An unseemly grunt left you as you were squashed between a large, hard body and the grass. The gunfire surrounding you continued; pounding against your skin and your skull as it rattled. Twisting, you made eye contact with Taehyung where he lay across you, spread eagled to keep your form pinned to the ground. He sent you a boxy grin that you could only respond to with wet eyes. Relief sank through you like a pebble through a lake, leaving you shaking and on the verge of tears.
They came.
They came.
They came.
It was all you could think; the only coherent thought your muddled brain could form as you pressed your face into the ground, witnessing the chaos unfold. From your vantage point, you watched as Hoseok advanced on the attendees with lithe fierceness. The many guns you had spotted on your walk down the aisle had been withdrawn at the first shot through Mr Park's skull, aiming directly for the four shadows cutting across the grass.
Panic curled in your gut like a snake waiting to strike as three men advanced on Namjoon at once. It settled there, waiting. But barely a second passed before the three men were down, clutching at thighs and shoulders or not moving at all. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you were a bit in awe of him. Somewhere, you were in shock. You almost couldn't connect the two; the calm, kind man who had given you a warm bed and a shoulder to lean on, and the slick, proficient killer making light work of Mr Park's men.
But if Namjoon was impressive, Hoseok was a whole other level. But you had known this since the first day you saw him. And it was the same dancer who shot through the crowd now, disabling man after man with his two twin handguns.
Jin tread lightly up behind Namjoon, and the two began to move as a unit, feet steady and secure as they eyed both sides of the garden. Another figure, face covered by a balaclava, was making more use of his fists than his gun. Silver rings winked in the afternoon sun as he punched a much larger man square on the jaw. He fell to the ground, screaming, and you noticed with horror that his jaw was not where it should be. Continuing to watch the man as he stalked through the crowd, your eyes fell to the curve of his shoulders. The way the slacks he wore fit snugly around his thighs was familiar, somehow. Like you had seen it before.
"Jimin," you breathed, realisation dawning.
"Hm?" Taehyung's hum rumbled through his chest and into your back as he murmured into your ear. Following your eyeline, he continued. "Oh. He's wearing that so nobody recognises him."
Of course, you thought. The undercover policeman.
"Y/n," Taehyung shuffled slightly above you, hands coming to rest tightly around the swell of your hips. You exhaled roughly. "In a moment, Namjoon Hyung is going to give us a signal, and you are going to run. Go behind the awning and run straight. There's a fabric ladder over the wall behind the tree line. Yoongi Hyung is waiting in the van." He kept his voice low as he slid slowly, almost imperceptibly down the length of your body. In the haze of the adrenaline rush, you would have thought it would be easy to ignore how smoothly he moved. How all the hard parts of him whispered against the soft parts of you.
It was not easy to ignore.
"What-" you began, awkwardly twisting so that your face was looking into his, a mere few inches away. In the momentary pause that hung between the two of you, Taehyung's throat constricted in a barely visible swallow. "What are you going to do?"
He grinned again, his expression becoming teasing. "Well," he murmured, eyes flitting to his comrades. "I can't let them have all the fun, can I?" You opened your mouth to speak again, but there was no time.
Taehyung's eyes suddenly shot wide, a slightly crazed look in them as he yanked you up from the floor and shoved you toward the awning. You caught the end of Namjoon's signal over your shoulder as you stumbled, crashing unceremoniously to your knees behind the dark wood. Peeking around the structure, you watched as Taehyung joined the war zone, deft fingers manoeuvring a handgun and reloading without a breath.
Mr Park's men were in trouble, now. Their previously much larger group was cut by at least half, many men groaning and rolling in the blood saturating the field. Namjoon and the others suddenly didn't seem so outnumbered. And as you watched the way that these men, these men who had become family to you, moved and ducked and shot and dived, you breathed a sigh of relief.
A smaller figure in black shot across the field, heading straight back for the house.
Thoughts sprung at you, without warning and out of nowhere as you came back to your senses, watching the figure disappear through the french doors.
Your Mother.
Eunhae.
Daewoo.
And before you could think twice about it, your feet were on the move. Running, yes, but not toward the tree line.
Your footsteps were relentless as you tore off after your Mother. A few of Mr Park's men turned toward you in intrigue, but their attention was stolen by Taehyung roaring furiously.
You didn't know if his shouting was at them, or at you.
The french doors banged loudly against the wall as you shoved them open with all your weight pressing forward. There were a few staff in the foyer, quivering and holding one another behind side units and underneath decor tables. Their faces were both fearful and confused as they watched you, wedding dress and all, sprinting into the lobby.
"Where is she?" You shouted, to nobody in particular. "Where did she go?"
"Upstairs, Y/n!" Daewoo's shout reached you from across the hall, where she and Eunhae peeked around from behind a large pillar. The older maid who had ushered them away earlier cowered behind the pillar opposite.
You didn't miss a beat.
"I'm coming back for you guys!" You shouted, breathing hard as your thigh muscles barked. You ascended the stairs with unnerving speed, surprising yourself. Adrenaline, you thought dryly, what an incredible thing.
