, grateful for his voice of reason. “I know it’s fast, but I feel ready,” you said. You glanced at Yoongi, looking for reassurance, and he gave you a soft nod, his hand briefly brushing against yours under the table. His touch was warm, grounding, and for a moment, it made you forget the rising doubt.

Jin, too, looked at you, his expression calm yet thoughtful. “I agree with Hoseok,” he said, his tone soothing but concerned. “We’re pushing you into this, and I don’t know if it’s the right move. You’ve always had your time to adjust. This is happening too fast. We can’t ignore the impact it might have on her.” 

You met Jin’s gaze, but you were torn. You knew they cared about you. You knew they wanted the best for you, just like Yoongi did. But they were all in this together, right?

Namjoon’s smirk faded, and for a moment, his gaze hardened, his fingers tapping slowly against the table. “Everyone’s worried about her well-being, but what about the bigger picture? This is her chance. We all know she’s ready.” He glanced at Jimin and Taehyung, and they exchanged a look—one that was almost too synchronized to be accidental.

Jimin’s eyes flickered to you, and he leaned forward again, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “This isn’t just about her. It’s about us, too. We’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. Don’t we all deserve to see this through? To be the ones who help her rise?” His gaze softened, but there was an unspoken pressure in his words.

Taehyung’s eyes were locked onto you now, his smile a little too sharp. “We’ve always been by your side. Don’t forget that.” His voice was quiet but firm. “There’s no going back from here.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. They all looked at you as if they were waiting for something—something you weren’t sure you could give. You trusted them. You did. But now, in the midst of their divided opinions, a seed of uncertainty began to grow in your chest. 

Yoongi, sensing the shift in the room, leaned in, his voice softer but steady. “I know it’s a lot. But I believe in you. You’ve got this. We all do.”

You wanted to believe that—you did. But the weight of their expectations, their divided stances, and the way their eyes lingered on you, it was starting to feel like too much. You weren’t sure if you were ready. Were they doing this because they believed in you? Or because they wanted to control the situation, control you?

Your gaze shifted between them all, the warmth from Yoongi’s comforting words battling with the cold reality that maybe… just maybe, this wasn’t just about your debut. 

“Are you really ready?” Taehyung’s voice cut through your thoughts, a little too soft, too knowing.

You didn’t know how to answer. And that scared you more than anything.

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

​​The steam curled around you as you stepped out of the shower, droplets tracing slow paths down your flushed skin. The warmth of the bathroom clung to you, a stark contrast to the lingering chill just beyond the door. Exhaustion settled deep in your bones—between vocal lessons, the suffocating presence of Jimin and Taehyung, and the weight of expectations pressing down on you, you felt drained.

You sighed, dragging a hand through your damp hair before reaching for your change of clothes. You were eager to rid yourself of the heavy fatigue that clung to you like a second skin.

Then, something shifted.

A presence.

You froze. The sensation of being watched slithered down your spine, making your fingers hesitate over the fabric of your shirt. Your breath hitched. Slowly, cautiously, you turned toward the door.

It wasn’t fully shut.

A slow, agonizing creak echoed through the humid air as the door edged open a fraction more.

And standing there, frozen in place like a predator caught in the moment before pouncing, was Min Yoongi .

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“Y-Yoon—”

His name barely made it past your lips before you noticed it—the look in his eyes. Dark, unfathomable, intense. His gaze trailed over your exposed skin, drinking in every detail, every curve, every water droplet sliding down your shoulder. His lips parted slightly, but he made no move to step back.

Instead, his fingers curled into tight fists at his sides.

“You shouldn’t leave the door open,” he murmured, his voice lower than usual, quieter, yet somehow heavy enough to press against you.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of your towel, gripping it like a lifeline. “I—I didn’t realize—”

He pushed the door open fully, stepping inside without hesitation. The overwhelming warmth of his presence made the already humid room feel stifling.

“Didn’t realize?” His head tilted, studying you, his expression unreadable. “Or did you want me to see you like this?”

Your breath caught.

The accusation sent a sharp jolt through you, shame and confusion mingling beneath your skin. “I—”

Before you could form a coherent thought, he was closer. So close that you could see the way his pupils dilated, the way his jaw tightened, as if restraining something barely contained beneath the surface.

A shaky breath escaped you as his fingertips brushed your collarbone—light, teasing, barely there. But the contact burned.

His touch traced lower, following the curve of your damp skin beneath the towel, ghosting over the fabric in an agonizingly slow descent.

“You really don’t understand what you do to me, do you?”

His voice was softer now, almost a whisper, but laced with something that sent a shiver through you.

Then, his fingers dipped lower.

Beneath the towel.

Over the delicate swell of your breast.

A slow exhale left him, his eyes darkening further as he felt the warmth of your skin against his palm. He pressed his chest against your heaving one, neck bending to look down into your wide eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful, pretty, you know, the first time I saw you I wanted to take you right there. The way you smiled made me weak. But now the way you tremble makes me feral.”

He grasped the back of your neck, aggressively pulling your ear to his mouth.

“And all l want to do is look into those wide eyes as you choke on my cock.”

Something in this made you falter, wetness other than water collecting between your legs. 

You were a deer caught in headlights. 

“Now you have two choices: make your sunbaenim happy and do what your told, or run away and disappoint me. I know my good girl wouldn’t want to disappoint me, right? After all, I chose her, and only her to debut. To work with me, hm?”

With this, Yoongi's hand lightly grasped your hair and led you down to your knees, hands releasing from your towel and allowing it to fall to the floor, revealing yourself to him.

Yoongi’s grasp on your hair weakened at the sight of your naked form, eyes reveling in the sight of water droplets trickling in between your breasts and your hands resting between your bare thighs. 

“I knew you were my good girl.”

Yoongi’s slender eyes were penetrating yours as you looked up at him in desperation, looking for any sort of relief from the feeling running through your body. 

Your delicate hands reach up for Yoongi’s belt, his hand petting your hair as you undo the clasp and pull down his pants, hands pulling out his erection from his boxers. 

