Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 Cover art by the amazing Niko!
(Mochibun_art_ on Twitter and Instagram)

Jungkook’s file comes with a long list of warnings, the one at the very top written in bold letters: 

DEADLY

Jimin stares at it each time he opens the folder, his eyes drawn to the angry red ink as if he wants to make sure it’s still there, as if he wants to make sure that Jungkook – or Specimen 177 – is still dangerous. 

It’s not exactly relief that he feels when the familiar word stares back at him. But the thought that one day that word might disappear, that one day Jungkook might be labeled as tamed, fills him with dread. Deep inside he hates the idea of Jungkook ending up the same way all the others do: Weak, lethargic, and totally helpless, obeying every command. 

He hates the idea so much that it makes his skin crawl and he doesn’t even know why. Because, frankly, he’s afraid of Jungkook. Scared shitless. He’s never going to admit that out loud, but he’s also not going to deny it in front of himself. 

Jimin has long learned that, in specific situations, masking your fears from the eyes of others is important, maybe even essential for survival. But at the same time, it’s important to be honest with yourself. Acknowledging your fear, embracing it, letting it settle inside you, living with it. All that is essential for survival too. Otherwise, your fears might shut you down. 

Jimin lives by that. Each and every day, he tries to let his fears in, allows them to make him more alert and more adept. 

He knows very well what Jungkook can do. He knows he has to be exceptionally careful around him, even more so than around the others. The pixies, for example, are harmless. The fairies and mermaids are feisty but easy to deal with. The phoenix they once caught might have been a bit of a challenge but not impossible to tame. But Jungkook— Jungkook is a different story. Because he is different. He’s special, even among dark creatures.

Jungkook is a dragon.

And even though Jimin has never witnessed Jungkook’s brutal strength with his own eyes – and he hopefully never will – he knows Jungkook has managed to kill quite a few people since the day they caught him and that, for the past four years, their science team has been trying everything to finally find a way to make him pliant. Without any success. 

It’s a mystery to everyone how Jungkook, even though injected with several suppressant shots of totally different kinds, is still able to retain his own free will. He is trapped in his human form, unable to turn into a full dragon, but unlike all the other creatures they’ve caught so far, he’s not losing his strength, not losing his fight, not losing his mind. 

Usually, a few weeks of suppressant-treatment is enough to quiet them down indefinitely, to make them submit to a master forever. But not Jungkook. 

The first master who bought him died the very moment they opened Jungkook’s cell, alongside several security guards. Something similar happened to the second one a few months later, even though they monitored Jungkook for weeks after the first incident. 

He played the part perfectly, made it seem like the new suppressants had worked, and kept the act up until the van was off the property. The only reason half of the people survived was because Jimin’s father had sent an insane amount of security after the van, armed with strong sedatives. 

“The percentage of suppressants in his blood is insanely high,” Namjoon – head of their science team – said a few days later. He spent hours analyzing Jungkook’s blood in his lab, located opposite to the part of the basement where the cells are. “I thought his body might be able to break it down and get rid of it, but that’s not the case. It’s still there but for some reason it’s not working the way it should.” 

At that, Jimin’s father slammed his hands flat on the desk, with such force that it made the monitor placed on top of it shake violently.

“Then find a way to make it work,” he growled.

“Is it because he’s a dragon?” Jimin asked quietly but the look his father threw him made him clamp his mouth shut immediately. He knew his father didn't like to hear him speak on those sides of the business. His father hated the fact that Jimin busied himself with helping in the lab and taking care of their creatures in general. 

“I will let you entertain yourself by helping in the basement,” he once told him. “But if I see your grades slip even the slightest, I will have you focus solely on your studies. Do you understand?” 

Jimin never lets his grades slip. He’s good at what he does, even though he hates it. 

Law has never been the career path he would’ve chosen for himself, but his father insisted on it. And Jimin didn’t want to anger him. 

