Captured [Part Two]
Genre | angst
Word Count | 8.7K
Summary | Jimin comes to your rescue after getting kidnapped by the hunters, but not in the way you want him to.
Warnings | Mentions of addiction and alcohol abuse. Language. Violence.
A/N | After a little break from this series, here’s an update! I forgot how fun it is to write demon!jimin. Pls don’t hate me for making Jungkook a sweetheart. I have such a soft spot for him, okay? Enjoy! <3
Crossroads | Hunted | Captured [Part One]
“We need you for what we have in mind for the demon.”
“What do you mean?” you counter irritably. “I won’t help you hurt him.”
Yoongi gives a scoff from the driver’s seat, his voice laced with disgust. “Listen at her, protecting her special friend,” he says. “It’s sad, really.”
“Oh, go to hell,” you grumble. “Special friend? What am I, five?”
You shift in your seat, looking at the familiar scenes of the downtown city area fade to rolling landscapes, green hills, and dry, tawny field plots. You turn back to Jungkook, who touches a fresh scratch on his cheek tenderly.
The line is puckered from an accidental meeting with your flailing hands, the skin pink and irritated around it. When he catches you looking, he drops his hand, giving you a reassuring tilt of his lips.
“Sorry,” you say, shrugging. “You asked for it.”
“How old are you, really?” Jungkook blurts.
When you give him an annoyed look, a full smile blossoms across his boyish face.
“Shouldn’t you know? How long have you two been following me around?”
“Enough to know that the demon has made you his little pet,” Yoongi says. “What did he promise you? You know it only ends badly, right? He tricked you.”
“We don’t have a deal!” You exclaim. “So you can let me out of here, because this is ridiculous. If you two want Jimin, this is the worst way to do it.”
“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks, and you think you see a flash of worry cross his face as he turns towards the front. “Yoongi, you said this would work.”
“It will,” Yoongi says. “She’s bluffing.”
“I’m really not,” you say, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. “I’m not Jimin’s pet, he doesn’t even care about me. He thinks I’m annoying.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says with a laugh. “That’s why he picks you up from school, right? Stop lying.”
“Is he using you?” Jungkook asks.
You almost let out a chuckle at the way his voice drops on the word using, full of embarrassment—which is rich coming from the same guy who just yanked you off a public sidewalk and threw you in the back of a dirty utility van. He’d almost be cute if he wasn’t trying to hurt Jimin.
“Using me how?” You question. “For like sex, or—?“
“No, no, no,” Jungkook says, shaking his head furiously. “That’s not—no. God. I meant is he using your body?”
You give him a look as Yoongi chuckles from the front seat.
“Fuck!” He says again, blushing furiously. “As a vessel! Damn it.”
“No, Jimin is not using me,” you sneer. “I come and go as a please and so does he. Why are you guys after him anyways?” You glance around. “What did he do to you, steal your car and make you drive this shitty van?”
Yoongi makes a sharp left turn and you lose your balance momentarily, shoulder slamming into the metal siding of the interior. “Jesus!” You mumble, rubbing the spot tenderly. “Someone’s sensitive, yeah?”
Jungkook shoots an annoyed glance at his partner as he straightens back up in his seat. “It’s not about what he did to us, it’s about what he does to other people,” he says. “Demons take souls—even if Jimin makes a deal and reaps it ten years from now, it’s still wrong. He’s taking lives.”
“Jimin hasn’t made any deals lately,” you argue, brow furrowing. “He told me himself he’s taking a break.”
“Gee, I wonder why?” Yoongi grumbles from the front seat. “You’re making him go rogue.”
“What?” You ask. “What does that mean?”
“If what you’re saying is true, Jimin isn’t just in trouble with us,” Yoongi says. “If he isn’t consistently bringing in souls, he’s probably in deep shit with his overhead, too.”
Overhead, you think. “Like JB,” You murmur quietly to yourself.
Was JB there to make sure Jimin was doing his job? Is that what they were doing together now—collecting deals to make up for the time that you were taking away from him? Was Jimin in trouble with JB?
“JB?” Jungkook repeats, leaning toward you. “Who is JB?”
“No one,” you respond, shaking your head. “What are you going to do if using me as bait doesn’t work?”
“Oh it will,” Yoongi says. “You’re his mortal tether.”
You blink a few times. “I’m sorry—his mortal what?”
“Tether,” Jungkook repeats, running a hand through his dark hair. “We didn’t want to believe it, but sometimes demons don’t let go of everything from their past life, especially if they’ve only been immortal for a short time.”
“But Jimin is like two hundred years old,” you deadpan.
“In demon years, that’s pretty short,” Jungkook says with a shrug. “But obviously he remembers, and there's something about you that fascinates him.”
“Maybe you remind him of someone from when he was human,” Yoongi pipes up from the front. “Maybe an old girlfriend, or a close family member—it could even be a cousin.”
You frown. Was it true? Was Jimin keeping you around because you reminded him of when he was human? JB had said something along those lines at the diner about your ages—was that it?
You shake your head, squaring your jaw. “So what?” You say. “How do you plan on using that?”
“Exactly as you said,” Yoongi states, turning the van onto a long dirt road. Trees close in over top, creating a canopy of shade that shrouds the inside of the van in darkness. “You’re going to bring him to us, we just need to wait until he realizes you’ve gone missing.”
You sigh. How long was that going to take? It wasn’t like Jimin and you talked every day—although he was coming around more often lately, it still wasn’t enough to make you feel any more confident that he would be to your rescue soon.
