LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU
pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader
genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au
summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.
Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.
disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.
filler setted before chapter IV.
m.list
𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 (v.) freeze, be cold.
¹⁹³⁸
Her breath tore at her ribs as she fled the house, the village, the polite silence that had been watching her too closely. Coat loosely gathered in her fists, attempting to shield herself from the cold. Her heart was hammering loud enough that she was certain God Himself could hear it.
Please, she thought, not knowing to whom she prayed or whether there was someone still listening. Please, help me once more.
She ran downhill, then sideways, then wherever instinct pulled her—past trees that smelled of sap and frozen earth, past prayer flags she didn’t recognise but resented all the same. Every sound made her flinch: birds bursting from branches, the crack of a twig beneath her heel, the echo of her own name imagined in the cold wind.
She did not look back.
That was rule one in a dozen of her attempts to flee this damn valley. Dove wasn’t sure whether it was his absence this morning that gave her the courage to try to flee again or just the rare opportunity to be finally alone.
Rule two was do not stop, even when her lungs burned, and her vision narrowed, even when her shoe slipped loose and slapped uselessly against her heel like a warning. She had no time to put on winter boots, but she could regret that later.
She vaulted a low stone wall, scraped her palm, hissed through her teeth. Dove kept running towards the thick line of trees. Branches clawed at her sleeves. Roots rose treacherously from the earth, eager to catch her ankle, to remind her that nothing here was accidental. Still, she pressed on, breath tearing free of her throat in sharp, unladylike bursts.
Each time, she manages to get farther and farther into the forest. The raven man judges this behaviour as insolence, lapse of senses. She always had to return. Was always dragged back by fate, by cold, by his men, by the simple geography of a valley that did not permit escape. So why persist? Why repeat the cycle with such devotion?
The answer arrived quietly, and once it did, it pleased him even more.
Not hope. Not foolishness.
Cartography.
Each failed flight etched something into her memory—the slope of the land, the way the moss thickened near water, the places where the trees grew too close together to allow a clean passage. But then the snow arrived and covered everything she memorised in her mind. Nonetheless, she counted steps without numbers, marked time by the burn in her lungs, learned which birds scattered at human movement and which remained indifferent. She noted the silence where sound should have been, the bend in the path that always curved her back inward.
She was not fleeing blindly.
She was learning.
The raven man smiled then, faint and thoughtful and let her run. After all, he has time to burn this passion from within her. As time, like the valley, like her, already belonged to him.
She stopped in her tracks just right at the newest addition to her mental map. A clearing with a lake.
The lake lay before her, still and dark, its surface unbroken, unbothered by her arrival. She could go around, but that would slow her down. The air here was colder, heavier, as though the valley itself had drawn a slow breath and chosen to hold it. No birds sang. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Water meant concealment. Water meant confusion. Water meant that tracks dissolved, and men hesitated. It also meant cold, and sickness, and the quiet sort of death that did not announce itself until it was too late.
Behind her, a loud dog bark echoed, and shouts of his men catching up to her. Dove swallowed.
“Min Buin?!” The title landed wrong, too heavy for a name that was not yet hers. She did not turn to answer it.
The first soldier broke the tree line to her left. Then another to her right. They spread instinctively, practised and careful, forming a crescent along the shore. She was no longer running.
She was being contained.
Dove gathered her skirts, whispered a prayer she had not spoken since childhood, and stepped forward—into the lake.
Cold seized her instantly, ruthless and intimate, stealing her breath in a sharp, humiliating gasp. The water surged around her calves, her knees, dragging at her skirts as if eager to claim them. She did not stop. She waded deeper, teeth clenched, eyes fixed ahead, until the hem of the valley disappeared beneath the dark surface.
Gasps sounded behind her. A curse in Korean. Someone shouted her name again—louder this time, sharper.
She turned then, slowly, water already climbing her thighs, her waist.
“I will go under,” she warned, voice thin but steady. “Leave!”
The soldiers halted.
Rifles dipped uncertainly. No one advanced. The dog’s barking faltered, confused by the water, distance, and a prey that refused to flee properly.
Dove lifted her chin, daring them, daring the valley, daring God Himself to intervene.
And for one suspended moment, standing knee-deep in cold judgment, she believed she had finally found a place where his reach ended.
“Do you have her?” A low baritone voice resonated through the trees. An irritated voice. But not his.
Kim Namjoon, his right-hand man, emerged from the trees, taking the scenery in. Assessing the situation carefully. His black leather coat was buttoned up, shielding him from the cold winter.
“She threatened to go under the surface, sir.” One of the soldiers hushed and whispered the information Namjoon needed to hear.
“Slowly,” he said. “Do not crowd her.”
He raised a hand, not to her, but behind him, where the rest of the soldiers must be.
“Hold,” he repeated. “All of you.”
They stopped, yet she moved deeper into the water to show him what was at stake. Water soaked into fabric and linen alike, dragging at her like a penance she had not consented to. She waded, jaw set, until the water reached her torso.
“Y/N,” Namjoon called, careful now, “that will not improve your position.”
“Yours neither, Namjoon.” She turned back to him, teeth already chattering.
Rifles dipped. Someone swore softly. The dog barked again, confused by the sudden stillness of its quarry.
“You will catch your death.” Namjoon exhaled through his nose.
“What makes you think,” she asked, voice trembling but deliberate, “that was not my plan all along?”
Namjoon’s expression shifted then—not alarmed, not angry, but troubled. He took a single step closer to the water’s edge, boots stopping just short of the snow-covered stones.
“You’re not thinking clearly, but out of panic,” he said.
“My mind is perfectly clear,” she shot back. “Clear enough to know that once I leave this water, I do not get another choice.”
“That does not have to be true.”
“Do not insult me,” she snapped. “You are very good at pretending there are doors where there are only walls.”
A pause.
Namjoon folded his hands in front of him, as if bracing himself for confession. “I am very good,” he said quietly, “at recognising when someone is using death as leverage because it feels like the last thing no one can take from them.”
The water lapped higher with her next step. Her shoulders trembled violently now.
“Then let me have it, Namjoon,” she said. “Or are you scared the Kkangpae will spank you too?” The sheer anger spread across his face, but he took one deep breath before he spoke again.
“You do not want death. You want distance. And you have mistaken this lake for a boundary.” He shook his head, stepping closer.
“It is working very well from where I’m standing.” She swallowed hard. The cold was creeping up her bones faster than she expected. Another step.
“For a moment,” Namjoon agreed. “But you cannot stay there. You will lose feeling in your hands first. Then your feet. By the time you decide to move, your body will not agree with you.”
She stared at him, jaw clenched, eyes bright with unshed tears she refused to dignify.
“I swear to God, if you come any closer, Namjoon,” she warned, “I will go under.”
His steps were surprisingly silent on the frozen forest floor, the kind of quiet that made the birds still and the wind seem hesitant. He stopped a few paces away, leaning slightly against a gnarled tree, eyes flicking between them with that sharp, calculating calm. Watching them in silence.
The forest seemed to hold its breath, the tension between them almost tangible amid the damp scent of frost and pine. He glanced at her shivering form in the cold water.
“Well... this is new,” Yoongi said, voice low and smooth, carrying that edge of amusement that always seemed to unsettle.
She raised her chin towards him, defiance flaring despite the chill biting her skin. Yoongi’s gaze lingered on her, slow and deliberate, as if cataloguing every tremor, every flash of anger and fear.
She bows her head in some kind of courtesy. The young female keeps her sense of humour even when she’s completely freezing. Her lips slowly turned their color from rose red to dangerously light purple. Her teeth are clattering so loud that her father must hear it all the way to China.
“You’re freezing,” he remarks, taking his black wool coat down, setting it aside. She watches it drop to the ground before shooting her glance up back to him, rolling the sleeves of his sweater and shirt up.
“That,” she snapped, “is the point.”
“Joon, order everybody to abort the mission,—” Yoongi takes slow steps closer to the shore. “I got it.”
“You are attempting to leverage,” Yoongi continued, talking to her calmly. “Poorly, love.”
“If you take another step—” she raised her wavering voice.
So he did.
Water splashed violently as she lurched backwards, dipping under for a split second before gasping back up, panic flashing across her face despite herself.
Yoongi was deeper in the lake before she could protest. Cold darkened his trousers instantly. He ignored it entirely. His brain was focused only on her survival.
“Do not,” he said sharply, reaching her in two strides, grip iron-clad as he caught her arm “test my patience, Dove.”
She struggled weakly, more instinct than strength now, fingers numb, body betraying her courage. The cold had begun its work—stealing coordination, turning defiance into something dangerous and clumsy.
“You are not being brave this time,” he went on, voice low and furious, close enough now that she could hear it over the water, “you are reckless.”
The lake sloshed around them, disturbed and offended, its false sanctity broken.
”What exactly was the plan?” He pulled her toward him, steadying her as her knees threatened to give way beneath the surface. “To drown? Freeze?”
“I—I p—planned,” she corrected, chin lifting even as her voice shook, “t–to m—make y—you p—panic.”
“I am not panicking,—” he said too quickly, and even in her state, she managed to raise a brow at the sudden change of his tone.
“Y—you c—came in a—after m—me,” she shot back, breathless. “That—counts—”
“I came in,” he interrupted, voice sharpening as he dragged her closer, “because you would rather freeze than come willingly.”
“Still—sounds—like—panic” She tried to pull away, numb fingers failing her.
“I am not fucking panicking,” he snapped. Then, catching himself, “this is not fear. It is—” He exhaled through his nose. “Logistics and anger.”
Her knees buckled beneath the water. Yoongi cursed under his breath.
“Enough,” he said, no stumble now, resolve slamming into place. He hauled her toward the shore with decisive force. “You have made your point. Now you will live through the consequences of it.”
By the time they reached shallow ground, her body was shaking violently, strength leaking out of her with every step. She sagged forward, and he caught her with a sharp intake of breath, lifting her before she could protest.
“Put—me—down,” she managed faintly.
“No!” he said immediately. He reached for his coat and quickly wrapped it around her soaked body, lifted her shaking body in bridal style.
“No,” he repeated more evenly now, starting toward the main house. “I am relocating you to a fire.”
Her head fell against his shoulder, lips twitching.
“You—sound—very—certain—”
“I am,” he said firmly. “Because in three minutes, you will be warm. And in five, you will be angry again.”
A pause.
“And I prefer you angry,” he added, almost gruffly, “to dead.”
Boots striking the path with purpose as the hanok loomed ahead through the trees. She barely registered the door opening—only the sudden bloom of heat when he crossed the threshold, the fire already burning low and steady as if it had been waiting for them.
“Don’t move,” he said sharply, already at her coat. She tried to speak. What came out was a thin, broken sound that startled her. Yoongi swore under his breath.
He stripped the coat from her shoulders in one quick pull. He did not ask permission. He did not hesitate.
“Arms,” he said. She stared at him, unfocused and reluctant.
“Now, Y/N” he snapped.
She lifted them clumsily, and he went to work—buttons first, fingers unsteady not from panic but speed. Wool clung stubbornly, soaked through, useless. He tugged it off with irritation, peeling wet fabric away from her as it offended him personally. Even while she was being stripped all the way to her undergarments, she did not protest. Her brain was clouded by the cold, making her mind foggy. The cold hit her all over again, and she gasped, breath stuttering.
“Breathe,” he ordered. “Slow.”
He immediately replaced all her clothes with the nearest blankets he found on the sofa, dry and heavy, wrapping it tight around her torso.
“You are not allowed to sleep,” he said flatly. “If you close your eyes, I will wake you.”
“I’m—awake,” she protested weakly.
“Barely.”
He wrapped another blanket around her shoulders. Then another around her legs. He tucked the ends in with decisive precision, sealing heat where he could. Her shoes were next—off, tossed aside—then her stockings, peeled down with quick, no-nonsense motions.
Her feet were ice-cold. He hissed softly through his teeth, wrapped them immediately in a dry wool throw, folding it thick.
Only then did he drag her closer to the fire—not right against it, but near enough that warmth could begin its slow work. The flames crackled, throwing light across his face as he crouched in front of her again.
“You will remain here,” he said, “near the fire. Until the shaking stops. Until you can stand without swaying. Until your speech is clear.”
“And–then?”
“Then,” he said, turning back to her, gaze cold and exacting, “we will discuss why you believe that was a wise decision.”
She opened her mouth.
“I swear to God,” he continued sharply, cutting her off, “if you come down with a fever because of this—”
He stopped himself, jaw tightening, the rest of the sentence left deliberately unfinished. The flames crackled, casting light across his face, making his eyes glint like obsidian, as he crouched before her again. He reached out, his fingers hesitating for a breathless second before they brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek.
His hand lingered, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, his gaze dropping from her eyes to her lips. He leaned in, slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, to defy him. But defiance was a forgotten language. Her body leaned in to meet him. Their lips were a breath apart. She could feel the warmth of his mouth, the air he exhaled mingling with her own shallow breaths.
Then, just as she thought it would snap, he moved. Not forward, but sideways. He slid his arm behind her back, a firm, possessive band of muscle that pulled her flush against him as he settled on the hearth beside her. He tucked her into his side, her head coming to rest on his shoulder, his cheek pressing against her wet hair.
His hand splayed wide against her back, a silent claim. She could feel the steady, heavy beat of his heart against her cheek, a rhythm that was both a comfort and a warning. He hadn't taken the kiss or her when he was desperate to tear her wet clothes from her. Not even when she was cold, shaken, pliable—when it would have been easiest to justify.
Especially then, when she could not defy him. This was no restraint in her eyes nor respect.
It was pure control.
He had never feared losing her to distance. He could track her. Catch her. Corner her with patience, men, and maps. What unsettled him was the thing he could not retrieve.
Not escape.
Absence.
The kind that did not argue back. The kind that did not breathe.
She drew a careful breath, warmth inching back into her bones, and said nothing. For once, defiance would have been a lie.
And lies, at least, still required a living witness.
❝i’m a fucking criminal, princess. did you forget that?❞
summary: rough sex, blood money, drugs, gang related activity, and murder; five things you never predicted to experience in your simple life. not until you opened your mouth and caught his attention.
pairings: gang leader!yoongi x f!reader.
warnings: smut, gunplay, drugs, drug addiction, dark!yoongi, drug lord!yoongi, strong language, gang violence, blood and gore, murder, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behavior, abuse, cheating, angst, fluff, dubcon, implied noncon (not from yoongi but within his gang with his knowledge), 18+, minors dni.
authors note: hello??? why does suga never give me a break? he snapped on haegeum. giving me toxic gang member vibes. this is gonna be a dark, heavily graphic fic. i warn you, if you don’t like anything mentioned in the warnings then this isn’t for you. this story is purely fictional and for your enjoyment, i do not condone gang violence, affiliation or any of the fucked up shit yoongi will do in this story. comment below if you want to be added to the taglist.
Summary | “your secret relationship with Yoongi is all smooth sailing,until Mrs Kim gets in the way.”
!warnings! | mature language, workplace bullying, gossip, and infidelity. Also some pretty steamy scenes, for readers 18+.
| this is not in anyway shape or form a true depiction or representation of BTS, this is a work of fiction and is not to be taken seriously. For entertainment purposes only.|(this is my work, please don’t repost or steal)
Requested [open for request] words: 2k.
A/N | “I’m so happy you enjoyed “meetings at midnight.” I never really expected over 100 notes that’s crazy! I may have gotten a little carried away with this one but I hope you don’t mind & enjoy it as well. I’ll probably be making a part 2, please take any mistakes as love ❤️”
The disturbing rattle of the air conditioner served as white noise while you toyed with the drooping noodles swimming in the savory sauce placed before you. A few of your coworkers droned on about their plans, their kids and undeserving husbands leaving you alone in the corner of the depressing break room to think about what to expect when getting back to your cubicle. Which was a little less depressing than the powder white painted room you resided in now.
“Y/L/N, Min is asking for you.” The conversations stopped and all three of us looked up into the door frame. Jimin,Yoongi's assistant stood with his hands buried in his stiffly pressed pants pockets. “I-I’m on lunch.” You slowly went back to your lukewarm meal, taking a few noodles into your mouth. Chewing, You waited for the heavy pitter patter of his polished leather loafers to exit, but You never get what you wish for.
“Y/N, please don’t make me have to run back up there just to run back down here and tell you the same thing….c’mon.” He came closing your tupperware, sighing as you pushed it into your lunch bag, embarrassment growing on your features as he stood over you. The stare of nosey coworkers followed as you stepped out of the bland break room. The clacking of Jimin’s shoes found your nerves rather quickly, closely he walked behind you like a school principal making sure you went where instructed.
Taking you past your cubicle to leave your lunch you could almost taste the jealousy being thrown at you like missiles. Disapproving and confused whispers and glares followed you out the area. Reaching the stairs, out of sight of your colleagues you out ran Jimin, the looks, noises and scoffs getting the best of you. You practically threw yourself through yoongi's door, your heart pounding in your ears.
“Hey! hey! Bunny, got here quickly didn’t you?” He walked over locking his loyal assistant out. Falling back on the couch struggling for your breath, closing your eyes, you heard him walk around you. “I told you I’d see you after work, we’d have all night together.” Sighing, he pulls you up by your arms. With a grunt he sat down and replaced your head on his lap. “I know what you said, but did you really think I was going to wait...why should i?” Opening your eyes you met his soft gaze. “Tell me you love me.” He whispers, almost ashamed in himself. Needy, needy,needy,always needy. “This can’t be why you called me in.”
“Why should I?” You laughed, obviously he didn’t share your sense of humor as he tugged harshly on a strand of your hair. “Well if I didn’t love you I’d quit Yoongi.” Rolling over you cuddled into his soft tummy inhaling his masculin scent, this here under him locked in his dim office was your safe place. “No you wouldn’t, I pay you too much.” He murmured petting your back with his large hands. “As if!” You giggled into his tummy, pulling back to look up at your lover. His signature smile displayed on his features, moving his hands from your back he places his limber fingers at the back of your knee. Locking eyes he slid skillfully under your skirt to massage your ass over your panties. “Who were you hiding from today hm?” Groaning you rolled your eyes, you hate how he knows you so well.
“Kim?” “Mrs Kim is the least of my worries now.” You grimaced playing with his buttons. “Mm good, can't be the new girl, maybe her boyfriend?” Your eyes shot open, “boyfriend?! Who?” He planted this topic in the conversation, knowing your interest in the drama of your workplace. “Yeah, she’s running around with the coffee boy.” Laughing, he cut himself off “Jungkook.” He laughed almost uncontrollably. “That’s so cute since when?!” He hums calming down, “uh since about last month, I’ve been watching them get all close and flirty jeon puts extra cream in her coffee, she blushes blah blah. And you know Jimin is the nosiest person in the population of this place.”
You chuckled Nodding in agreeance “learned that way before you did, he was my cubicle neighbor before he was your assistant.” Sitting up you go to his drink cart to grab a bottle of water. “Yeah they’re cute as long as they stay on task, Answer the question though, who’s bothering my baby hm? I hate seeing you that way.” He comes from behind gliding his hands around your front pulling you into his embrace “you have a whole cafeteria in the next wing, I made sure they served your favorite today, and yet you chose the shitty break closet.” His rambling turns into background noise as you look through the one way window. Watching as your coworkers attended their duties, Jungkook balanced coffees in his arms with skill the new girl watched in admiration...I wonder what he’s actually here for.
Yoongi’s breath fans your neck causing you to shiver against him. “I’m sorry what’d you say?” “You’re ok.” He turns you around swiftly kissing you passionately against the glass obviously you’ve missed something. Though unseen the act feels extremely dirty. Dropping your water you cling to his shoulders, legs around his Slender waist. “You're not paying me to make out with you I hope.” He pecks your nose, gnawing his bottom lip. “Huh looks like I am.” “Ah, as tempting as that sounds Yoongs-” “don’t ever call me that.” He nips at your neck in retaliation. “I have a stack of papers on my desk that Mr Jimin has been beating me over the head about.” Groaning he loosens his grip around you. Letting you gather yourself before going to his door.
“I’ll see you tonight yeah?” Pouting,he came kissing your lips once more. “I’ll be waiting.” He opened the door and watched you strut down the stairs.
Getting back to your respectful area, you notice something was off...where’d your lunch go? You could’ve sworn you threw it on your desk. Pulling out the rolling chair to take a seat, “I’ll find it later.” You whispered to yourself,taking a seat, directly in the cold remains of your lunch. “What the fuck!” A wave of laughter was given with your ill response. Noodles dangled from your backside as you turned to look at the mess on your office chair.
“Okay! What are we a bunch of middle school virgins?” Jimin shouted, his face turning a dark shade of peach. “I’m sorry y/n.” Rolling your eyes you tried to keep back tears of utter embarrassment turning away from you colleagues. “Uhm...it’s pretty bad, do you have anything to change into?” He takes off his styled coat and hands it to you. You can’t process over the harsh giggles and whispers, “yeah like I have a closet in my car, Jimin I don’t have shit to put on!” You hiss making him pull an offended expression.
“I could give you something.” Your head snapped in the direction of the quiet new girl in the far corner. “I have a few dresses in car I-I I’m in the process of…” she scans the room unsure of her words “moving.” You offer a smile to cover how distraught you are, unable to respond correctly. “Thank you luci, we appreciate it.” Nodding she smiles softly grabbing her bag going to retrieve the clothes. “Go to the restroom, please.”
Tying the coat around your waist you rushed with your head down to the bathroom, shutting the door behind yourself roughly. Taking off the grey coat Turing to examine your soup covered ass. You brushed the cold noodles letting them splat onto the tiled floor. Pulling coat off the conjoined sinks you found the spacious stall at the end of the row, stripping off your soiled skirt. Nothing better to do, but to sit on the cold stool and wait.
The creaking door of the bathroom cut your silent thoughts short, isn’t Luci a quick one? You chuckled to yourself getting up, about to tell her of your whereabouts…“maybe if the bitch didn’t have her head so far up Min’s ass she woulda saw it coming.” The unknown voice stopped you in your tracks. Her friend snickers. “Shh she could be in here.” “As if I give a fuck, she needs to know!” Peeking through the side of the stall you could see them in the mirror touching up their makeup. “Min’s probably got his head up hers too!” The quieter of the two spoke up.
“Ha that would explain my recent hours, I heard they fuck in the office, I wonder if the sluts any good.” She cleaned the edges of her lipstick, “I’ve fucked him, I know he’s good, really into all the rough shit, he’s crazy.” She tossed her makeup into her bag fixing her hair, “why’d you guys stop?” You felt your chest ache, yoongi never told you about him and Mrs Kim, what kind of fucked story is this? “Little miss pasta booty got the job, and Joon finally proposed...guess he didn’t want me any-” “y/n are you in here?!” Luci’s softened voice searched for you.
“I’m in here.” Responding slightly above a whisper, the soft steps of her pumps were trampled by the clicking steps of the two mud slingers who quickly bursted from the restroom. “I didn’t know what you would like, I have this blue one, it’s a cute summer dress.” She hung it on the door of the stall for me to see. “Or this white one, it’s a bit tighter but I think it’ll look great on you.” Randomly choosing you stripped of your top pulling the dress over yourself. “Thanks Luci, I owe you one.” Collecting your clothes and Jimin’s coat, you left the stall. “No no, I’m sorry Kim did that to you...I should’ve stopped her.” She coyly hangs her head, “not your fault...thanks Luci.” She smiles politely, leaving me alone in the bathroom.
Eunji That jealous bitch, yoongi has much explaining to do. You smooth out your dress bracing yourself for the environment behind the door. only to be pushed back. A deep blush pink shade covering his face, yoongi brings you back in, “you can’t be in here, this is the ladies.” He scans your body before looking at the dirty laundry in your arms. “This is my building. I can be anywhere in any room I want.” Scoffing you attempt to leave, grabbing your forearm he pulls you back. “What’s going on with you I’m here to check and see if you’re alright and here you are acting like an ass y/n” his face held a concerned stare.
“Yoongi the last thing we should be doing is huddling in the bathroom, we’ve drawn enough attention to ‘us’ already.” Unable to look him in the eyes you examine his posture, he propped your chin on his pointer finger bringing your face up. “And since when did you care?” “Ever since your ex painted my ass with my lunch.” He giggled darkly, “what?” Again you attempted escape, only to be overpowered and lifted with ease. “Okay sit the fuck down.” Placing you down in the sink like a child he took your skirt looking at the back. “And this just had to be the one I bought?.” He shook his head like a disappointed father. “What are you acting so mad towards me for, who’s supposedly my ex huh?” He took the skirt under the faucet scrubbing it harshly together with soap.
Why can’t he ever just leave you alone, drawing attention to your relationship was the last thing you needed today. It’s not like nobody knew, it was hard not to. But you hated the unwanted attention the favoritism brought you. “Who lied to you?” “You did.” He stopped the water, “y/n now you know I’d never.” He folded the cleaned wet skirt along with your shirt. “Yoongi, I heard Kim Eunji talking about it. She told her little follower about it while I hid in the stall.” You answered blandly, ready to be freed from the bathroom. His face shifted shades, “what? I’ve never fucked that bitch, all she does is lie and get into shit she has no concern for.” He gripped the sink roughly.
Like a switch, when the right buttons were pushed Yoongi’s temper was quick to strike….though never thrown at you. It can have harsh outcomes and you've seen it first hand. “She runs her mouth about you too much, I’ll have to help her out.” Aggressively released the marble counter, “Yoongi w-what, calm down.” He walked to the door, unsure of what to do. Naive of his wrath you followed behind. “She wants to get fucked? I’ll give her something that’ll fuck her up, something that’ll make her piss off for good this time.”
Secret admirer
For months you had been getting mysterious boxes filled with different things. Sometimes the boxes would be filled to the brim with clothes that smelled like cologne, others would be leather boxes filled with CDs and lyrics or poems. Over time, the poems or lyrics got darker and darker and the clothes got more and more revealing, you soon stopped opening the boxes. The final box you received was small, black, and had the texture of velvet. When you opened it there was a tiny vial of a mysterious red liquid that was protected by layers and layers of velvet. Later you would find that the liquid was your best friend's blood.
When jealous
He would see you talking with your best friend(the friend whose blood would be given to you) and was immediately enraged. However, he pushed his anger down and walked up to the cute pair. He greeted both of you nicely and would steal hateful glances towards the boy who would die. Once everyone was gone from school, he ambushed the young man and made sure to take a sample of his blood before he killed him. When the boy's body was found, he would have you crying on his shoulder. Perfect.
When you agree to date them
Relieved. That's what he would be feeling. He always feared that you would reject him and he would have to force you to be his. But, now that you had agreed to date him he couldn't be more happier. He made sure that he was worth your while. He constantly rapped for you, wrote lyrics for you, and made sure to spend time with you. Anyone that dared to look at you wrong, bothered you or him or flirted with you suffered a tragic and painful death at his hand.