The thing is, even though Jimin tries his best not to let his fears shut him down, when it comes to his father, he still feels like a scared little kid. A weak, helpless, cowering child.

For as long as Jimin can remember, his father has been a ruthless and violent man. 

A murderer. 

And for as long as Jimin can remember he’s been scared of him, and has never felt safe. Not in this house, not living under the same roof. 

Jimin can’t say for sure – of course there’s no evidence – but he thinks it was his father who killed his mother when Jimin was only a toddler. For what reason, he doesn’t know. Maybe she let something about the organization slip to the outside, maybe she wanted to leave, maybe she just said or did something wrong at the wrong time… 

Jimin’s father would do anything to protect his secret. 

The secret that he runs an organization that hunts down dark creatures all across the world – creatures most people don’t even know exist – bringing them to their estate deep inside the woods, where they break them and then sell them off to insanely wealthy people, who are usually all part of the same exclusive circles and keep those creatures as rare collectibles or for entertainment purposes. 

It’s a horrible crime and the idea alone of what those poor things are most likely forced to do makes Jimin’s stomach churn in disgust. He hates everything about it. He especially hates that he’s part of it. He hates that they get away with it, mostly because the rest of the world doesn’t even know those creatures really exist. 

And Jimin’s father is intent on keeping it that way. 

Jimin had always known that his father killed people, but he still remembers the very first time he witnessed someone dying by the hands of his father with his own eyes. Of course, only figuratively. His father would never actually get his hands dirty, has other means of killing. 

He does it the sneaky but clean way, the way that leaves almost no traces: By poison. 

The poison was specifically developed by their science team. A sheer purple liquid, with no taste to it, completely scentless and completely invisible when mixed in any kinds of drinks. Once it hits your bloodstream, it kills you within a couple of hours. It takes the oxygen from your blood, makes your heart beat slower and slower, until it stops completely. 

Jimin doesn’t know what exactly the sheer purple liquid is made of, doesn’t even dare asking, all he knows is that there is no antidote. Once the poison is in your blood, it’s over for you. Nothing can help you. And it leaves not a single trace behind, makes it look like the victim died from an ordinary heart attack. 

Jimin still remembers the way the pulse of the investigator fluttered hectically beneath the skin of his throat, before it got slower and slower and slower until it disappeared.

The guy came to investigate— something. Jimin doesn’t even remember what it was. Somehow, he managed to track his father down, all the way back to their estate. And he rang the bell – like an idiot – to question him.

Of course, he didn’t survive the night. After accepting the cup of coffee Jimin’s father offered him, he was done for. He collapsed in their entrance hall on his way out and Jimin was only present to witness it by coincidence, just coming back home from school. 

He was so young back then. He still remembers the big eyes staring at him, the panicked gasps for air, before the guy finally passed out and— died. Jimin witnessed someone die. 

“Shit!” He flinched when his father stepped into the entrance hall from the dining room. “I thought he’d make it farther than this, now we have to get rid of the body.” He huffs in annoyance, pulling out his phone without paying Jimin any mind, not even a single glance. And Jimin just left with hurried steps, trying to get as much distance between him and what just happened as quickly as possible, feeling sick to his stomach and cold inside his chest. He made it to his room and then the adjoining bathroom just in time to empty his stomach into the toilet, his insides clenching violently with every retch.

See, being scared was something Jimin was used to, even at a young age. He had already long started getting his brain used to the feeling of being afraid, and has long trained it into utilizing it, taking advantage of it one way or another. 

But what he was not prepared for, was the feeling he was hit with that day. A feeling, so much stronger than just the normal and simple kind of fear. 

The feeling of panic. 

Panic is painful. And dangerous. 

It’s when your upper brain is bombarded by fear to such an extent that it blinds you and takes away your capability of thinking rationally. Your actions become imprudent and erratic, you become a danger to yourself. 