“We’re pulling up,” Yoongi says, looking over his shoulder. He nods with his chin in your direction before returning his gaze back to the front.
You look from him to Jungkook, who is pulling out a long strap of black cloth and a pair of DJ-booth quality headphones from a duffel bag at his feet.
“Sorry princess,” Jungkook says, and you hate the way it actually sounds sincere as he reaches for you. “I need you to put these on.”
“No,” you say, jerking out of his reach. “Why does it matter? You have my phone. I can’t call anyone to tell them where I am.”
“Please,” Jungkook says. “Just do it.”
“I won’t,” you say, gritting your teeth. “Fuck off.”
Jungkook gives an exasperated look toward Yoongi, who keeps his eyes on the road. “Told you it wasn’t going to work,” he calls. “Now do it my way.”
Jungkook sighs, reaching back in the bag for Plan B.
“You can never make it easy, can you?” He says to you, pressing his lips together in a thin line. Your heart beats fast as he pulls out a rag, dousing it in some thin liquid before reaching for you again—much, much quicker this time.
He holds a hand to the back of your head, using the other to press the rag to your face with such force that you hear some of the cartilage in your nose crunch as it moves to the side. You get ready to let out of scream but you can’t do that without opening your mouth, which lets more of the liquid’s stench travel into your senses.
Trying to yank out of his grasp is no use, and you see that the way he treated you earlier may have just been him going easy on you—his iron-clad grip rivals that of nothing you’ve ever experienced before, and no amount of thrashing around removes the cloth from in front of your nose.
The world dims a little on the edges as you slouch against Jungkook’s chest, and you swear you hear him mutter a small, repetitive apology in your ear just before you slowly close your eyes and drift off.
///
Jimin stands in the middle two intersecting dirt roads, kicking rocks out of his path with the shiny, black dress shoes adorning his feet. A strong breeze blows past, whipping silver strands of hair off his forehead, and his eyes flash a dangerous shade of red before he realizes who his incoming visitor is.
JB appears before him, and attached to his elbow is a middle-aged woman, eyes wide as she takes in her surroundings.
“JB,” Jimin says in a cautious tone, “what have you done?”
“I got you a deal.” JB shrugs, taking a gentle hand and prying the woman’s grip off his forearm.
She’s still looking around, almost as if to not make eye contact with the demon standing right in front of her. Suddenly she giggles a little, hiccuping softly to herself as she sways from side to side—an unheard tune playing in her mind that she shuffles to.
Jimin watches her curiously, his crimson irises flickering towards JB’s. “She’s drunk,” he says.
“And very willing,” JB adds. “Do you want it or not?”
Jimin sighs, running a hand through his hair in distress. After a few moments of contemplation he seems to lose a battle of morals with himself and he steps closer to the woman, bending his knees a little so that he is eye-level with her.
“Ma’am, do you know where you are?” he asks.
She looks at him dreamily, finally making eye contact with bloodshot eyes. “He said you would help me.”
Jimin nods once. “Help you with what, exactly?”
“He said—“ she looks away nervously towards JB, who gives her an encouraging tilt of his chin, “He said you could heal me.”
Jimin’s lips tighten at the statement, but he otherwise stays silent, letting the woman continue.
“My kidneys are failing,” she explains, blurring some of her words together in a rush. “Got a drinking problem and I-I just want to make it a little longer—for my kids. Rehab doesn’t work for me, just leads to another relapse.”
“JB,” Jimin says, annoyance coating his tone as he repeats his earlier statement: “What have you done?”
“Saved your ass, that’s what,” JB says, crossing his arms. “Do it, and stop whining.”
“I don’t—” Jimin pauses, his eyes drifting to the woman before landing back on JB. “Not like this,” he says, a little softer. A little pleading.
“Jimin this is how it has to be,” JB says, shrugging. “You won’t do it on your own, and your job is to collect souls. Or did you forget that part?”
Jimin growls low in the back of his throat, but sticks a hand out to the woman. “Ten years. An alcohol-free liver and impeccable, moral-led decision making,” he says. “And then I come for you.”
The woman doesn’t blink once at the implication before she’s nodding eagerly. “Do it,” she says, and Jimin scowls at the delight skirting around the edges of her expression.
When he presses his lips to hers, he tries not to frown in disgust at the strong taste of gin on her breath. JB is satisfied though, and takes the woman by her arm as soon as the deal is sealed, disappearing into thin air with a small pop.
Jimin drops down to his knees as soon as the two are gone, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He stares for a long time up at the starless sky above him, seemingly looking at nothing and everything all at once. A breeze travels through the crossroads, ruffling the edges of his jacket and pushing dirt across the space where the street lamp illuminates—it’s unsettlingly quiet, but anyone looking in on the scene could imagine the loudness between the demon’s ears as he processes the predicament he’s in.
Jimin runs a hand through his grey tresses, lets out a strangled growl and stands to his full height before disappearing suddenly, leaving behind his frustrations in seek of something that he knows will take his mind off his problems.
///
Jimin arrives in a suburban neighborhood in front of a quaint, two-story home. Another breeze blows through, rustling leaves in the front yard and across the empty street. In the distance, a dog barks and sounds of the city can be heard, but otherwise it’s quiet. Peaceful. An atmosphere that Jimin enjoys all too much to be the embodiment of chaos and sin.
He rounds the back of the house where an abandoned child’s playground set sits, and he takes a seat on one of the less-rickety swings before he fine-tunes his ears to what’s happening inside the house.