You find out there yandere
Yoongi had been spending a lot of time in the basement and you wanted to know why. The red door was locked but, if you couldn't pick a lock what kind of girlfriend would you be? Also, you didn't know when the last time Yoongi had eaten so, you made him a sandwich just in case he was hungry. While you picked the lock to the basement you noticed a stench coming from the crack of the door. You continued to fumble with the gold-coated handle until you heard a click and silently cheered. The odor hit you full force and it made crinkle your nose.
"Yoongi," you called. "I made you a sandwich."
A beige wall blocked you from seeing Yoongi as you made your way down the stairs.
"How did you get in here," a voice answered.
You reached the bottom of the wooden stairs and saw red stains on the floor. Your heart became a gong sounding in your chest.
"Y-Yoongi," you croaked as you rounded the corner.
What you saw changed your life. You heard the glass plate shatter on the ground but you barely noticed. In front of you was the boy that had groped you on the bus. He was tied up in a wooden chair and rope burns were visible symbolizing that he had put up a struggle before passing out, blood dripped from where his eyes used to be. White could be seen and you could only assume that was his skull. You couldn't even scream. Arms wrapped around your waist, staining your shirt with blood and making you jump.
"I'm not Yoongi darling, I'm Agust D."
"Why," you stuttered. "Why did you do this."
"Because he touched something that was mine," he laughed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Isn't he beautiful? He was so ugly before."
You try to run away
It was time. It was time to put everything behind you. Yoongi had finally fallen asleep due to all the alcohol he consumed and you were ready to leave.
"I'm sorry Yoongi," you muttered as you packed everything you could.
You took some of your clothes and packed them in a blue duffel bag. Your flight wouldn't leave until tomorrow morning but you wanted to get away from the psycho as soon as possible and you didn't know how long he would be out. You couldn't risk him waking up if you waited any longer. Once you had everything packed you quietly made your way to the door, making sure to not leave any trace of where you would be and where you were going.
By the time you got to a small inn it was about three o'clock and you were a little more than drowsy. You rented a room and barricaded the door with some of the furniture in the small room, just in case. The minute you left the house you were in fear for your life. You weren't afraid of Yoongi, he gave you no reason to be afraid of him. It was Agust D you feared. Were as Yoongi was strict but sweet and loving Agust D was strict as well as scary and psychotic, he was the one that laughed while blood splattered everywhere.
You sat on the stiff bed of the inn and stared at the white wooden door, not wanting to take any chances of being taken back to that hell hole. After about ten minutes your eyes began to droop giving way to the temptation of rest and before you knew it, you hit the pillow and you were sound asleep.
If only you hadn't.
When you woke up you were strapped to a table by leather with a very angry Agust D to deal with.
"Oh. Look who's awake."
Other facts
-loves to see you in a collar
-likes to mark your body
-made you tattoo his name on your thigh
-likes it when you sit on his lap
-Daddy
-calls you his baby girl
-cruel and unfair punishments
LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU
pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au
summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.
Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.
disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.
filler setted before chapter IV.
𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 (v.) freeze, be cold.
¹⁹³⁸
Her breath tore at her ribs as she fled the house, the village, the polite silence that had been watching her too closely. Coat loosely gathered in her fists, attempting to shield herself from the cold. Her heart was hammering loud enough that she was certain God Himself could hear it.
Please, she thought, not knowing to whom she prayed or whether there was someone still listening. Please, help me once more.
She ran downhill, then sideways, then wherever instinct pulled her—past trees that smelled of sap and frozen earth, past prayer flags she didn’t recognise but resented all the same. Every sound made her flinch: birds bursting from branches, the crack of a twig beneath her heel, the echo of her own name imagined in the cold wind.
She did not look back.
That was rule one in a dozen of her attempts to flee this damn valley. Dove wasn’t sure whether it was his absence this morning that gave her the courage to try to flee again or just the rare opportunity to be finally alone.
Rule two was do not stop, even when her lungs burned, and her vision narrowed, even when her shoe slipped loose and slapped uselessly against her heel like a warning. She had no time to put on winter boots, but she could regret that later.
She vaulted a low stone wall, scraped her palm, hissed through her teeth. Dove kept running towards the thick line of trees. Branches clawed at her sleeves. Roots rose treacherously from the earth, eager to catch her ankle, to remind her that nothing here was accidental. Still, she pressed on, breath tearing free of her throat in sharp, unladylike bursts.
Each time, she manages to get farther and farther into the forest. The raven man judges this behaviour as insolence, lapse of senses. She always had to return. Was always dragged back by fate, by cold, by his men, by the simple geography of a valley that did not permit escape. So why persist? Why repeat the cycle with such devotion?
The answer arrived quietly, and once it did, it pleased him even more.
Not hope. Not foolishness.
Cartography.
Each failed flight etched something into her memory—the slope of the land, the way the moss thickened near water, the places where the trees grew too close together to allow a clean passage. But then the snow arrived and covered everything she memorised in her mind. Nonetheless, she counted steps without numbers, marked time by the burn in her lungs, learned which birds scattered at human movement and which remained indifferent. She noted the silence where sound should have been, the bend in the path that always curved her back inward.
She was not fleeing blindly.
She was learning.
The raven man smiled then, faint and thoughtful and let her run. After all, he has time to burn this passion from within her. As time, like the valley, like her, already belonged to him.
She stopped in her tracks just right at the newest addition to her mental map. A clearing with a lake.
The lake lay before her, still and dark, its surface unbroken, unbothered by her arrival. She could go around, but that would slow her down. The air here was colder, heavier, as though the valley itself had drawn a slow breath and chosen to hold it. No birds sang. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Water meant concealment. Water meant confusion. Water meant that tracks dissolved, and men hesitated. It also meant cold, and sickness, and the quiet sort of death that did not announce itself until it was too late.
Behind her, a loud dog bark echoed, and shouts of his men catching up to her. Dove swallowed.
“Min Buin?!” The title landed wrong, too heavy for a name that was not yet hers. She did not turn to answer it.
The first soldier broke the tree line to her left. Then another to her right. They spread instinctively, practised and careful, forming a crescent along the shore. She was no longer running.
She was being contained.
Dove gathered her skirts, whispered a prayer she had not spoken since childhood, and stepped forward—into the lake.
Cold seized her instantly, ruthless and intimate, stealing her breath in a sharp, humiliating gasp. The water surged around her calves, her knees, dragging at her skirts as if eager to claim them. She did not stop. She waded deeper, teeth clenched, eyes fixed ahead, until the hem of the valley disappeared beneath the dark surface.
Gasps sounded behind her. A curse in Korean. Someone shouted her name again—louder this time, sharper.
She turned then, slowly, water already climbing her thighs, her waist.
“I will go under,” she warned, voice thin but steady. “Leave!”
The soldiers halted.
Rifles dipped uncertainly. No one advanced. The dog’s barking faltered, confused by the water, distance, and a prey that refused to flee properly.
Dove lifted her chin, daring them, daring the valley, daring God Himself to intervene.
And for one suspended moment, standing knee-deep in cold judgment, she believed she had finally found a place where his reach ended.
“Do you have her?” A low baritone voice resonated through the trees. An irritated voice. But not his.
Kim Namjoon, his right-hand man, emerged from the trees, taking the scenery in.
pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader
genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au
summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.
Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.
warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, deception, mention of attempted suicide, miscarriage, the sacred letter opener, mention of a gun, mind distortion, hallucinations, decapitated finger, graphic content, distortion between imagination and reality.
beta read by @chaoticpuff17
word count: 3,5K
disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, forbidden medical procedures, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.
keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.
author's note: will be at the very end! please read.
Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.
summer 1942
The wind carried the scent of summer rain, thick and heavy, like the monsoons she once watched from behind lattice windows. Y/N sat by the harbor, watching the lights flicker along the water, her hands resting idly in her lap. A freedom she had fought for, bled for, manipulated for, lied for, stretched out before her in the hum of the city. And yet, it did not feel like victory. Not entirely. Not until she healed from all the demons he summoned in her.
She might not have succeeded. There was always the possibility. For that, everytime she woke up, her mind repeated the same words all over again. Nightmare. It was just a nightmare. Not a reality. Yet she cannot live peacefully, not until he is somewhere out there, still looking for her. Last time she heard, he proclaimed whether she is to be found by anybody, they will be rewarded graciously. Elevating the search to different merit. But he would not find her. She kept saying that as her daily mantra, as believing was easier than knowing just how close he might be to discovering her everyday. He cannot. The darkest place on earth is under the lamp in the end. To run her whole life until he gave up, which he would never do, was not an option. Someone would eventually see her and that would lead to her doom. But, let us put things in the correct order for once.
She would have to lie, if she said that her freedom was self-earned. Since the birth of civilisation, noone ever did something of such merit alone, woman and a man entre holy matrimonial bond, consumate their marriage, sire children, who hopefully grew to adolescence, enter their own matrimonial bonds, multiply and so on so forth until there are several generations of a clan. All sparked just so they are not alone in this vast dark world. Similarly to the raven and dove and the generations before them. Said operation takes discipline that Yoongi lacked, but Dove possessed, even though it seemed opposite at times. Thus, she extorted the madness in her soul and used it to its brink, although not entirely without an aid of terrestrial and above higher powers.
Her heart clenched when she ran through the crowd towards the tighter alleys, praying to God to grant her this wish, straight towards the waiting car. She could still turn around and run for the bridge to Chosen hotel, let herself be found, say she could not find him in the chaos of the crowd, because that is where he would expect her to go when they were not so forcefully separated. But she had decided long before that, so even when the cold crept to her bones, oddly resembling the long long time ago when she ran from her motherland, yet she had nothing but determination.
It took a long time to orchestrate but she had nothing but herself and her thoughts, but it was as if the Lord himself has laid a path under her feet to walk on. Thus, a series of events altered the concluding sequence of her reign as the third Buin of Min clan rather naturally. Unless, there was nothing natural about it. After all, who can endure and bury the hatred for such a long period of time and puppeteer on that man's arm while quietly counting her days. What kind of a woman can do that? One in a rage. Vengeful one. Angry one. Broken one. Choose what you wish.
But Y/N long stopped hating him. She did not hate him. She only hated what he made her do. Who she had to become to get away. And this realisation came along the healing once she found love. Within her.
She wanted him to feel the pain she had when he took her soul peace by peace because she was very much aware that she is the core of his own being. His muse. His purpose. His peace. His havoc. His demise. His doom.
He was the one who presented himself to be in God's favour. How their union is thy Lord's will. Albeit, it was she who was in his favour. Especially when the most devoted brother of his betrayed his own kin.
He helped her. He could have stopped her that day. He could have run her down if he wanted. He had known anyway. And yet, he let her go. He might have been loyal to his brother, but he knew she needed to go. The memory clung to her, a weight she could not shake. His face portrayed a one of hurt when he realised she was not running to hide from the gunshots but towards them, that one of losing a friend. The same one he had when he found her in the ambulation, with Xiaoli's and Seokjin’s wife's medical files. He knew that was the moment they lost her. For good.
"Give me your coat and purse." And she had given him the ring too, what he planned to do with it, she did not have to know. All she needed was to-
"Go," he had said, the word barely a breath. "Now."
Hoseok had let her go.
She mouthed a little broken "thank you" and had not hesitated since. She had not. Because if she had, she would not have left. He had known anyway. But he himself rather lived in the belief that she had taken the road. Believing was easier than knowing. Something that she will tell the generations after her, if there will be anyone to tell the tale. Ever.
Y/N exhaled, leaning her head against the bench, letting the late evening hold her secrets. The world thought she had been kidnapped which was easy to plant when Luen Hanyu implied the idea into the Kkangpae's mind at her father's funeral. Of course, something had to transpire at the funeral that slipped Yoongi's attention.
Luen Hanyu was the next in line after his father and an older brother to Doctor Luen Min-ho. A figure she never spoke of. Never dared to acknowledge their existence in front of Yoongi. In front of anybody, there was no existing string tied between them. She tried to do the same for Chen, however, that was an unfortunate event she did not plan for and did not expect to happen at all. First love never dies. But Chen had not been her first love. Luen Min-ho, not a doctor at the time they first met, was her first love. Her green-eyed boy with dark hair she kissed under the cherry blossom tree. Reunited once she stepped on the academia soil. The youngest Luen son had given her the key to her survival back than and is still outstretching a helping hand. A name she could use. A passage through their territory in the north, first when she ran from her father, and second from her husband. She had erased every trace of how she had crossed through their territory in 1938 when she ran from China. The only loose thread was her late father. And now he was not among the living anymore. Killing him had been a salvation. His death had been the closing of one door, the unlocking of another. Yoongi, unfortunately, admired her for both.
"I'm pulling you out of here, Y/N."
"Not yet." She said to Min-ho at the funeral, her husband was occupied, distracted. She had never met Min-ho, nor any of the Luens, that is what they believed, thus there was no reason to be cautious when he walked her way, trying to hide a smile, the same one he had each time they met at the university labs, and express his sincerest condolences.
"But be ready."
His face had the same smile when she reached the car, hidden in a corner alley, gunshots resonating in the distant square in front of the government building. In different circumstances, she would fall for him all over again. Yet, she cannot.
She had spent some time, tucked away in Luen's safe house, and only after Yoongi actively started to engage in destroying the Luens, as he drew himself mad to believe she could not run away but be taken from him, she relocated. Otherwise he would have found her by now. That is what he delusionally believed. The easier option. To believe. Apparently, he was drowning in the delusion and even Kim Namjoon could not save the day with his cleverness anymore. She wonders whether he told him about the deal he had not even the slightest intention to uphold. The Min empire, however, kept standing. Good. This was only ever about his misery and even if she boldly said to his face that he only ever loved his clan, she knew that would never hurt him, as he fell too deep, too hard, for her. Fuck his empire. It can flourish for all she cares, as long as she is no longer part of it.
It was a well-placed rumor that had reached Yoongi's ears, twisting the truth just enough to send him into another clan war. Distract him from running to find her. As if he did not search half the continent and the other. She had known, from the moment she stepped into his world, that there was only one way out. To make him feel what she felt. To make him lose something that could never be replaced. He would look for her everywhere, but not close. He would search in Europe, in China, in Japan, even in America, in places far removed from the life she had led. But never here. Never as close to the ghosts they had both created.
She had done everything she needed to survive. And she had done everything she needed to make him suffer. But freedom had come at a cost. And she had paid it in full. With her mind. The sleepless nights were never farce, the frenzied pacing, the sensation that her body was still trapped even when she had been miles away. She had won. She had lost. She was free. But she was caged by a memory.
After all, what woman would slit her own throat, with a precise cut that will draw the blood but won't touch her windpipe, nor a cut that would be too deep to not stitch, to hurt him like he hurt her. What woman would kill her own father, what sane woman would manipulate a master manipulator that Yoongi was and is. What woman would agree to carry a child of that monster? What woman would starve herself to later appear to gain weight. What woman would falsify pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage. She. The answer is she.
Timing was beyond being crucial. Her own mother and brother were at stake and she could not leave them behind. She bargained with him to send them to Maryland, where she had bargained to send her cousins before. She had waited. She had waited for the right moment. Until he sent her mother and brother to America, believing they would be safer there, away from the chaos of everything that surrounded them.
He demanded a child in exchange. Greedy bastard.
Xiaoli was too far gone. And unless she found a way to mend unmendable, she could be of no help to her. But she was safe as Taehyung's wife. Now, as Min-ho said at their last encounter, a very pregnant wife.
Daiyu had known. The moment they stepped onto American soil, they had disappeared from the radar. It had been planned long before, long before Y/N ever made her move. Daiyu had understood what needed to be done. Once they were in, they vanished. No contact. No trace. The final chain tying Y/N to her past was severed. They will live. Away from all her sins.
But, to intrigue you further, pretending to be pregnant was the easiest in comparison to the miscarriage she had to act. Xiaoli unwillingly outed her and she never thanked her sister for anything but that. It opened another path. Complicated one, but worth taking. There is no way Min Yoongi would let his pregnant woman run for the hills so easily, nor as she expected leave the safety of sanctuary. But the pregnancy was needed in order to broker the deal between them. And she had absolutely zero intention of getting pregnant.
The beginning of the war was supposed to be her salvation, more of a doom in the end, as he was determined that his pregnant wife was too fragile to see the world in shambles. Thus, she needed to sin even more.
She had planted the idea with precision, knowing how gossip would weave its way through the hanok like smoke, so it is not like Yoongi would doubt if others noticed too. The maids whispered about how she moved slower, how she touched her stomach absentmindedly, how she refused wine one evening with a quiet smile, how she gained weight. Eating meals repeatedly, eating meals that made her bloat to imitate the little swell of her belly, enough that they noticed. But she never uttered the words herself.
No "I am with a child" ever curled on her tongue.
Note that, and that is a technicality she thought through. Yoongi never questioned it. He was overjoyed. He forgot, he forgave, he never thought to demand proof. His love, his obsession, blinded him.
Faking the miscarriage had been trickier. She had stolen the transfusion blood from the infirmary, Seokjin would not notice, it was her job to keep the tabs. Hiding the vials beneath the floorboards in their room, rationing them until the moment came.
The day she decided it was time to elevate the narrative, she made sure the pain in her voice was raw, real, laced with panic. When he had come running, the blood already spilled, staining the sheets and huddling them to look like a tiny bundle stained with blood. He never looked. He never peeled back the layers to see the deception. He held her, murmured reassurances, swore he would never leave her side. And she had let him, pressing her face into his shoulder, whispering apologies she never meant.
She gave him something that is never supposed to die. Hope. And when it was time, she stung the knife deep and ran.
Singapore had been peaceful. A city where no one knew her name, as this was Luens' extended territory even the Mins could not reach, as noone knew whose power extends here. She moved through the crowded streets as just another young woman with no past. She had found a small apartment, modest but safe, above a tailor's shop owned by an elderly couple who never asked questions. She worked quietly over the years after she finished her studies in London rather quickly. The war needed physicians, even women if praise be. Now she was assisting at a local clinic where Min-ho had secured her a place. Under a false name, of course. Falsified documents. She never spoke too much, never shared too much. Silence had become her greatest defense.
The quiet hum of a long shift still weighed on her as she walked home through the dimly lit streets, her nurse's uniform clinging to her skin from the humidity. The old man downstairs greeted her with a nod, handing her a brown paper-wrapped package, held with a string, a little dove painted in the right corner.
"Another one from your friend, Doctor" he murmured, giving her a smile that did not reach his eyes. She bowed down to thank him and scurried up the stairs to her apartment. The love she felt for Min-ho was different. Not romantic to be correct, but one of respect, gratitude even. But her mind was far gone to be with him. She could not anyway. He was a man of a name, and she… she was a renegade now.
She carried it upstairs, expecting another book or vinyl from Min-ho. Standing by the small table she had the gramophone stationed at, she cut the string with a letter opener and unwrapped it, revealing, what she predicted to be a vinyl. She placed it on the player, waiting for the needle to catch. Placing the box sideways, she gasped, looking at her bloodied hand. Did she cut herself? Confused, she glanced back into the package, lifting it to see it soaked in one corner where she was previously holding it. Her mind too tired to notice. She lowered it to throw the papers that surrounded the vinyl out, halting when the gramophone started to resonate through the sound horn, a melody, or more a cacophony she wished to never hear again.
Horror gripping her throat. No, this is just a coincidence. Min-ho has no means to know what this song means to her. That it echoed in her head each time she witnessed the resurrection of the evil Kkangpae Min Yoongi was. He never actually considered she could get away on her own. But he wanted her to know that there is nowhere to go. And she wanted to prove him wrong.
Very slowly, she glanced down to see what was under the crunched papers. Letting the box fall with a loud thud to the floor, pressing her hand to hide the shriek she let out upon seeing the decapitated hand inside, one of its fingers wrapped with a gold ring that had Luen's insignia, one of a deer. No.
This must be just her imagination, hallucination even. She must be having a lucid dream, as she often had them since her departure. Nightmares. Real ones this time, not the Greek tragedy she performed in front of Yoongi so later in her narrative he thinks she has healed.
Soft footsteps. Measured, unhurried, deliberate. The sound of leather soles against the wooden floor, moving with a certainty that sent ice through her veins. Closer. And closer. Did they underestimate Yoongi's reach, or was there an internal betrayal? They protected her. Just what made Min-ho slip down. Or is this even Min-ho’s hand? Did they torture him? He never became her lover just like she used to dream about back in the day. She understood that loving him would make her vulnerable, but the friendship they nurtured made her realise just how lucky she was that he felt all the same to help her get out of there. This must me a hallucination.
Her breath hitched. She did not need to turn around. She did not want to admit her defeat. You must understand that she was always ready to defend herself, to flee when needed, as she never made the mistake of underestimating him, just like he did underestimate her. To fight she was ready for. He already has one large scar, what is one more? Did he want to toy with her? Could he have attacked her sooner?
"There you are."
This must be a dream. She will not accept this as her reality anymore. Yet, her breath hitched upon hearing the baritone voice. In a single, fluid motion, her fingers brushed against her thigh to pull out the letter opener, from the pocket of her uniform. She spun, the blade slicing through the air—a desperate attempt.
It embedded itself in the wooden door frame, just inches from his head. Her aim was always perfect how come she missed now? Was he even there to be aimed at?
He did not even flinch. He simply smiled, just as wickedly as she remembered, tilting his head, to glance at the blade that she grew fond of as it seems. Twisted sentiment.
Only if she had a split of a second to open the desk's drawer to pull out the small revolver, if only. No. He was too close, he would catch her faster than a lightning would strike.
But if this is a dream she could reach it in time right?
And in the blink of an eye, she is back—trapped once more in the hanok of nightmares, where shadows breathe and the past refuses to sleep, screaming for her to wake up.
His hair was shorter now, the unruly waves tamed, though strands still fell over his forehead. A scar cut across his eye was just as she remembered. His black leather coat hung unbuttoned at his broad shoulders. Yet, he is all the same in her mind.
‘Get out of my head. Get out!’ she cries, but the words splinter in the air, swallowed by the very darkness that lurks within her.
The voice calls out once more, and the fabric of reality trembles—its borders blurred, its edges unravelling. She no longer knows where the nightmare ends and the waking world begins. A wound that never healed. Lacrimosa.
final author's note: my dear dark romance fairies, allow me to utter some last words before you'll descend me to hell if you possibly misunderstand. Lacrimosa was never meant to give you answers. Only possibilities. I wrote this story with one foot in the dark and one in the light, where the line between reality and nightmare stays blurred. A narrative that is unreliable. This story was never meant to deliver a neat ending wrapped in clarity—it was written to leave space, a pause between breaths, where you decide what lingers in the dark and what was merely imagined in the quiet between heartbeats. To not be sure if the story truly ended. Thank you for walking beside her my fairies. For staying through the silence, the sorrow, the unravelling.
Is this the reality she wakes to, or the nightmare she never escaped?
Was it all a dream? A descent? A warning?
That, my dear readers, is yours to decide.
Let her fate rest in your hands.
And maybe, just maybe—she’ll find peace in whichever version you choose.
So close the final page gently.
And if she’s still dreaming… maybe don’t wake her just yet.
Special thanks to @chaoticpuff17 who is not only brilliant beta reader but a dear friend of mine. Your insight, intuition, and unwavering honesty helped shape the bones of this story and for that I am so so grateful, endlessly.
Special thanks to all of you who stayed till the very end and to you who will just descend to hear the music reverberating through the dimly-lit streets. To see the tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.
pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader
genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au
summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.
Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.
chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, multiple povs, fingering, hand-job, homicide, mentions of the second world war, emotional turmoil, dissonance, angst, jajangmyeon (the new code for pregnancy) strong language, pregnancy complications, grief and loss, gunfire, revolt, graphic violence and so on.
beta read by @chaoticpuff17
word count: 17,2K
disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, forbidden medical procedures, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.
author's note: so at last, we are the nearest to the end as we've ever been. Lacrimosa is a story that began as a mere draft in 2021, shapeless and uncertain, morphing countless times before it found its voice. The first chapter didn’t see the light of day until June 2023. Even then, it was still evolving. It is 2025. The story stands complete, its final notes echoing into the epilogue coming out 7th of April (fan fact: dove's birthday)—a resolution, yet not an end. Because stories like this don’t just stop. They linger, threading themselves into new beginnings, breathing anew reminding us that nothing truly fades. So this series have become a prequel to it's 90s lineage that continues in the series of back to 1996 (Champagne Confetti, Elixir, Anubis and soon more).
To those who have been here since the beginning, to those who joined somewhere along the way, and to those who may stumble upon this story in the future—thank you. Your presence, your thoughts, your willingness to walk this path with me have meant everything. Special thanks belongs to one and only @chaoticpuff17 who listened to my darkest ideas of how to continue the plot and provided second set of eyes to see what I could not, and for that I'm forever grateful to have a pen-pal as magnificent as her whole existence is.
Yoongi watched her, his dove, his perfect enigma, lying beside him in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. Her body was warm against his, but he could feel the tension humming beneath her skin. He knew she fought it—whatever it was that made her hesitate—but she was still here, wrapped in his arms, breathing the same air.
That was enough. For the time being.
His patience was infinite when it came to her. She had been wary at first, but he had learnt her, traced the lines of her hesitation, and unravelled them with careful, deliberate steps. He could feel the way her body responded to his touch, even when she wanted to deny it. That was what mattered.
It was easier for him to believe that deep down she wanted him. She just needed more time to realise this and his patience was spread thin from the moment he decided he wanted her until now.
Yoongi was very well aware of how mad he is for her, willing to go as far as he can to keep her here. With him.
Every breath she took, every moment she allowed herself to melt into him, only cemented that truth. She is his. Even after all that happened, he longed for her just as much as at the beginning. If he had to live in his own delusion that she reciprocates this feeling, he would do so with a sinister uncanny smile of his. So be it. Whatever will make her stay, he will do.
She gasped, her body tightening around his fingers, her arousal soaking his hand. He knew she was close, could feel it in the way she trembled, the way her hands clenched at the sheets. He didn't stop, didn't slow down—he wanted to push her past that edge, wanted to see her unravel completely beneath him.
And she did.
Her release was beautiful, her cries filling the room as her body arched and trembled. Yoongi's eyes never left her face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure, every shuddering breath. He let her come down slowly, savouring the aftermath before pulling her into another kiss, deep and possessive.
He could feel her hands on him, hesitant but willing. She was learning, understanding what he needed from her, what he expected. He let her touch him, guiding her hand over him, watching the realisation settle in her eyes—the power she thought she had in this moment. He let her have it.
She can have it all if she will stay by his side.
His breath stuttered as her hand moved, pleasure tightening in his core. His control was slipping, unravelling like a thread pulled too tight. He groaned, his fingers gripping her wrist as he chased his release.
"Dove," he rasped, his voice rough with need.
She was the reason he came undone so easily, so completely. His pleasure crashed over him, his release spilling over her hand as he let go, a shudder wracking through his body.
