warnings: obsession, stalking, thigh riding, mentions of death, hidden cameras, mentions of cheating, slipping in medication, forgery, masturbation
Maybe it was the way you moved under his skin along the way. Maybe the hint of vanilla in your perfume that decided to have a place somewhere in the nook of his scattered brain. Maybe it was the way you beamed a lovely, warm smile at him at 8 in the morning after parking your car right beside his. Or maybe how your tongue rolled to dampen your lips before speaking. If that's the case then Jimin wasn't sure.
He watched you attentively. Day and night. The light on his laptop screen lit up the dark room he hid away from where prying eyes would never find out the dirty secret that preoccupied his dirty mind. You were all his to watch.
"All mine mine mine mine"
He mutters under his breath, pulling out his hardened member that begged to be touched by you. When will that day come? It depends on his timeline. Jimin was an extremely calculated man. His hands will do for the meantime.
Jimin's lucky number is 13 because his birthday falls on the thirteenth day of October. Unlucky for you, you lived on the street with his favorite number, it was on 13th street. He saw it as a sign from the fate that made all of it possible - for you and him to be together.
He watched you undress your office wear; took a mental image of your round, plump ass and perky tits. His eyes wandered in awe all over your body, landing on your thong that hugged your crotch. He imagined pulling it against your clit as the friction aroused you further, fucking yourself along his muscular thighs. He wanted you so bad. So so bad.
His favorite days of watching you were whenever you would touch yourself whether with your fingers or one of your toys. He liked the way your hand would slowly trail down to your pussy as you rub your clit in circular motions slowly then pacing it faster.
His gasps were breathless whenever you finally insert two fingers (sometimes three when you're in a mood) in dripping cunt, fucking yourself like you were putting on a show – well, technically you did but also you didn't know.
He loves staring at your beautiful face when you've finally after abusing your own hole and wished he had done all of that instead. He was obsessed with the way your breast would rise and fall as you heaved for air and thinks your cum staining your satin sheets is an artwork.
He wanted to ruin you until all you had left was him and that he did. He made sure there wouldn't be anything or anyone standing his way with you. Jimin came into your life like a hurricane wreaking havoc along its way but you were never aware of that.
Jimin was the sweet neighbor that held the door open for everyone. The landlord's favorite tenant who always paid his rent ahead of time and greeted everybody with a smile as he exchanged greetings with them.
The collateral damage, however, were your parents whose bodies were left cold in a highway 30 minutes away from your hometown on the day of your birthday, your brother Hoseok's slashed neck whose body was found in a dumpster behind the bar he frequented the day you got promoted, and three of your childhood best friends that died instantly in a bad car crash on the way to your engagement party.
"Why was I ever born with misaligned stars over my head?!"
You cried in his arms every time something bad happened because that's what good neighbors like Jimin do.
"It's not you, Y/N. Mercury is just in retrograde," he assures while cooing to you as he runs his hands along with your silky hair, breathing in your scent.
"Well tell Mercury to fuck off. I'm done with all this shit"
"Want me to beat it up for you?"
You laughed at him, "You're crazy, Jimin"
But he didn't laugh at that. He was as stoic as a stone as if he was caught.
"Sorry, it was a joke. You're not crazy. You keep me sane actually"
That's when he laughed. Not because you took back your pun but because he was, as a matter of fact, fucking crazy.
They talked about the end of times, the plague that will swallow the earth whole to its end, and the finale – the Apocalypse. You thought it meant zombies eating humans and monsters killing all of mankind. It wasn't.
Apocalypse came in a crisp white dress shirt, wearing Chelsea boots with heels that clicked against the marbled floors of your office building, with a clean undercut and demeanor that screamed cold yet warm. He stands in front of you with a soft smile but eyes hooded with lust.
The apocalypse happened when he, out of all the places in Yongsan, moved in next door to your apartment. He knocked on your door one night after his hidden camera caught you crying over a bad breakup with your now ex-fiance Yoongi who cheated on you with your supposed maid of honor, offering to make you his crowd favorite hot chocolate.
The secret ingredient? Ridocaine. But you didn't taste it in your first sip or the next sips that followed that. In fact, you liked it so much that you kept bugging him to make you a warm cup every time he came over until your legs gave out.
The end of times came for you in the form of Park Jimin who successfully forged your resignation letter, signature and all, and faked regular updates on your social media accounts as he had you trapped in his basement where the light didn't touch – with impaled legs – somewhere in sunny Busan.