Jimin felt the urge to run, to escape this place, to hide. And he almost did. With shaking fingers and the taste of vomit in the back of his throat he started packing his bag, throwing everything inside he could find. In his mind he knew it was a bad idea, that his father would send someone after him, that he would hunt him down in no time and that he would be punished for trying to run away.

That day marked the first time Jimin realized it.

He realized that, sooner or later, his father would try to kill him too. 

Sooner or later he would poison him with that sheer purple liquid and Jimin would end up just like that investigator. Gasping for air until his heart stopped beating. 

The only reason he didn’t run away in the end were the voices in the hallway, outside his door: Servants, talking in hushed tones about what just happened downstairs. 

Jimin stood with his hand on the door handle, his ear pressed to the wood for the longest time, waiting for them to disappear so he could leave. But they didn’t. They stayed there, outside his door, for so long that it gave Jimin time to calm down and collect his thoughts.

When the rationality came back, he unpacked his bag, took a shower and got started with his homework. 

One day he would leave this house. 

But not like this. He would never make it like this. 

So he just kept going with his life, trying to stay clear of his father’s wrath.

Not getting on his father’s bad side was one of his ways to protect himself.

That’s why he didn’t make a fuss when he was sent to law school after graduation, to a renowned academy, located about an hour's drive from where they’re living. One of their drivers and a security guard give him a ride there every morning, picking him up when his classes have ended. To this day, everyone at the academy thinks the reason why Jimin isn’t allowed to live on campus is because his father wants to keep his beloved son safe. The reality is that his father doesn’t trust him and that he wants him surveilled and kept under control at all times. Jimin’s father doesn’t trust anyone. 

And Jimin doesn’t trust anyone either, except for one person. 

“Namjoon, why are you here?” 

Back then, he had asked himself this question for quite a while, before approaching Namjoon about it. Why was Namjoon – by far the most humane person he knew, the one who does everything he can to have their creatures suffer as little as possible, whose eyes are filled with the same emotions that Jimin feels when new creatures arrive: pity and guilt – here? 

Namjoon looked at him carefully after Jimin asked the question, he understood what he meant right away. 

“For— family reasons.” 

“Family reasons?” 

Namjoon’s smile was sad and somehow defeated. 

“My dad fucked up and decided to pass away before settling his debt with your father.” 

He didn’t say anything else and Jimin didn’t ask any further, because even though they were alone at the time, talking like this was dangerous. But he understood: Namjoon wasn’t here out of his own free will, he was here because he had to. Because – just like Jimin – he tried to keep himself safe too. 

It was quiet for a while but then Namjoon looked at him with an unreadable expression and what he said next, he said very quietly: 

“Jimin, a good lawyer is like a gun. Now the only question is, who you’re going to shoot at.” 

It took Jimin a while to understand what he meant. 

And once he did, a fire ignited inside his chest, overshadowing the cold fear. 

After his graduation from the academy his father expects him to lie and manipulate for the sake of their organization, wants Jimin to help cover up his horrible criminal doings. 

But what if Jimin uses what he learns at the academy for exactly the opposite? What if he lies and manipulates to get his father sued, to finally stop him? 

Of course, he has to be extremely careful and can under no circumstances be caught doing it. 

Which was why he wanted to kick himself when he was foolish enough to suggest what he did, after they realized the suppressants weren’t working on Jungkook and they had to keep him locked up in his designated cell for a while longer. 

“Should we install cameras? For safety?” 

It was a dumb question, really. He knew cameras weren’t allowed down here.

There is only one entrance to the basement and everyone entering is scanned for recording devices. Phones, cameras, mics… Everything that could help carry information to the outside in one way or another. Like this, the only thing able to leak information are the humans going in and out, and those are easily dealt with by means of that purple poison. 

Jimin’s father whipped around at Jimin’s question and Jimin saw the hand coming, knew fully well he fucked up, so he didn’t even flinch away, just let the slap hit his cheek, his head flying to the side from the force.

“No cameras,” his father hissed. “You foolish boy.” 

Jimin averted his eyes. “Sorry,” he whispered, his cheek stinging. 