He collapsed against her, his lips pressing against her temple as he caught his breath. His hands slid up her arms, tracing the delicate lines of her body as he held her close. His dove. His.
She had given herself to him tonight, and that was all that mattered.
Yoongi's lips ghosted over her skin once more, his voice nothing but a whisper against her ear.
"You're so fucking mine."
And yet, for the first time, he wondered if he was wrong.
Yoongi's gaze shifted over to the distant horizon, where the sun's rays seemed to glow with a soft, mocking warmth. He watched her, as he always did, studying the way she moved, the way her thoughts appeared to drift away like birds fleeing in a storm. Her silence, a veil she often wrapped herself in, was a constant reminder of the distance between them, a gap he had been trying—unsuccessfully, it seemed—to bridge.
He was too far to hear anything and the tiny piece of him that called his righteousness when needed echoed to stay where he was. If there is any urgent matter regarding her mother, his spy would deliver.
His lips pressed into a thin line. Did she really believe she could escape me? The thought of it made his chest tighten, but the possessive spark of anger flared within him. She could run, she could pretend, but he knew her. He knew how to read her like no one else could. She was his.
Yoongi's gaze followed the direction of Dove's eyes, where she watched her younger sister mount a horse beside Taehyung. Wouldn't it be for Taehyung, Yoongi would gladly wield Dove's sister as a bargaining chip, however sick that sounds, he would. Soon her mother and little brother will need to find a place within this syndicate. Wang Zemo, needs to leave the world of living. Yoongi waited long enough.
And maybe, just maybe, he thought that it was her father that made her not breathe. The visible threat he poses to the syndicate, to her, to her mother and sister, simply by being. He was clever enough to know just what man Wang Zemo is.
The thought of him around his wife made his blood simmer with an anger he had long since grown accustomed to, but it still burned in his veins like acid. The man killed his father, with ruthlessness, after he showed him mercy. Taking his daughter as wife was supposed to be a warning, a collateral, but Yoongi did not exactly plan to fall in love with her. It was just a mere attraction to her beauty that later developed into something greater. Lust. Love. Devotion.
She has changed, her mother said, her voice soft, but Yoongi knew that Dove's reaction to her sister's transformation wasn't one of simple observation. The resentment was thicker than that.
He was lying to himself that it was not his decision but Taehyung's. But he is the leader, his words were supposed to be the last, yet he did not stop that procedure nor forbid it completely. He may have power over thousands of people, but he promised himself that his brothers will be treated as equals. To some degree. Of course.
He never wanted this for Dove, he did not want her to sit tight and pretty, laugh at his business' partners absolutely unhumorous jokes and pose at the perfect dutiful wife. No. He just wanted her to love him, to be her person to rely on and rule their empire.
Dove muttered in agreement, her voice devoid of any real emotion, and Yoongi couldn't help but smirk. She had grown accustomed to masking her true feelings, the way she played the role of the dutiful wife so flawlessly. But he saw it. He saw the cracks, the way she desperately tried to stifle everything that burned beneath the surface. The way she wished for freedom, but was too fearful to take it. Fear is good. Fear is natural.
The exchange between Dove and her mother only further confirmed Yoongi's suspicions. Dove had always been a delicate balance between rebellion and resignation. And yet, somehow, he was the one to hold her down—by the throat, by the heart, by whatever means necessary.
Should he confront her?
No reason to do so. He still has a few tricks in his sleeve to keep her grounded.
"I'm trying, Ma," Dove said quietly, as if speaking those words to herself, more than to her mother. And that's all Yoongi needed to know. She is trying. That's what was enough for now.
Yoongi was certain of one thing: she wasn't going anywhere. Not unless he allowed it.
"How do you feel today?" he stepped closer.
"What would you fancy for your birthday?" she asked once they settled the reason why he took her to the jewellery showroom, her voice careful, almost resigned. She had given him a chance, just a small opening. And Yoongi, as always, took it.
He didn't need to think long. He already knew what he wanted. His gaze softened as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, his hand slipping to her belly. She tensed beneath his touch, and he felt it—a slight tremor, like a warning. He pulled back slightly, studying her face, trying to gauge her reaction.
His smile faded, and he cast a quick glance around the store, the weight of the room's gaze suddenly feeling too heavy. He didn't want to press her, not here. Not with the whole world watching. But she had to know, had to understand that what he wanted was real. He wasn't playing a game. This was his desire, his hope, for them.
"You know," he began, his voice quiet but firm, "I've been thinking... about something we already talked about—"
Her eyes widened, and for the briefest of moments, Yoongi saw the conflict flash in them. She was hesitant, unsure of what he was about to say. He could sense her pulse quicken, the tension in her body responding to the words hanging in the air.
"Not here—" she interrupted, her voice low and urgent. "Let us not talk about it here, okay?"
His gaze hardened slightly, but only for a moment. He could see the resistance in her, feel the walls rising again. She wasn't ready. He understood. But that didn't mean he had to stop wanting it, or stop hoping.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, a note of genuine regret in his tone. "This is not the right place, but I want you to know it's on my mind, Dove."
For a split second, he thought he saw something shift in her, something more than just her usual reluctance. But then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by the calm facade she wore so well.
He was a total douche-bag to request this, but he just naively thought that it will give her new perspective on life with him.
A life. With him.
The discussions around the table were a blur, fading to white noise as his attention remained solely on her. The weight of the unspoken between them was heavy. Had she heard him? Had she thought about what he'd said? Was she shutting him out again?
His thoughts were interrupted when Hoseok, usually the cheerful one, leaned back in his chair, his face uncharacteristically hard. "I've been tracking down leads on who's responsible for the raids. We've collected some old debts and sent a clear message."
"Good," Yoongi murmured. "We cannot afford any more breaches."
But even his own words couldn't pierce the fog that had settled over him. His hand slipped beneath the table, seeking hers. Her fingers were cold, but the warmth of his touch didn't quite reach her. She barely acknowledged it, her attention fixed elsewhere, her silence louder than ever.
"Eat up, Dove," he said softly, his voice a mixture of command and concern. She glanced at him for a moment, but only a moment, before returning to her food. It wasn't enough. The worry didn't ease. He reached for a piece of grilled fish and placed it on her plate. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Seokjin's voice continued to drone on in the background, reporting on the state of the sanatorium, but Yoongi was barely listening. His eyes stayed trained on Dove, watching for any sign that she might open up, any indication that she was processing the weight of their last conversation. But she stayed quiet. Always quiet when it mattered.
"You've been working more hours than Jin-hyung at the hospital, Buin," Hoseok teased, trying to lighten the mood, but it didn't reach her. Yoongi could see the slight tightening of her jaw, the subtle tension in her posture. She was running herself ragged, and no amount of playful banter was going to fix that.
"I love working," Dove responded quickly, but it was too quick. Too rehearsed. The cracks in her facade were widening, and Yoongi didn't like it. He didn't like how she tried to hide behind her words, how she tried to pretend she wasn't breaking. He was not able to concentrate on anything else but her. He only ever heard her.
"Shut up, you need me, Dr. Kim," Dove shot back playfully, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. It was another act, another mask to hide the exhaustion that was etched into her features.
But Yoongi saw it all—the way she deflected, the way she kept pushing herself when she could barely keep her eyes open. He wanted to tell her to stop, to take a breath, but his words would fall on deaf ears. She wouldn't listen. She never did.
"Eat up, Dove. No more arguments," Yoongi said firmly, but there was a softness to his voice as he gave her another look, a look that he hoped would reach her. She could be strong, but not like this. Not when she broke in front of him and worked hard to put the pieces back together for so long.
Yoongi had spent the better part of the morning at the distilleries, a rather new primary focus on this part of their business.
His mind had been preoccupied with the business at hand, nothing out of the ordinary, but even with the calm, his thoughts kept circling back to Dove. She was strong, as always, and it wasn't unusual for her to retreat into herself when things got complicated.
When the message arrived, he unfurled the note quickly, his gaze flicking over the words. His brows furrowed as he read it again, then again. It was a brief message, but it carried weight—too much weight for him to ignore.
"Lǎodà Wang has requested an audience with Min Buin. She has agreed."
He had heard her voice earlier when the conversation with Xiaoli had unfolded, and a sharp edge had crept into her tone. She had been hiding something, and Yoongi knew it. Despite the occasional glimpse of peace between them, the air between them had become heavier, like a storm just waiting to break. The sound of the door opening cut through his reverie, and Taehyung stepped in. His face was set, his usual composed demeanour barely concealing the tension beneath the surface.
He left her with a promise to be back by dinner time and he was willing to uphold his promise.
Yoongi's heart dropped. He had no idea she had made such a decision. No clue that she was even considering it, let alone accepting it. His mind raced with questions, confusion clouding his thoughts. The fact that her father had made this request didn't sit well with him, and the fact that Dove had agreed to meet with him alone only made his concern grow.
The distillery, the quiet, the calm—it all faded into the background as his instincts kicked in. He had underestimated the situation. Dove had always been someone who kept things close to her chest, but this… This was different. Her father's request wasn't a mere formality, and Yoongi knew that whatever was about to happen would alter things in ways they weren't prepared for.
Without another thought, Yoongi's hand gripped his suit jacket, aggressively rushed his hand through his long locks, and quickly left the distillery. His only priority now was getting to her.
The drive back to the hotel was a blur. His mind reeled as he thought of all the things that could go wrong, the hidden threats lurking beneath every interaction with her family. He should have been there, he should've known, but Dove had kept this from him—and that alone spoke volumes.
"You're late," Taehyung said, though his voice lacked the usual humour. "She's already inside of your office, with him."
Yoongi's jaw tightened. "Alone?"
"Yeah," Taehyung replied, crossing his arms. "She did not want anyone with her. I tried to talk to her, but she insisted it was something she had to do."
His leg kicked the nearby chair out of frustration and wouldn't it be for Taehyung's hand on his chest that stopped him from barging into his office to pull her out of that untrustworthy man's presence before he would kill him, he would be doing that just now.
"Relax,—" his younger brother said.
"—Jungkook is right outside of the door ready to step in if anything. She's not defenceless." Not if he could help it. That wasn't good enough. Yoongi didn't trust Wang Zemo. He didn't trust the words the man would try to weave into Dove's mind, the seeds of doubt he might plant. She was strong, but she was also desperate, and desperation made people reckless.
"Hyung, you have to fucking trust her." Hoseok's voice echoed from the other side of the hall but didn't reach Kkangpae's ears when he was already in motion, his mind spun, his thoughts ricocheting off each moment like a series of explosions he couldn't quite contain.
Yoongi forcefully opened the door to his office and stood in the doorway, his presence dominating the room even before he fully stepped inside.
Dove, standing so composed as her father's life ebbed away, was the focal point. She didn't flinch, didn't break. That was the thing that struck Yoongi the most. He had known Dove long enough to understand that her calmness was rarely a sign of strength; it was a form of control. Her control. The kind of control he'd both admired and feared. But this… this was something else. She wasn't just manipulating the situation. She was owning it.
A smirk flickered at the edge of his lips but was gone before it could settle into anything more than a fleeting thought. He didn't need to acknowledge it. He had already figured out the game she was playing. She had planned this. Every detail, every move. His chest tightened slightly, an uncomfortable mixture of pride and an underlying dread that twisted beneath his ribs.
Yoongi didn't know whether to feel impressed by her cunning or… disturbed by it. Now, why so? He, himself, had done far worse things in his life to now judge her decisions.
Was it that she had inherited her father's cruelty, or had she simply learned to survive by any means necessary?
"Are you alright, Dove?" The question slipped from his lips, though the answer seemed obvious. Dove was fine. Perhaps too fine. It both fascinated and unnerved him.
Her response came with the same unnerving calmness. "I am good," she said, her voice steady, "but he is not."
Did she do this for him? Did she kill him because of what her father had done to them both? Or was this something deeper, more personal? The thought gnawed at him, but the answer wasn't important. What mattered was that Dove had done it. Alone.
"Did you poison him?" Jungkook's voice echoed behind him. Dove turned her gaze to Jungkook, a faint smile playing on her lips, but Yoongi's gaze always remained on her. Of course, it was poison, how else would she be able to kill him?
"No,—" she said softly to Yoongi's surprise, "I just made him think I did," he raised an eyebrow. No poison. Just the idea of it. Who his wife has become to know how to manipulate the mind?
He had once thought her fascination with herbs, with the delicate art of brewing teas and tending to the sanctuary's garden, was just that—a fascination. Yoongi wanted to think that her own expertise in herbs was purely recreational. Something she is passionate about and he told himself a long time ago, he will not forbid her of such small joys. The garden never looked better back in the sanctuary and his health just might have improved with all the tea they drank together. Something that gave her solace in the world he had dragged her into, apart from working in the sanatorium with Seokjin.
And yet, the revelation didn't bring him fear. If anything, it deepened his admiration. He gave her a smile. The kind that told Yoongi she had planned this moment down to the very breath her father took before his heart gave out.
Just who have you become, Dove? The thought curled through his mind, unspoken yet weighty in its presence. She had done it without lifting a finger. Without blood staining her hands.
"You used his own mind against him."
"I didn't expect you to be this calm," Yoongi muttered, the words coming from somewhere deep, like a question he hadn't been prepared to ask. Yoongi had spent his life perfecting the art of control, of knowing every move before it was made. But as he stood there, watching Dove as she calmly accepted the weight of what she had done, he felt something shift. He had thought she was his queen—his equal, perhaps even his softer half. But now, he wondered if he had underestimated her. If she had surpassed even him.
Dove's response was measured. "I buried him a long time ago."
There it was—the truth that had always been there, buried under layers of her unspoken pain.
"So, this… this wasn't part of any plan?" His words sounded more like a question than an accusation, and Yoongi could almost feel the weight of confusion in the room.
Yoongi's gaze lingered on Dove for a moment longer, studying her as if searching for some flicker of emotion she wasn't allowed to surface. But there was nothing. Just the cold, calculating composure that had become second nature to her.
She wasn't just surviving.
She was winning.
And the strangest part?
Yoongi had never been more in love. This is what he waited for. She, the queen, by his side, conquering both of their world
"No," he said, his voice low, final. "It was not the plan."
"That was way better than what you planned, Yoongi-hyung."
He almost sneered. Was it, though? Or was it simply different? Unexpected.
Yoongi had always known Dove's father was a problem. A parasite embedded deep in their world, a man who would never be satisfied until he had clawed his way into a position of power, his position that was never meant for him. He had always intended to rid himself of that burden, to make an example of him in a way that would be remembered—a clean kill, something efficient and untraceable. He did not annihilate the whole Yamamoto clan, to yield to Wangs or Luens whose knowledge of Wang Zemo's death was rather quick.
Perhaps an orchestrated car crash or an unexpected overdose—any means to make the death quiet, unremarkable. On that, he agreed with his wife. There is no reason to shout to the other lesser clans that he had eliminated Wang Zemo in cold blood. Tortured him for his seat and influence in China's territories, he already had partial access due to their marriage. Of course, everybody expected Yoongi to want more and more power until there's none to give. No one to conquer.
The silence they will keep to hold when it comes to Wang Zemo's death will serve as a better example. Just how easily and quickly they can get rid of everyone who will not bow to their will. Not his. Their.
She had let him crumble beneath his own mind, let his paranoia and fear consume him until he collapsed under its weight. No poison, no blade, no evidence—just the idea of it. She had let him believe he was dying until he made it a reality himself.
That was power.
She was his power. And he was right to believe in her, at least in that part.
He should have been furious that she had taken matters into her own hands. He should have been livid that she had played the game without consulting him. But he has his own secrets he did not indulge her in. Thus, it is only fair she gets to keep hers. And yet, as he sat there, the faintest flicker of admiration coiled in his chest. She had been watching, learning, absorbing the very tactics he would have used.
Yoongi had once thought he had a clear view of Dove, a solid understanding of who she was. She was soft, but not weak. Intelligent, but not ruthless. A survivor, not a predator.
And yet, here she was, proving him wrong in ways he could never have imagined.
Hoseok's voice pulled him back to the present.
"If you would have been in the room when he attempted to drag her out of here by her hair, you would understand the hatred she felt towards that sick psychopath."
The words sent a slow-burning fury through Yoongi's veins. He had known Dove's father was cruel, had suspected the depths of his depravity, but to hear it spoken so plainly…
Guilt twisted in his gut.
We should have done something sooner.
And yet, Dove had beaten them to it. Was Dove truly as composed as she seemed, or had she simply learned how to wear a mask as well as the rest of them?
"She took control, and she knows that."
The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
And that was what unnerved him the most. Dove had been given a taste of control—real control. She had orchestrated an outcome no one had foreseen, taken fate into her own hands and bent it to her will.
Could he trust that she would not wield that power against him?
"Do you still not trust her, Hyung?" Hoseok's voice was calm, but there was something in his tone that made Yoongi pause.
His fingers tapped against the wood again, an unspoken hesitation.
"I trust her," he admitted. "But all the previous experience makes me think that she sees this as her opportunity to do something bigger."
And wasn't that the true fear gnawing at him? That Dove had not simply acted out of necessity or revenge, but that she had been planning something all along? That this was merely the first move in a much larger game?
"She took down her own father, for God's sake." Hoseok's voice was sharp, cutting through the growing tension. "She is devoted to you."
Yoongi held his gaze, searching for something—an assurance, perhaps, that this wasn't all slipping through his fingers.
"That I am starting to believe she finally is, sure," he said slowly, his words measured. "But I get Namjoon's suspicions of her. She did not attempt to run for quite some time, as if she is plotting something—"
Taehyung's voice cut in, smooth and deliberate. "Maybe she is playing us all."
Yoongi exhaled sharply, the suggestion irritating him more than he cared to admit.
"Playing us all?" he repeated, voice low, mocking. "You think Y/N is playing us?"
"She has been too calm about all this, Yoongi. Too composed for someone who just killed her father. You don't just do that without having something bigger planned."
Seokjin nodded in agreement, his gaze steady. "He is right, Yoongi. She has always been emotional, and driven by her heart. But this—" He shook his head. "It's different."
Hoseok leaned forward, his expression unyielding. "She had a choice. She could have walked away or stayed neutral, but instead, she chose to act. And what she did, Yoongi, was not just for herself. It was for all of us. For you."
Yoongi felt the weight of the words settle deep within him.
Did he doubt her loyalty?
No.
He doubted her intentions.
She had changed, and change was dangerous when it was unpredictable.
But Hoseok wasn't finished. "She is not running, Yoongi. She is not playing you. What is happening now is what happens when you have been given enough time to think."
Yoongi closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling slowly. His mind churned with possibilities, with uncertainties, with the raw truth of what had just unfolded.
For years, he had thought himself the one in control, the one shaping the world around him. But now, he wasn't sure.
Because for the first time, Dove had moved the pieces without him.
And that changed everything.
Damn, he wished that Hoseok was right.
The funeral was a quiet affair, far removed from the wails and theatrics Yoongi had seen when his father had died. The procession moved with an eerie calmness as if Wang Zemo's death was not a loss to be mourned but an inconvenience to be acknowledged.
Dove was far gone in her mind to capture all that was happening around her. Or maybe because Yoongi saw her gulping down the pills she had not touched for a while. According to Seokjin, she continued to use more natural ways of calming her mind than barbiturates.
Dove's mother stood at the forefront, her face unreadable beneath the veil of white mourning silk. She moved with grace, offering bows when required, whispering ritual prayers with all the reverence of someone reciting empty words. Yoongi observed her with a calculating gaze. She was not broken. Not devastated. Not the portrait of a grieving widow.
She was silent. Passive. And that disturbed him more than if she had wept.
When his own father had died, the streets had been lined with mourners. The lament of the women had filled the halls of the Min estate for days. The weight of loss had been suffocating. And yet, here, in this moment, there was nothing. No tears. No grief. Only the slow, methodical act of ceremony.
The Luen clan had arrived just before the rites began, their presence casting a long shadow over the proceedings. The eldest among them, Luen Hanyu, walked with the confidence of a man who had never once tasted defeat. His robes were immaculate, his every movement precise. When his eyes met Yoongi's, there was no hostility, but there was something else. A warning. A reminder that power shifted like the tides, and should the Mins falter, the Luens would not hesitate to claim what was left behind.
"Tragic," Luen Hanyu murmured as he stepped beside Yoongi, his voice smooth as silk. "A man dying in such a manner. And at such a critical time."
Yoongi turned his head slightly, offering nothing in return.
"Your wife," Luen continued, his tone turning thoughtful, "is quite the woman. To endure such a burden, to act so decisively… it is impressive."
Yoongi's fingers curled slightly at his sides, but he did not react otherwise. He knew what this was. A test. A probe. The Luens wanted to see how much control he still had. If he would falter. If Dove was truly devoted to the clan, if she answered to him.
"This is the second time you have expressed your interest in my wife Hanyu, do I need to remind you of the consequences of such words?"
Yoongi's voice was calm, almost dangerously so, as he fixed his gaze on Luen Hanyu. His silence, though, carried the weight of years of power and the unspoken promise of retribution for those who dared to challenge or even insinuate anything against his claim his father fought hard for him to have.
"Well, I could argue that I have expressed my interest even back then when you swept her before Yamamotos could, but that would be an unfair reflection of the true nature of our conversation, wouldn't it?" Luen Hanyu's voice remained smooth, his eyes never wavering from Yoongi's.
"I only admire your choice, Yoongi. A woman like her—resilient, intelligent… she would have been a valuable ally, asset if you wish, in any other circumstances." Luen Hanyu smiled, a thin, calculated curve of his lips that did not reach his eyes. Yoongi's gaze narrowed, his expression hardening as his lips pressed into a thin line. The underlying message in Hanyu's words was unmistakable—there was a power struggle, one that had existed long before he had ever claimed Dove as his. The Luens were not the type to give up their pursuit so easily.
"It would be a shame to see that strength misdirected, wouldn't you agree?"
The ceremony around them continued as if unaffected by their exchange, but Yoongi could feel every second of it. He knew Hanyu was playing a dangerous game, pushing boundaries, testing limits—but Yoongi would not be moved so easily. Not when it came to Dove.
"I didn't 'sweep' her, Hanyu," Yoongi replied, his voice low, but his tone carrying an unmistakable edge. "Y/N chose me. And in this life, that's all that matters."
"And I don't take kindly to threats disguised as compliments," Yoongi replied, his voice a low, threatening murmur. "Just as I don't take kindly to anyone forgetting their place."
For a moment, there was a flicker of something—perhaps a recognition of the danger in Yoongi's tone—but it was gone just as quickly. Luen Hanyu only offered a nod, as if conceding the point without actually backing down.
"Of course," he said, his voice once again smooth and composed. "I apologize if I overstepped, Yoongi. I meant no offence."
"Just remember, Kkangpae Min, a man who does not respect what is his will eventually lose it."
Luen Hanyu's smile remained, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. The challenge was not lost on him, and while he may have been the one to probe first, Yoongi was now the one making the rules.
"Perhaps," Yoongi shrugged, "but I'm not that kind of a man."
Yoongi watched her, his gaze steady as she stood before him, her posture rigid, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The way her body trembled ever so slightly betrayed the strength she was trying so desperately to maintain. She had waited for this moment, carefully crafted her request, but beneath it all, Yoongi knew it wasn't just about her mother and Bo Cheng. It was about her.
Her words hit him like a dull thud— "To live a life I could not."
His mind began to race, sifting through the implications of her request. Let her mother and Bo Cheng go? Let them live their lives away from the power struggles, away from the suffocating grip he had on everything around him? It was almost laughable. Did she really think she could make such a request and simply walk away unscathed? This is not the same case as Diayu. He owed her then. Now, he can ask for something in return. She was playing a dangerous game, and Yoongi knew it. She had to.
Yoongi's thoughts sharpened as the weight of her request settled deeper in his mind. Let them go to Maryland. This wouldn't go unnoticed. Moving so many clan members to the states could raise suspicion, the move across the world to Diayu would be a declaration. A statement. Clans could suspect he is preparing for another civil war, that he is moving his members to another continent, or trying to take over the underworld there.
She was asking for something he couldn't simply give away.
The more he thought about it, the more it felt like a game she had learnt to play. A subtle push and pull, a challenge to see if he would allow her to make such a request without consequences. And she thought herself clever—thinking she could pull a string without realizing that every thread in this marriage had already been tied, knotted, and woven by him. There was no escape.
"You are trying to make sure I will not use them as a bargain against you, am I right?"
Her family's safety was the bait in her eyes. The lure. But it wasn't about them. It was about her, testing his resolve. Testing his grip on her. Testing how much he cared.
Letting them go would make him seem less in control, less omnipotent. And that couldn't happen. The moment he let her think she could escape was the moment he lost.
"I trust you enough to keep them safe for me."
But there was more. He leaned back slightly, looking at her as though trying to see past the calm exterior she wore. Her mother and Bo Cheng—he could keep them safe, of course, but the true power here wasn't in her family's protection.
"But you still fear that I will take it all from you," he murmured, his voice so soft it felt like a whisper meant only for her. "That I will use them to make you obey—" because he indeed will.
It was always her. Not her mother, brother, or even sister, her. Wang Zemo is dead, and she and Yoongi are officially his heirs. Bo Cheng, though, would have a stronger claim on his father's leadership if he wouldn't be young. That always put Dove before him, but as a woman, she would not be able to inherit anything. As a wedded woman, now, that is a different story in this world.
"I could use them against you. I could take them away, pull the strings again, make you bend to my will."
His thumb brushed across her skin, feeling the softness. Yoongi had never needed to explain this to her. She had to know he had eyes everywhere, that there was nowhere she could go that his reach wouldn't follow. She was his. But what she had asked for, what she was asking for now, made him feel… distant. As if she were slipping through his fingers, slowly but surely. As if she was building herself a base ground in the States before she would attempt to flee. He did not forget her little request to visit her cousin in the States. To move her mother and brother there - it would give her more reasons to visit states, and he could not keep denying her each time.
"Here is the thing, Y/N," Yoongi continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous murmur. "I needn't to. I've already got you, have I not?"
They could argue all night and she could think that by keeping her family here is what Yoongi needs to bargain with her. Here he thought they were past his negotiation stage. So naturally, he wanted to put an end to this. She had underestimated him, but that was fine. He would let her think she could bargain. He would let her think she could request something as trivial as this. But she had to understand. She will not leave. And she knew better than to ask him about it.
"Yoongi, I promise that this is the last thing I am asking you for—"
"Answer me, Dove."
Her heart might be pushing her to ask for more, but he would show her—without lifting a finger—just how much of her life was already entwined with his. Yoongi had already won. He had always won. And now, it was time to remind her of that. To remind her, that despite him being proud of how far they come, he cannot let her fly as high without wanting something in return.
"I just need this one thing," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please."
"Answer me first."
His gaze bore into her. God he wanted to kiss her senseless. He wanted to take her in his arms and bed her right now to make her forget every single thing, bury himself deep in her enough to make her scream his name. Make her say that she is his, over and over again.