You weren’t quite sure what you were expecting, but the sight of the large almost overwhelming extremity wasn’t it. But to be quite honest, you didn’t care. 

Yoongi’s head lolled back at your first contact with his member, your hands fondling it with inexperience. 

Nonetheless, he quickly guided your mouth to his cock, hips gently thrusting into you mouth and hand pushing your mouth further onto it. Your eyes began to water as his thrusts hastened, your mouth being used as a fuck doll. 

Yoongi let out the most animalistic sounds you’d ever heard, eyes closing and mouth parting. 

“You’re doing so well baby, your mouth fits me perfectly doesn’t it?”

At the sound of his praise you couldn’t help but let your hand fall between you legs, rubbing your clit in hope of any friction to relieve the building tension. 

“-Uh uh no baby don’t do that no no no that’s not your job, that’s mine”.

Yoongi quickly rips your face from his cock, a strand of saliva connecting your swollen lips and his cock.

He grabs you by your waist and throws you backwards onto your bed, eyes blown wide as he ravishes your jaw and neck with kisses and bites.

“Yoongi, please, please”

His cock rubs against your bare pussy as you whine for him, sounds filling the room with desperation. He buries his face into your neck as he resists plunging into you, his frame overwhelming yours. 

He pulls back and lifts your hips onto his, his cock aligned with your pussy. 

Looking at him he was like a god, straight black hair slicked back, pale skin shimmering under the droplets of your mixed sweat and his chest heaving with his lips parted. 

“Yoongi we can’t-” You frantically exclaimed as you realized what he was about to do. 

“Shhhhh baby don’t worry daddy’s got you”

You tightened your thighs together around his dick as he pushed upward, his cock rubbing directly against your pussy as he thrust back and forth quickly. 

“Namjoon could never do this right? You wouldn’t let him? You save this cunt for me only right?”

“Yes yes, only you Yoongi, only you this cunt is yours”

At this your back arched as Yoongi kept sliding up and down against you feverishly, groaning at your words and making both of you finish together and Yoongi relax his weight on top of you.

I knew she loved me too. Now everyone else will too. 

Authors note: This is extremelyyyy unedited sorry :(

Taglist:

@misbangtan @knjkitten @mystica1whore

[sweetdreams1994]

Chapter 5: What?

Summary

As a hardworking trainee, you’ve spent years pushing yourself to debut. When the final evaluation comes, you’re chosen as the sole candidate—but what you don’t realize is that your fate was already sealed. BTS, the seven men you idolized, manipulated everything to make sure you were theirs.

At first, their attention feels like a blessing to aid you as a trainee. Then, it becomes suffocating. Their possessiveness turns them against each other, each one willing to destroy the others just to have you alone.

⚠️ Content Warnings: ⚠️

Intense competition & high pressure, verbal & emotional manipulation, psychological stress & anxiety, favoritism & corruption, Strong language, smut, y/n is 18+, drugging

The lights of their home lit brightly as Namjoon approached the entrance with y/n in his arms. A smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at you, your limp form still wrapped in his hoodie. His fingers curled tighter around you as he slowly pushed open the door, moving with the quiet confidence of a man who knew he had won..

The moment he stepped into the common area, a voice cut through the darkness.

“Where have you been?”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. Instead, his smirk widened as he turned his gaze toward Yoongi, who was sitting on the couch, his sharp eyes glinting under the dim light of his phone screen. His posture was relaxed, but the sheer fury radiating off him was unmistakable.

Jimin, and Taehyung sat nearby nursing glasses of whiskey, their gazes flickering between Namjoon and the unconscious figure in his arms. Jimin’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, while Taehyung’s eyes gleamed with something close to amusement, eyeing the little lamb in his arms. Although, their gaze seemed amused, deep down, the feeling of envy and annoyance filled their mind. 

“She fell asleep in my studio,” Namjoon said smoothly, adjusting his grip on your form just enough to make his dominance clear. “I figured I’d bring her back before she woke up, she worked hard today.”

Namjoon knew no one would believe that, but truly, he didn’t care if they did or not. You were his now.

Yoongi stood up slowly, his movements deliberate and feline eyes set on Namjoon. “You expect me to believe that?” His voice was cold, lethal. “When she’s like that?”

Their gazes grazed over your form. You were limp in the grasp of Namjoon, head lolled onto his chest with your mouth slightly parted. Your legs were bare, your smooth skin on display. Namjoon's hoodie was just below the curve of your body, exposing you to the hungry eyes of the men. Your hands were careful place in your lap, a peaceful expression taking form on your face.

Namjoon let out a low chuckle, tilting his head. “Come on, Yoongi. Don’t act so self-righteous.” His fingers traced the hem of his hoodie draped over your body. “You think she didn’t want this?”

Jimin hummed in amusement. “You should’ve let us join,” he murmured, his voice dripping with playful malice. “Would’ve been more fun that way.”

Even through the harsh assumption, Namjoon’s smirk didn’t falter. “Oh, trust me,” he mused, “we had more than enough fun on our own.”

Yoongi’s jaw clenched, his patience snapping. In a flash, he was in Namjoon’s face, his hands gripping the collar of his shirt, carefully avoiding your resting form. “You fucking think this is a game, hm?” he growled. “You think you can just take what you want and walk away like nothing happened?”

Namjoon merely chuckled, entirely unbothered knowing the power he held. “ Well yes, I certainly didn’t hear her complaining,” he murmured. “Not that she could.”

Yoongi’s grip tightened dangerously, his teeth clenched. “If you ever touch her like that again,” he seethed, his voice dripping with venom, “I will make sure you fucking regret it.”

The room fell into a thick, tense silence. Jimin and Taehyung exchanged glances, something almost entertained passing between them.

Namjoon exhaled a quiet laugh, finally pulling away from Yoongi’s grasp. He adjusted his hold on you once more, his smirk unwavering. “You’re all acting like I did something wrong,” he mused, his voice light, almost teasing. “But deep down… I think you’re just mad you weren’t her first.”