Your mother is in the laundry room, humming softly while the washing machine rotates in the background. Jimin can hear her hands passing over clothes, folding them into neat little piles that she drops into a basket at her feet with an almost inaudible thump.
Your father is in the living room, his hands flipping the pages of a novel while the TV plays the six o’clock news. A local has miraculously won the lottery after losing their house earlier this year—Jimin scoffs a little at the story. The man practically kissed Jimin’s feet after he agreed to make him rich in exchange for a quicker sentence on his soul: eight years instead of ten. Jimin wasn’t normally so much of a dickhead demon, but if he told you the arrogant way the man was acting before, Jimin knows you would agree with his decision to do so.
His thoughts drift to you, suddenly, and he does a once-over the house, listening for any of your usual sounds—scribbles of pen from your studies, laughter from talking to Krystal on the phone, the soft sounds of your breathing that let him know when you’re napping or deep in slumber.
Jimin hears none, though, and so he really concentrates this time, retracing his path room from room in your house—still nothing. He gets up from the swing and rounds the left side of the house where your bedroom is, pulling himself up onto a sturdy branch of the oak tree beside it before he peers into your window. The light is on, but Jimin can’t hear any movement or telling noises at all.
You never texted him when you got home, either. He tries not to let the worry building in his stomach bleed into his tone as he pulls out his phone, dialing Krystal’s number.
“Hello?” she says on the third ring.
“Krystal, this is Jimin,” he responds. “I was just wondering if Y/N was with you?”
“Jimin?” Krystal repeats. “How did you get this number?”
He pauses. “The party, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” Krystal agrees easily to his white lie.
Jimin had actually gotten it out of your phone after the party for this very reason—in case he couldn’t find you—but the details didn’t matter that much, did they?
“So is she?” Jimin prompts, starting to get a little annoyed.
“Nope,” Krystal responds. “Haven’t heard from her since school, actually.”
Jimin pinches the bridge of his nose in anxiety. “Thanks, Krystal. Sorry to bother you, have a good night.”
He hangs up, going straight to Plan B. He taps on the Find My iPhone app, putting in your information and tapping his foot impatiently while it loads. When the screen changes, his face lights up in recognition and he cusses lightly under his breath.
“Those dumb fucks didn’t turn her cellphone off. Amateurs,” Jimin tuts, shaking his head. He dials one more number, all the worry drained out of his voice and replaced by anger as he barks, “JB. I think something’s happened to Y/N.”
///
You crack open your eyes at the sound of a door opening nearby, blinking the bleariness away until the swimming figure in front of you clears up, revealing dark, parted hair, wide eyes, and thin lips pulled back over a set of incredibly white teeth into a boyish smile.
“Jungkook,” you say with a tight throat. “What did you do to me?”
You sit up as he walks into the room with a sandwich on a plate and a bag of chips in his hand, shutting the door behind him as he does. You glance around, wincing a little at the way the light seems so bright to your tired eyes, the remnants of a headache skirting around your temples.
You’re in a bedroom of some kind—there’s the bed you’re currently sitting on, plus a dresser and end tables, a desk and a rug, but no windows. Your eyes graze the desk, which looks like it’s been recently cleaned off because there’s no traces of dusk or streaks.
“What I had to do,” he states, sitting the food down in front of you. “Do you like soda?”
You nod solemnly. A sandwich has never looked so good to you before, and you snatch it up with quick hands.
Jungkook reaches under the bed—which you suddenly realize is a couple inches higher off the ground than normal, and pulls open the door to a mini fridge. He hands you a cola and gets himself one, plopping back into the desk chair and cracking it open.
“Is this your bedroom?” you ask.
“It’s where I sleep sometimes, yes,” he replies. “Yoongi didn’t want to put you in his room because he wanted to take a nap.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “That guy.”
You take a bite and watch him, chewing slowly. He gazes back at you with the same curious eyes he held in the van, both intrigue and interest swimming in his dark pupils.
“What kind of hunter are you?” you blurt out, food stuffed in your cheek. “Shouldn’t I be like, tied up or something? Getting tortured until I tell you where Jimin is? Begging and crying?”
Jungkook pauses mid-sip, a full-blown smile breaking out across his face. He looks incredibly young when he does so, and you find yourself wondering not for the first time just how old he is.
“What good would that do?” He asks. “You’re not going to tell us, anyway.”
He’s right, but you keep your face passive at the comment.
“Besides, we’re not mean like that. Well,” he pauses, swallowing a sip of his drink. “At least, I’m not. Yoongi on the other hand—“
Your lip curls in disgust. “Yeah, I’ve realized that already. Good cop, bad cop, or whatever.”
Jungkook chuckles. “Sure, something like that,” he says. “Besides, you’ve proven to be capable of taking care of yourself. It would be more of a hassle trying to keep you chained up, or whatever kind of weird stuff you think we’re into.”
You eye the scratch on his cheek again with a smirk. “Thanks for the sandwich,” you say, finally. “I was starving, even though I just ate.”
Jungkook‘s eyebrows furrow. “You’ve been asleep for four hours.”
“Four hours?” You blink rapidly, trying to come to terms with his statement. “What?”
“Yeah, Yoongi was afraid we put you in a coma with the chloroform rag,” he says, laughing a little. When he sees the horrified look on your face, he straightens up. “No, I mean, we didn’t though. You’re fine, see? Eating and everything.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, groaning. “God, my parents are going to kill me.”