You shot down the East wing, away from where you remembered your temporary bedroom had been and saw the same flash of black disappear behind a door far down the corridor. You advanced on your Mother with single-minded determination. In this moment, you had redacted to basic biology. But this time, she was the prey, and you the predator.
The room she had run into appeared to be an office, and her gaze shot to you immediately as you stepped over the threshold.
"Y/n," she whispered. "What are you doing here?"
You panted for breath, staring at her with feral eyes. Your mind was blank.
What am I doing here?
"What are you doing?" You half-said, half-shouted. You were panicking again. Your Mother watched you from across the room, skin pale but expression icy. "Where are you going?" Her lips curled into a sneer as she watched you move slowly toward her. You hoped she couldn't see the terror on your face as you tried to figure out what on earth you were doing.
"You've ruined everything," she hissed, voice deadly low as it hung in the air between you. The gunshots were still coming from outside, the sound dulled by the building's thick walls, but they were fewer, now. Farther between. "Everything we have worked for. Ruined. By you."
You didn't bother trying to keep your composure as you shrieked back at her, fury and rage and hurt pouring from you faster than you could control. "You're sick. You make me sick!" You lunged for her, seeing red, but she shot away and came to stand on the other side of the desk. "How could you have done this? Raised me for this?"
"You would never understand. What me and your Father have built here, what we have created-"
"You created me!" You let loose completely, the constant pressure behind your eyes turning into sobs as hot tears flowed over your cheeks. The weight and stress of the day was falling onto you in earnest now. No more was the mindless cloud you had walked down the aisle in. And here, standing across from you, was the woman who had put you through that experience. "Did.." you started weakly. "Did you ever even love me?"
Your Mother froze, eyes carving a path into your own as she stared at you. You saw it then.
Yes, she loved you.
As one loves a material possession.
If you'd been shot, you would have felt less pain than you did in that moment. Even knowing what you knew, even going through the past few days that you had, there was still something in you that hoped. The child in you hoped that there was some of the Mother you had grown up with still in there. That some of the love you had had for her was reciprocated, as it should be between a Mother and child. And the truth, in all it's abhorrent, desolating glory, knocked the breath from your chest. And released something knew.
Your Mother's eyes flickered, her gaze moving from your form to the door behind you. The carpet thudded lightly under your Father's footsteps as he entered the room.
"Now, Y/n," he murmured. The cold metal of his handgun send a tremor through you as he pressed its' cool mouth to your neck. "Let's all calm down, shall we?"
You turned to sideways, keeping both him and your Mother in your line of sight as you trembled. Because there was something unchecked, something calculated about the way he held the gun to your neck. Like he was ready, at any second, to send you to a quick death.
Maybe he will. I'm of no use to him anymore.
His somber eyes met your own, his expression pitiful as he glanced over your face. He was mistaking your trembling and red eyes for sadness as he stared down at you silently.
But there was no sadness left in you. And, you decided right then and there, no room for fear either. For stretching to each nook and cranny, pouring into every crevice of your very being was a heat unlike you had ever known.
So you took the fury, the pain, and the anger you were feeling, and you straightened your posture.
You breathed more deeply.
You steeled yourself, before opening your mouth.
"Are you going to kill me, Father?"
He stayed silent, still staring as he brought a thick hand around your upper arm, forcing you further into the office.
"I asked you a question."
His eyes shone slightly then, perhaps with shock, as he inhaled sharply through his nose. His somber expression morphed into one of false sadness, too false, as he replied.
"Oh, Y/n," he simpered, bringing his other hand up to push a lock of hair behind your ear. "You never used to call me Father. It was always Dad." He let out a deep sigh, looking down at the ground. "I should have known you knew something when you started to call me that."
"Oh, I'm sorry," you spat, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from your tone. "That must have been painful for you. Me calling you Father, instead." His gaze shot back to yours, nose scrunching slightly as if there was a bad smell. "But here's an idea. From now on, I will not call you anything at all." His jaw began to clench, and the hand he had around your bicep tightened. "You're no Father of mine."
He took a deep, slow breath before he replied, as if trying to calm himself. When he spoke, it was in the way he did when you were a five year old. When he had to explain why you couldn't have pancakes for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day of the week.
"I understand that you're angry," he began. You seethed silently at his faux-sympathy. "But this was bigger than you." He lost his patience, voice both dropping to a hiss and increasing in volume. You vaguely noticed the sound of heavy footsteps moving up the stairs. Staff. Good, run. "Everything is going to fall apart. It would have been easier if we never had you," his breathing became more untamed. "In fact, it really would be easier to just get rid of you right now."
As your Father seemed to wrestle a mental battle over what to do, your eyes flickered toward the large window behind your Mother.
Black streaked slightly across the top of the window pane, and disappeared immediately after.
Someone was out there. And you were the only one who had seen them.
One of mine?
Or one of theirs?
"Are you going to?" You said, shifting in his hold and hoping you looked more nervous. You needed to buy time. "Are you going to kill me?" You added in a small voice crack for good measure as he stared back at you.