"Yoongi, please," her hands trembling as she cupped his face.
The more he thought about why she was asking this, the more he understood. She wasn't asking for her family's safety—she was asking for her own. She was begging him not to destroy what little peace she had left.
"I will do anything—"
And as much as he wanted to bend her to his will, to force her to understand the depths of her dependence on him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing her. Slowly, imperceptibly, but he was losing her all the same.
Yoongi's breath caught as their lips met, a softness at first—a quiet testing of the waters. But as soon as she responded, her lips parting beneath his, something inside him surged. The kiss deepened, instinct taking over as their tongues collided, each of them hungry to claim what the other was offering. His heart thudded in his chest, erratic and hard, in perfect sync with hers, as if their souls had been tethered by this moment.
He could not pull her close enough. Yoongi's hands slid around her waist, pressing her against him, feeling the warmth of her body seep into his own. Her trembling hands cupped his face, her touch so soft, so tentative. But the intensity was building between them, an electric charge that had been building long before this kiss. Her fingers brushed against his skin, and he could feel the pulse in her fingertips, in the delicate tremor of her touch.
She is here, he thought briefly, with me, still.
As much as he craved her—wanted her to stay, to remain his forever—he was acutely aware of the delicate fragility of this. Of her. His hands tightened just slightly, pulling her closer still, as if he could erase the distance between them, not just in body, but in everything. He wanted to breathe her in, taste her, consume every inch of her, and yet... a part of him stayed still, careful, as though afraid that if he rushed too much, she'd slip through his fingers.
Finally, the kiss slowed, both of them gasping for breath, their lips parting with reluctance. Yoongi's forehead rested against hers, his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath he took. The room felt impossibly small, as though the world outside had ceased to exist.
"We did not have a chance to return to what we talked about at the jeweler's," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her skin. His eyes searched hers, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face—desire, possession, a touch of something darker, something that curled around his heart like a vice.
He felt the way her body tensed against him, her hands trembling where they rested against his chest. Good. She knew what he meant. She knew exactly where this was going. Yoongi could sense it.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Yoongi let the silence stretch for a beat, drinking in the apprehension flickering in her gaze. He wanted her to feel it—the inevitability of this moment. Her pulse quickened. He could feel it beneath his fingertips, that nervous energy coiling inside her. It only made his resolve sharper.
"I know what you want," she admitted, but there was hesitation, resistance, something fragile in the way she tried to hold herself together. "But it is not the same thing. I just... I need this one thing, Yoongi. This one thing, and then—"
"No." His fingers dug into her skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her that she was his. That she had always been his.
"You do not understand, Y/N. We are far beyond that now. You are not going to walk away this time." His lips brushed against her ear, his voice a dark promise.
"You said you would do anything. Anything, dove." He felt the way she shuddered at the name, the way her body betrayed her even as she tried to fight him. "You want them safe and away? I will do so—"
He listened to her sharp exhale, waiting until she braced herself for what he's going to ask.
"What do you want from me, Yoongi?"
There it was. The question. The inevitable plea.
His gaze locked onto hers, dark and unreadable, and for the first time that night, his voice softened, not in gentleness, but in finality.
"A child."
He watched the way her breath hitched, the way denial curled at the edge of her lips before she swallowed it down. She had always chosen to ignore this part of him, to pretend she did not see the way his mind worked, the way his love manifested into something deeper, something irreversible.
But there was no pretending anymore.
She belonged to him. And soon, she would carry proof of it.
Yoongi watched the way her lips parted, the way her breath stilled as his words settled between them. A child. His child.
The idea had taken root in his mind long before this moment, long before she ever had the chance to resist it. It was the only thing that could truly bind her to him—an unbreakable tether, something no amount of running or begging could undo. She would not leave a child, now, would she?
She would not jeopardise a little unborn baby in her womb by running away from him. Would she?
Yoongi knew this blow is far the meanest he ever did, but he could not help himself. He was brought into this world the same way. Everyone around would just say that history repeats itself, and that's just how Mins have their heirs. By a bargain. But he doesn't know what he would do if she ever managed to escape, he doesn't even want to think about that as a probable possibility. However strong and loud is Hoseok's defence of her, he does not know her like Yoongi.
Dove shook her head slightly, her hands pressing against his chest as if to push him away. A useless attempt. She should have known by now—Yoongi did not let go.
"Yoongi..." her voice was a whisper, barely there, but he caught the tremble in it, the way she was already unravelling. He exhaled slowly, his forehead still resting against hers, his fingers smoothing over her sides, a careful caress laced with quiet warning.
"You are mine," he murmured. "You have always been mine. And now, you will carry something that proves it."
She tensed beneath his touch, but he wasn't concerned. Resistance was expected. He had learned her patterns, memorized the way she struggled before she inevitably yielded. She would fight, she always did, but the outcome would be the same.
"But this is something I cannot do in an hour, Yoongi!"
Yoongi let out a slow exhale, his fingers tightening against her waist as the desperation in her voice struck something primal in him. She was grasping at the last shreds of control, trying to reason with him as if logic had ever mattered between them.
He tilted his head, watching her, absorbing every flicker of resistance in her eyes. It was almost endearing, the way she still believed she had a say in this.
His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smirk. "No," he agreed, his voice quiet, deliberate. "You cannot."
"Then it is a good thing you are not leaving anywhere, right, love?"
A soft, broken sound escaped her lips—something between a sigh and a plea. She was trembling now, fingers pressing into his arms as if trying to ground herself, but there was nowhere left to run. No doors left to close. No excuses left to make.
His fingers traced slow, possessive circles against her stomach, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
"You want me to trust you?" he asked, tilting his head, his dark eyes boring into hers, searching, demanding.
Still, she swallowed hard, forcing her voice through the tightness in her throat. "I—I do."
Yoongi hummed, his fingers drifting to her chin, tilting her face up to him. He studied her, his expression unreadable, but there was something almost contemplative in the way he regarded her.
"Then prove it," he murmured. "Let me have this."
"You ask me to believe in you, to be patient, to let you go when you beg for space." His voice was calm, but the quiet intensity beneath it was suffocating. "But when have you ever trusted me in return?"
Yoongi leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "I will take care of you," he whispered. "And you will give me what I want."
His arms tightened around her, as if sealing her fate.
She was his.
And soon, she would have no choice but to stay.
"Until then, they remain here."
DOVE
september 1939
The early morning mist lingered over the Han River, wrapping the outskirts of Seoul in a shroud of uncertainty. She remembers that morning of the first September when she woke up next to him just like any other morning.
Y/N would love to say that she has a concrete and well calculated plan. But she does not. Her thoughts are still as messy as they were before and the only thing she can do now is lay a foundation and wait for the right time. Not like the last time turned out to be unsuccessful.
She moved silently, her heart pounding in her chest. The guards were supposedly at their most complacent during the late hours, and she had overheard snippets of their shifts. By overhearing she means, stealing Jungkook's guarding schedule he creates for his soldiers that remain at the sanctuary or at Chosen.
She had been preparing for this moment for weeks, but as she crept through the darkened corridors, her mind was a whirlwind of doubt and second-guessing. It's too soon. It has been only a few months at that point and she did not think that was enough proof to Yoongi that she has left the thoughts of fleeing behind.
She knew the way out of the main house and her broken mind had tried the hardest to puzzle the pieces and create a full picture of where the tunnel was. At first she thought that escaping whilst they were in Chosen would be easier, but that has become an impossible task when Yoongi, not doubled but tripled the safeguarding of the hotel, after the raids her father orchestrated.
Her plan was not near perfect if she meant to rely on her hunch, but the circumstances of what she had discovered while working with Seokjin led her to be more impatient than ever. She needed to calm down, but could not.
Just as she opened the backdoor that would lead her to the garden with a crack, she stumbled in the dark, losing her balance. She collided with a solid figure, and a strong hand gripped her arm, steadying her. At the very moment she realised that her plan failed even before it had the chance to begin.
"You're sleepwalking again, darling?" Hoseok's voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable firmness in his grip and a knowing glint in his eyes. The faint glow of a cigarette in his other hand illuminated his face, revealing a mixture of concern and suspicion.
Her heart stopped, her mind racing to fabricate a lie. With a deep breath, she straightened, masking her panic with a casual smile. "Hoseok-ssi, you scared me," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. Hoseok's eyes narrowed, his grip on her arm firm.
When did he get back and why is he staying at the main house? The core of the sanctuary was always a big hanok mansion, which was mostly occupied by her and Yoongi. Only on occasion, the other members stayed as they had their own residences within the sanctuary.
"When did you get back from the border?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light, as though she hadn't been caught in the act of sneaking out. She couldn't shake the feeling of unease creeping up her spine; Hoseok was perceptive, and he would sense something was off.
"Just a few hours ago," he replied, tilting his head slightly, as if studying her. "Yoongi asked me to stay here for a bit. You know how he worries."
"What about the others?" she probed, her voice wavering slightly despite her efforts to appear calm.
"They'll be here tomorrow. I wanted to see how you were, heard you were unwell," Hoseok said, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing out a stream of smoke. His gaze lingered on her, and she felt exposed, as though he could see through the layers of deception she had carefully constructed.
"We did not see each other for a while, didn't we?" she said, forcing a lightness into her voice, trying to redirect the conversation. She felt the urge to fill the silence, to smooth over the cracks that were forming between them.
"Yeah, it's been a while," Hoseok agreed, his expression softening slightly, though the intensity of his gaze remained. "I've missed you, little one."
The sincerity in his words tugged at her heart, a flicker of warmth amidst the tension. Hoseok was the first brother her heart allowed to take in. Whether it was because she always felt like she owes him a big one after she smashed him with a brick when they first met or because he was the one to save her from Chen's disgusting hands. But they clicked and even though their friendship was not ideal, taking into consideration the circumstances of it happening, Yoongi in particular was happy that she developed positive feelings at least towards one of his brothers. He for sure knew she hated Namjoon's guts with her whole being.
"I'm glad you're back home." She said, her voice barely above a whisper. There was an ache in her chest, a conflicting sense of loyalty to her plans and gratitude towards Hoseok, who has become a light in her darkest moments. The way the word "home" laid out on her tongue became less foreign each time, but she could not get rid of it fully.
He took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling between them like a protective barrier that she desperately wished would shield her from the truth of her situation. He raised one of his eyebrows and she knew what that meant immediately.
"I'm fine, really," she insisted, forcing a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Just… a little overwhelmed, I guess. This place can be suffocating at times."
"I get that," Hoseok replied, a knowing look crossing his face. "Once we finalise the new deal with Luens, he may consider stationing you outside of the sanctuary too." She could feel the weight of expectation pressing down on her, not just from Yoongi but from the entire family. The urge to confide in him battled with the instinct to keep her plans shrouded in secrecy. She wanted to tell someone. She needed to tell someone.
"You should get some sleep, Y/N. We can catch up at the breakfast table, darling."
She forced herself to nod, though her mind was still racing, caught in the whirlwind of her thoughts. As she turned to leave, Hoseok's hand brushed against her wrist, a gentle reminder of the connection they shared.
"Y/N," he called softly, halting her steps. "You really can talk to me, you know. If something' is bothering you—"
"I know, Hoseok," she interrupted, unable to bear the thought of voicing her fears. "I'll be fine. I just… need to sort my thoughts through." She smiled softly, turning her back at him.
"I believe in you, darling." He whispered for himself. A little promise, a mantra if you insist. He hoped and prayed that the young Buin will find her place here - among them.
Lying down, she stared at the ceiling, the moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting soft shadows across her room. She might have thought she fooled Hoseok, the young leader knew her better than any of his brothers.
The rustle of the sheets echoed in the silent room and a warm hand pulled her body closer to his. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to relax, to forget the weight of her plans and the turmoil brewing within her. He laid a tender kiss to her hair before speaking up with a hoarse sleepy voice.
"Good girl."
He knew back then that by giving her space it also meant letting her learn not to run. Block the urge to do so. He counted on the fact that she would attempt to leave, but he also counted on the fact that she won't be able to. Not in the sanctuary. He understood the delicate balance of her feelings, the internal war waging in her heart. Or he loved to believe so. But as if the almighty himself was aware, he bestowed another challenge upon her.
It felt like August went by rather quickly and the last moments of peace were left to be cherished, because September brought only despair. The village always wakes up slowly, but today is different. Neighbours huddle, not for gossip but out of fear.
Today's morning was unusually colder than the last one. Y/N awoke to the sound of hushed voices filtering through her window, the words barely discernible yet heavy with unease. She rose from her bed, her heart racing as she threw on a warmer hanfu, the fabric providing little warmth against the chill creeping into her bones. Something was off, and the air felt charged with unspoken tension.
Yoongi was already up, having his morning coffee when she entered the garden, informal clothing adored her physique. Something about their mornings was so domestic, as if they were doing this for years and years.
The air was filled with the rich aroma of coffee, mingling with the faint scent of blossoms from the nearby trees.
"Morning, beautiful" he greeted her with a soft smile, his eyes warm yet tinged with concern. "You're up early."
She slept a lot, now. She even ate well. Yoongi did not really demand any sort of official work as the Buin of this clan when she did not ask for it herself, nor she worked outside of the sanctuary for a while as the new deal with Luen's is to be still established and it is not safe for her to be in the open. She did not have the power in her to fight him on this. Not everything can be turned into a fight anyway.
He certainly did not question her when after all the months, she slept. She slept without waking up in the middle of the night, frantic, not realising where she is until he coddled her to his bare chest and held her tight.
"Couldn't sleep," she admitted, taking a seat across from him at the small wooden table they often used for breakfast. His brows furrowed but her shaking head reassured him that it was something more ordinary that kept her from sleeping.
"I kept hearing whispers outside. How come they are so talkative today." She remarked with confusion in her voice. The staff usually respect the early morning hours by being quiet, and when the master and mistress of the house both were ready to start the day, only then they talked among each other. It was a rule the former Kkangpae Min established, and even though Yoongi did not care, they continued to follow it.
He studied her for a moment, the furrow in his brow deepening.
"Did they wake you up?"
"Not exactly," she replied, brushing her hair back from her face. "I heard them while I was tossing and turning. It's just… different this morning. They sound worried."
Yoongi nodded, a flicker of unease crossing his features. He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze drifting toward the village beyond the garden. This is his home. Home where he grew up, and the home where his children will grow up one day.
"Did something happen that I don't know of, dear husband?" she asked, her tone light but her eyes searching his face for answers. He basked in the causality they managed to establish between them and the kisses he now stole without having to ask for them.
The young scarred Kkangpae dreamed of this point in their relationship and was selfish enough to not think twice about it. Which, after all, worked in her favour. Always.
Yoongi set his coffee cup down, the sound of porcelain against wood cutting through the tension in the air. "Not to my knowledge—"
"It does not sound good," she replied, unease gnawing at her. "I just don't have a good feeling,—" Just then, the sound of soft footsteps interrupted their moment. A young maid approached, her expression a mix of urgency and concern. She held a folded newspaper tightly in her hands, the edges slightly crumpled.
"Excuse me, Sangjanim, Buin," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I thought you might want to see this." She handed the newspaper to Yoongi, her eyes darting nervously between them.
Yoongi took the paper, his brow furrowing as he unfolded it. Y/N leaned closer, her heart pounding as she read the bold headlines together with him
GERMAN TROOPS INVADE POLAND. NAZIS BOMB WARSAW.
The air felt suddenly heavier, and the reality of the situation began to settle in.
"Thank you," Yoongi said to the maid, who nodded and quickly retreated, leaving the two of them alone again, the weight of the newspaper pressing heavily in the space between them.
Yoongi's expression hardened as he scanned the pages, his jaw tense. Yoongi's eyes darted across the page, taking in the gravity of the headlines. The world beyond their immediate concerns was changing rapidly, and the looming threat of war brought a new layer of urgency to his plans. He folded the newspaper and placed it on the table, turning his attention back to Y/N.
"We need to be prepared, supply-wise," Yoongi said, his voice steady but edged with a seriousness that hadn't been there for a while.
Y/N nodded, her expression mirroring his concern. "What do we do now?"
Yoongi reached across the table, taking her hand in his.
"This is not our war to fight in, Dove. We will be safe here."
But he has to leave the valley at some point. They will have to.
XIAOLI
That night, as she lay tangled in silk sheets, listening to the rhythmic rise and fall of Taehyung's breath beside her, as rare as it was now for them to sleep in one bed, in one house and together, a thought crept back in. She turned onto her side, watching the dim candlelight flicker against his profile.
"You're still awake?" His voice was low, thick with sleep.
Xiaoli hesitated. It felt silly, bringing it up again. But something about his earlier reaction had unsettled her. "The tea," she murmured. "It tastes like something familiar, but I can't place it."
Taehyung remained still for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. "You're thinking too much about it."
"Maybe." She paused, pressing her cheek against the pillow. "But you asked me to describe it twice."
His silence was answer enough. Y/N had been drinking it for months—every day without fail. It was strange, wasn't it? A habit that seemed more ritual than indulgence.
A slow tension coiled in her stomach.
"Do you think it's something bad?" she pressed.
His jaw tensed, the candlelight catching the sharp angles of his face. "I think," he said carefully, "Yoongi will deal with it as he seems fit."
Xiaoli frowned, he was not telling her something, the words sending a quiet dread curling down her spine as she recalled this morning in the heart of the valley with her older sister.
Xiaoli's gaze lingered on Y/N longer than it should have. It wasn't just curiosity—it was suspicion, sharp and probing.
"What is it, Xiaoli—"
"Nothing." Her sister shrugged and sighed. She could not voice the words her husband mentioned in fleeting when they enveloped each other in the warm evening full of moans and delightful touches.
The Kkangpae was impatient, she knew that much. The sooner it happens, the sooner their mother and brother will be away from yet another of the bloodshed Yoongi plans.
Xiaoli sighed again as she picked up the teacup from Y/N's tray, swirling the dark liquid before taking a hesitant sip. She wrinkled her nose immediately.
"Xiaoli,—" Y/N started again, attempting to demand to tell her what was going on but she interrupted her swiftly.
"This tastes awful," she muttered, setting it back down. "How do you drink this every day?"
Y/N forced a small smile. "You get used to it."
Xiaoli shook her head, still grimacing as she wiped her lips with a napkin. The bitterness lingered unpleasantly on her tongue, and the taste nagged at something in the back of her mind.
YOONGI
However painful the next phase of this woven tale is for you dear reader, bear with it.
Yoongi did not speak as he led her through the corridors of their home, his grip firm around her wrist. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of what had just transpired. When they reached his home office, he pushed the door open with unwanted force and she flinched.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. Yoongi stood in front of her, jaw tight, chest rising and falling with restrained breaths. His gaze flickered over her face, searching for something—defiance, regret, anything that would tell him where her mind was.
"You really thought that was a good idea?" His voice was low, dangerous. He was pissed.
"What do you mean?" she asked, trying to wriggle her wrist out of his hands. He could not believe Seokjin's words when he confirmed. He did not want to believe his words.
"How was your morning tea, beautiful?"
He saw her gulp down and almost could hear her heart hammering in her chest. His fingers having left behind the ghost of restraint on her wrist when she finally pulled herself away and Yoongi had let her step away just a little
"I don't follow," she lied, voice even. Yoongi let out a sharp breath through his nose, his head tilting ever so slightly.
He reached into his pocket and pulled something out—a small pouch, tied with twine. He tossed it onto the desk between them, and the moment it landed, a faint but familiar scent curled into the air.
Bitterness. Earthiness. The unmistakable aroma of the tea she had grown so used to. The very same plant that she was nurturing in the garden for another bash. The very same thing that poisoned her body, perchances even her mind when Yoongi deliberates too much.
"And?" her voice was suddenly laced with carefulness. If she was trying to not anger him even more, she was failing.
"Don't," he cut her off, shaking his head as he took a step closer. "Don't insult me by pretending you don't know exactly what this is." He pressed a finger against the pouch. "How long?"
Yoongi saw her take a careful step back. Lately, everything she has done was careful. And he was a fucking fool to believe she just opened her legs for him and make her cum around his cock over and over again until he found his release deep within her warm walls.
Fucking fool.
"How long?" he barked, the restraint in his voice finally cracking. He was analysing her face thoroughly. She clenched her jaw. Did she want to lie—buy herself time, weave a desperate excuse—but what good would that do? He already knew.
"Long." She admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Yoongi exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before gripping the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white. The room felt smaller, closing in on him with each passing second. His silence was worse than his anger.
The taste of betrayal was bitter on his tongue—bitter like that fucking tea.
Yoongi had always known she was stubborn. Always known she harboured resentment beneath that quiet obedience, but this? This was a different breed of betrayal. She had been planning this for months, lying to his face, letting him touch her, letting him fill her up, all while ensuring nothing would ever take root inside her.
He watched her now, pressed against the wall, her breath uneven but her chin held high. Still pretending she wasn't afraid of him. Still acting like she had the upper hand.
He could feel the rage curling in his stomach, something slow and venomous, something patient. The realization settled into his bones—she hadn't just been trying to avoid his child. She had been preparing for something far worse.
‘To live a life I could not'. She was going to leave him.
Yoongi exhaled sharply through his nose, flexing his fingers at his sides to keep from wrapping them around her throat. He wanted to shake the truth out of her, to break apart whatever delusions she had built inside her pretty little head.
Instead, he leaned in. Close enough to hear the unsteady rhythm of her breaths.
"When?" Venom. Pure venom.
Dove did not answer.
Yoongi's jaw tightened. He could see the gears turning in her head, her mind racing to find a way out, to weave a lie convincing enough to soothe him. But she had already miscalculated—she had underestimated just how deep his patience ran, how far he was willing to go to extract the truth.
"WHEN?!" he raised his voice, after such a long time. They were peaceful for a long time.
"When what?"
His fingers ghosted over her wrist before he caught it again, his grip firm but not bruising. Not yet.
Yoongi's eyes flared with an intensity that could burn through steel. The silence that followed his outburst was deafening, thick with tension as the air between them grew heavier. His hand was still pressed to the wall beside her head, but it was no longer just a barrier—it was a warning. A reminder of his control.
His voice dropped dangerously low, a near growl. "When were you planning to leave me?"
Dove's gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly, before she regained her composure, lips pressed tight. But her pulse, he could feel it—racing beneath her skin, betraying the calm she was trying to maintain. She was just as trapped as he was, but she was too proud to admit it. Always too proud until he breaks her apart, peace by peace, to make her bend the knee and obey.
"Answer me." His voice was smooth now, the patience in it almost cruel. "When, Y/N?"
Any endearment stripped. He wanted her to break again, just for a second, and wanted her to crack open and reveal the truth.
"I was not—" she pleaded.
"Do not fuck with me, Y/N."
And that made the rage simmer hotter, the anger deeper. It wasn't just the fact that she had lied to him, but betrayed him with her secrets. No, it was that she thought she could get away with it. That she could leave him, escape him, and he'd never know.
Dove's lips parted, but nothing came out. Yoongi could see the wheels turning in her mind—she was calculating, deciding whether to push back or give him what he wanted.
"When August met September." Yoongi's heart skipped a beat at her words. The sudden shift in her tone caught him off guard, and for the briefest moment, he was thrown into a state of disbelief. Even though he knew, he fucking knew that was an attempt to leave him in the dead of the night, a little participle of him clung onto the thought that she had returned to his embrace that night, out of love. That maybe just maybe, he only misunderstood and that Hoseok as Hoseok said, she was sleepwalking. That is the degree of his delusion.
"Right after we failed to strike a deal with Luens." He thought out loud.
"But I did not leave, Yoongi. There is no way for me to leave-"
Yoongi's heart clenched at her words, but it wasn't the reassurance he had hoped for. Her voice, steady and firm, held no trace of guilt—only a thin veneer of calm that irritated him more than it comforted him. She had already made her decision, and now, here she was, trying to convince him that it wasn't the way he thought.
She had been planning this from the beginning. From that first meeting, from the moment their paths crossed. Every touch, every kiss, every stolen moment had been nothing but a calculated manoeuvre in her grand escape plan. No. He refused to believe that. His fist collided with the wall right next to her head to keep himself at bay.
"You were planning to leave me. Now, you are going to tell me why." He gritted through his teeth. Dove opened her mouth, but the words died before they could reach her lips. She didn't know what to say. He could see the hesitation in her eyes, the internal battle playing out behind them. And he knew—he knew she was trying to think of a way to escape this moment, to manipulate the situation just like she always had.
Yoongi could see the internal war waging behind her eyes—her stubbornness fighting against the truth she was too afraid to admit.
"I did not plan to leave leave you, Yoongi," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but there was an edge to it—a subtle, yet distinct note of defiance. "I never wanted to leave them."
"Those early escape attempts were not as convincing, love."
"That was before they lived under your roof-" she started.
"-You know I would not leave them behind. You always counted on that."
Yoongi's grip on the wall tightened as her words hit him, the weight of them sinking into his chest. There was a vulnerability in her voice that he couldn't ignore, a fragility that made him want to tear apart the walls she had built between them.
"But you wanted to!" He shouted, hitting the wall behind her with his palms.
"Semantics, Yoongi, it does not matter anymore." Dove didn't move, didn't flinch, but her eyes flickered to the side, betraying the fear she tried so hard to suppress.
"Are you fucking serious right now, Dove?" But even as he tried to digest her words, the anger simmered beneath the surface, boiling over with a ferocity he couldn't fully control.
"Listen to me, Yoongi. It.does. not. matter. anymore."
Her hands slowly slid down to the small swell of her belly.
Yoongi's breath hitched as his fingers hovered just above the curve of her belly, a place he had never dared touch with such deliberate slowness. The tension between them was palpable—each word, each movement, each breath held an unspoken weight. His mind scrambled for meaning, the realization settling in like a heavy stone.
"You—" His voice faltered, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. His hand trembled slightly as he pulled it back, almost as if afraid to confirm the truth. Her little swollen belly…
"I'm not leaving, Yoongi."
"His Majesty the Emperor—" Namjoon's voice rose, growing more impatient, and they had just started.
"You mean his fucking minions—" Yoongi snapped, cutting him off, the bitterness clear in his voice.
Yoongi stood rigid, a storm brewing in his dark eyes, his jaw clenched tight. Dove, her hands resting protectively over her abdomen, while she sat on the antique sofa, stared back at him with a mix of confusion and frustration, unable to understand why he was being so unreasonable. As always.
"Yoongi, this isn't just about your ego now," Namjoon continued, his tone now edged with urgency. "This is about the future of all of us. We cannot sit idle. The fucking government needs to hear our position, and we need to make it clear that Luen is a threat to our motherland, that their continued existence is a danger to everything we've fought for."
Just like they did with the Yakuza. Granting them official pardon and a government covered assassination for the greater good of Imperial Japan. Fucking Japan.
"We have lost this fight once, Yoongi. They will move in on us, the government will turn a blind eye, and all our work will be for nothing." By work he means eliminating every possible threat to Yoongi's full reign over the criminal underworld.