“They think you’re with some friends at an after-school event. Don’t worry.”
“That’s worse,” you whine. “I don’t have any friends, so they’ll be even more suspicious now!”
Jungkook wrinkles his nose. “Then what do you tell them when you’re hanging out with Jimin?”
“I don’t go anywhere with Jimin, he just comes over my house.”
The statement comes out before you can think twice about it, and Jungkook’s mouth tightens.
“Do you like, like him or something?”
“Who?” You say. “Jimin?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says, his tone teetering on the edge of an emotion you can’t quite pick up on. “We’ve never seen anything like this before—it’s like you’re—“
“Friends?” You say. “Because we are.”
“Why?” Jungkook says, angry now. “He’s disgusting, Y/N. He takes souls. He works for Hell. Do you know what Hell is? It’s not a fantasy to scare you into living a good life. It’s real. And what they do to people down there—“
He trails off, lost in his own thoughts for a moment before he comes back to the topic. “It’s awful. He’s awful, Y/N. How do you think he became a demon in the first place? It’s not because he was some charitable Samaritan in his human life, I’m sure.”
“Why does it matter?” You snap, anger rising as well. “Who am I supposed to be friends with? You?”
Jungkook looks taken aback by the statement but it adds fuel to your fire.
“Why are you any better? Because you come in, guns blazing to kill the bad guy?” You say. “You don’t take a second to think, to figure it out, before you’re just after someone for no reason.”
“Y/N, you don’t know what he’s done—“
“I don’t care!”” You exclaim. “I don’t want to know. But I do know when he’s around me, he’s different. You’re so set on framing him as this awful person—have you ever stopped to think what if he isn’t?”
Jungkook’s eyebrows are furrowed heavily over his eyes as he stares at you, not believing a word you say but you choose say it anyways.
You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly before you say, “Or if he is, or was, what if he doesn't want to be anymore? Have you ever thought about that?”
There’s some fumbling outside and Jungkook’s head whips toward the sound. You can hear Yoongi’s muffled voice through the door, and Jungkook stands from the desk chair.
“I’ll take your trash,” he says, nodding towards the empty plate and crumpled chip bag on the bed.
You hand it to him before childishly laying down and flipping over so that you’re on your side with your back to him. He picks up on the vibe just as he’s leaving, because you hear his boot-clad feet stop just a few steps from the bed.
“Y/N,” he murmurs with reluctance. “Don’t be upset—“
“Can you just leave?” You ask quietly. “Or is some privacy too much of a luxury after all you’ve given me?”
You hear Jungkook sigh and hesitate at the door before he opens it, stepping quietly into the hallway and shutting it behind him.
When you’re sure he’s gone and there will be no more surprise visits, you hop out of bed, pacing around the room and looking for any evidence that will let you know where you are. The room is impeccably clean, and you can’t tell if it’s because Jungkook keeps it that way—you wouldn’t put it past him—or if he purposely took everything out for your visit.
You flop back onto the bed, letting out a groan. “Four hours,” you mutter. “I’ve been here for four freaking hours.”
Where was Jimin? You’d been trying since the car ride not to become too attached to the idea that Jimin was on his way to get you, somehow. You knew it wouldn’t help to depend on him—he was off with JB, and probably hadn’t even noticed your absence. It’d be a few days until he randomly showed up at your house and realized you weren’t there—by then, your parents would have filed a missing persons report. If they even realized. The thought makes you chuckle; you were literally the perfect person to kidnap because you had no one keeping up with your whereabouts constantly.
You go up to the door, pressing your ear against it for any sounds outside before you knock with hesitant knuckles. “Hello? Is anyone there? I’ve gotta—I have to pee. Hello?”
You hear footsteps much lighter than Jungkook’s, before the lock on the outside of the door slides, and it opens. You step back as Yoongi pokes his head in, his eyes narrowed as he accesses your hovering figure.
“Bathroom?” he asks. “There’s a bucket in the corner.”
You glance back. “Are you serious? I’m a girl.”
“And?” he says, but then he sighs. “Fine. Come with me.”
You follow Yoongi down the hallway, glancing up at some paintings on the wall as you do. There’s cement beneath your feet, and the walls aren’t exactly best—there’s holes and cracks running in the paint, but the additions look as though someone is trying really hard to make this place a home.
“Don’t look around too much,” Yoongi mutters. “I’ll blindfold you.”
“Sorry,” you say quietly, focusing your eyes on the back of his blonde head. “What is this place?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, stopping in front of a door. “Go. Pee.”
He leans against the wall opposite the door, and you wrinkle your nose in disgust.
“You’re just going to stand out here and listen?”
He crosses his arms in a take it or leave it gesture and you sigh. “Whatever.”
You go in, shutting the door behind you and flicking on the light. It small, quaint, and not at all as dirty as you were picturing it. You’re starting to realize you’re not in some abandoned warehouse like you thought, but rather something that’s been renovated with rooms, bathrooms, probably even a dining area.
It’s not supposed to be, but the idea of Jungkook sitting on a sofa nearby in sweatpants is kind of— cute.
You shake your head, finishing your business and washing your hands. You look in the mirror, noticing the red scuff mark on your collarbone, the dryness of your lips, the messiness of your hair. For only being there for a few hours, you kind of looked like shit.
Just as you’re about to twist the door knob to leave, there’s a rumbling above you, and you look up toward the sound. Your eyes focus in on the exhaust fan in the ceiling that’s trembling a little although you didn’t turn in on.