Jimin let out a strained chuckle. “Relax, hyung,” he drawled, eyes glinting. “It’s not like she can say anything about it now.” 

Namjoon felt nothing but triumph as he carried you past them, reveling in the weight of you in his arms. He knew this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

Yoongi's pointed gaze never left Namjoon's form once as he disappeared down the hall with y/n, mind running a thousand miles a minute.

Oh Kim Namjoon, you don't know how badly you've just fucked up.

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

You stretched your arms and let out a small mewl of annoyance at the dull ache in the back of your head. You recognized the faint smell of incense lingering in your room, and attempted to continue your sleeping aspirations. 

Until you realized you were supposed to be in Namjoon’’s studio. 

Oh no. You had fallen asleep in Namjoon’s studio.

You smothered your head in your pillow groaning out of discontent. Wait. What are you wearing?  You look at your frame in your body length mirror when you stand up and are shocked when you see a large black hoodie covering your body. Grasping the collar of the hoodie, the strong scent of incense invades your nose. 

Namjoon’s, this was Namjoon’s.

You blush out of embarrassment. How had he gotten you in his hoodie? Why? How did you get home? Did he carry you?

The thought of Namjoon carrying you out of his studio bridal style had your head spinning.

Your thoughts were still swimming in the mortifying realization that Namjoon had not only seen you asleep but had also gone so far as to dress you in his hoodie. Did he find you drooling? Were you snoring? The questions tormented you as you paced your room, hugging the soft fabric closer to your frame.

A sudden vibration from your phone snapped you out of your spiral. You grabbed it off the nightstand and saw a message from Jimin.

Jimin: Where are you? You’re late for vocal lessons.

Oh no. You weren’t just late. You were incredibly late.

You practically tripped over yourself as you scrambled to get dressed, tossing Namjoon’s hoodie onto your bed (but not before inhaling the comforting scent one last time). You rushed out the door and toward the practice rooms, the echoes of your footsteps bouncing off the empty hallways.

When you finally pushed open the door to the studio, you were greeted by the sight of Taehyung leaning against the piano, his deep voice humming through a melody, while Jimin stood before him, arms crossed, nodding along. But the moment their eyes landed on you, something in the air shifted— a chilling annoyance exuding off of them.

“Finally,” Jimin sighed, sending you a pointed look, his tone sweet yet laced with annoyance. “You do realize we started twenty minutes ago, right?”

“I—” You huffed, trying to catch your breath. “I overslept.”

Taehyung’s lips curled into a smirk, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “Overslept, huh? Not something I pictured you would do. Anything… interesting happen last night?” His voice was smooth, almost hypnotic, but there was an edge to it that made your stomach drop.

Your face burned at the implication. How did he always seem to know something you didn’t? Taehyung had been reluctant to let you under their wing, always so skeptical looking. He would look at you with the other members with distaste, as if he was upset with you. You weren’t sure why, but it wasn’t something that bothered you too much. As long as he was going to help you, it was alright for you not to be his favourite person. 

But oh were you wrong

 “Nothing worth mentioning,” you muttered quickly, waving him off before plopping down onto a stool.

But Taehyung wasn’t satisfied with that answer. He took slow, deliberate steps toward you, stopping just close enough that you could feel the faint heat radiating off of him. “You smell different today,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but the intensity in his gaze made you shiver. “Like… someone else.”

Jimin, who had remained quiet, suddenly let out a soft chuckle, stepping forward to stand beside Taehyung. “That’s right,” he mused, tilting his head. “This hoodie… it isn’t yours, is it?”

Your breath caught in your throat. What?

Your head snaps down to clothing, of course in your rush you had picked up the wrong hoodie from your bed. How had you not noticed?

Of course they noticed how dirty you are, how embarrassing. 

“I had a late night with Namjoon working on some lyrics… that’s why I slept in. I wasn’t really able to shower this morning or dress up because I was late, I— It’s just—”

“Oh we know, our little star was so tired Namjoon came in carrying you. Apparently he didn’t want to disturb your sleep after such a long day…” Taehyung drawled.

Jimin’s fingers suddenly brushed against the fabric of Namjoon’s hoodie, his touch slow and deliberate.  “You let him put this on you?” His voice was still soft, but his grip on the fabric tightened, knuckles whitening. “That’s… unfair.”

Taehyung chuckled lowly. “It’s almost like you’re testing us,” he said, reaching out to trace a single finger along your wrist. “You wouldn’t do that… would you?”

You swallowed hard, feeling trapped beneath their gazes. This wasn’t the playful teasing you were used to—there was an undeniable edge to their words, a possessiveness that sent your pulse skyrocketing.

Jimin leaned in, his voice a honeyed whisper against your ear. “You belong here. With us. Not him. You’re a vocalist no?”

You tried to steady your breathing. “Guys, I—”

Taehyung shushed you with a finger pressed lightly against your lips, his smile widening. “Shh. Let’s not talk about him anymore. You’re here now, and we have work to do.”

Jimin’s lips curved into something unsettlingly sweet. “That’s right. We need to make sure you’re focused… on us.”

Despite their words, you weren’t sure if this was about vocal lessons anymore.

And deep down, a part of you feared this never was.

Tag List: @misbangtan

Authors Note: I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know if you'd like to see anything specific or more focus on different members in the next few chapters! Also, let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list! All the love,

Ava :)

[sweetdreams1994]

Chapter 4: Doll

Summary

As a hardworking trainee, you’ve spent years pushing yourself to debut. When the final evaluation comes, you’re chosen as the sole candidate—but what you don’t realize is that your fate was already sealed. BTS, the seven men you idolized, manipulated everything to make sure you were theirs.

At first, their attention feels like a blessing to aid you as a trainee. Then, it becomes suffocating. Their possessiveness turns them against each other, each one willing to destroy the others just to have you alone.