"Shut up," he jeered, eyes on your Mother. A silent question passed between the two of them, and you knew exactly what the question was. Your Mother raised a groomed eyebrow. Releasing another low sigh, your Father brought his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. Evidently, this was his choice. "It didn't have to be this way, you know," he muttered, shaking his head. His gaze met yours again. Almost..sad? No. No, that was disappointment. It simmered lowly in the dark depths of his eyes. "If you had just done what we told you..."
He trailed off, lowering the gun pressed to your neck imperceptibly. He shook his head again, more shortly this time, and lifted the gun away. You almost cried out in relief.
Until he began to lift it.
Higher.
Higher.
Until it came to rest, the metal warmer now, on the smooth skin of your temple. Your hands shot into the air, a pathetic attempt to placate him.
"Wait," you yelled, mind running at 1000 miles per hour.
Think, Y/n. Think, think, think. All you need is time.
What would your Father care about long enough to hold off on murdering you on the spot?
What is valuable to him?
You kept one eye on the window as you thought, but you couldn't see anything from this angle. You needed to get closer.
Come on.
Come on!
And then it hit you.
Sure, your Father might be cursing you into eternity for soiling all over his plans like a newborn child into a diaper, but you had a feeling he would be even more angry at the men that allowed you to do this.
"I'll tell you everything."
Your Father paused, fingers not leaving the trigger. He quirked an eyebrow. "What information could you have that I would possibly want, hm? Tell me what exactly?"
"The..who they are." You kept your sentences short, anything to make this conversation as long as it could possibly be. Your Mother stood ramrod straight where she watched you from across the room.
"Stop with the riddles, Y/n. Who who are?"
"The men." You took a breath. "The men outside. With the guns."
Your Father's eyes seemed to gleam. Sure, you didn't know much about the world you were unknowingly born into, but you had a feeling that revenge was probably a big theme among gangs and cartels.
And right now?
You were desperate.
"I'll tell you everything," you repeated, more quietly this time. "Just put down the gun. Please." Something flickered in your Father's eyes as he glanced shortly at your Mother. There was something predatory lingering in his gaze, now. You exhaled forcefully as he lowered the gun. Feigning relief, you began to pace, holding your head as if sorting through your thoughts.
"Well?" Your Father questioned, voice commanding. "Tell us. Now, Y/n."
"They wouldn't tell me their names at first," you began in a whisper. You wanted it to sound like a story, to keep your Father's attention for as long as possible. "They were..so strange. They gave me a bedroom in their house and everything." You stopped your 'pacing' right in front of the window, glancing out quickly as you turned back to face your Father, but it was no good. You couldn't see anything from this angle. He stared back at you so intensely that you thought you would explode if he glowered any more.
"Do you know where their house is?"
"I.." you paused, pretending to be thinking hard. "I think I would be able to find my way there. I would recognise the roads." You nodded to yourself.
Good, good.
Keep it going.
Your Father's head tilted slightly to the side, and his eyes narrowed almost unnoticeably. Maybe you'd been shaking your head for too long. Your gaze shot to his hand, where the gun was rising again slowly.
He broke the silence again, something different in his voice. Something darker.
"Do you think this is a game, Y/n?"
He knows.
And, like a deer in headlights, you froze.
Your Father's mouth twisted into a grimace as he curled his finger around the trigger. You squeezed your eyes closed, stomach tensing in anticipation of what was to come. Readying yourself to depart from this life, from everything you had ever known and everything you would know.
Boxy grins and eye smiles flitted in your mind's eye as you mourned what could have been. What would, now, never have the chance to be.
And then...
Nothing.
You heard a slight shuffle, the sound of fabric moving, and peeled open a single eye to see your Father taking slow steps toward you. His gaze wasn't on your face, but above you and to the left. You shot around, watching black flash across the upper part of the windowpane once again. Back, and forth, and back and-
"What the f-"
You threw your arms over your face as an unearthly BOOM rattled the office, feeling the fire of glass shards slicing into your delicate skin. Your Mother shrieked and your Father swore as the flash of black took form. A strong, masculine form, in fact.
And you watched, in both horror and delight, as Jungkook abseiled through the office window.
—————
[A/N]
Hey guys!!
I hope you're enjoying the story so far. This was a hefty chapter.
I realised I haven't been writing many authors notes at all throughout this book, so I wanted to leave a little update. I'm really loving working on this fic, and want it to end up being around 35 chapters. Of course, it will be a choose your ending, but I'm undecided if I want those chapters to come sooner, or for there to be a lull and you choose a little later on. I think that would be better to allow the relationships to develop a bit more.
If you enjoy my writing, please check out my other fan fictions. There's an angel/demon Jungkook x Reader, HEAVILY fantasy style, and also an angsty Jungkook x Reader that I started just today. (Yes I like writing jk lol)
ALSO, this is my first fan fiction ever and the most creative writing I have ever done. Pleaaase let me know if you're enjoying it, what you would like to happen in the story and if you have any pointers to improve my writing. I'd love some constructive criticism :D
Anyway, thank you all so much for reading and I hope you're enjoying your week :)
piedpiper134340