“What the—?” You say, just as a plume of black smoke escapes through.
It barrels toward you streamline, its shape having a uniformness about it unlike any other smoke you’ve ever seen in your life. You back up as it comes toward you, tripping over your own feet in the cramped bathroom and holding in a breath as it hesitates a moment, swimming in front of your vision. The smoke hovers around the edges of your mouth as if asking for permission, as if being scared to do what it came to do now that it’s observing you—and then, it clicks.
“Jimin?” You whisper, full of hope with eyes wide as saucers.
The smoke takes that as a yes, and dives between your parted lips. The feeling of it filling you is unlike any other—a warmth that spreads throughout your limbs, and then a coldness, an emptiness that makes you want to shiver.
You look at yourself again in the mirror after it’s finished, after you can gain control of your breathing although your heart continues to beat rapidly in your chest.
You lean forward, inspecting the haziness of your eyes, the pupils that don’t exactly seem the right size, and suddenly, your eyes are red—the pupil, iris and sclera swallowed whole by a deadly crimson color.
With control that is not your own, your hand slowly comes up from your side, your pointer finger pressing against your lips as a quiet shhhh escapes between your clenched teeth.
As quick as the moment comes, it’s gone, but only after you regain control and trip back from the mirror, crashing into the wall behind you and bracing yourself against it.
“Hey,” Yoongi’s low voice comes from outside the door. “What’s going on in there?”
“Sorry,” you say shakily, looking at your trembling hand with nervousness. “Think I’m still a little dizzy from where you drugged me.”
If eye rolls can be heard, you can definitely hear Yoongi’s as he replies: “Jesus, just hurry up.”
You hesitate, making sure the movements are yours as you reach for the doorknob and open it with a deep breath.
Yoongi stands against the wall, looking as bored as he always does. “Finally,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “What’d you do, blow it up in there?”
“What? No!” you respond, but not really listening enough to be embarrassed as you try to come to terms with how foreign your body feels right now.
Yoongi leads you back down the hallway toward Jungkook’s bedroom and you hesitate outside the door, feeling strangely like you’re going to throw up. You must look as green around the gills as you feel, because Yoongi takes one look at you and pulls a disgusted face.
“What’s wrong with you?” he says. “You look like shit, suddenly.”
You lean over on your hands and knees, trying to calm your suddenly-elevated breathing. “I’m—to be honest, I have—no idea what’s going on.”
There’s a coldness seeping into your bones, and it feels as if you’re being dragged backward, like your sight filled with Yoongi is getting smaller by the second. You think this must be what it’s like to faint.
“You good?” Yoongi asks, taking a cautious step forward. “We’ve got some stuff for your stomach if the sandwich was a bad idea—“
Suddenly, with strength that is definitely not yours, you reach out and grab him by the throat, pressing your fingers into his jugular and ultimately cutting off the rest of his sentence. Yoongi’s eyes go wide as he stares at your face, his expression full of fear.
“Demon,” he grunts, clawing at the hand around his throat, “Jungkook—“
“Yoongi, oh my god,” you say frantically, glancing between your hand and his reddening face. “I’m sorry, I’m not doing this, I swear—“
The rest of your sentence is cut off as the cold force inside you fully takes over, using the grip on Yoongi’s throat to lift him off the ground a little.
Jimin, you think, because your mouth isn’t yours to use anymore. Are you doing this?
“It’s me, princess,” you hear yourself say. It’s your voice, but definitely not you. “I thought I told you to go straight home?”
I tried! They were watching us the whole time we were in the diner, Jimin.
“I know, I know,” he says—or rather, you say—before he tosses Yoongi’s body into the wall to your right. He crumples against it, knocked out by Jimin’s sheer strength coursing through your teenage body.
Is he alive?!
“Hopefully not,” Jimin says. “That’s not important right now—where’s the other one?”
I haven’t seen him since earlier. What is this place?
“Headquarters,” he says. “Stay quiet, I can’t concentrate.”
You hope he can tell you’re pouting. You stay quiet like he asked, though you have about three million questions threatening to slip past your lips.
Jimins walks you down the hallway into—you guessed it earlier—a living room. Or rather, it’s a living room-turned-study, as bookshelves line the walls and there’s obvious research material scattered on top of the coffee table.
You start to tell Jimin that Jungkook probably heard the struggle between him and Yoongi, but you keep your thoughts to yourself as he stealthily walks into the empty dining area.
“Here’s the plan,” he murmurs. “There’s a devil’s trap over the front door—they didn’t forget that one, surprisingly. There’s only one exit, so I’m going to get you there, and I’m going to smoke out and JB is going to take you home.”
What about you? What are you going to do?
“They’re after me, and I have to keep you safe. So I’m going to give them what they want.”
What? Jimin, no. You don’t—that’s not your only option, are you insane? Stop being a fucking—
“God, Y/N, your voice is loud even in my head,” he grunts, sticking a finger in your ear and wiggling it around. You don’t feel it, technically, but the thought makes you want to shudder involuntarily.
Jimin—
You start to complain more, but Jungkook comes around the corner, then, a pistol upright in his right hand. When he sees you, his eyes light up. “Y/N!” he whispers, beckoning you to him. “Come here, something’s happened—are you okay?”
“Yeah, I-I’m just—” Jimin says in your voice, sounding unbelievably convincing as it shakes. You’d have to remind yourself to ask him when he mastered your personality later. “Jungkook, what’s going on?”