⚠️ Content Warnings: ⚠️

Intense competition & high pressure, Verbal & emotional manipulation, Psychological stress & anxiety, Favoritism & corruption, Strong language, smut, y/n is 18+, drugging

This was the first day of your real work, so Namjoon accompanied you to your first concept photoshoot for your debut album. He claimed he needed a break from the others, but you suspected he also wanted to help guide you through the process to which you were grateful. You really admired Namjoon, his leadership and respect for other people was something you wanted to emulate. For all intents and purposes, Namjoon was your role model.

The studio was a whirlwind of activity—stylists adjusting outfits, makeup artists perfecting every detail, photographers setting up their shots. You were placed in white stockings, white mary janes,  a pale blue skirt and an elaborate white blouse. 

"Do you like your outfit doll?" Namjoon said as he smiled down at you. 

"Of course", you said as you smiled back up at him. 

Namjoon had helped pick out the outfit with the stylists, he insisted on it since he didn't want to "sit around and do nothing".

Your outfit really complemented the theme of your concept, and as you looked at yourself in the mirror, the weight of the moment hit you.

Namjoon stood behind you, tenderly meeting your gaze in the reflection. “You ready?” he asked, his voice steady, reassuring.

You nodded, exhaling a slow breath. “Yeah.”

Throughout the shoot, Namjoon stayed close. Too close for the photographers' liking sometimes, although you were grateful. He offered quiet encouragement when you felt overwhelmed. He guided you through poses, helping you relax under the flashing lights.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured as the photographer reset the scene. “Just own it, you're so beautiful anything will look good."

You blushed as he said this, and at the same time the photographer clicked his camera rapidly, clearly satisfied with your expression.

Something about Namjoon's confidence in you settled your nerves, and as the shoot progressed, you found yourself loosening up, embracing the role they- and he- envisioned for you. By the time it ended, exhaustion weighed on you, but so did a sense of accomplishment.

As you walked out of the studio, Namjoon glanced at you with a small smile. “I'm so proud of you,” he said, hand ruffling your hair.

And somehow, those words meant everything.

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

After the shoot, Namjoon led you to his studio, a private space that he rarely let anyone other than the members enter. Your steps faltered and pulse quickened as he walked you down the hallways of Hybe as Namjoon placed his hand on your lower back to guide you gently. 

“Feel special,” he teased. “Not everyone gets to be like this with me."

you watched the questioning looks from the staff, as male and female idols rarely shared company alone, let alone touched each other, mentor or not. 

Although, you felt a strange warmth at his words. You couldn't help but feel protected by this man as he led you down the halls, an ultra successful and powerful man.

You ended up outside his studio, the silence of the private area giving you release from your hectic day. Curiosity made you flicker your gaze down the hallway, eyes catching the sign* Genius Lab* about ten meters down. 

"Is that Yoongi's studio down there?" you asked. 

"Why, would you rather do this with him?"

Namjoon's sly quip made you snap your eyes to his, looking up as he hovered slightly behind you. The look in his eyes was unlike anything you had seen before, but quickly disappeared as he smiled slightly and shook his head. 

"Let’s focus on your album okay? I'm a Grammy nominated writer, you know?", he says as he smirks lightly.   

You decide to ignore Namjoon's odd behaviour as you chalked it up to you being overly analytical. 

As Namjoon pushes open the door and he invites you inside, your jaw drops in amazement. So this is where all of those award winning songs were made. This was your future, this was what you had worked for. 

Awards lined the shelves, instruments hanging from walls and artwork placed sporadically. 

"Alright, let's get down to it. Let's make your debut something people just can't ignore."

And so you did. 

Namjoon guided you through the songwriting process, helping you craft lyrics that felt authentic. Just like your concept photos, you decided to play off of your cute and innocent appearance. You never would've thought that Namjoon would be so well suited in this style of writing, but then again there was nothing he didn’t suit really. The process was long, tiring, but you found a way to distract yourself. Other than occasionally drinking the tea that Namjoon made you, sometimes you would catch yourself looking at his hands, only now did you realize how beautiful they were as he wrote down ideas. His voice hummed through your head, soothing yet masculine and guiding. It wasn't until you felt a hand on your right thigh that you realized you had drifted asleep.

"Doll are you alright? Oh don't worry, you’re just tired,  it's getting quite late." 

You grogley opened your eyes and looked at the clock perched above his desk. 11:00pm. You had been up since 5:00am, no wonder you were tired. 

Namjoon's hands continued to rub soft circles on your thigh as you woke up a bit more. Not causing any concern for you as you were still in a half asleep like state. Come to think of it, you weren't really coming out of this half-asleep state. 

You tried to sit up off of the couch you realized you had somehow been placed on as Namjoon's body loomed over your's. 

"Shhh don't worry doll. I'll take care of you. You did so well writing your first song, it'll do so well. I'm sure everyone will love your photos too, you look so cute and adorable in them, I really liked your blue skirt hmm."

You felt his hand roam the expanse of your soft thigh more, your mind cutting in and out as you tried to fight against sleep. 

"Namjoon what is happening I don't feel too good, I'm so tired. Can you take me home?"

"Sure baby, don't worry, I've got you", he murmured as he caressed your face softy.

I'll always have you. 

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

He didn't plan for her to look so adorable in that blue skirt. 

He didn't plan to be with her that late. 

And he didn't plan on slipping that sedative in her tea. 

Now Namjoon was always a man of logic and honour, there was a reason for why he was the leader of BTS. Charismatic, intelligent, all qualities that the public knew him for. So, he wasn't sure how this young trainee had made him disregard all of those qualities. 

Something about how she blushed during the photoshoot, wearing that too short skirt and showing those pure eyes made him snap. She was beautiful and naive, and that made him want to be the one to ruin her rather than have the industry do it for him. 

As Namjoon saw her trying to think of lyrics to put down, he also saw how nervous she was when she tried to speak. How she couldn't quite articulate her thoughts properly in front of such a versed lyricist. And it made him crazy. Why? He didn't know. But really, he didn't care to find out right now. Not as he stared at her, knocked out on his couch making tiny breaths from her slightly open mouth. 

He was fucked. And sadly not exactly in the way he wanted to be. 