Yoongi's gaze shifted to the others in the room. Seokjin, Hoseok, and even Jungkook, who had been quietly watching from the corner, now stood, their expressions unreadable, waiting for him to make a decision. Dove's eyes never left him, her hand still resting on her stomach, looking at her from afar, she was very much lost in her thoughts.
"Yeah, well, they had to just decide to have a chit chat in middle of fucking world war."
Korea was far from the European battlegrounds, but it was a matter of time and people were already conflicted. If this war turns out right, this republic may just gain its independence after all. The Japanese authorities were vigilant in monitoring any form of dissent or resistance to their rule, and any actions that could threaten Japanese control were crushed swiftly. They needed to be careful.
"They do not give a fuck whether we will slaughter each other. They want our arsenal and they will try to shut the shipments down." He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples, his thoughts a blur of frustration and anger. Japan increased militarization, even though the war started only forty two days ago. And that's exactly why they focused on the booze more. It was safer.
"I'm not just some fucking fool willing to risk everything we've built for a meeting with the government that doesn't give a damn about us or our plans. We are perfectly hidden here."
Namjoon's face tightened, and his hands balled into fists, but he held his ground.
"Since when are you the one to operate from the shadows, Hyung?" Yoongi's eyes flashed with anger at the jab, but he didn't rise to the bait. He could feel his grip tightening on his anger, but the storm was far from over. His jaw worked as he clenched it even tighter, his gaze never leaving Namjoon's.
"Since when did I need to operate out in the open, Namjoon?" Yoongi's voice was cold, his tone sharp as a blade. "The shadows are where we've thrived, where we've built this empire from. We don't need to be paraded in front of a bunch of government officials who'd stab us in the back the moment it suits them. We don't need their approval to survive."
Namjoon's patience was wearing thin, his usually calm demeanor cracking under the pressure.
"Aren't you going to say something to your husband?!" her gaze snapping toward Namjoon. The implication is clear. Yoongi's eyes immediately darkened, his jaw tightening even further. Her fingers curled tighter around her abdomen, as if to shield the growing life inside her from the tension that seemed to choke the room.
She shifted on the sofa, her hand still resting protectively over her abdomen, her voice steady though there was a trembling edge to it. "You're both making decisions as if there's no tomorrow," she said, her words directed at both of them.
Yoongi's anger was still a storm, but now it was buried under something deeper, something that shook him to his core. His gaze softened just enough to show the vulnerability he hadn't allowed anyone to see.
"I know why you do not wish to answer the summons, Yoongi, but we cannot hide—" she halted and seemed to collect her thoughts.
"The Japanese have never been kind to those they cannot control, Yoongi. You know that better than anyone."
Yoongi didn't answer right away, his thoughts racing. He did not want her to leave the sanctuary, but leaving her behind would only turn heads. . She met his gaze with a look that was both gentle and unyielding. Can he risk this? The fragile peace they have. His hands on the small swell of her belly each time they went to bed. Scratch that, each moment he could steal away was spent doting on her. Taking care of every single of her needs. She gave him hope for a life with her.
"I didn't build this to lose it, Dove, no. But the only way I know how to protect us right now is to keep the world from seeing us. If we step out into the light now-" His voice trailed off, and his gaze turned inward, dark and uncertain.
"Ah jesus fucking christ Yoongi, tell me what this newfound carefulness is really about." The doctor snapped, lifting the delicate porcelain cup of coffee to calm his nerves. But Yoongi wanted to keep that joy selfishly all to himself just a little bit longer.
"Hmm? You did not treat Jimin and Taehyung all the same, what's different now?" Seokjin hummed, encouraging Yoongi to speak up.
He was torn—torn between the fragile world he had built with her and the weight of the empire that demanded his attention, his loyalty. The thought of leaving her, or of sending her into danger, felt like an unbearable betrayal. Dove's steady gaze only amplified the pressure he felt on his chest. He wasn't sure anymore whether he was afraid of losing her or losing everything they had fought for.
"Yoongi?" Hoseok's voice echoed for the first time. Yoongi's gaze flickered over to Hoseok, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"It is very much different. Jimin runs the hotel, and Taehyung is my consigliere. I need them out," he says, his eyes darting between his men.
"That was not quite the question, Yoongi--" Seokjin interjected, his voice steady, but his expression tight with curiosity and Yoongi angrily grabbed his cup of coffee and gulped down the truth, just a little bit longer. If it wouldn't be for that, he would be smoking his, at least, fifth cigarette to calm his nerves.
"Jajangmyeon."
The youngest man in the room spouted out quickly and ten pairs of confused eyes flickered his way to the piano where he sat. The room fell into an awkward silence as Jungkook's sudden outburst caught everyone off guard. Yoongi furrowed his brows, his hand tightening around his cup.
"Jajangmyeon?" Yoongi echoed, his voice a mixture of confusion and disbelief.
"It's not time for lunch, Gguk," Namjoon interjected, his voice low but tinged with amusement, though his eyes remained sharp, watching Yoongi closely.
"This is fucking ridiculous." Hoseok's words were sharp, but there was a hint of warmth beneath them.
"Four times in the past week," Jungkook added, collecting his thoughts.
"Can you stop being so fucking cryptic, Gguk?" Hoseok pressed his fingers onto the bridge of his nose.
"Jungkook, just drop it," Yoongi muttered, his voice low and tight with a warning. But Jungkook wasn't backing down. Jungkook's voice was steady but laced with a quiet insistence as he finally pieced it together for Yoongi, eyes focused on him with a knowing look.
"You don't like Jajangmyeon that much, Y/N-ssi." His words hit the room like a cold gust of wind, and Yoongi felt his heart stutter in his chest.
"Since when do you watch over what I eat, Ggukie?" Dove said, a hint of amusement in her eyes, but she carried on.
"You eat something once a week, it's a meal-" Jungkook stood from the little bench and trailed his way to sit next to Seokjin and in front of her. Yoongi just carefully watched him.
"Ask the cook to prepare it four times a week, that's craving."
Yoongi's heart hammered in his chest, and he felt the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. Was it excitement? Was he scared of their brother's reaction? He hadn't expected it to come out this way. Fucking Jajangmyeon giving it away.
Dove's eyes flickered toward Yoongi, and for a brief moment, their gazes locked. She didn't look shocked, nor did she seem angry. But there was something about the way she looked at him—almost like she was waiting for him to react, to finally confirm what Jungkook was implying.
"You've been so fucking extra careful with her lately-" Jungkook continued, his gaze slipping down on her belly. Hoseok shifted in his seat next to Dove, letting out a frustrated sigh as he rubbed his temples. Dove let out a small, barely audible chuckle, her gaze returning to Jungkook.
Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, the frustration and helplessness mounting as the room stared at him expectantly. Seokjin's eyes flickered to Yoongi and then to Dove and her petite form curled against the sofa's plush armrest, her hand never leaving the small swell of her belly the whole time.
The doctor sat down the cup and eyed her again in what seemed like putting the puzzles together, grinning widely. He's a fucking doctor. Yoongi thought. How come he did not realize sooner? Yoongi's eyes met Seokjin's for a brief moment, and he could almost hear the unspoken words between them.
Hoseok's mouth was twitching in what looked like a half smile as he was not one hundred percent sure whether he was right. It was Namjoon whose brows were still furrowed, not understanding what was happening right now.
"Are we done debating her finally normal eating habits, or?" Namjoon said, the sarcasm in his voice evident. His words brought a small sense of clarity, the final push Yoongi needed to step forward.
"It's alright, Yoongi. Say it." He sighed, trying to formulate the right words, but she saw his struggle.
"What was Gguk trying to imply is that we are expecting a child."
The room fell into a stunned silence at his calm declaration. He could feel the weight of their stares now, the anticipation hanging in the air like an electric charge.
"Are you serious?" Hoseok asked, trying to read between the lines, but Dove just nodded once, her hand resting gently over her stomach again.
"Yes, Hobi," she answered, a soft smile pulling at her lips despite the tension in the room. Her calmness in the face of such an overwhelming situation was nothing short of remarkable to Yoongi. Hoseok smooched over to plant a quick kiss to Dove's cheek and embrace her small form.
Seokjin's expression softened into a grin, the realization setting in. "Well, that explains a lot," he muttered, leaning back in his seat. His voice was surprisingly warm, and Yoongi noticed a small glimmer of something between him and Dove—like he understood the weight of what they were all dealing with. After all, his own child was under the heart of his wife.
"You wound me Y/N-darling, how come I did not know first?" A pretended hurt in his voice.
"So this is why you've been acting like a freaking saint, huh, Yoongi?" His tone was teasing, but there was no mockery, just a sense of understanding. Yoongi shot him a glare, but it wasn't as sharp as it could've been.
Dove's gaze traveled to Namjoon who was standing by the grand oak desk, Yoongi still behind it, having his arms crossed. The scarred kkangpae never got to know what exactly transpired between the two most important people in his life, and he has to try and find his way to live with it.
"Congratulations." Namjoon's brow furrowed as he processed the words, he let out a long breath and shook his head, his voice turning soft. "Such good news."
Yoongi glanced at Dove, still calm, still steady, and for a moment, he felt a wave of protective instinct rise within him.
The weight of it all was starting to hit him—the unexpectedness of the truth, just how real it now seemed when they said it out loud. The responsibility, the silent promise he'd made to protect their future. But they weren't out of the woods yet and the celebration had come too early.
The valley's air felt different that day—heavy and thick, as if the earth itself held its breath. The sun, barely pushing through the clouds that covered the mountain peaks, cast a pale light over the landscape when the screaming echoed in its heart. He found her on the bathing chamber cold floor, sitting in a little pool of dark red blood, crying heavily.
Yoongi's eyes traced the lines of her face, the tear streaks now mingling with the sweat on her pale skin. He knelt in front of her, unable to stop his hands from reaching out, though the touch felt foreign, almost too gentle in the face of the devastation that surrounded them. He hadn't expected it to feel like this, as though they were both locked in a moment where nothing could change. She looked so small, so fragile, like something that could break at any moment.
She was clutching the tiniest bundle of bloodied fabric and she was refusing to let it go. Yoongi swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he took in the sight before him. The iron scent of blood clung to the air, sharp and suffocating, and it had taken him back all those months ago when she held a blade against her delicate throat skin.
He had faced death before, had wielded it with his own hands, but nothing—nothing—felt as cruel as this. Of course. He fucking deserved it. God was punishing him for what he had done to make sure she stays right by his side, and once he gifted him with life, to feel the peak, to rise to it, he made him fall. Made them fall.
She was still clinging to it, to them.
"Dove, my love." He carefully pulled her closer, not wanting to look under the white fabric and see what could have been or he would break. Break like her.
"I—I think… I think it is a boy," she whispered suddenly, so softly that he almost didn't hear it. Is not was. She hiccuped, pressing her lips together as another sob shook her.
"I didn't—I didn't get to see his face, but I felt it, Yoongi. I know."
Yoongi shut his eyes for a moment, as if blocking out the world around him would somehow erase the reality before him. But when he opened them, she was still there—so small, so broken, and he had no idea how to fix this. He needed to take care of her. He needed her to be alright. She already broke down way too many times because of him.
He could have asked for something else. He could have predicted her body and mind to be weaker to carry a life. She needed more time to heal and he foolishly thought that this is what she needs to heal. A life. A new focus. A purpose. A reason to stay. To stay with him.
Min Yoongi was a fucking fool.
Carefully, painfully, he reached out again, his fingers brushing over hers. They were ice-cold.
"Baby, let me—" He stopped himself before the words could fully form. He wanted to tell her to let go, but how could he? When she had already lost so much?
Y/N shook her head furiously, curling in on herself, clutching the bundle tighter. "No," she whispered, "no."
Yoongi swallowed past the lump in his throat. He had never begged for anything in his life, but when it came to her, he was willing to. Always.
"Dove, please…"
She squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could will herself into another world, one where this wasn't real. Where she wasn't sitting in a pool of her own blood, her child was cold in her arms, and Yoongi wasn't kneeling in front of her with his hands outstretched, helpless.
"Just a moment longer, let me hold him just a moment longer," she murmured, voice fractured. He didn't know how to do this, how to grieve something he never even got the chance to hold.
He knew loss. And he knew that if she stayed like this—if she let herself drown in it—she would never come back.
So, for the first time in his life, he didn't try to control, didn't try to force. Instead, he reached for her, held her.
And she let him.
Early 1940
"You're not going," he said flatly, voice edged with finality, sitting next to her in the Cadillac.
"I have to," she countered, smoothing the folds of her red qipao she picked up after such a long time as if the act alone could steel her resolve. "I need life to go on, Yoongi. I need to go. If I stop, I wither." She smiled sadly.
"It's not like we have reason to stay in the valley longer than needed now." His features softened upon hearing her words, but still he had so many doubts in his mind. They mourned and mourned for what seemed like eternity to him but he was not ready to let go. He held her each time she broke down in tears. Something has changed within him, seeing her in the pool of blood and the little bundle pressed against her still beating heart. His Dove, with her broken wings that yet again needed healing.
Although he did not particularly agree to taking her with him today, she finally showed signs that were willing to live and not just survive.
This meeting was classified, but he knew better than to assume they were safe. He doubled the number of bodyguards and even let Jungkook and Hoseok escort them personally. Not enough. He thought to himself as a bad omen creped upon him.
"Right, when have you ever listened to me?" He muttered more or less to himself when she quickly stepped out of the car.
It was cold outside again. Bleak winter raging outside. The snow is returning any day now. Yoongi wanted to argue, to force her back into the car to wait in the hotel, but there was no time. The meeting had been set, and like a chessboard in motion, the pieces would move with or without them.
The protesters came first. A sea of anger and desperation, their chants reverberating off the stone walls. Then, the gunshots—sharp cracks that split through the chaos. Panic erupted like wildfire, bodies shoving, running, trampling. Smoke filled the air, a mix of tear gas and the acrid burn of something worse.
Yoongi reached for Dove's wrist, tightening his grip.
"Stay close."
She nodded, looked into his eyes with panic, but it was already too late. A surge of people barreled between them, pushing, clawing, desperate to escape the growing violence. Hands wrenched him in different directions, shoving him backward. Yoongi twisted, his breath catching as he fought against the tide of bodies—
But she is gone.
Rage and panic warred inside him. He pushed forward, searching the sea of faces, but Dove had vanished, swallowed by the chaos. But now, with each frantic step he took through the thrashing crowd, his mind betrayed him. This is a gut-wrenching moment—Yoongi's worst fears manifesting right in front of him. He had to trust his man to have their eyes on her, she is wearing a red coat, she cannot blend with the crowd so easily. They will find her. He will find her.
By the time Yoongi reached the car, Hoseok was already there, breathless and pale. He wasn't alone—one of their men stood beside him, holding something in his hands.
Yoongi's stomach turned to ice.
Hoseok stepped forward, hesitating for the first time Yoongi had ever seen.
"She's gone."
Yoongi's fingers curled into fists. "What do you mean, gone?"
"She just—vanished." Hoseok exhaled sharply. "There was a woman wearing her coat, carrying her purse. She even had this."
Yoongi's breath hitched as Hoseok placed something in his palm. Her sapphire engagement ring.
His thumb brushed over the familiar band, the cool metal pressing into his skin like a fresh wound. His grip tightened, the reality sinking in like a slow, suffocating poison.
"Wipe the fucking square, Hoseok!" He screamed. He was raging.
Hoseok ran a hand through his hair. "She might have been robbed in the chaos—scared, hiding somewhere." He exhaled. "Or it could be Luens. If they took her, we need to move fast."
"Yoongi?!" Jungkook's voice echoed from the other side, tucking his gun back into the holster he neared his brother's wrath.
Yoongi's heart stopped. For a moment, everything seemed to blur, the words slipping past him like a bad dream, but they were real—too real. His pulse hammered in his throat, deafening, but in the chaos of the moment, he could barely hear the echo of his own thoughts.
"The temple is on fire."
The urgency in Jungkook's voice sliced through him. Yoongi snapped into action, the rage inside him boiling over, turning cold and calculated. There was no time for panic, no time for doubts.
With a quick motion, Yoongi shoved past Hoseok, the weight of her ring burning through his palm. The sapphire—her ring—now felt like a heavy anchor, pulling him toward a future he wasn't ready for, one he couldn't bear to think about. She couldn't be gone. Not like this.
"We haven't found her, Kkangpae Min. We're—" a shot went through the guards head just as fast as Yoongi's mind raced. His limp body fell to the cobblestones painting it red.
Yoongi's grip on the ring turned white-knuckled. He exhaled through his nose, lips curling into something bitter.
"It has to be them, Yoongi, they are trying to set decoy so we do not look for her,"
"The woman we are speaking about is the same woman who ran two vast territories and the only person who ever stopped her is standing in front of you." Namjoon's voice echoed, his feet rushing to close the distance to his brothers. His voice was eerily calm, almost thoughtful. Almost as if he expected this to happen eventually, and the silent glint in his brown eyes which turned a shade darker when he glanced into Hoseok's spoken volumes. They did not need words to communicate, they just waited. Waited for Yoongi to rage.
Hoseok stayed silent, watching the dark glint in Yoongi's eyes, waiting for the explosion.
Yoongi turned the ring between his fingers before slipping it into his pocket. When he looked up, there was something unreadable in his expression—something chillingly resolved.
"I hoped you would be right, Hoseok-ssi. I really started to see your point." A wry chuckle escaped him, devoid of humor. "But I suppose my taste in women is rather exquisite."
How had he not seen it sooner? The way her eyes, those eyes he thought he understood, would look past him as if he were already fading. The faintest hint of a smile when he spoke of their future, as though playing along with his delusions.
His grip tightened around the imaginary wrist he still held, and the chaos around him seemed to blur. But she was no longer there. He couldn't hear her voice, feel her presence, and the truth hit him like a brutal strike to the chest.
His eyes darkened, a slow smirk playing at the edges of his lips.
How many times had she walked him to the edge of his own fears and made him believe they were shared? How many of her words had been carefully crafted, laced with just enough tenderness to pull him deeper into her web? Yoongi had thought his love, his devotion, was enough to keep her close, but the cold truth now cracked his heart wide open and he would get to hers.
She swore she was not leaving. She swore she did not feel like leaving anymore. She carried his child under her heart for a short time. How could she?
She patiently waited until he upheld his end of bargain and send her mother and brother away. Just like she knew he will not touch his brother's wife to lure her back in. Did she actually lose their baby? He did not want to think that she could go to such mad extensions and kill an unborn child. But was she even pregnant in the first place?
"I chose the most cunning one out there."
The finality in his voice sent a shiver down Hoseok's spine.
He could push through the crowd with all the desperation of a man who had just lost everything, but what if she was not in close proximity anymore.
Yoongi leaned back against the seat, once in the car. The city's chaos was still raging outside, but his mind was already elsewhere—calculating, strategising. His fist met the steering wheel with brutal force as he repeatedly hit them to let the rage out on something not alive.
He had found her once. He would find her again.
The gunshots in the distance made his heart race, but they were nothing compared to the shot that had just pierced through his soul.
Her wings were not as broken as he thought.
"My little Dove flew away, Hoseok." He exhaled, eyes sharpening with something lethal, looking at his brother.
"And I need her back in the cage - wings trimmed."
I N T E R L O G U E
What I always feared is not living up the expectations. But you are not bound to carry my fears, nor are you obliged to walk the same path as your cousin, or most likely, one day, your sister. Watching your joy and growth throughout your academic years has been a bittersweet reminder that I should not utter a single word to this young charming man who has the outermost desire to protect you, in exchange of the pretense leverage he will gain. That young, charming raven haired man, who has shown such an unyielding desire to fulfil your dreams of overseas, is nothing more than a facade. His words, though sweet, are tainted with the weight of a bargain you cannot yet see. I sensed the foul play when my spies, ever watchful, brought word of his quiet conversations. He already speaks of you as his betrothed, his bride, and he dares to speak of love. He has laid his claim upon you, as though you are a possession to be owned, and not a person to be cherished, my dear. I wish I could stop this, even if it would mean Yamamotos and your father walk the earth alive. I implore you to hear me now, in these final moments of my life. I might not be there to warn you or to stop this and break the agreement, but have it in your mind, the longer you remain tethered to him, the more dangerous it becomes for you heart and mind. And when you see the truth, when you understand it fully, shatter his world. Take the power back. The more he believes he can shape you, the more vulnerable he becomes. Shatter his world and watch him crumble.
Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥
keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction. Nor in this case, I'm a medical professional.
pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader
genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au
summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.
Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.
chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, religious references, implied age gap, hoseok-sshi being tired of yoongi, coercion, psychological manipulation, death, implied murder, mentions of cancer, strong language, misogyny, emotional distress, emotional manipulation, verbal confrontation, verbal abuse, suicidal ideation, "falling" from a horse, (partially fictional) lobotomy description, traditions of the clan, pledge, intimate themes, physical violence implied, psychological conflict, oral sex, fingering, handjob, vulnerability (if i forgot smth, pls i'm so sorrryy)
beta read by @chaoticpuff17
word count: 18,8K
disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, forbidden medical procedures, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.
author's note: WELL AT LAST INNIT? Y'all I swear I’m as impatient to put this out but also so nervous coz this one was a hard one ya know. I decided to split this into two parts, and perhaps if this would be only one part I would have to write “the end” which I’m still not contemptuous with soooo yeah. I can’t believe we are almost at the end of it all. I still haven't decided whether I will write two endings or not. The ending that I initially intended prolly won't be fancied and I definitely scrapped the open ending, but you will never know coz I won't tell ya more.
ANYWAY - for those who asked a lot about Y/N’s and Yoongi’s age gap, kudos for your patience. You can finally sleep in piece babies. Also, I have another fic that is setted in the world of CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI [now i’ll know if you’re actually reading these notes hihi] of which preview will come soon after this chapter, again, very excited to push it out finally AND, yes to all of you if you’re still reading this note - CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI [what a promo] will come around as soon as I’m finished with UNI this year. If yall be good I can pull out a preview out of my sleeve for Christmas coz that shit - well damn, just damn.
Massive thank you goes to @chaoticpuff17 who managed to beta read it almost right after it was finished coz that shit is looooooooong this time. I LOVE YOU BECCA 🥹🫧🩵
Love you all, p.
m.list previous
seele (n.) the soul, inner essence, or spirit
Her mind was constantly occupied with thoughts she wished to speak loud, but couldn’t. She wanted to warn, to tell the young souls that their minds were poisoned. Y/N’s heart was heavy in her chest each time she lay in bed next to him, letting him pull her close and hold her for the entirety of the night. And far the biggest sacrifice and risk she had to make was giving him her body when he desired her. At least partially. He was pacing things slowly at first- step by step.
She never thought that in order to set herself free, she would have to give herself up first. However hard it was breaking her heart that she had to stoop so low in order to turn her life on a different path, had to be endured, sucked in.
She never understood what made her body so weak for him. Why did her mind scream for her to run even as her body yearned to be touched?
Yoongi’s hands moved over her body, igniting a fire that burned deep within her. She was supposed to feel like she was suffocating, drowning in the sea. But she could not let herself fail—not this time.
His fingers traced the curve of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. His touch was gentle yet still so possessive. Yoongi’s lips brushed against her earlobe, and his warm breath reached the softness of her skin.
He leaned in, his lips capturing hers once more, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth. Y/N moaned, her body arching against his as he pulled her closer, his hands moving to cup her breasts.
He squeezed them gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, sending sparks flying through her body. Y/N shuddered, her hips grinding against his, her arousal building with every passing moment. His hands moved to the button of her skirt.
He popped the button, his fingers slipping inside to caress her warm, wet flesh. Y/N gasped, her body shuddering under his touch. Yoongi’s fingers moved faster, his thumb brushing over her clit.
Her hips bucked against his hand, her arousal building with every single moment. Yoongi’s fingers moved faster, his thumb circling her clit, his other fingers pumping in and out of her wet, pulsing core.
Y/N’s body shuddered, her orgasm building, her mind spinning with pleasure, his thumb pressing harder against her clit, sending her over the edge.
Y/N cried out, her body arching against Yoongi’s as she came, her orgasm washing over her in waves. Yoongi’s fingers never stopped, his thumb still circling her clit, prolonging her pleasure.
As she came down from her orgasm, Y/N felt Yoongi’s fingers slide out of her, his thumb pressing one last time against her clit before moving away. He pulled her closer, his lips capturing hers.
Yoongi’s kiss was deep and intense, his tongue dancing with hers as their naked bodies pressed against each other. She could feel his hardness against her thigh, his desire for her clear. But he knew that she was not ready.
“I need you.” His voice was husky with pleasure and selfishness. Yoongi pulled back slightly, his eyes burning with desire.
“You are so fucking beautiful—” His eyes never left hers when he lowered down to lay soft kisses on her lower abdomen.
“—And so fucking mine.”
Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at Yoongi’s words. She could feel his warm breath against her skin as he continued to kiss her abdomen, his lips leaving a trail of heat and desire.
“Yoongi,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. Yoongi’s eyes locked onto her most intimate parts. He lowered his head, his tongue darting out to taste her. Y/N gasped at the sensation, her body arching against his as he explored her most sensitive areas. His tongue was warm and wet, his touch gentle, seductive. This only happened in one of her dreams and never did she imagine this would be once a reality.
As he continued to pleasure her, Y/N felt herself getting closer and closer to another orgasm. Her body trembled with pleasure, her breath catching in her throat as she reached the peak.
With a loud cry, Y/N came again, her body shaking against Yoongi’s as he continued to pleasure her. As she came down from her orgasm, Yoongi slowly stood up, his eyes never leaving hers. Y/N’s hands slid up Yoongi’s chest, her fingers digging into his skin. He reached down and began to undo his pants, his erection springing free, swollen with need. She knew what he expected of her, hence it was easier to just accept it and be done with it.
“Can I? —” She asked, her voice trembling. She needs him to think she wants him just like he wants her. His eyes closed before he spoke with a husky voice.
“Please—” he choked out. He reached down and began to guide her hand onto his shaft, his fingers wrapping around hers to show her how to stroke him, feeling the heat and hardness of him. She could feel his pulse beating beneath her touch.
As she began to jerk him off, Y/N felt a some twisted sense of power and control. She could see the desire in Yoongi’s eyes and feel the need building within him. She increased her pace, her hand moving up and down his shaft in a rhythmic motion. Yoongi’s breath caught in his throat as Y/N continued to pleasure him. His eyes locked onto hers.
“Dove,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. She could feel his body tensing, his need for release building. With a final stroke, Yoongi came, his orgasm washing over him hard, spurring the hot semen on her hand.
He did not last long, how could he when it was she pleasuring him?
The wedding of her sister was coming dangerously close, days went by rather quickly when there were no fights to fight or battles to win.