“It’s okay,” Jungkook says. “I’ll keep you safe, if you let me.” He gives you a cautious once-over and Jimin does a good job of painting you as a slightly shook-up girl. “A demon is here, I found sulfur in the hallway.”
Oh my god, he’s so clueless it’s cute.
“No it’s not,” Jimin snaps.
Jungkook turns around, looking at you with a furrowed brow.
Jimin recovers immediately, softening the frown on your lips. “I mean—are you sure? Is it Jimin?”
“Probably,” Jungkook says. He turns around, expression serious. “Listen, Y/N, about what we talked about earlier.”
He puts both hands on your shoulders, and you can feel Jimin twitch in your body, disgusted by the sincere way Jungkook is looking into your eyes.
“I just want you to be careful, okay?” he says. “I know you think I’m just talking from the perspective of a hunter, but I’m just—” He runs a hand through his hair, messing the dark strands up momentarily. “I’m just saying, you’re a good girl, and—don’t ever forget what he is, okay? It won’t end well, I swear.”
You feel sad suddenly, looking at Jungkook’s big, unblinking doe eyes from underneath the fringe of his bangs. But it doesn’t matter what you feel, because Jimin’s emotions overpower yours since he’s in control—and right now, he’s extremely angry.
“Yeah?” he says, lowering your voice in a way that has you nervous. “Well, this demon doesn’t give a fuck what you say, hunter.”
Jungkook’s eyes widen just like Yoongi’s as he sees the crimson swallow your irises again, and Jimin gives him a hard shove to the sternum with the palm of his hand, sending him flying into a cabinet full of glassware in the kitchen.
You gasp quietly, watching as Jungkook tries to pick himself up from the mess around him as Jimin stalks toward him. You notice a shard of glass sticking out of his forearm, and he has little cuts all over his neck and face from the shattering of the cabinet around him.
Jimin grabs a handful of Jungkook’s shirt, your messily painted red nails looking odd with the fabric bunched in your grip so menacingly. He pulls Jungkook on his knees so that he’s somewhat eye-level with you.
“Who the hell are you to tell her what she should be doing?”
Your fist pulls back only to punch Jungkook square in the nose, and his head whips to the side from the force of it. He groans a little, blood starting to trickle down his cupid’s bow as he attempts to look you in the eyes.
“Jimin, don’t do this to her—” Jungkook murmurs, “Don’t—use her, like this.”
Jimin punches him again and you cry out inside his head, watching as Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut a few seconds, before he looks up tiredly again, his cheek reddening from the force of your own hands, though you can do nothing about it.
Jimin, stop it!
“Y/N, I know you’re in there,” Jungkook says earnestly, just as Jimin’s hand connects with the side of his face again. He turns to the side to spit blood out of his mouth. “I-I know, you don’t want this. He didn’t ask you—did he?”
Jimin stop hitting him! Stop! He’s not even fighting back!
“He didn’t ask you,” Jungkook says again, voice sounding garbled from the blood filling his nose. “I know, he didn’t, Y/N. This is what they do—”
“Shut the fuck up!” Jimin yells, pushing Jungkook onto the floor and delivering a kick to his stomach. “You don’t know anything, you dumb piece of—”
You watch through your eyes helplessly, sobbing now, wishing there was something you could do. You push against Jimin’s willpower but he’s too strong, too full of anger now and he suppresses every attempt you try at gaining control over your body again.
Jungkook won’t fight back, because any harm he does to your body, you’ll feel as soon as Jimin is gone. If he shoots you, it could be fatal once Jimin’s demon blood isn’t running through your veins. He knows this, you know this, and Jimin certainly knows this, because he’s taking his sweet time beating Jungkook into a pulp.
Jimin, you cry, this is—this isn’t like you. This is too much, please, just, stop—
Jimin pauses before his next hit. At this point, Jungkook’s face is turning purple in some spots, the rest red and bloodied. His blood coats the knuckles of your left hand, mingling with the similar shade of your fingernail polish in a way that makes you want to vomit.
He lets go of the front of Jungkook’s shirt, letting him slump to the cement flooring beneath your feet. His breath is shallow and labored, his eyes closed in relief.
Jimin walks you to the front door, right to the edge of the devils trap that’s painted above on the ceiling. “I’m sorry,” he says, right before he smokes out of your mouth.
You watch his black smoke stream move it’s way toward the window beside the door, where he bursts through and disappears into the night sky. You look back at Jungkook, passed out on the floor and Yoongi nowhere to be found—probably in the same state Jungkook is in, but in the hallway—and decide the best thing you can do now is leave.
You open the front door, glancing back at the broken glass scattered on the porch as you walk down the steps. The same black, sleek car that you saw Jimin driving when he picked you up from school earlier that day—or yesterday, you guess, since it’s past midnight now—comes purring down the long road, the headlights blinding you and making you throw a hand up to shield your eyes.
You feel kind of empty and dizzy and hungry and like you need about sixteen hours of sleep to be okay again, so you don’t say anything to JB when he rolls down the window on the driver’s side, asking, “How’s it going, princess?”
You’re so sick of that nickname at this point. But you shrug your shoulders halfheartedly, rounding the front of the car to get in on the passenger side.
JB takes off down the road, and you slump back against the seat, closing your eyes. Happiness sneaks around the edges of your temples, and your face threatens to blush as heat rises to your cheeks and you quickly open your eyes to glare at JB. He’s looking straight ahead at the road, driving with loose fingertips on the wheel.