As she laid there, Namjoon had two choices. Take her home like he said he would, or do what he really wanted to do before any of the other members could. 

He wasn't stupid. 

He saw the looks that Yoongi and Jungkook gave her, how they have already claimed her in their minds. How Yoongi wanted her so badly to begin with, how Jungkook wanted to tear Jin apart when he saw them together.

So here he was. He would always be number one, the leader and backbone of their brotherhood and band. All those awards, all that success, that was his. He made it for them. So it was only fair that she was his too. 

Namjoon's hand traveled slightly higher on her thigh as he took a shaky inhale. So soft, so plush. His hand stopped as it reached just beneath her skirt. 

He couldn't. 

But he wanted to so badly. 

He lightly tugged her skirt down, picking up her hips with ease to glide it over.  At the sight of her pale pink cotton panties he suddenly became aware of his growing erection.  He quickly unbuttoned her shirt revealing a pale pink bralette. 

His baby wore a matching set just for him didn't she. 

At this thought, Namjoon couldn't help but slip his erection out of his pants as his eyes took in her half naked form. He sat back in his desk chair, spitting on his hand and stroking his cock. His mouth fell slack when she made a tiny sound and he imagined it wasn't his hand but her’s, no longer able to control himself. Animalistic sounds left Namjoon's mouth as he came on her stomach, cum painting her soft skin with a heaving chest.

What a cute doll.

[sweetdreams1994]

Chapter Three: New Feelings

Summary

As a hardworking trainee, you’ve spent years pushing yourself to debut. When the final evaluation comes, you’re chosen as the sole candidate—but what you don’t realize is that your fate was already sealed. BTS, the seven men you idolized, manipulated everything to make sure you were theirs.

At first, their attention feels like a blessing to aid you as a trainee. Then, it becomes suffocating. Their possessiveness turns them against each other, each one willing to destroy the others just to have you alone.

⚠️ Content Warnings: ⚠️

Intense competition & high pressure, Verbal & emotional manipulation, Psychological stress & anxiety, Mild violence & aggression, Favoritism & corruption, Strong language, smut, y/n is 18+

The ride to the house was quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way. The air buzzed with an unspoken tension, a mix of anticipation and curiosity. You sat in the backseat, staring out the tinted windows as the city lights blurred past. Every so often, you could feel Jungkook glancing at you through the rearview mirror, his gaze lingering just a little too long before flicking back to the road.

When the car finally pulled up to the grand house that would be your home for the next week, your breath hitched. It was massive, sleek, and modern, yet it exuded a warmth that made it feel more like a home rather than just another HYBE facility.

Namjoon led you inside, gesturing for you to follow as he walked through the halls. "Your room is ready," he said, his voice smooth and confident. "We made sure it suited you."

That statement made an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach. How could they have possibly known what would suit you? But as soon as Namjoon pushed open the door to your room, your breath caught in your throat.

The room was perfect. Almost eerily so.

The walls were a soft pink pastel, the kind of color you would have picked yourself. The bed was adorned with plush pillows and delicate lace-trimmed sheets. The closet doors were slightly ajar, revealing racks of clothes in your exact size and style. Dresses, skirts, blouses—hyper-feminine, delicate, and elegant. Even the vanity was stocked with your preferred makeup brands, perfumes you had never mentioned to anyone as they were expensive, but adored, and skincare products tailored specifically to your routine.

It was as if they had plucked the image straight from your mind.

You swallowed thickly, stepping further inside, fingers grazing over the expensive fabric of your bedding. "How did you—"

"We made sure you had everything you needed," Namjoon cut in smoothly, watching your every reaction. "You should rest. Tomorrow will be intense."

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

The next morning, you were awoken by a soft knock on the door. Before you could even respond, the door creaked open, and Jungkook peeked inside, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Rise and shine, princess. Time to work out."

Still groggy, you sat up, giving him a view of your collar bones that had his heart racing. 

“Already?”

Jungkook chuckled, eyes turning into crescents as his bunny-like smile made an appearance. "No time to waste. We need to build up your stamina and physique." His eyes flickered over you briefly, his gaze unreadable. "Get dressed and meet me in the gym."

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

Forty minutes later, you stepped into the private training room, wearing a baby blue fitted workout set that clung to your body in ways that made you slightly self-conscious in the presence of such objectively attractive men. Jungkook was already there, stretching his arms behind his head, his toned muscles flexing under the fabric of his black compression shirt.

He watched as you approached, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips at the sight of your nervous expression. Perfect he thought to himself. 

"We’ll start with stretching. Don’t want you pulling anything right."

You nodded, following his lead as he guided you through each movement. With every stretch, he would adjust your posture, his hands firm but perhaps lingering just a second too long. His touch was hot against your skin, and you had to force yourself to focus.

Once stretching was done, Jungkook clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's warm up. Give me a few sprints on the treadmill and then we'll move to some strength training."

You obeyed, feeling his eyes on you as you jumped. He watched every movement, noting the way your muscles tensed and flexed, how your body moved. There was something almost predatory in the way he observed you, like he was analyzing every part of you, taking in every detail for himself. Although you assumed it was just learned from years of people doing the same with him. 

"Good," he murmured. "Now we’ll move on to some squats. Come here."

You set yourself up at the squat rack, adjusting your stance while looking in the mirror infront of you. Your ears heated up at the sight, Jungkook standing behind you brooding frame towering over yours as he looked over your form.  Slowly he placed his hands on your hips as he looked into your eyes through the mirror. "Lower your stance a bit," he instructed, his breath hot against your ear. "Like this."

Heat crawled up your spine, but you nodded, following his guidance. Every movement felt magnified under his gaze, every breath sharp and shallow. The weight of his hands, the way he corrected your form—it was all too much.

After going through a series of weighted squats, planks, and core exercises, Jungkook smirked, wiping the sweat from his forehead, chest heaving. "Time for some boxing. It’s a good full body workout."

Your breath was already ragged, but you nodded, stepping onto the mat. Jungkook handed you a pair of gloves, seemingly also bought specifically for you, before putting on his own.