“Did you think of a gift for your husband, my dear?” An elderly female voice echoed on the terrace as she was sipping her tea. It was still not the warmest weather but the snow was by far almost gone and the sun was peeking through the white clouds. It was a perfect day to ride a horse.
“A gift?” Y/N squinted her eyebrows, not having a single clue as to what her mother was referring to.
“The day of his birth is arriving soon.” The younger female almost choked on her herbal tea, she still kept drinking as Yoongi might be taking the activities in their bedroom slow for now, she does not know when he will stop being patient. The herbs will kill any seeds that could be planted in her womb.
Y/N’s mind raced, her fingers tightening around the delicate porcelain cup. The bitter taste of the tea was a stark contrast to the sweetness she was expected to embody. The idea of giving a gift to the man who had taken everything from her felt like a cruel joke, a twisted irony that only deepened her resentment.
“A gift,” she repeated, the words almost foreign on her tongue. Her mother’s voice, though soft, held the weight of generations of expectations, yet Y/N could sense some undertone, a message to be conveyed. Expectations that Y/N had always felt burdened by, but now they were suffocating her, pressing down on her like a relentless tide.
“Yes, a gift,” her mother continued, oblivious to the storm brewing behind Y/N’s eyes. “Something meaningful. You must show him your gratitude, your… affection.” She hesitated on the last word, perhaps sensing the tension in her daughter but brushing it off as the nerves of a newlywed. After all, this was the life she had been groomed for—submission, obedience, and silent suffering disguised as devotion.
Until she got the taste of freedom.
Y/N nodded mechanically, her mind already drifting away from the conversation. Her mother’s voice became a distant murmur, drowned out by the rush of her thoughts. How could she possibly give him something meaningful when every part of her being still wanted to run away from him? When every night she spent in his arms felt like a betrayal of herself?
The sun’s warmth on her skin felt almost mocking, a false promise of comfort in a world that had turned cold and unyielding. The thought of his birthday, of celebrating the man who held her captive in a gilded cage, was almost too much to bear. She felt her resolve slipping, the carefully constructed facade of the dutiful wife threatening to crack.
But she couldn’t let it break, not yet. Not when she was so close to finding a way out. She had sacrificed too much, endured too much, to falter now.
“I’ll think of something, Ma” Y/N finally replied, her voice calm, betraying nothing of the turmoil within. Her mother smiled, satisfied, and turned to gaze out at the garden. Y/N understood her words clearly. She followed her gaze, but all she saw was the vast emptiness that mirrored her own heart.
Her eyes narrowed down to her younger sister, watching her mount a horse, Taehyung by her side just like he had been for the past months. Her father is not nor never will be happy with both hers and her sister’s elopements, not that it’s going to matter soon.
The sight stirred something bitter in Y/N, a pang of resentment mixed with a twisted sense of protectiveness. She spent days and nights wishing she could reverse Xiaoli’s fate.
“She has changed,” her mother spoke again. Y/N’s eyes closed whilst she breathed out a loud sigh.
“She has, indeed,” Y/N muttered back. If she can call prefrontal lobotomy ‘a change’, then yes, Xiaoli has changed very much so.
“Why can’t you be happy for her?” Her mother’s voice, gentle but insistent, grated against Y/N’s nerves like sandpaper.
“Are you happy for me, Ma?” Y/N countered quickly. The question hung in the air, heavy and charged, like the tense silence before a storm. Y/N’s mother hesitated, her composure faltering for a fraction of a second before she regained her poise. Her eyes flickered, a shadow of something unreadable passing through them, but it was gone before Y/N could grasp it.
“Your happiness,” her mother began, carefully choosing her words, “has always been… complicated.”
“Complicated,” Y/N echoed, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. It was a diplomatic way of saying that her happiness had never been a priority. In their world, happiness was a luxury, often sacrificed for the sake of duty, appearances, and survival.
“Do you think I do not know?” Y/N continued, her voice low, edged with the frustration she had suppressed for far too long. “Do you think I haven’t noticed how you and father always looked at me with a kind of pity? As if I’m some tragic figure in a story you would rather not tell?”
Her mother’s face remained impassive, but Y/N could see the tension in the way she held herself, the slight tremor in her hands as they rested in her lap. “I have always wanted the best for you,” her mother said, but the words felt rehearsed, as if she had said them a thousand times before and had long since stopped believing them.
“Then tell me, Ma,” Y/N pressed, leaning forward, her voice dropping to a whisper, “what is the best for me? Is it to be locked in a marriage where every night I lose a piece of myself? Or is it to watch as my sister being expe-” Y/N stopped herself from slipping such information out.
Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she realized how close she had come to revealing the unspeakable truth. She quickly clamped her mouth shut, biting back the words that had almost spilt out. Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in their depths, but Y/N forced herself to remain calm, to steady her racing heart.
Her mother’s gaze bored into her, searching for the secret Y/N had almost exposed, but Y/N refused to let it show. She couldn’t afford to slip, not now, not when everything was hanging by such a fragile thread. But her mother’s finger that softly tapped next to her ear told her that she knows more than she shows. They are listening. They always do.
The elder woman sighed just like her daughter a few moments ago. “You started to look happier these past weeks, I just thought that maybe, just maybe you’ve found your peace in your life.” The older woman continued the conversation like no other message was sent her way.
She couldn’t bring herself to meet her mother’s eyes, afraid of what she might see reflected there—pity, disappointment, or worse, a recognition of the truth Y/N was so desperately trying to hide.
Her mother reached out, placing a hand gently on Y/N’s arm. The touch was meant to be comforting, but it only served to remind Y/N of how disconnected she felt, and how far she had drifted from the person she used to be. “You deserve happiness, Y/N. Real happiness. And I want that for you, more than anything.”
Y/N felt a lump rise in her throat, choking back the bitter retort that threatened to spill out. Happiness was a luxury she couldn’t afford, not when every day was a battle to keep herself from falling apart, to protect the one person she had left in this world.
“I am trying, Ma,” she said instead, her voice barren, trying to find some semblance of peace, some way to reconcile the choices she had made. But that peace seemed as distant as the stars, something she could see but never touch.
Her mother gave her arm a gentle squeeze before letting go. “You have always been so strong, Y/N. I know life has not been easy for you, but you have survived so much. I just hope that one day, you will not have to pretend anymore.”
Y/N nodded, unable to trust herself to speak. Her mother’s words were well-intentioned, but they felt like salt in a wound that had never fully healed. She wanted to tell her mother the truth, to explain the depths of her despair, the weight of the secrets she carried, but she could not. The risk was too great, the consequences too dire.
So instead, she buried the truth deeper, locking it away in the darkest corner of her mind. She would have to continue pretending, for now, until she could find a way out—if there even was one.
“Nonetheless, do well to remember something for me—” her head turned to face her mother once more, awaiting what else she could possibly say to her.
“You are the queen here, child.”
Y/N did not understand her mother’s words at the time, but she recalled their reunion all those months ago, hearing her say those words again.
Be a queen.
“He is getting better—” his voice resonated near her. She did not turn to face him until the chair next to her made an uncomfortable noise. He was far too busy today, busier than usual. He greeted her mother with respect each time.
Her mother is not the enemy here, nor she ever was. Yet, she is being watched with such precise carefulness by all the Min worshipers, maids, soldiers - everyone. Wang Zemo was the unspoken enemy that her husband is secretly planning to eliminate.
They are not speaking about that sensitive subject, yet Y/N knows that it is going to happen no matter what she thinks about her father. Unless—
“How do you feel today?” he asked.
She finally turned to face him, her eyes searching for any sign of the concern she had grown used to. But today, something was different. There was an unfamiliar hardness in his gaze, a flicker of something she could not quite place.
“I am fine,” she replied, her voice steady despite the unease growing inside her. “Just a bit tired from last night’s work.”
“There is a jewellery showroom I would like to visit with you if you feel well enough—”
The jewellery store was a haven of elegance, with its sparkling displays and refined ambience. It was a place where time seemed to stand still, each piece of jewellery capturing a moment of beauty and grace. Today, however, an air of tension hung over the store, palpable even among the glistening gems and polished glass cases.
Y/N could sense all the stares angled at them, all the whispers were heard by her ears, yet Yoongi remained unbothered. She on the other hand felt uneasy by such attention. After all, it is not every day they welcome such a powerful man in their store. Such a dangerous man.
She sensed something was amiss, her own worries momentarily forgotten as she watched the store’s manager, conversing in hushed tones with an unknown man.
“Why are we here?” She asked him with a sudden turn he did not expect. His demeanour was unreadable, as always, but she hoped for some clarity in his response. Yoongi looked at her, his gaze steady and reassuring.
“Your Eomma said you would fancy a new set of pearls like hers.” He smiled softly, caressing her cheek with his right hand, Y/N sensing the balance of warmth of it and the coldness of his rings he had worn.
Y/N raised an eyebrow, her scepticism evident. “But my birthday is not for another month. Why so soon?”
Yoongi chuckled, a sound that seemed to ease the tension in the room just a bit. “Consider it an early surprise. You can wear them at the wedding—”
“Your birthday is coming, we should talk about that instead—” she interrupted him, her tone still possessed a mix of frustration and confusion. Why would they talk about her birthday which is not for another month?
Yoongi’s smile faded slightly, and he glanced around the store, his eyes momentarily clouded with concern before he masked it again. “I just wanted to do something special for you, that is all. You have been doing so well, Dove.”
By doing well means, no tantrums, no screams, no broken vases thrown his way and they are living as a husband and wife, not just in the name. It was his way of acknowledging the fragile peace they had managed to maintain, the delicate balance that kept their world from shattering. He was selfish enough to consider himself making progress with her.
Y/N sighed, feeling the weight of his words. “What would you fancy for your birthday?” She asked carefully.
Yoongi paused, a hint of surprise flickering across his features. He chuckled a little before he leaned down to press his lips softly against hers for a moment, his hand slipping down to her belly.
“You know,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I’ve been thinking… about something we already talked about—”
Y/N raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?” Her gaze slipped down to his large hand on her belly, awaiting the worst.
He took a breath, his gaze steady as he looked into her eyes, while his forehead rested on hers. “I know I said that it will not help anything, but I would love to have—”
“Not here—” she said way too quickly, her voice tinged with urgency. “Let us not talk about it here, okay?”
His expression shifted, understanding, but a bit sad as his first thoughts led him to rejection.
“I am sorry, this is not the right place, —” he replied, his voice lowering to a whisper as if he feared that even speaking about it might attract unwanted attention. “But I want you to know it is on my mind, Dove.”
Y/N felt a flutter in her chest, a conflict brewing within her. The idea of a child, of a future that seemed so distant.
“Can we talk at home?” She asked carefully. The tension in his shoulders eased, she wanted to talk about it, and his heart started to beam.
“Deal. Let us just find you those pearls for now, hm?” A little peck on his lips was enough confirmation that she was more than ready to pick up some jewellery and leave.
As they moved through the store, the vibrant displays of jewellery momentarily distracted them from the weight of their conversation. Y/N couldn’t shake the thought of Yoongi’s words, though. She knew she needed to play her role. However, she was not ready to make such a big sacrifice for the taste of freedom. She had a different scenario in her head.
“What do you think about these pearls?” She gestured towards a stunning strand that caught the light just right, reflecting an array of colours.
Yoongi’s gaze followed her gesture, and he leaned closer to examine the pearls. “They are beautiful. They remind me of you—classic and timeless beauty,” he said, his tone playful but sincere.
She laughed softly, the tension of their earlier conversation easing. “You just say that because I am wearing a white dress.”
“Maybe,” he admitted, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “But I mean it.” He smiled at her, his eyes reflecting the love he felt for her with the hope that perhaps when they returned home, they could explore the depths of their future dreams together. Perhaps.
The private dining room was filled with the warm glow of candlelight, the scent of delicious food wafting through the air. The large table was set with an assortment of dishes, each more appetizing than the last.
Y/N glanced around, taking in the sight of the family gathered together, a rare moment these days when everyone is put to work. Each member of the family had a role to play, each one integral to the operation and survival of the Min clan.
She and Seokjin run around the hospital doing what they can to heal and help those in need. These past weeks were especially busy after several raids on the warehouses the Min clan owns.
Taehyung worked his magic, covering every single trace that would make the whole syndicate fall.
Jungkook, seated beside Jimin who has been running the hotel perfectly, took a deep breath. “The Min soldiers are ready. We have increased patrols around the warehouses and fortified our defences. I have got the best man on it, Yoongi-hyung. We will not let anything happen again like last time.”
“Yoongi nodded, his expression serious. “Good. We cannot afford any more breaches—”
Jungkook nodded firmly. “I will.”
Hoseok leaned back in his chair, his usually cheerful demeanour replaced with a hard edge. “I have been tracking down leads on who’s responsible for the raids. We have collected some old debts and sent a clear message.”
“It has been happening way too often lately,—” Namjoon cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to the whole table.
“It is the peak of the trade season, innit?” Yoongi mused out loud. Not bothered by that at the moment, he knows he can rely on his men. His wife sticking the food around with her chopsticks, pretending to eat from the barely filled marble dish bothered him more.
They have yet to return to their conversation but that is not what occupies her mind now. Yoongi yet again wondered whether her silence meant that she was considering what he said or being tortured by that thought.
“How are things over at the sanatorium?” The right-hand man raised the question when he cleared his throat, hoping to get the young Buin to talk about the sector that was entrusted to her. Under the watchful eye of Doctor Kim Seokjin.
Yoongi, seated at the head of the table, glanced at her with a small smile. Despite the tension of the past weeks, moments like this reminded him of why they fought so hard. He reached under the table, finding her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Then, with a gentle, almost tender gesture, he picked up a piece of grilled fish and placed it on her plate.
“We have zero deaths so far, thanks to—” Seokjin’s voice became a blur when she noticed his hand squeezing hers.
“Eat up, Dove—” Yoongi said softly, ignoring Seokjin’s report, his eyes filled with concern. Xiaoli looked around the table with wide eyes, still getting used to the boisterous dynamics of the group.
“Are you feeling fine, Unnie?” She pried, eating a piece of kimchi while doing so. “You have been working a lot lately.”
“Just peachy, pumpkin,” Y/N replied with a bright smile, trying to mask the fatigue she felt. She noticed the way Yoongi’s brow furrowed slightly at her response, a subtle reminder of their shared worries, but she chose to brush it off.
Hoseok, sitting across from her, leaned in with a teasing grin. “Peachy? You have been working more hours than Jin-hyung at the hospital, Buin—” he expressed his concern.
“And I love working—” Y/N began, her voice light, but she was quickly interrupted by Jin, who feigned horror.
“Yes, yes and yes, that does not change that you should take a little break.” Jin insisted, his tone dramatic as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
“Oh shut up, you do need me, Dr Kim.” Y/N shot back playfully, her smile growing wider as she tried to lighten the mood.
“Touché,” Jin replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “But that does not mean you should work yourself into the ground. You are not invincible, Buin.”
Jungkook leaned forward, a teasing glint in his eye. “Yeah, the last thing we need is for our favourite sister to pass out in the middle of surgery because she did not eat breakfast!” He noticed. Of course he did.
Y/N rolled her eyes at him playfully. “I can manage just fine. I am not collapsing anytime soon. I promise!”
“Not with that attitude,” Namjoon said, leaning back with an amused expression. “But let us not test the limits of your endurance, okay?”
“Eat up, Dove. No more arguments,” Yoongi said firmly, though his voice softened at the end.
Y/N looked at the fish, then back up at him. “I will, but you all need to stop treating me like I am fragile, at least I am not that fragile anymore—” her voice fell down at the end of the sentence.
Nobody forgot, even though it seemed like they did. The scar on her neck is yet to fade and smooth into her skin. Before she managed to slip to those thoughts, Jimin’s voice echoed through the room.
“How about a spa day, girls?” Y/N chuckled lightly, glancing around the table, endorsing that kind of domesticity. But when she looks at her sister and sees a woman she never was before, it makes her heart ache.
October through November 1938
Fresh off the boat from China, her wide-eyed innocence was observable by many others. The scent of hay mingled with the musky aroma of leather and sweat as she walked through the stables, admiring the majestic kladrubers behind the iron bars. Reaching through them, her hands deftly brushed against their sleek coats.
She came here to forget about all the screaming that was happening behind closed doors of the room that was “politely” offered to them. Her father wanted to come home, with her sister preferably, but the young Korean Kkangpae just had to be so madly in love with Y/N that he was not willing to let her just go. At least, that is what Xiaoli observed from behind the scenes.
The younger sister did not know how it came to this nor what was his business with her father, and she will most likely never know the whole truth nor she will remember. She was not like her sister Y/N. Xiaoli knew very well that she must marry a wealthy mafia lord, a strong ally to her father at best. Hence, she made her peace with it since the first time she bled and became a woman.
The time was ticking and knowing that Y/N got to get higher education shifted the focus on her instead. Xiaoli was moulded to be the perfect, obedient and dutiful wife Y/N would never become. Not because she was not capable but because her sister had different ambitions. Ambitions that Xiaoli believed would kill her and many others. And once, she understood them. That proved to be no longer the case.
Y/N wanted to be a doctor, she wanted to help people, heal people and Xiaoli understood that was the persona she grew in.
She admired her sister for her strength and resilience. It would not take the man her sister is engaged to a second more to charm Xiaoli - in the right circumstances. He was handsome, successful, and certainly very intelligent as he managed to put the whole Triad on their feet by swaying Y/N.
The scar made him even more intriguing in Xiaoli’s eyes. There was something about the respect that vibrated through the room once he stepped in. She was not allowed to attend the meeting or meet her sister that day, and per her mother’s words, ‘it would only hurt her seeing you’.
Well, it definitely hurt Xiaoli. They spent very little time together these past years and she missed her dearly. The happiness and pride she felt on the day Y/N finally graduated was short-lived; their aunt passed away and even she was not stupid enough to not realise what it meant.
Sitting at the breakfast table in their family mansion back in Hong Kong, a rageful scream reverberated through the walls. The news that Y/N took the chance and ran for the hills.
“She barely reaches your chin, how come you were not able to stop her!”
The echoes of the scream seemed to linger in the opulent dining room, bouncing off the intricate wooden panelling and crystal chandeliers.
Xiaoli’s mother stood at the head of the table, her face twisted with fury and disbelief. The usually composed matriarch of the family was unrecognizable, her controlled demeanour shattered by the news of Y/N’s escape.
Xiaoli’s father, Wang Zemo sat in his chair with a deep frown etched on his face, his hands clenched into fists. He was a man of few words, but his silence was more intimidating than any outburst. The tension in the room was suffocating, each family member drowning in their own thoughts and fears.
The Lieutenant stood at the door frame to the dining room they were gathered in. Trembling under Wang Zemo’s hard glance.
“We did not think she would go that far,” he muttered, his voice shaky, afraid to lose his head. What he meant is that they trusted her sister to not do anything like that.
Xiaoli’s heart ached back then. She knew Y/N had been unhappy with the arranged marriage, but she hadn’t realized the depths of her despair. She admired her sister’s courage to defy their parents and the entire Triad’s expectations, but she also feared for her safety. Running away from such powerful families was no small feat, and the repercussions could be deadly.
“Stupid girl—” Wang Zemo scoffed at his oldest child’s incompetence to meet the expectations.
“She jeopardized everything!” Wang Zemo repeated, his voice rising with each syllable. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table, the wood creaking under the pressure.
Xiaoli’s mother placed a calming hand on Wang Zemo’s shoulder, though her expression was one of thinly veiled panic.
“We need to stay calm,” she urged, her voice steady but strained. “Anger will not bring her back.” Wang Zemo shook off her hand, standing up abruptly.
He turned to the Lieutenant, his eyes narrowing. “What have you done to find her?”
The Lieutenant stammered, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “We have mobilized all available men. We are taking every possible lead, and every contact she might have. But... but she has been very careful, sir. It is almost like she planned this way ahead..”
‘Of course she did,’ Xiaoli thought, feeling a mix of pride and sorrow for her sister. Y/N had always been meticulous and determined. She would not have run away on a whim; she would have made sure she had a solid plan.
“Not good enough,” Wang Zemo growled. “I want results. And I want them now—”
“Your fucking failure reflects on all of us!”
Xiaoli could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but she blinked them back, refusing to show any weakness. She had to be strong, for her sister and for herself.
Xiaoli’s mother flinched at the vulgarity, her mask of composure slipping for just a moment. The Lieutenant’s face turned a shade paler, and he nodded vigorously, desperate to appease his furious boss.
“Father,” Xiaoli spoke up, her voice surprisingly firm. “Maybe we should consider why Y/N ran away. Forcing her back might just not be the answer.”
Wang Zemo’s eyes snapped to her, his expression one of disbelief mixed with anger. “Are you questioning me, Xiaoli?”
“No, Father,” she said quickly but then gathered her courage. “I just think... there must be a better way. Y/N is smart. She would not do this without a good reason. Maybe we should try to understand her, rather than just bring her back by force.” She rephrased herself.
A heavy silence filled the room, everyone waiting for Lǎodà’s reaction. He stared at Xiaoli for a long moment before he finally spoke, his voice surprisingly calm but dangerously low.
“You do not have the same sinful intentions as your sister, daughter, right?”
“Of course not.” She forced a smile.
The conversation ended before it managed to even start. Xiaoli’s voice was never heard once she spoke up, and the most devastating was that not even her older sister could advise their father or her mother. The only woman that the hot-headed Wang Zemo ever listened to was their dear auntie, but she is no longer here to prevent him from the madness he is planning to do.
There is no one to make Wang Zemo see reason anymore.
The warm sun filtered through the slats of the stable, casting playful shadows across the hay-strewn floor. There he stood, at the very edge, her heart racing as she took in the sight of him. His strong form bent over one of the kladrubers, grooming the horse with gentle precision. Xiaoli quietly watched him from a distance, adored in tailored high-waisted trousers, in a rich earth tone, paired with a fitted, button-down shirt. His choice of leather riding boots suggests functionality and style, perfect for a day at the stables.
Xiaoli’s heart raced as she observed Kim Taehyung’s deft movements. She admired not just his looks but the quiet confidence he exuded—a stark contrast to the chaos of her family. His demeanour and interaction with his brothers.
They have been talking.
Matter of fact, they have been talking daily. Sometimes from far away, it felt like they were talking more than casually. Xiaoli cherished the moments she spent with Taehyung, often finding solace in their conversations at the stables, sun room or dining hall.
They would talk about everything—his aspirations, her dreams, the horses they adored. He shared stories of his family’s dynamics, highlighting the playful banter with his brothers, while she opened up about the weight of her own familial expectations, carefully steering the discussions to remain light-hearted. But he noticed her dissatisfaction.
Taehyung looked up, a warm smile spreading across his face, instantly lighting up his sharp features when he saw her standing near him.
“Hey there, angel” he said, his tone inviting, “Want to help?”
Xiaoli nodded, her pulse quickening. As she moved beside him, the connection sparked an unexpected flutter in her chest. There was something about him that felt safe, a reprieve from her tumultuous life.
Their fingers brushed as they reached for the grooming brush at the same time, and Taehyung chuckled softly.
“I don’t bite–”
Xiaoli’s cheeks flushed, and she laughed lightly, feeling an ease she had not known in ages. The playful banter continued, their laughter echoing softly against the stable walls, and for a moment, the weight of her family’s expectations and her father’s wrath slipped away.
“Would you give me the honour to accompany you riding today, angel?” Xiaoli hesitated, glancing down at her hands.
“I wish I could, Taehyung-sshi, but I cannot today—” Taehyung’s smile faltered for just a moment, but he quickly masked it with understanding.
“What is the matter, dear?” Xiaoli bit her lip, avoiding his gaze.
“It is just... my father’s been on edge lately, and I don’t want to risk making things worse. Truth to be told, he is not very keen on spending my leisure time with you.”
Taehyung’s brow furrowed with concern, and he took a step closer, his voice softening.
“I do not fancy your father either, but he also does not fancy any of my clan.”
Xiaoli nodded, understanding the unspoken tension that simmered beneath their lighthearted exchanges. “I know, but that makes it all the more complicated.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “You deserve to enjoy yourself, regardless of what he thinks. Life is too short for shadows.” He mused.
“I know—” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Spend it with me.”
He said softly but rather abruptly, closing the distance between them. Her eyes searched for any signs of foul play but found none. Her breathing became shaky and her mind started to spin around all the scenarios that her father would be starring in as the villain. Xiaoli’s heart raced at his words, caught between desire and duty.
“What?—” She asked, shocked. Xiaoli took a deep breath, the weight of the moment heavy on her chest.
“Taehyung, I appreciate how you feel. I truly do. But I must be honest with you.” He tilted his head, a flicker of concern crossing his face.
“I think of you as a friend, someone…someone I can confide in, but…but nothing more,” she continued stammering, although her voice remained gentle. “With everything going on, I need to focus on my family and my responsibilities. I thought you understood that–”
Taehyung’s expression softened, and he nodded slowly, masking his disappointment and internal anger.
“Friends it is.” He said through gritted teeth. The moment hung in the air, tinged with unspoken emotions, yet Xiaoli felt a bittersweet relief wash over her. In a world where love could be both a luxury and a burden, she valued the connection they shared, however fleeting it was.
Unfortunately for her, Kim Taehyung’s intentions are rooted far too deep to be classified as friendship.
“Tomorrow, we shall go take this boy for a ride, what you say, angel?”
Taehyung’s voice dripped with a charm that both thrilled and unnerved her.
Xiaoli hesitated, a flicker of unease creeping into her heart. “I—”
“Come on, it shall be fun! Just you and me,” he urged, his eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and something deeper, something she couldn’t quite place.
She took a breath, sensing the weight of his expectations.
“Of course–”
The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, the quiet ticking of a clock echoing in the background. She had written to Y/N again. Despite everything, despite the unspoken rules the Korean Kkangpae established - as per Taehyung’s words.
She had a strong feeling that something was going to go down the hill, and she expressed this in her plea letters to her sister who is being held in a place called the Sanctuary. Nobody ever knew where this place was hidden. Hidden from all those who wished for the downfall of the Min empire the scarred leader was extending slowly.
The words flowed onto the page, frantic and desperate - whatever happens, I shall not be able to control it. I feel like the choices will be taken away from me, dear sister.
But as she folded the paper, her heart ached. She had no idea if she could send it. No idea if she would ever be able to.
A soft knock at the door startled her, and before she could even respond, Taehyung entered, his presence filling the room like a storm. His sharp gaze immediately fell on the letters.
“We have talked about this, Xiaoli, you know that that is forbidden,” he asked, his voice smooth, almost too calm. The Taehyung she was seeing now was different from the one she met when she first laid foot onto the Min grounds. He has changed, and it was her rejection that led him to show his true colours to her.
Xiaoli’s heart skipped a beat. “I just wish to tell her I miss her,” she whispered, almost pleading. His hands quickly unfolded the paper she had laid in front of her, reading the words. That is when Xiaoli knew she was destined to be doomed.
“She is my sister, Taehyung. I cannot just abandon her like this.”