“Stop doing that,” you say. “I’m tired of people controlling me and how I’m supposed to feel for one day.”
“Sorry,” he says. “Thought it might help.”
You sigh. He glances over at you, finally.
“He didn’t mean to, Y/N,” JB says. “He’s beating himself up about it already.”
“Yeah? Well it seems a lot like he meant to punch Jungkook to a pulp to me, to be honest,” you grumble. “And I’m sure Jungkook feels the same way.”
“Jungkook?” JB says, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, you’re calling them by their names, huh?”
You narrow your eyes. “They have names, why not call them it?”
“Names give people recognition.” JB shrugs. “Names put a feeling to a person, and they’re just hunters.”
“And you and Jimin are just demons.” You cross your arms. “What’s the point?”
“Nothing,” JB says. “I guess. I mean, I just want to point out something about demon possession to you.”
“Okay?” you say, shifting in your seat toward him.
“When a demon takes over a body, they don’t just take over control of the limbs, Y/N. Demon possession is like symbiosis—you ever seen Venom?”
You blink at him. “Yes…?”
“Okay, it’s like that. Jimin is like Venom, and you’re, well, you. He can feel your feelings, he can hear your thoughts, he can sense your entire being—but you can’t get a reading on him. You can’t feel anything, do anything, control anything, unless Jimin lets you.”
“So, less like symbiosis and more like . . . a host and a parasite?” you ask, frowning. “Sounds about right.”
JB opens his mouth and closes it again, then lifts his pointer finger in response. “That is—beside the point. Listen, what I’m trying to say is Jimin really didn’t want to do it. But if he didn’t, then who would have had to? Me. And he definitely didn’t want me to be inside you.”
“Ugh, god,” you say, wrinkling your nose. “Wording!”
“Sorry,” JB says with a smile. “But you know what I mean, right? I know he promised you he’d never take over your body—”
You whip to face him. “You know about that?”
“Yes. But he had no choice, okay? And now he knows a lot of things he never wanted to because he did, and it’s hard for him.”
You throat dries up at the thought and you cough a little, before quietly asking, “L-like what?”
JB sighs. “You’ll have to talk about it with him yourself.”
“Some help you are,” you say, pouting once more. JB leaves you to your racing thoughts until you pull onto your street, and he parks the car a block down the street and leaves it idling.
You get ready to grab your things out of the backseat and freeze. “Damn it, my bookbag—”
“Already in your room,” JB says. “We got you covered, girl. Have some faith in us.”
You tongue the inside of your cheek, tucking a smart remark there and getting out of the car. You pause as you’re shutting the door, ducking your head down so you can see JB.
“Hey, are you Jimin’s overhead?”
JB blinks at you, before a smile breaks across his face. “Yes, I am,” he replies. “But first and foremost, I’m his friend.”
You hum, satisfied, giving him a nod and shutting the door. He follows you to your house at a distance with the headlights off, the engine on the car surprising quiet, almost a low purr behind you. When you shut the front door to your house, you hear car tires screech as they take off, and you wince.
It’s quiet and dark inside—your parents have work in the morning—and so you take off your shoes just before the stairs, deciding to pad the rest of the way silently in your socks. Everything is just the same as you left it in your room, with the exception of Jimin sitting back on your bed, his eyes holding a far off look as you switch the light on.
You don’t acknowledge him at first, searching through your drawers for a set of pajamas and going to the hall bathroom and back to change. You’re tired, you have school in the morning—but you know he’ll want to talk about everything that happened, regardless.
He sits up when you come back into the room, shutting the door with a soft click behind you. You lean against it, hesitant to join him on your bed just yet.
“Y/N,” he says, eyes meeting yours. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what go into me—”
“You took over my body, Jimin.” You cross your arms. “Apologize for that, first.”
“How else was I supposed to get you out of there?” He frowns deeply. “Did you want me to just let them keep you while I went about my business? You’re not strong enough to fight them, so I was doing the only thing I knew that would work.”
“But you said you wouldn’t.”
“Unless I had to!” Jimin exclaims, then sighs. “Can you just come sit down? You’re freaking me out standing in the corner.”
You sigh, too, but reluctantly join him on the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress.
“Is that really all you’re mad about?” he says. “I know there’s something else—”
You glare at him. “Yeah, I bet you do know. That’s the whole point of why I didn’t ever want you to be inside of my body, Jimin! You know everything now—because that’s how it works, right? I know nothing about you, as always, and you know everything about me.”
Jimin’s expression softens. “Hey,” he says, leaning toward you on the mattress. He reaches for your hand and you let him take it, holding it loosely in his grip. “You know stuff about me, too. Don’t say that.”
“Do I?” you ask, shrugging your shoulders. “What’s a mortal tether, Jimin?”
He blinks. “A-a mortal—”
“Tether,” you say, harder. “Why am I yours?”
Jimin is off the bed and on his feet in an instant. “Did those hunters tell you that? They’re dirty fucking liars, Y/N, they don’t know shit about shit—”
“You’re cursing a lot,” you observe calmly. “Normally that means you’re lying. Or mad. Or both.”
Jimin stops his pacing in front of your bed to turn and look at you. There’s a fear in his eyes that you don’t think you’ve seen before—it has a different tinge to it than the fear you once saw at the Halloween party when he got trapped in the bathroom.
Jimin walks to where you are perched at the edge, lowering himself into a crouch so that you have to look down into his eyes. He licks his lips nervously a few times, running a hand through his grey tresses before he speaks.