"We’ll go easy, " he promised, though you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes that said otherwise.

At first, the sparring was light. He let you get in a few weak jabs, laughing when your punches barely made an impact. But soon, he started pushing you—blocking, dodging, forcing you to move faster.

"Come on, Y/N," he taunted, smirking as he dodged another hit. "You can do better than that."

Gritting your teeth, you swung again. This time, he caught your wrist, using your own momentum against you as he twisted, bringing you down to the mat face down. Before you could react, you found yourself pinned beneath him, his body straddling yours.

Your breath hitched.

Jungkook was close. Too close. His weight pinned you down, his breath fanning against the back of your neck. His eyes darkened as they flickered down to your hands clasped in his behind your back, then back up to your wide eyes.

A slow smirk curled at his lips. "You should be more careful," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "Wouldn’t want to get hurt."

Your entire body burned. You tried to push him off, but his grip tightened just slightly, his fingers pressing into your wrists.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The tension between you was suffocating, electric.

Then, finally, Jungkook let out a chuckle, releasing you and standing up. He offered you a hand, still grinning as he pulled you to your feet.

"Not bad for your first time," he mused. "Tomorrow, we’ll go even harder."

You swallowed, your heart still racing as you avoided his gaze. "Yeah... sure."

Jungkook simply smirked, not sensing the unease and shyness in your voice, grabbing his water bottle before leading you out of the gym. As you followed him back to the car, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.

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

The ride back to the house was quiet, but not uncomfortable. You stared out the window, still processing the morning’s events. The sun had risen higher, casting a golden glow over the streets as Jungkook drove, one hand gripping the wheel tightly. Every so often, you felt his gaze flicker toward you, but you didn’t dare meet it. Not after everything that had just happened in the gym.

When you arrived back at the house, you barely had time to catch your breath before Jin found you.

"Come help me in the kitchen," he said with a smile. "The chef has the day off, and I could use an assistant."

Still flushed from the workout, you followed him, grateful for the change of pace. Cooking with Jin was unexpectedly calming. He was patient, guiding you through simple tasks, occasionally teasing you when you fumbled.

“Ah ah no no thinner than that darling.” Jin exclaimed as he came up behind you, wrapping his body around yours to grab your hands and guide you cutting the zucchini.

“It won’t cook evenly with the other elements if they aren’t the same thickness.”

You blushed for two reasons. One, embarrassment from your inexperience in cooking. Two, because Jin, a kind hearted, talented, and handsome man, was smiling, guiding you so closely. 

A deep blush painted your face. Your face and hands heated up as well, something Jin noticed as a smirk crossed his face and he tightened his hands on yours.

There was nothing and no one his charm couldn't get him.

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

"You’re not bad at this you know," he admitted as you plated the food. "You should help me more often."

You giggled. "I wouldn’t mind. This is actually kind of fun."

Jin stared at you for a moment, something softening in his gaze. It was different from the others—it wasn’t possessive, wasn’t overwhelming. It was just… warm.

"You’re easy to be around, you know that?" he said with a quiet voice, mesmerizing eyes meeting yours.

You felt your heart skip a beat. "I… Thanks, I guess."

Jin chuckled, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "No need to be shy. I like talking to you."

Before you could respond, the moment shattered when Jungkook walked in.

His eyes landed on you immediately, then drifted to Jin. His jaw clenched.

"What’s for lunch?" Jungkook asked, his voice clipped.

Jin, oblivious to the sudden shift in energy, continued plating the food. "Spicy pork. Y/N helped. She’s a natural."

Jungkook’s eyes flickered back to you. "Oh?"

Something about his tone made your stomach tighten. He wasn’t teasing anymore. He was staring at you like you had betrayed him.

You swallowed hard. The warmth from moments ago had disappeared, replaced by an intensity that left you breathless.

Jin, sensing the tension but choosing to ignore it, continued with a lighthearted smile. "She did well. Maybe I should keep her as my permanent assistant."

Jungkook scoffed, stepping closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. "That’s funny. Because I thought she was training. Not playing house."

You flinched at the sharpness in his tone. Jin frowned, setting down the plate. "Relax, Jungkook. She just helped with lunch. No need to get possessive."

Jungkook’s gaze never left yours. "I’m not possessive. Just… surprised. She didn’t seem so comfortable earlier."

His words were loaded, and you knew exactly what he meant. He was referring to the gym—the way you had struggled beneath him, the way you had reacted when he had you pinned. Your face heated.

Jin sighed, placing a hand on your back, rubbing gentle circles in an attempt to ease the tension. "Ignore him, Y/N. He’s just grumpy because he didn’t get to win against you."

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. "You think I was trying to win?"

Jin smirked. "I think you wanted to prove something."

Jungkook’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing. Instead, he grabbed a plate and turned away sharply, stalking toward the dining table. The air in the room was thick, suffocating, as if you were caught between something dangerous.

Jin leaned down, whispering so only you could hear. "Be careful with him. He doesn’t like sharing."

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you simply nodded. Really, you weren’t even sure what he mean’t by that. But even as you sat down to eat, feeling Jin’s comforting presence beside you, you could feel Jungkook’s eyes boring into you from across the table.

And something told you this wasn’t the last time you’d find yourself caught in his storm.

[sweetdreams1994]

Chapter Two: Mine.

Summary

As a hardworking trainee, you’ve spent years pushing yourself to debut. When the final evaluation comes, you’re chosen as the sole candidate—but what you don’t realize is that your fate was already sealed. BTS, the seven men you idolized, manipulated everything to make sure you were theirs.

At first, their attention feels like a blessing to aid you as a trainee. Then, it becomes suffocating. Their possessiveness turns them against each other, each one willing to destroy the others just to have you alone.

⚠️ Content Warnings: ⚠️

Intense competition & high pressure, Verbal & emotional manipulation, Psychological stress & anxiety, Mild violence & aggression (dragged by security), Favoritism & corruption, Strong language, smut, y/n is 18+

The decision had been made long before the final evaluations.