“You can,” he said, his voice suddenly hard. “And you will for now. She needs to adjust to her life as Buin of this clan.”
Xiaoli’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening at the mention of Buin, the title that now belonged to her sister, the role that would tether Y/N even deeper to the Kkangpae.
“I can see that you are continuing this insanity that your dear sister exhibits too. Disobedience must be running in your family, but we shall change that soon.”
Taehyung stepped closer, his presence engulfing her, the scent of his cologne overpowering the faint smell of the letter’s ink. His fingers brushed the paper on the desk, now crumpled and discarded, and Xiaoli’s breath hitched at the coldness in his touch.
“What are you talking about again Taehyung? I thought we were done speaking about this topic.” Taehyung’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, the air thickening with the tension between them.
“I shall see you in the morning, and I hope that a good sleep will bring you to your senses.” He said, his voice lowering, a cold warning hanging in the silence. Xiaoli’s heart raced, a wave of frustration and helplessness flooding through her.
“I will not let you break me. No is a no—” she raised her voice when he was about to leave the room. She lifted her chin, refusing to back down.
“Nor will you break my sister, mark my words Kim Taehyung, and be sure to tell them to that leader of yours.”
For a moment, there was silence.
Taehyung’s lips curled into a cold smile.
“You love me, Xiaoli. You do—” his bold and explicit words sent a tidal wave through her body.
“The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can live without the weight of that foolishness.”
“Good morning, angel.”
Truth to be spoken, Xiaoli was afraid to not come and a part of her knew that he would have his way nonetheless. Today, she was determined to put an end to Kim Taehyung's attempts to groom her.
Before she could reply, Xiaoli felt his lips brushing against hers, soft yet demanding. The world around them faded, leaving only the warmth of their connection, the lingering tension of unspoken words. She found herself responding,telling herself, just this once, curiosity mingling with a twinge of fear. She did not understand what was happening. Did she not make her standing in their relationship clear last night? His vulgarity shocked her.
The air was crisp and cool in November, a hint of frost glimmering on the ground as Xiaoli and Taehyung stood close in the stable, the warmth of their earlier kiss lingering like a sweet echo. The horses shifted in their stalls, unaware of the tension that had just shifted between the two of them.
The next moment, she was observing his muscular hands saddling the horse for her, still not understanding what happened. Too shocked to speak, to even comment or reply good morning to him.
Taehyung’s posture was relaxed, but beneath the surface, an insidious obsession twisted within him. He guided his horse closer to hers, a gleam in his eye that hinted at the darkness lurking beneath his charming façade.
“Have you thought about my proposal, my beloved?” He asked, curious. His proposal was rather sudden and the change in him very obvious. He was not hiding his feelings for her anymore. At least that is how he perceived the situation.
“Taehyung,-” she called out softly, watching as he approached, his breath misting in the cold air. His usual confident stride seemed tempered by the season’s sombre beauty.
“I am not sure if I can fully embrace this. I told you so–” she admitted, her gaze unwavering. He lifted his eyesight to meet hers. Taehyung, mounted on his sleek black horse, maintained a close pace beside Xiaoli, who rode a chestnut mare. The crisp air was filled with the sounds of hoofbeats crunching through the snow.
“Do you feel that?” Taehyung asked, his breath visible in the frosty air. “It is as if the world is ours alone.”
Xiaoli glanced at him, warmth blooming in her chest. “Nature is certainly beautiful,” she replied, the thrill of the ride mixing with the tension that still lingered after their kiss.
“Just like you,” he said, the sincerity in his voice making her heart race. “I want to share moments like this with you forever.”
“Taehyung…” She whispered, her disapproval evident in her voice.
“Xiaoli, beloved—” he said, voice smooth yet edged with intensity, “imagine a life where you belong to me, where no one can take you away. You would never have to worry about your father or anyone else. Just us.” His smile was wide, but there was a predator’s hunger behind it.
“Did we not share good times together, angel?” She shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, feeling the weight of his gaze.
“Taehyung, this is not what I want. I already have obligations—”
He interrupted, his tone sharpening.
“I can become your obligation, would you not fancy that over marrying a stranger?” He stressed out.
“We have our lives, our families, and that kiss—”
“Was it not real, my dear?” he interrupted, a spark of frustration flashing in his eyes.
“Uncalled for!” She raised her voice.
“You cannot just kiss me, Taehyung, we talked about us being friends just yesterday, did we not?” she said, trying to find the right words. Taehyung’s expression softened, and he nodded slowly, acknowledging the weight of her words.
But as they rode deeper into the woods, Xiaoli could not shake the feeling that something had shifted—not just between her and Taehyung, but within herself. The kiss replayed in her mind, its intensity causing her to question her feelings.
The snowflakes swirled around them, creating an enchanting atmosphere that felt almost dreamlike. But beneath the surface, Xiaoli knew this was not going to end well for her.
“Is this yet another strategic move of your Kkangpae?” She blurted out. Taehyung’s expression darkened at her words, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something more intense.
“And if it is?” he cut in, anger and hurt lacing his tone. “I am offering you everything, and you are turning me down for what? Some semblance of duty?”
“The future I want does not include you!” she cried, her voice trembling. They cannot be friends, she has decided that it will be better to lose him than fall in line. The reality of their situation hung heavily between them, each word slicing deeper than the last.
“You do not have to part with your sister ever again!” Her mind stops for a fleeting moment, thinking about this for some peculiar proposal.
“You think this will make me fall in love with you, do you not?” she spat, the bitterness on her tongue sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.
His lips curled into a cold, controlled smile, the kind of smile that made her skin crawl. “Love,” he murmured, getting closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “Love will come, in time. Whether you want it or not.”
Her body tensed, every fibre of her being fighting against the reality of it all. This is not love, she thought, her mind screaming with the agony of the truth.
Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, a mix of desperation and determination flaring within them. “You do not even know what you want yet, Xiaoli. You are running from a feeling that can change everything–”
“You make me feel alive,” he continued, searching her eyes for understanding.
“Taehyung, I cannot—” her tears spilt over, her voice losing its power.
“Just trust me,” he urged, his fingers brushing her arm. “Give in.”
“What are you—”
In a swift motion, he pushed his horse forward, pressing against her side. Xiaoli instinctively jerked her reins, trying to regain control. The sudden jolt sent her horse rearing back, and she lost her balance, falling hard to the ground. Pain exploded in her head as it connected with the earth, a sharp crack reverberating in the stillness around them.
Taehyung dismounted swiftly, panic lacing his features for a fleeting moment that luck was not on his side, that she fell harder than he wanted her to. But before you could blink it was all replaced by a chilling calmness.
“Everything shall be alright, my beloved. I shall make it all better,” he murmured, his voice soft yet chillingly possessive.
“I love you.”
The world spun into a blur of pain and darkness, Xiaoli’s last coherent thought was the cold touch of Taehyung’s hand, his voice a chilling promise in her ear.
When she woke, her head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the snowy forest. The room was sterile, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptics. Her body felt restrained, bound to a cold, metal table. Panic surged through her veins as she struggled to move, but the restraints held firm.
Blinking slowly, she tried to make sense of her surroundings, the sterile white walls closing in on her. Kim Seokjin, one of the seven, stood at the foot of the bed, his face an unreadable mask. Dressed in a pristine white coat, he exuded an unsettling calmness. The tools of his trade lay meticulously arranged on a nearby table.
Xiaoli knew that he was the family’s doctor, but she did not understand what she was doing in his practice.
“Doctor Kim... what am I doing here?" Her voice was a fragile whisper when she addressed the older male, barely audible over the pounding of her heart.
He approached her slowly, his eyes cold and clinical. “There is no need to be afraid, dear. I will make it all better for you now.”
Strapped to the bed, Xiaoli’s attempts to move were futile. Panic surged through her veins as Seokjin prepared the instruments, his movements deliberate and precise. Tears streamed down her cheeks, the horror of her situation sinking in with every passing second.
“Is this what you did to your fiancée?!” Xiaoli remembers the talks of the young female kicking and screaming any moment she had the chance to, just to make it harder for Doctor Kim in public, making everybody know that she was here against her will.
Seokjin paused, a flicker of emotion crossing his otherwise stoic face. For a brief moment, his eyes softened, memories perhaps surfacing in his mind. But the moment was fleeting, replaced quickly by his professional detachment.
“Her thoughts were just as confused as yours,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But in the end, it was necessary. For her, and for us.”
The drastic change in her demeanour did not go unnoticed, yet everybody chose to ignore that, calling it her “enlightenment.”
Xiaoli’s heart raced faster, her breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. “No, please. You do not have to do this. I can... I can leave. I shall not tell anyone that this ever happened.”
“You would leave your dear older sister here when we are offering you life within our ranks?”
His words struck a nerve, the mention of her sister pulling at Xiaoli’s deepest fears. “My sister…,” she stammered, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. She couldn’t abandon her, but she couldn’t accept this twisted fate either. Y/N would want her to fight this.
Seokjin’s eyes hardened, his patience thinning. “This is not a negotiation, Xiaoli. Your sister is safe, and she will remain so as long as you comply.”
In that unfortunate situation, Xiaoli did not know that there was no way that they would do something to Y/N, how could they? She ought to be the queen of them all. They cannot risk it going the wrong way.
A sob escaped her lips, the weight of her predicament crashing down on her. “Please, Doctor Kim. There must be another way.”
“You sound just like her. Your pleas are almost identical—” Seokjin’s expression softened, but only slightly.
“There is not. This is for your own good and for the good of the family. You will understand in time that Taehyung-sshi is the best thing that could ever come your way, child.”
Xiaoli’s tears flowed freely as Seokjin moved closer, the cold metal of his instruments glinting under the harsh lights. Her mind raced, searching for any possible escape, but the reality of her situation was inescapable.
“Please...,” she whispered one last time, her voice breaking.
Seokjin’s hand rested gently on her forehead, a mockery of comfort. “Hush now, Xiaoli. It will all be over soon.”
As the procedure began, Xiaoli’s cries echoed in the sterile room, a haunting symphony of despair. “Please...,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I cannot do this.”
Seokjin approached her with a syringe in hand, his expression one of detached professionalism. The needle glinted ominously in the harsh light, a harbinger of the nightmare to come. “This will help you relax,” he said, his tone clinical and devoid of empathy.
Xiaoli’s heart pounded in her chest as the needle pierced her skin, a sharp sting that quickly gave way to a spreading numbness. Her vision blurred at the edges, the room tilting and swaying as the sedative took hold. Despite the fog settling over her mind, the panic continued to surge through her veins.
As the sedative dulled her senses, Xiaoli’s thoughts became fragmented, and disjointed. Memories of her childhood with Y/N flashed before her eyes, moments of laughter and love now tainted by the fear of losing herself. She tried to cling to those memories, to hold on to the essence of who she was, but they slipped through her fingers like sand.
“Why are you even doing this?” she managed to murmur, her voice slurred by the sedative. “Please... I will do anything...”
“Because you were not ready to accept his love and the love of this clan, my dear,” Seokjin replied, his voice eerily calm. Xiaoli’s thoughts grew increasingly disjointed, a chaotic jumble of fear, pain, and fragmented memories.
Seokjin’s voice broke through the haze, a steady drone that contrasted sharply with the chaos in her mind. “You will be better soon. You will see things clearly and understand your place.”
“Pray for your sister to not need this.” Xiaoli’s mind shut down in a desperate bid for self-preservation. The last thing she saw was Taehyung’s face, his expression a mixture of triumph and possession before everything faded to black.
Her head was secured tightly after she lost consciousness, Seokjin carefully lifted her upper eyelid, exposing the soft tissue beneath. The point of entry is the thin, bony orbital roof, a structure that protects the eye within its socket. He is trying to do this without having to opt for the leucotome method.
Inserting the slender leucotome, just above the eyeball he severed the white matter fibres of her prefrontal cortex, methodically disconnecting the very essence of her thoughts and emotions, enough to just reorganize her persona into something she was not. Less capable of resistance, less capable to decide for herself.
“This better work, Seokjin, I cannot lose her.” His words cut through the air, a desperate plea as his gaze fixed on Xiaoli’s still form. She had to come back as the woman he wanted—obedient, loyal, bound to him in every way.
Nobody would ever notice. After all, Xiaoli was never opposed to being a wife of a high profile mafia member in comparison to her sister.
Her thoughts, her dreams, her fears—all of them slipping away, restructured, reshaped. The woman Taehyung had demanded would emerge from this, but at what cost?
Xiaoli would no longer fight him. She would no longer question him. In time, she would look to him, and him alone, for purpose.
Her body would heal; the bruising would fade, and the scar on her scalp would eventually blend, after all, everybody will think that it needed to be done after her unfortunate fall from the horse.
“If not, I will do it on the other side too, but that is risky” Seokjin murmured, but even he wasn’t sure if he believed it. Doing it with only one side was just as risky. The woman she had been might not return, but the woman Taehyung desired most certainly would.
“Why?” Taeyhung voiced.
“You do not want her to be a vegetable, do you?”
Xiaoli, the girl who would fight for her sister to be free of the notorious Korean Kkangpae Min, would cease to exist.
The rest would simply be a matter of time.
The next time she wished to write to her sister, innocently, Taehyung’s hand shot out, swiftly taking hold of the letters and ripping them from her grasp before she could finish her sentence. The paper fluttered to the floor, torn and lifeless.
“You cannot write to her, Xiaoli,” he said, each word deliberate. Xiaoli could not shake off the familiarity of this moment. As if she was reliving something from before.
“You belong here now, with me, love. You owe everything to this clan. To me.”
Her throat tightened, tears welling in her eyes as she tried to hold onto the fragments of herself that still fought to resist. “Alright, I understand.”
“She is safe,” he said, his voice cold and final, “and if she is to remain so, she will need to embrace her new life, just as you will. You will have no more distractions, no more ties to the past. Your sister will adjust, just like you did.”
She was a shell that smiled when expected, nodded in approval when necessary, and followed Taehyung’s every command without question. She was no longer a woman who sought freedom for her sister, who fought against the weight of the world. No, she was now simply his—his to guide, to possess, to mould into the role that had been chosen for her.
The pain of her sister’s struggle was no longer her burden to bear, not when she had been given a new, more fitting role to play. She belonged here now, she understood that—at least, she told herself she did. The clan had welcomed her with open arms, and Taehyung’s presence was both commanding and comforting. He was the anchor to her existence now, and she had no choice but to submit, for it was the only life she had left.
The day of their wedding arrived, the final step in the transformation of Xiaoli into the woman she had been shaped to be. The air was thick with anticipation, the ornate halls of the family compound dressed in rich colours, the scent of incense mingling with the opulence of the setting. Guests, powerful men and women from every corner of the clan gathered in hushed reverence, all eyes on the bride as she stepped into the room.
The silk fabric, lustrous ivory, was adorned with intricate patterns that seemed to dance in the flickering light, each thread whispering secrets of elegance and heritage. Her attire was simple yet breathtaking—a testament to timeless beauty. Even though it tinged Y/N with sadness that her sister chose to wear a Korean wedding dress instead of showing off their culture. It seemed that they even took the country out of her too.
The ceremony was a blur, just like everything else. The vows, the prayers, the promises—they all felt distant, detached. There was no room for anything more. Not when her thoughts, her emotions, had been so carefully erased, so perfectly reshaped to fit this role. She loved him, because she was told to do so.
As they left the altar together, Taehyung’s hand around hers, there was a finality to the moment that left her breathless. The gold band on her finger, heavy with meaning, designed with filigree — an oval, dark red ruby sat at its centre, glowing with an almost ominous warmth.
She glanced upon her sister sitting next to her husband once the ceremony was almost at its end. Her hand was sliced with a knife, Y/N, now the Min Buin, watched in silence, her expression unreadable. Xiaoli saw only the coldness of a woman who had embraced her new role.
She recited her pledge of loyalty to them and Y/N could not help herself but sigh. She could not reverse Xiaoli’s fate. The girl she knew was long gone and the woman she became was not who Y/N knew. Although, that will not make her love her less.
Her gaze flickered to Xiaoli, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or guilt—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
Xiaoli’s bloodied trembling hand remained pressed against Y/N’s belly, a symbol of sacrifice, for what was to come. Y/N looked at her for a long moment before her hands gripped Xiaoli’s to reassure her for the last time that she was here. Min Yoongi’s watchful eyes did not miss this slight change in both of them, but for now, he is determined to let it slip.
“Blessed be the fruit of your future legacy, Kkangpae Min.”
“Lǎodà Wang wishes to speak to you, Min Buin.” Y/N has set down the cup of her today’s dose of the herbal tea and breathed in, frustrated. She sat there for a moment longer, staring at the delicate ceramic cup.
“You can tell him what you usually do, Xiu — he can schedule an audience with me whilst my husband is present—” she began. Her voice was steady, but tinged with the faintest thread of frustration as she glanced at the delicate ceramic cup in front of her. The soft scent of the herbal tea filled the air, but it couldn’t soothe the growing unease tightening in her chest.
Xiu was her father’s maid since she was a child, hence she hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding. “Min Buin, this matter seems urgent. Lǎodà Wang insists on seeing you alone.”
“I have no interest in seeing him alone, Xiu—” She had kept her distance from him ever since her marriage to Yoongi.She did not protest when his command was to limit the interaction between the father and the sisters.
“I must insist, Min Buin.” Xiu repeated, her voice calm but firm. It was rare for Xiu to speak with such authority, but there was something in her demeanour that suggested the urgency of this matter was not to be ignored.
Y/N exhaled slowly, her thoughts spinning. “Alright, tell him to meet me in Kkangpae’s office. Off you go.”
Xiu bowed her head slightly, her expression unreadable, and then turned to leave the room without a word. Y/N watched her go, her mind whirling with unease. The mention of Lǎodà Wang was enough to unsettle her, but the insistence on meeting alone only deepened her suspicion. There was something off about this, something she couldn’t quite place.
Once Xiu disappeared from her sight, Y/N rose from her seat and walked toward the window, gazing out at the sprawling grounds of the hotel.
Why now? Why is her father so desperate to speak with her alone?
Xiaoli and Taehyung have been wed and there is no tie to him now. As a matter of fact, he can set a sail back to China, anytime now. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Time was slipping away.
She moved to gather herself for the meeting with her father. The weight of everything she had set in motion was starting to press on her, but she couldn’t let it show—not yet. She needed her mind sharp and clear, and she had no time to waste. But Y/N could see the sharpness in her sister’s eyes as she hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“What is it, pumpkin?” Y/N’s voice was calm, but the undercurrent of frustration and unease was evident.
“Are you sure you are ready to do this now?”
Y/N finally turned to face her, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp. She studied her sister for a moment, taking in the subtle shift in Xiaoli’s demeanour, the way her posture had become more rigid as if she too could feel the weight of the coming confrontation. Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“Are you?” Xiaoli hesitated, but nodded, solemnly.
“I can come with you,” she suggested. Y/N’s gaze softened for just a moment.
“No,” Y/N said firmly, her voice steady. “This is not your burden, Xiaoli.”
Xiaoli nodded slowly, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “But it is, innit?” She stepped forward, her voice dropping to a murmur. “This is everyone’s fight. He has always been able to divide us,—”
The truth of it was there in her words, but she refused to acknowledge the vulnerability creeping up her spine. She could not afford to waver.
“Everything will be okay, pumpkin—” Y/N gave a final, lingering glance to her sister.
“—Ha-sun?” She called. The soft sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway before the door creaked open revealing the young maid.
“Min Buin?”
Y/N didn’t turn immediately, her eyes still fixed on the sprawling grounds below, though her thoughts were far from the peaceful view.
“Get me Jeon Jungkook, armed.” Ha-sun’s eyes widened slightly at the command, but she nodded quickly, understanding the gravity in Y/N’s tone.
“And call for Kkangpae Min, say he needs to return at once.”
Without a word, she turned and left the room, her footsteps retreating down the hall.
The situation when Xiaoli and Taehyung got engaged was already volatile, but this—this felt like something else entirely. The tension was palpable, thick with layers of unspoken threats and promises.
Y/N moved toward the door, ready to face her father, Xiaoli’s voice suddenly stopped her in her tracks.
“Wait,” Xiaoli called out, standing up from the chair where she had been sitting. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and amusement as she eyed her sister’s outfit.
Xiaoli walked up to her, raising an eyebrow. “Are you seriously wearing trousers?” she asked, her tone dripping with incredulity. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, her patience already stretched thin.
“Are you seriously asking me that?”
Xiaoli crossed her arms, her lips curving into a mischievous grin. “It is just… you are about to face the wrath of Lǎodà Wang, and you are wearing pants? Is it not a little… aggressive?”
Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes as she straightened her posture, her expression shifting to one of mock seriousness.
“I am about to go confront the man who ruined our lives for years, Xiaoli. Trust me, these pants are the least of his problems.”
“What does a father have to do to see his daughter here?!” Y/N’s jaw tightened.
“I assume you have a reason for requesting to be in my presence.”
The air was thick with tension, the scent of aged wood and leather mingling with the faint traces of Yoongi’s cologne lingering in the corners.
The walls were lined with bookshelves, the shelves packed with legal documents, expensive liquor bottles, and the occasional framed photograph of her and the Min clan family men. But tonight, it was the man in front of her that commanded all her attention.
Her father, Wang Zemo, stood at the far end of the room, facing the large mahogany desk where Yoongi usually worked. He was still as imposing as ever—his tall, broad frame overshadowing the delicate space, his dark eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite read.
He turned to face her short form only for his eyes to narrow with disbelief.
“What is this?” His voice was sharp. Y/N met his gaze, standing her ground, confused at what exactly her father was referring to.
She stood in the doorway, an almost ethereal figure, wearing a beige, floral-print qipao with short sleeves and a high collar. The delicate embroidery on the fabric caught the light, its intricate petals whispering a grace that felt both foreign to her now but still strangely familiar. Her wide-leg, high-waisted brown trousers fell to her ankles, the fabric swaying as she shifted. Dark-coloured heels clicked lightly on the floor, sharp and deliberate. There was something about her—bold, beautiful, yet undeniably out of place.
“What do you mean?” She asked him, playing confused.
“Are you wearing goddamn trousers, Y/N?!” The air was thick with the weight of her father’s fury. Y/N felt the sting of his words, the disbelief in his eyes cutting deeper than she expected. Seems like Xiaoli was right after all, it did anger him.
“Yes, Father,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the sharpness in his tone. “I am wearing trousers.”
Y/N’s gaze flickered toward the desk, where Yoongi’s chair was empty, his absence adding to the heaviness in the air. She felt the weight of her father’s presence pressing on her, but she refused to let it show.
There was no longer any room for fear. She was no longer a child, nor his pawn.
“You are a woman, Y/N.” Y/N stood firm, her heart racing. Breathing this moment through, she was trying to calm herself. She cannot screw this up.
“Ah, yes, thank you for the reminder of my gender, Father. I almost forgot. Now, could you please enlighten me on the real reason you wanted to have this delightful conversation in the first place?”
The muscles in his jaw tightened as Y/N’s words cut through the air with a little bit of sarcasm. Her father didn’t immediately answer. The room seemed to grow smaller with each second.
“You have not once bothered to seek me out, child.” Wang Zemo finally said, his voice low and filled with a mixture of disappointment and anger.
“You have not exactly made yourself approachable,” Y/N retorted, her voice sharp when she touched her shorter perfectly styled dark hair.
Wang Zemo took a step forward, his expression darkening.
“Knowing your husband plans to eliminate my existence. You think I would be easily approachable?—”
Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face impassive. “I do not know what we are talking about.”
“Let me rephrase that, child,” he spat the words, “I have information that could dismantle the foolish scarred boy’s entire empire as I have no intention of going down without a fight.”
Her mind raced, trying to piece together the implications of his words. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I know that you have not fallen into the role of obedient little wife out of love for him, am I wrong?” he said, sloping down to sit on the lowered sofa. Y/N’s eyes followed his movement with disgust.
“Fix me a drink, child, would you, please.”
Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her fingers curling into fists at her sides but moved to the table where Yoongi stored his high-quality whiskey they started to produce just after they got married. “You haven’t answered my question, Father. Why are you telling me this?”
She did not want to get that close to her father, but there was something in his eyes that she could not decipher when she handed him the crystal glass.
“Your Aunt was not aware of Yoongi’s intentions to marry you.”
Wang Zemo expected her daughter to cry, scream and curse at the man he loathed so much. But none of that happened.
“He saw an opportunity to solidify his power and took it—” His eyes narrowed, studying her. He took a long sip of the whiskey, savouring the taste after receiving zero acknowledgement from his daughter before he spoke.
“You fucking knew!” He shouted, not spoke. His face contorted with rage and Y/N started to think if she ever saw her father calm. Y/N’s gaze remained steady, unflinching.
“I knew that, yes,” she replied calmly, not invested in the subject at all anymore.
Wang Zemo’s anger seemed to deflate slightly, replaced by a look of bewilderment. “And you still went through with it?”
“I never had a choice in this, did I?” Y/N’s expression softened, but only for a moment.
“You could have come home with me that day—” He shook his head, disbelief etched into his features.
“I wanted better for you,” he said quietly.
“And I wanted to be free,” she countered. “But we do not always get what we want.”
Y/N watched her father, seeing him not as the invincible patriarch she had once feared, but as a man weakened by time and circumstance.
“If that is all you wished to say to me,—” She dusted her trousers standing up, reading herself for the inevitable.
“I have orchestrated the raids on Yoongi’s warehouses. I have been systematically weakening his operations.”
He said, very calmly after he took a first sip of his drink.
“I did it for you.”
Rage and fear clashed within her, but she kept her voice steady. “What a lovely early birthday present,-” She mocked him.
“I did what was necessary,” he said, leaning back, the drink sloshing slightly in his hand. “For our family and for you, you are ready to finally leave, are you not?—”
She stared at him, a mix of disbelief and sorrow washing over her. “You think this is helping me? You think this chaos is what I need?”
A violent cough shook his frame, and he covered his mouth with a handkerchief. When he pulled it away, Y/N saw the dark stain of blood. The sight sent a chill down her spine, but she forced herself to remain composed. That is her que.
“You are ill,” she said, her voice softer but no less guarded. Wang Zemo looked at her, a strange mixture of defiance and vulnerability in his eyes.
“Colon cancer, they say.” Wang Zemo’s laugh was bitter. “That boy is never going to lead my men. Let me make that clear.”
Wang Zemo’s words hung in the air, his bitter laugh echoing in the room. Y/N’s heart pounded as she processed his statement. The implications were immense, the threat unmistakable.
“Father,” she began, her voice steady but edged with urgency.
“He has taken you from me,” Wang Zemo interrupted, his voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. Y/N’s eyes widened hearing this nonsense.
“He has poisoned your mind, turned you against your own family.” His eyes flashed with anger, but his coughing fit cut him short. Blood speckled the handkerchief again, a stark reminder of his fragile state.