“You already know, don’t you?” he asks.
You nod once.
“Y/N,” he begins. “Regardless of that, I care about you a lot—you know that, right?”
You nod once more.
“And you know that I thought of every other way possible way tonight before I decided to jump in your body. Right?”
You don’t nod this time, and Jimin leans in closer. “Right?”
“I don’t know,” you say, finally, pulling your hand out of his. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what you think, Jimin. I never do. I don’t know how you feel about me, I don’t know why you’re still here—but now that I’ve heard this tether bullshit, it all seems to kind of make sense.”
Jimin sighs, tonguing the inside of his cheek in thought. He seems to be battling with himself before he finally blurts out:
“I feel about you the same way you feel about me.”
Your breath hitches at the sincereness in his voice, and you shake your head abruptly. “You don’t mean that.”
Jimin hums in the back of his throat, a smile lifting just one corner of his mouth. “I do,” he says, firmer. “You know that, too.”
He leans a little closer to you—still crouched in front of you off the bed—as he grabs for your hand again. You hold it firmly this time, your cheeks hot. You play with the fingers of his left hand, scared to raise your eyes to meet his although you know he can hear your pulse singing in your veins from the intense look in his eyes.
JB was right, you think.
“Jimin, you really scared me tonight,” you confess. “You were just so angry, and I could feel it. It was—what was going on with you?”
You finally meet his eyes, trying to calm the twisted feeling of your stomach knotting up as you do.
“I know, and I’m sorry.” He sighs, looking up at you from under his fringe. “I promise it won’t happen again. Jungkook, he—he just pissed me off with all that bullshit he was talking, like he knew you.”
You nod a little and wait, because it seems like Jimin is being truthful with you.
“He doesn’t know you. I know you, and it made me angry that he thought he did.”
The possession in his voice makes you blush a little. God, what was wrong with you? He was apologizing and explaining himself and here you were, thinking—
“But I really am sorry. And I’m going to keep my promises from now on,” Jimin says, giving you a small smile.
Your brows furrow, your thoughts momentarily forgotten. “Which promises?”
“Whatever you want me to keep,” he says. “And I’m going to ask for your permission before I do anything, starting this very moment.”
“Okay?” you say, unsure. “Great?”
He scoots forward in his crouch, balancing on the balls of his feet, body partially between your knees. His proximity has your breath hitching, and you watch him hesitantly.
“So,” he breathes, and your eyes zone in on the cute overlapping of his front teeth as he talks. “Can I have permission to kiss you, right now?”
His eyes graze yours, half-lidded, and it lights a fire in your insides. You blink at him, but you feel yourself nodding before you can think about it too hard.
Jimin’s other hand comes to cradle the side of your face, and he angles it down toward his as he meets you halfway, mouth brushing hesitantly against yours before he presses fully. His lips are soft as the first time you kissed him that night at the crossroads, and your eyes flutter shut when you instinctively turn your head a little, opening your mouth and inviting Jimin to take the kiss deeper.
Your head, already cloudy from the day’s events, is certainly fogged as Jimin’s tongue laces with yours, all his tastes and usual scents mingling together and creating an intoxicating concoction that has you forgetting what you two were even talking about before this.
“I’ve been thinking about that for a long time,” he murmurs, forehead pressed against yours when you two resurface for air a few moments later. His thumb swipes over your cheek, and you’re grateful that he hasn’t pulled back to look at how flushed your face is yet.
“Me too,” you answer, breathless. “I totally wasn’t thinking about it for the last fifteen minutes. Or the last few days, weeks, months, whatever.”
Jimin laughs, nudging your nose with his. “Me either.”
“Promise me it won’t be the last time,” you say, leaning forward to peck his lips once more. “Can you do that?”
“I’ll try my best,” Jimin murmurs with a smile, sitting back on his heels. “Are we okay now?”
Mortal tether or not, looking at Jimin’s pretty, flushed face and warm eyes looking back at you is enough to let you know you’ve chosen right to have faith in him. You nod, and he gives the hand still encased with yours a squeeze before he stands to his full height.
“Are you going?” you ask, trying not to sound as sad as you feel. Your lips are tingling, and you kind of just want to pull Jimin down onto your bed with you and keep him there for the night.
“Yeah, you have school tomorrow,” he says, face turning serious. “Can’t let you forget the important things, despite having a run in with demons and hunters as after-school activities.”
You roll your eyes, but you are tired, so you’ll let him win. “Fine.”
Before he leaves through your window, he leans down, leaving a single, lingering kiss on your lips and one on your forehead. As he sits on the edge of the sill about to jump down, he turns back to you.
“Y/N,” he says, “you know I’d never hurt you on purpose, right? Everything I do, it’s because I’m trying to keep you safe.”
His voice wavers, like he’s nervous or sad or afraid of your answer. So you nod confidently this time, giving him a wave goodbye with your fingers. If Jimin needed the reassurance, you were going to give it to him. It’s the least you could do, considering all you might have been putting him through.
“You’ll be back right?” you ask, giving him a grin. “Promise?”
Jimin throws a small, sad smile over his shoulder, hands braced on the edge of your window frame. “Promise,” he says, before pushing himself off the ledge and dropping to the ground below with a soft thump.
You realize only after he’s gone, when you’re tucked in bed with the comforter pulled up to your chin, that you never made him promise when. And then you think that maybe, Jimin wasn’t afraid of your answer, but afraid of what it meant to keep you safe—him, leaving.
Leaving you alone, for good.