The others just hadn’t known it yet.

But as soon as they saw her—really saw her—there was no denying it.

Yoongi had chosen her.

And they understood why.

The first time he saw her

It was late.

Long after most of the trainees had left for the night, after the halls had emptied and the building had settled into an eerie quiet. The only sound was the faint bass of music bleeding through the practice room walls.

Yoongi had no reason to stop.

He had places to be, things to do, a schedule to keep. He wasn’t supposed to waste time on trainees who were still years away from debuting—girls who trained relentlessly only to be discarded when they weren’t good enough.

But something made him pause.

Something pulled at him, made him glance through the small window in the door.

And there she was.

Alone. Moving like she wasn’t practicing, like she wasn’t rehearsing for an evaluation. She was simply feeling the music, her body responding in a way that was instinctive, effortless.

Yoongi’s gaze narrowed on her, eyes wandering over every part of her as if he was relishing a piece of art.

She wasn’t the best dancer he’d ever seen. She wasn’t perfect. But there was something about her that felt  inviting—something that sent a slow, twisting ache through his chest and butterflies in his stomach.

And then she smiled.

It wasn’t the kind of smile that trainees perfected in front of a camera. It wasn’t for anyone but herself. No, It was unfiltered, genuine and a display of a pure joy as she completed her choreo.

Yoongi needed it, needed her.

Something struck him as he lingered far too long as she packed her things.

It wasn’t admiration. It wasn’t love.

It was possession.

She didn’t know it yet, but she was already his.

He could have walked away then. Should have walked away.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Because in that moment, something inside him snapped into place.

And the thought of not seeing that smile again, or having to share her else made him sick.

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

You’re out of your mind.”

Namjoon barely looked up from his paperwork, flipping through the trainee evaluation reports as his members filled various spots around his studio.

“One girl,” Yoongi repeated, his voice flat, final. “Not five. Just her.”

Namjoon sighed, setting his pen down. “The company’s been planning a five-member group for years. They’ve already picked out the concept, the marketing strategy, the whole damn brand. You can’t just—”

“They’re wrong.”

Jin, who had been listening quietly, leaned back in his chair. “Yoongi, I get it. She’s talented, but why her? Why are you pushing this so hard?”

Yoongi didn’t answer immediately.

How was he supposed to explain it? That when he had seen her, something inside him snapped? That the thought of her debuting with anyone else, standing beside other people, being claimed and becoming close with someone that wasn't him made his blood run cold.

She belonged to him.

Even if she didn’t know it yet.

Even if no one else understood.

Namjoon studied him carefully, his sharp mind calculating the consequences. “The company isn’t going to throw out years of planning just because you—”

“Then make them.”

Namjoon’s lips pressed into a thin line and his dragon eyes bore holes into Yoongi.

It wasn’t that easy. They were just artists, even as BTS. The higher-ups made the decisions, and idols followed orders. That was how the industry worked. But Yoongi never pushed like this. He never asked for anything.

Which mean't this was different.

Namjoon exhaled, dragging a hand down his tired face. “Fine. But if I do this, we need leverage. A reason they can’t ignore.” 

A reason other than Yoongi is obsessed with her and will burn this company to the ground if she debuts with anyone else.

Jimin, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, leaned in. “What if we offer to mentor her?”

The room went silent.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “What, like—officially?”

“It makes sense,” Hoseok said slowly, his mind already working through the logistics. “If they debut her solo, she won’t have groupmates to lean on. That’s a risk. But if BTS is backing her, guiding her—”

“It becomes an investment instead of a gamble,” Jin finished, nodding. “The company wouldn’t say no to that.”

Namjoon tapped his fingers against the table. He could already see how he would present it—how he would convince the executives that this was a strategic decision rather than a reckless one.

“This could work,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “If we frame it right.”

Yoongi’s grip on his coffee cup tightened. “Then do it.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------Namjoon knew how to win arguments.

He knew how to read people, how to anticipate concerns before they were voiced. He walked into the executive meeting armed with numbers, predictions, and an unwavering confidence that made people listen.

“A five-member girl group would be successful, yes,” he admitted, pacing in front of the long conference table. “But a solo artist—backed by BTS—has the potential to be unstoppable.”

The executives exchanged glances.

“You want us to shift our entire debut strategy on a whim?” one of them asked, skeptical.

Namjoon smiled, sharp and knowing. “Not on a whim. On data.”

He laid out projections, comparisons to past solo debuts, the global market trends favouring soloists. He spoke about the rising influence of personal branding, how a single artist—carefully cultivated—could command a presence stronger than an entire group.

And then he played the footage.

Footage that would be her true final evaluation.

The room fell silent as she performed, her voice clear and steady, her movements precise but filled with something more. Something that made it impossible to look away.

Namjoon had seen Yoongi fall under her spell.

Now it was the executives’ turn.

When the video ended, no one spoke.

And Namjoon knew they had already lost the fight.

Because he had felt it.

Because they had felt it.

The undeniable truth.

She was meant to stand alone.

She was meant to belong to them. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They stood behind the one-way glass, unseen, as she performed for the judges for her “final examination”.

And as soon as they saw her, the others understood.

Jungkook, who had brushed it off as nothing more than Yoongi’s usual stubbornness, felt his chest tighten as she moved.

Jimin, who had laughed at Yoongi’s obsession, found himself leaning forward, lips parted slightly.

Hoseok, who had hesitated, felt something cold settle in his stomach.

Jin exhaled slowly, eyes unreadable.

Taehyung’s fingers twitched.

And Namjoon—Namjoon, who had convinced the company to make this happen, who had gone against everything he stood for—felt an unfamiliar kind of fear.

Because she was captivating.

Because Yoongi had been right.

Because she was going to ruin them all.

She had no idea.

She had no idea that every step, every note, every ounce of effort she poured into proving herself was pointless.

That the decision had been made before she even walked into the room.

And Yoongi—Yoongi watched her like a predator.