“I want you to end him, Y/N” Wang Zemo reached out, grabbing her wrist with surprising strength. She pulled her hand away, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions.
“No, Father. I will not be a part of your uncalled for vendetta.” The moment hung between them, filled with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.
Y/N shook her head, her hands trembling slightly as she clenched them into fists. “You are blinded by your hatred. I have no clue why you were seeking this conversation to happen, but it is clear that you are not in the right state of mind, so let me remind you of what father you have been.”
He opened his mouth to retort, but another violent cough seized him. Y/N took a step back, her heart a tumult of emotions—pity, anger, sorrow.
“You were never there for me,” she continued, her voice steady but charged with years of suppressed pain. “All my life, you used me as a pawn in your endless power games. Do you think this is about loyalty? Family? No, Father, this is about control. You never saw me as your daughter, only as a tool.”
Her father’s gaze hardened, but he said nothing, his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths. Y/N took a deep breath, her resolve hardening.
“You have hired the best tutors in the world to teach me all the proper ploys of how to be a perfect wife, —” Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her voice remained unwavering.
“You made sure I could speak five languages, play the piano, and host dinners that would impress dignitaries. But did you ever once ask me what I wanted? Did you ever care about my dreams, my desires?”
“No, it was Auntie who did. Letting her send me to study was the only good decision you have ever made in your life!” Wang Zemo’s breath grew shallower, his complexion paling. But Y/N pressed on, refusing to let him off the hook.
“You orchestrated my marriage to Yamamato as a business transaction and when it did not work out, you were forced to accept this union instead. But I am no fool, Father, you did not care about my happiness then, and you certainly do not care now!” She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper.
“You have hit me numerous times when I was a child,—” Y/N continued, her voice trembling with the weight of her suppressed pain.
“You did not care if Ma would die in labour, all you cared about was an heir to your throne.”
Wang Zemo’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and desperation. “I did what I had to do for our family. For our legacy. For your strength!”
“Please, do not force yourself to believe such a fairytale. No father, you only care about your alliances and power. And now, you expect me to betray the man who has shown me more kindness than you ever did?”
“I will kill that kindness of yours. He will become a nobody to you. He is putting thoughts into your head!” he spat out.
Y/N’s heart ached as she looked at her father, a man who had caused her so much pain yet still sought to manipulate her until his last breath. She knew she had a choice to make.
“You did not even visit Auntie when she was dying. Who the fuck are you?” His mouth opened, but the words seemed to get stuck, tangled in the reality that was slipping away from him.
“You were never my father—” Y/N’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, the words more final than she had ever intended. They carried years of hurt, of unspoken resentment, and of a truth she had been too afraid to acknowledge until now.
“Then why are you still here talking to me?” he spat, his anger rising, even as his body weakened. “If you despise me so much, why haven’t you walked away?” Y/N’s gaze hardened. He couldn’t reach her anymore, not with threats, not with manipulation. She had outgrown him.
“Because I want to be the last thing you will ever see.”
Y/N’s voice was cold, each syllable a sharp strike that left no room for misinterpretation. Wang Zemo’s eyes widened, his lips parting in disbelief. The power in the room shifted as the finality of her declaration settled over them.
“What have you done?” his tone lowered now, as if the weight of the question had finally struck him.
“Nothing,—” Y/N’s lips curled into a cold smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not yet, at least. But I am the niece of my aunt, am I not?” Wang Zemo’s eyes narrowed.
“No,” he rasped, his voice a warning. Scanning the crystal glass with his dark eyes, “You have done nothing with it. You are playing games.”
“Maybe, or maybe not.” Y/N’s smile deepened, though it was anything but warm. “But you… You have done more than enough to seal your own fate.”
Wang Zemo’s hand gripped the arm of the chair as if the world was slipping from his grasp. His eyes searched hers, looking for some sign of weakness, some flicker of the daughter he once knew. But there was nothing.
“You cannot do this to me, not you—” he rasped, his voice cracking with the desperation of a man who had finally realized the price of his ambition. “You are my blood… You owe me.”
“I do not, but I will help you understand, now—” Y/N’s voice was steady, her words slicing through the tension like a blade.
“You will regret this! I was your ticket out of here!” Y/N’s gaze remained unflinching, as cold as the steel in her voice. She stepped closer, her presence a stark contrast to his fragile state, standing tall and unshaken. The difference between them had never been clearer.
“I would not care what happens with you, but it seems my husband does care, as you ought to set an example for the other clans.”
“This is foul play!” The gun trembled in his grip as he pointed it toward her, the barrel glinting in the dim light. His fingers curled around the trigger, the same fingers that had once held her as a child, now threatening to take everything from her.
“I was your father," Wang Zemo rasped, his voice cracking,”I am your father!” Sweat slicked his forehead, "and you will learn that I can still control you."
Y/N sighed. Her chest rose and fell as if the weight of everything she had just unleashed was pressing down on her. She had always carried this burden, this gnawing needs to free herself from the ghosts of her past, or at least one of them.
“I will not go quietly,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “If I must die, I will take you with me.”
“Right,—” she began.
“I will give you the courtesy and explain what will happen once you pull the trigger.”
Wang Zemo’s hand shook, the gun wavering slightly in his grasp, the tension in the air thick enough to choke. His eyes locked onto Y/N, desperate for any sign that she still cared, still feared him. But there was nothing—no hint of hesitation, no flicker of remorse. She stood there, unbroken, unwavering, her presence almost suffocating in its certainty.
“To begin, if you would have colon cancer, you would shit blood not cough it.” Wang Zemo’s face contorted with confusion. Her statement was so cold, so clinically delivered, that it sent a ripple of unease through his body.
“Now, if you decide to pull the trigger and God gives you the blessing of killing me—” Y/N continued, her tone now a chilling blend of indifference and precision “Yoongi will let you die the most painful and slow death he will think of.” Her gaze flicked downward to the gun in his hand, then back to his face.
“No, it will not be a quick, merciful death, Father. It will be something far worse—a lingering agony that mirrors the suffering you have caused so many others.”
She took another step closer, her voice lowering, a deadly quietness to it now.
“Now, the moment you fire the bullet, Jungkook will be here in seconds to save me, not you Father. Which brings us to — how do you feel?” Her voice lowered, venomous and precise “Is your heart slowing down already?”
His hand shook violently, the weapon trembling in his grasp, as he tried to process the suffocating inevitability of her presence. She took another deliberate step forward, and Zemo flinched, instinctively trying to recoil. But his body betrayed him, frozen by the terror of what her words meant.
“I am not afraid of you!” Y/N was not sure whether he was screaming at her or at death itself, but she answered for both of them.
“No, Father. You are not afraid of me. But you will be. You are drowning in your own failure, suffocated by your own decisions. And in those final moments, when your body betrays you and the darkness takes you, I want you to think of me. I want you to remember everything you have done to me, Xiaoli and Ma — every mistake, every cruelty. And remember that I am the last thing you will see.”
The words hit him with the force of a blow, and his chest tightened, each breath coming in shallow gasps. His vision blurred, his pulse racing as his mind struggled to catch up with the impossible reality Y/N was laying out before him.
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, and his fingers trembled, the gun feeling heavier with each passing second. His heart hammered in his chest, a staccato rhythm that felt far too loud in the heavy silence. He could feel the walls closing in on him, suffocating him.
And then, a flicker of fear—a glimpse of his own mortality—crept into his mind, deeper than any threat he had ever made. His body was betraying him, and the weight of it crushed him.
“You will go down, no matter what choice you will make.” The gun still shook in his hand, but he felt a strange calm wash over him, a resignation that he had not expected.
His heart pounded in his chest, its rhythm erratic and violent, each beat a forceful thud that seemed to rattle his bones. A sharp pain shot through his left arm, searing like fire, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse. His head swam with dizziness, his surroundings distorting into a tunnel of panic and suffocating pressure.
His grip on the weapon tightened reflexively, but his fingers felt weak and unsteady, struggling to maintain their hold as the world spun around him. The pressure in his chest mounted, a crushing weight that made it harder to breathe, and harder to think. His pulse quickened, each beat faster than the last, pounding in his temples, in his throat, until it felt as though it might burst.
His vision flickered, darkening at the edges, and a cold sweat broke out across his brow, his skin clammy as if he were sinking into the very depths of despair. His mind, once sharp and calculating, was clouded by the chaos of his body betraying him.
“You think you are clever, but you are just a wife of your husband, a mere woman!” Those last few words felt all too familiar to Y/N, but this time, she did not falter.
“Women like you do not rise, they only serve men. You think you are the queen?! What is a queen without her king?!”
“You have never been worthy of my respect, Father,” she said softly, the venom still present but tempered with the quiet certainty of someone who had finally reclaimed their power.
“And you will not be in death either.”
His finger trembled on the trigger. The finality of it felt overwhelming, and suffocating, but there was no turning back. With a final breath, Wang Zemo attempted to pull the trigger. His hands were too weak to even handle the luger pistol as it went crashing to the ground with a loud thud, just like his crystal glass of whiskey, his body followed. The sound echoed through the room, alerting the young man standing right outside of the room.
The man who had once towered over her now crumpled at her feet, the gun useless at his side. She made no move to comfort, no gesture of sorrow or regret.
Instead, she slipped her hands into her pockets, her shoulders square, as she slowly crouched beside him. His breath still came in shallow gasps, each exhale a reminder that time, for him, was running out.
Her lips curled into a faint, cold smile.
“Nonetheless, I am Queen, and Queens do not bow, Father. They conquer.”
Y/N did not flinch. She did not need to. The man before her had already destroyed himself, in mind and in body, long before this moment had the chance to happen.
The door swung fully open, and there, framed in the doorway, stood the man she was supposed to call her endgame. Behind him, Jungkook’s sharp eyes flickered between Y/N and the wreckage of her father.
Yoongi’s gaze swept over Y/N, and then to her father. The faintest trace of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was gone in an instant, replaced with the steely composure he had mastered. His dark eyes narrowed, taking in the scene.
“Are you alright, Dove?”
A strange calm settled over Y/N whilst she was watching her father slowly die.
“I am good,” she replied, her voice steady and unyielding, “but he is not.”
Yoongi stepped closer, his eyes filled with a mix of concern but also admiration.
“Did you poison him?” Jungkook’s voice echoed behind them. Y/N turned her gaze to Jungkook, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“No,—” she said softly, “I just made him think I did.” Yoongi raised an eyebrow. When he got an urgent call to one of his warehouses where he was personally overseeing the shipment of Min whiskey with hidden snow in the bottles, he did not expect to come back to the hotel to this scenery. His mind raced through the events of this day and nowhere not even close to this, he thought that his wife would eliminate Wang Zemo on her own. That was not the plan.
Y/N knew that his father was sick for a while, but what she also knew was the hereditary condition of a weak heart that flows in their family. It was a silent killer, a ticking time bomb that Y/N had learnt to exploit.
First, she made him think that she had poisoned him, his panic was almost immediate. She exploited his fear and turned it into a panic attack which his heart condition could not handle for a long time. His belief that he was poisoned triggered a fatal heart attack she had anticipated - hoped for. She exploited his psychological vulnerabilities to bring about his end, ensuring that the autopsy would say died of natural causes.
Jungkook nodded slowly, his expression shifting from confusion to admiration.
“You used his own mind against him.” Yoongi stepped closer, his gaze locked on Y/N, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. He couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride in her. She had done what was necessary, what was ruthless, but ultimately, she had done what needed to be done. For him. That is what he ultimately believed, she did it for him.
“He knew you were planning to kill him.” She wasn’t looking for approval or some sort of acknowledgement. She did it for herself. For Xiaoli. For her mother and little brother. The world will be at least a tiny peace better without her father.
“Well, it looks like I have missed the party,” She hadn’t heard him approach. Namjoon’s voice resonated the room, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes taking in the scene with a mixture of curiosity and something else—perhaps a flicker of reluctant approval.
Y/N didn’t smile back. She didn’t need to. She knew Namjoon well enough to understand that his words, however casual, were never without layers. He wasn’t just commenting on the spectacle of her father’s death; he was acknowledging something deeper. Something far more dangerous.
“Did you?” Y/N’s voice was cool, and smooth, as she turned her full attention to him, her eyes sharp with intent.
Namjoon chuckled softly, his gaze flickering from her to Yoongi, and then to Jungkook, who was still processing the events unfolding before him.
“I suppose I did,” Namjoon said, his tone tinged with dark humour, “this is far more elegant than what we would do,” his eyes flickered to Yoongi and she arched her brow. Y/N was not enlightened into Yoongi’s plan with her father but that did not matter to her - the outcome is the same. Today, she would sleep soundly. Because her most intrusive thoughts are becoming reality.
She knew Yoongi’s eyes were on her, studying her every movement, every nuance of her demeanour. He had expected her to break down—expected her to show some sign of regret, or at least the weight of the moment to sink in. But Y/N had made peace with this long ago.
“I did not expect you to be this calm,” Yoongi said, his voice low, almost cautious.
“I buried him a long time ago.” The words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed.
Jungkook, who had been silently absorbing the entire scene, finally broke his silence. His voice was quieter, less sure than usual.
“So, this... this was not part of any plan?” He looked to Yoongi for confirmation, still processing the revelation that Y/N had acted independently, that she had outmanoeuvred them all.
Yoongi met his gaze briefly, a subtle tension in his features, before turning his focus back to Y/N.
“No. It was not the plan.” He said it with finality, though his words seemed to hang in the air with an unspoken understanding. There was no anger in his voice—only a sort of resigned acceptance.
Namjoon, however, seemed to find something else amusing in the air. His lips curled into a smirk, his gaze flicking over Y/N as if seeing her for the first time. His eyes paused at the hem of her outfit, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face.
“Hold on a second,” he said, his tone laced with amusement, his eyebrow quivering upward. “Are you... wearing trousers?”
Y/N stared at him for a moment, and for a split second, it almost felt like she was in the middle of some twisted dark humour comedy.
“You must be fucking kidding me” she muttered.
“That was way better than what you planned, Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung said, a hint of a smirk on his face. Yoongi’s eyes flickered with irritation at Taehyung’s comment, but he quickly masked it with a tight smile. Namjoon nodded in agreement.
“I knew she had it in her,” the right hand man said, almost to himself. Seokjin leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative.
“Is she alright?” the doctor asked, concern evident in his voice.
“I checked on her earlier, she seems oddly calm—-” Jimin, still thinking about the moment he arrived at the scene, spoke up to answer the question.
“It is almost scary how composed she is.” Jungkook, who had been pacing, finally stopped and faced the group.
“If you would have been in the room when he attempted to drag her out of here by her hair, you would understand the hatred she felt towards that sick psychopath.”
The room fell silent as the gravity of Hoseok’s words sank in. Jungkook clenched his fists, his jaw tightening.
“We should have done something sooner,—” he muttered, guilt lacing his voice.
“Well she was just faster than us, and apparently, Xiaoli and her mother knew,” Yoongi added, his voice laced with a mixture of frustration and admiration.
Just how much these women hated that man?
“Did she tell you that?” Yoongi shook his head but recalled the lack of emotion her mother showed when they told her that her husband had passed away from a heart attack. Nor did Xiaoli shed a tear for her father, but in that case, it’s different.
Jungkook’s expression softened slightly, his concern for Y/N clear. “We need to make sure Y/N is okay. She has been through enough by now.”
Taehyung’s smirk returned, albeit more subdued. “That wife of yours is tougher than any of us gave her credit for though.”
“So what now?” Hoseok’s voice echoed in the room. His gaze swept across the group, seeking answers, or at least some clarity.
Yoongi leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, thinking of what his wife had just done for him and their family. This was huge in his head and he could not get it out of it.
“As I know her, she will ask for something in return, or use this in whatever negotiation.” Yoongi’s gaze darkened, his expression serious.
“She took control, and she knows that.” Hoseok frowned at Yoongi’s words, stepping closer to the table where the group had gathered. Yoongi met Hoseok’s gaze, his jaw tight.
“Do you still not trust her, Hyung?” The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension.
“Her behaviour has been odd lately, let us start with that—” the right-hand man spoke up, taking the crystal glass of whiskey into his hands. The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, it seemed like Yoongi might not respond.
He leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping on the table, a rhythm that matched his thoughts.
“I trust her,” Yoongi said, his voice low but firm. “But all the previous experience makes me think that she sees this as her opportunity to do something bigger—” Yoongi sighed, rubbing his temple.
“She took down her own father, for God’s sake.” Hoseok raised his voice. “She is devoted to you.” Yoongi’s gaze hardened as he met Hoseok’s eyes.
“That I am starting to believe she finally is, sure,” Yoongi said slowly, each word measured. “But I get Namjoon’s suspicions of her, she did not attempt to run for quite some time, as if she is plotting something—”
“Maybe she is playing us all.” Taehyung, sensing the rising tension, leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.
“Playing us all?" Yoongi repeated his tone low, almost mocking. “You think Y/N is playing us?”
“She has been too calm about all this, Yoongi. Too composed for someone who just killed her father. You don’t just do that without having something bigger planned.”
Seokjin’s eyes flickered to observe Yoongi’s reaction to their brother’s words. “He is right, Yoongi. She has always been emotional, and driven by her heart. But this—" He shook his head. “It’s different.”
Jimin shifted in his seat, looking between the men, the concern in his eyes growing.
Hoseok stood straighter, his expression softening as he spoke with conviction. “She had a choice. She could have walked away or stayed neutral, but instead, she chose to act. And what she did, Yoongi, was not just for herself. It was for all of us. For you. Do not dare to doubt her loyalty, when she worked hard to finally be contemptuous here!”
Jungkook, his voice quieter than usual, spoke up listening to Hoseok’s words. “She did what she had to do. And whatever her reasons are, I trust her.” His gaze met Yoongi’s. “You should, too.”
Yoongi’s expression hardened, trying to keep his emotions in check. His mind raced, the weight of everything that had happened in the past hours pressing down on him.
Taehyung’s voice broke through the silence once again, more serious than usual.
“She has changed—” Yoongi exhaled sharply, his mind still reeling. “I just need to understand why. Why now? Why this?” His voice dropped to a near whisper, the vulnerability slipping through despite his best efforts to hide it. His heart... his heart wanted to believe in her, wanted to believe she was doing this out of devotion, not manipulation.
“Of course, she has changed!” Hoseok’s frustration was bubbling at this point. "You were nine when she was born," he continued the quiet force in his voice, not backing down.
“Nine years, Yoongi. You have had that much more time to figure things out. To live your life, to become who you are now. She did not have that—” Yoongi’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. The truth was there, raw and unfiltered, and it stung.
“She had three pathetic years to enjoy what life can be and then she went to be your wife.” He took a breath, trying to steady himself. Y/N had spent so much of her life suffocated by the things that had shaped her, by the violence and manipulation that had plagued her existence long before she ever crossed paths with him.
The silence that followed was thick, the air heavy with unspoken emotions.
His voice was quieter than it had been, softer, as he spoke the words he wasn’t sure he was ready to say. “I just… I need to—”
“Even if she is plotting some grand escape, we will stop her, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s head snapped up at the interruption, his eyes narrowing at Hoseok’s words. For a moment, Yoongi’s chest tightened, the idea of Y/N plotting against him threatening to undo everything he’d been trying to hold together.
He stepped forward, his hand resting gently on Yoongi’s shoulder, an attempt to ground him in the present. “You all are too busy doubting her, instead of trusting her.” Yoongi flinched slightly at the rawness in Hoseok’s tone. He had been too caught up in his own doubts to truly see the bigger picture.
“Maybe you are right,” Yoongi muttered, his voice low, almost to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling back to the surface.
“She is not running, Yoongi. She is not playing you. What is happening now is what happens when you have been given enough time to think.” Hoseok’s gaze softened, his expression becoming more contemplative.
For the first time in a long time, Yoongi allowed himself to take a breath, to breathe out the doubt, and let himself hold onto the belief that maybe, just maybe she was done fighting him for good.
“I genuinely hope that you are right, Hoseok-sshi.”
Y/N gave it a few days after the funeral to ask Yoongi for a favour. That well he knew her, she had to give him that. Y/N stands by the door, her posture stiff, but her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She’s been holding this request for days if not since they were married.
“What is wrong, my love?”
Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to address her so gently, not now, not after everything that had happened. But she couldn’t hold this in any longer. She had waited long enough.
Y/N swallowed hard, her throat dry. She had rehearsed these words in her head for days, but now that she was here, standing in front of him, they felt like a foreign language.
“I…” She started, her voice faltering, but she steadied herself. There was no urgency in his voice when he spoke next, but something in his gaze suggested he already knew this was coming.
“Go ahead, Dove,” he said, his voice calm, almost too calm.
“I need you to allow my mother… and Bo Cheng… to travel to Maryland,” she said quietly, her words falling heavy into the room. “To Diayu. They need to be there. To… to live a life I could not.”
Something in the stillness between them made her heart beat faster as if he was expecting her to ask of this. The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, suffocating. Yoongi didn’t speak, his gaze fixed on her with a patience that felt like it was pushing her to continue, to reveal more than she wanted to. Her hands tightened at her sides, and she took a shaky breath.
“I do not think you need them to be here anymore—” Yoongi’s eyes flickered to her hands before returning to her face, his gaze still sharp, analyzing every movement, every word.
“Bo Cheng can grow up without knowing what was supposed to be his—” Y/N continued, her voice barely above a whisper.
Yoongi’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, his posture remaining calculated and composed.
“He is still too young to remember-”
“Are you not going to miss having your mother near, Dove?”
Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the question, the weight of it pressing down on her chest. For a moment, she stood frozen, her gaze flickering down to her clenched fists. She had expected him to ask something like this, but hearing the question out loud—direct and sharp—was a different kind of pressure.
She had never imagined a time when her mother and Bo Cheng wouldn’t be part of her life, but what Yoongi was proposing... it wasn’t about them. It was about her.
“They can come and visit at Christmas time or Chuseok, innit?”
“Christmas time or Chuseok?” he repeated, his voice laced with quiet amusement, though the sharpness in his gaze never faltered.
Y/N’s breath hitched, but she steadied herself. She had to hold on to this. If she let herself waver, even for a second, she feared the price would be too steep. The price he would demand would be too high.
“It is enough,” she said, her voice firm, though it trembled ever so slightly. “They can come and go. They can live their lives far away from here. But I need you to make sure they are safe.” Her eyes met his, unwavering for a brief moment, before she quickly looked away, her gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of her own words had just begun to settle in her chest.
“You are trying to make sure I will not use them as a bargain against you, am I right?”
She had always known how far his control could reach, but hearing him speak it so plainly… made the reality of it hit harder. She swallowed, her throat dry, and for a moment, she said nothing. She couldn't give him the satisfaction of confirming his words outright, but the truth was already in the silence between them.
“Perhaps—” she murmured. Yoongi’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile.
“Perhaps?” His voice dropped, low and dangerously calm. “You still do not believe in my love for you, or do you, dove?”
Y/N’s chest tightened. She didn’t dare meet his gaze again, afraid of what she might see in those dark eyes of his.
“I trust you enough to keep them safe for me,” she said quietly, the words escaping her before she could stop them. It wasn’t a lie. She had to believe it because, without that belief, she would have nothing left.
Yoongi stepped forward, his presence overwhelming. The space between them seemed to shrink, his scent and warmth now consuming the room.
“But you still fear that I will take it all from you,” he murmured, his voice so soft it felt like a whisper meant only for her. “That I will use them to make you obey—”
His words hit too close to the truth. Too much of her had been shaped by the fear of losing control, of being at his mercy again.
“I—” she started, but her throat went dry, her voice unable to carry the weight of the admission. She wasn’t ready to say it. Not yet. Not like this.
“You are right to be afraid, Dove,” he said softly, his voice smooth and almost soothing, but there was a steel edge beneath it. “I could use them against you. I could take them away, pull the strings again, make you bend to my will.”
His thumb brushed across her skin, and Y/N felt herself fighting the urge to pull away. She couldn’t. Not now. She had made her request, and the words had already been set in motion.
“Here is the thing, Y/N,” Yoongi continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous murmur. “I needn’t to. I already got you, have I not?”
A long silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken understanding. He didn’t need to say it. She knew exactly what he was implying, what they both knew.
“Yoongi, I promise that this is the last thing I am asking you for—”
“Answer me, dove.” His voice was quiet, too quiet, but it carried the weight of a hundred unspoken questions.
“I just need this one thing,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please.”
“Answer me first.” His gaze bore into her, unwavering, demanding. She knew what he wanted—he wanted her to admit her fear, her dependence on him.
“Yoongi, please,” she repeated, her voice trembling. Y/N closed the distance between them, her eyes locking onto his. She reached up, her hands trembling as she cupped his face. For a moment, they just stood there, the tension between them palpable.
“I will do anything—” she desperately whispered, but the words caught in her throat. He leaned in, his breath mingling with hers, and before she could lose her nerve, he pressed his lips to hers.
The kiss was soft at first, a gentle exploration, but it quickly deepened into something more intense. Their tongues collided, each seeking to claim the other’s. Their breathing grew ragged, their hearts pounding in unison. Yoongi’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer as if he could never get close enough. Y/N’s hands shook as she cradled Yoongi's face, her fingertips brushing against his skin.
When they finally pulled apart, Yoongi’s forehead rested against hers, his breath coming in soft, ragged puffs. His eyes searched hers, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face—desire, possession, a touch of vulnerability.
“We did not have a chance to return to what we talked about at the jewellers,-” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.
Y/N’s heart raced at his words, the mention of the conversation from before bringing everything back into focus. She had known this was coming, the weight of his demands still hanging in the air like an unspoken agreement between them.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her hands still trembling against his chest as she steadied herself.
“You asked me what I want for my birthday,” he said slowly, his voice laced with a quiet edge. “But you did not hear me out when I said what I needed. What I want.”
Y/N’s pulse quickened, a knot forming in her stomach. She hadn’t been ready for this. Hadn’t thought he would be so direct, so blunt.
“I know what you want,” she said, her voice steady despite the nerves coiling inside her. “But it is not the same thing. I just... I need this one thing, Yoongi. This one thing, and then—”
“No.” His grip tightened around her, his fingers pressing into her skin. “You do not understand, Y/N. We are far beyond that now. You are not going to walk away this time.”
There it was. He wasn’t going to let her walk away from this. The strings were already attached, and now she was tangled in them. His lips brushed against her ear, and his voice was a dark promise as he continued.
“You said you would do anything. Anything, dove.” He paused, his lips trailing to her neck. “You want them safe and away? I will do so—.”
She closed her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. “What do you want from me, Yoongi?”
His response was soft, almost a whisper, but the weight of his words sent a shiver down her spine.
She always knew what he desired, although, for her sanity, she rather chose to not wander into those waters, not even think those thoughts. She was not ready to answer him. She was not ready to be confronted by him so bluntly. But there was something so mundane in Yoongi’s eyes when he said the word
Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥
keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction. Nor in this case, I'm a medical professional.