The moment they announced her name, when her lips parted in shock, when her hands trembled slightly—he felt something swell in him. Pride. Pride in knowing that he had secured her future and given her the life she deserves.

She was confused.

Why her?

Why just one?

And he wanted to laugh. Because she didn’t know, didn’t realize that her entire world had already been rewritten.

That she had never had a choice.

But that was fine.

He had enough patience for the both of them.

And soon, she would understand.

She was his.

She had always been his.

x Author's Note x

Hi guys! I'm Ava, this is my first time writing a fanfic or really any story. If you guys would like to see anything in this fic, or have any suggestions, then please let me know! I intend to update this fic at least once every three days. Not sure how many chapters it is going to be, but it should be more than 30! All the love,

Ava :)

[sweetdreams1994]

Chapter One: The Final Evaluation

Summary

As a hardworking trainee, you’ve spent years pushing yourself to debut. When the final evaluation comes, you’re chosen as the sole candidate—but what you don’t realize is that your fate was already sealed. BTS, the seven men you idolized, manipulated everything to make sure you were theirs.

At first, their attention feels like a blessing to aid you as a trainee. Then, it becomes suffocating. Their possessiveness turns them against each other, each one willing to destroy the others just to have you alone.

⚠️ Content Warnings: ⚠️

Intense competition & high pressure, Verbal & emotional manipulation, Psychological stress & anxiety, Mild violence & aggression (dragged by security), Favoritism & corruption, Strong language, smut, y/n is 18+

The air in the HYBE practice room was thick with tension, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as dozens of trainees lined up against the mirrored walls. Your heart pounded as you stared at the polished wooden floor beneath your feet, hands clenched into fists at your sides.

This was it—the final evaluation.

As you watched the other trainees complete their evaluations with effortless precision, a sinking feeling of nervousness mixed with terror settled in your stomach. Months—years—of grueling training had led to this moment. The instructors stood at the front, their expressions unreadable as they flipped through their clipboards. Some of the trainees beside you whispered prayers under their breath; others stood frozen, their gazes fixed forward like soldiers awaiting judgment.

A deep voice murmured your name.

You inhaled. Then exhaled.

*This is it. Your chance to cement your dreams into reality. To prove that every sleepless night, every injury, every sacrifice—meant something. *

You stepped forward, waiting for the music to start. The moment the beat dropped, your body moved instinctively, each motion executed with precision. Your voice never wavered as it blended seamlessly with the melody. Every note, every step, every practiced smile—this was what you had trained for.

As the backtrack came to a halt, you held your final pose, a fake smile masking the storm raging in your mind. The room was silent, save for the faint scribbling of pens against paper.

Then—

“Next.”

The word was cold. Detached.

Your heart clenched, but you quickly bowed, gathered your things from the side of the training room, and hurried out.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of dark eyes lingered on your retreating figure—a quiet fixation taking root.

The next few hours passed in a haze as you sat in the trainee common area, chatting with other girls, your nerves gnawing at you like a relentless ache. Every so often, the doors to the training room would swing open, revealing girls in tears or others brimming with unshaken confidence.

One of them was Ya-rin.

She was someone you weren’t particularly fond of.

“So, Y/N,” she purred, sliding into the seat beside you, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Your final performance wasn’t what I was expecting… The judges seemed so stone-faced, didn’t they?”

The words were sugar-coated, but the malice behind them was unmistakable.

Ya-rin had always been at the top. Her beauty, charm, and undeniable talent made her a favorite among both the trainers and the public. But when the cameras were off, and the facades were dropped, she was ruthless. She knew her worth and made sure everyone else did too.

She never let you forget that she was meant to debut.

And honestly, you had to admit—she wasn’t wrong.

“Everyone to the training room!”

A staff member’s voice rang through the common area, and the room shifted instantly. Conversations halted. Chairs scraped against the floor as girls rushed toward the door.

Your pulse quickened.

As you followed the crowd, you caught a glimpse of Ya-rin’s expression. For the first time, her smirk faltered.

Only ten of you remained.

You swallowed thickly, standing among the last few girls left. Despite the slight relief that you had made it this far, you refused to let your hopes rise.

Even if I don’t make it… I’ll go to university. I’ll have a normal life. I’ll be okay.

But some part of you—the part that had spent years clawing your way to this moment—knew you’d hate yourself for it.

The room stilled as the instructor stepped forward.

“This year, we are selecting one trainee for debut.”

Silence.

The air grew suffocating.

One.

That was impossible. Every evaluation had been preparing for a group debut. There were supposed to be five of you.

Not one.

The instructor glanced down at his clipboard.

“Ji-won, Hae-won, Hana, Seulgi, Jisoo, Dani, Nari, and Ye-won. Please exit the training room. You were not selected.”

A sharp inhale.

You barely registered the girls around you breaking down—tears slipping silently down their faces, whispers of disbelief filling the air.

You stood frozen, staring at the clipboard in the instructor’s hands as if you could decipher your fate through sheer willpower. Beside you, you felt Ya-rin tense.

The instructor met her gaze.

“Miss Ya-rin, you have not been selected to debut. Please exit the room.”

Your head snapped toward her.

Her hands clenched into fists. Her eyes, wide and glistening, darkened with fury.

“ARE YOU JOKING? THAT SHOULD BE ME!” she shrieked, stepping forward. “There were supposed to be five of us! I did everything you fucking asked! You pieces of shit, I swear one day you’ll get your karma, I’ll—”

A security guard grabbed her arm, dragging her toward the door as she thrashed violently, her voice rising in sheer desperation.

The other girls trickled out slowly, their silent sobs echoing in your ears.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The realization hit you like a freight train.

You were going to debut.

As a soloist.

You had won.

But how?

How had you won?

You weren’t stupid. Even though you despised Ya-rin, you knew talent when you saw it. She was supposed to debut. The way the trainers had always favored her, the way she outshined the other trainees—it didn’t make sense.

Something wasn’t right.

But who were you to question it?

You were the last one standing.

And you’d be damned if you let anyone take this from you.