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asked later that day, after Jimin’s father had disappeared into the house upstairs. He usually doesn’t spend even a second longer than necessary in the basement. 

Jimin just nodded, his cheek still tingling. He was used to getting hit, that one wasn’t a big deal. 

“Do you think Jungkook is able to withstand the suppressants solely because he’s a dragon or because he’s a Zelkath?” He paused, worrying his lower lip. “He is one, right?” 

Namjoon hummed. “I believe so. He has the markings of one.” He gestured along his arm, where Jimin knew Jungkook had all those strange markings and tattoos.  

Jimin read up about them. Dragons. Read about them a lot ever since Jungkook was captured.

Zelkaths are birthed when two tribe leaders have a baby to merge their families. It’s highly uncommon, since dragon tribes usually would rather die than merge, but when it happens the offspring of the leaders is a lot stronger than other dragons. They usually ended up as leaders themselves, powerful, ruthless. Feared by many and worshiped by even more.

“Why aren’t they searching for him?” He asked quietly. “His tribe. He must be their leader, no?” 

“He probably is. But I’m pretty sure they think he’s dead. Dragons of the same tribe have a bond with each other. A very strong connection. And the suppressants work at least in the way that they suppress a big part of his dragon. His connection to his tribe must be broken. They don’t know he’s still alive.” Namjoon frowned. “Thank God. If they would, they would’ve burned us all down a long time ago.” 

In a way it’s sad. For some reason, Jimin wished there would be a way to let Jungkook’s family know that he’s still alive. 

“How did they even manage to capture him?” He mumbled. 

He’s not involved in his father’s business aside from helping out in the basement but he knew his father’s team was good in not only detecting but also catching the supernatural. But a dragon—a Zelkath—so much stronger than anything they’d ever encountered—

“They found him here.”

“Here?” 

“In the human world. Apparently he was regularly seen in a small town not far West. That’s how they noticed him. The capturing was a whole operation in itself—” Namjoon trailed off, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed before grimacing. “I probably shouldn’t talk about it.” 

Yeah. Talking was dangerous. 

Jimin snaps the folder shut and pushes it back into the designated opening, locking it away inside a small password protected compartment, together with those bold red letters spelling DEADLY on the first page. 

Then he steels himself to get today's checkup on said deadly creature over with.

Slowly, he makes his way to the other side of the basement, where the cells are located. His steps echo around him, the fluorescent lights reflecting in the shiny white tiles of the corridor, almost blinding him. He tries to breathe as calmly as possible, centering his thoughts, getting ready as if he’s going into battle. 

Sometimes it really feels like he is. After all, there are several dangerous creatures imprisoned down here, many of them who could kill him in an instant if it wasn’t for the thick glass separating them. 

And it’s not only his fear of them. There is something else he has to battle.

His sympathy for them. 

Because it hurts him. What they do to them, how they treat them. And seeing them being sold off to be slaves or for entertainment purposes, for sexual purposes, breaks him every single time. 

Soon, it’s that time again. 

Their new mermaid, Kalliope, will be sold off in only a little over a week. Jimin doesn’t know the details but he knows the bidding on her is in its final stages, even though she has only been here for about a month.

It was easy to break her. For a mermaid she’s a bit small, a bit fragile and surprisingly soft-hearted. With suppressants they took her voice and with that basically the only weapon she had. Now that she couldn’t lure them in anymore to drown them in her tank, she was harmless. The suppressant also made her more timid, nothing is left of the fierce nature mermaids usually have. 

It’s so incredibly sad. Every time Jimin checks on her his heart breaks a little. 

Today, when he unlocks the door to the accessible area above her tank she’s already waiting for him with sparkling eyes, her upper body propped up on the floor grid, her fishtail swishing in the water behind her, the scales and fins shimmering in all kinds of purple hues. Her turquoise hair is falling over her shoulders and down her front, draping over her breasts. Jimin made her do that when he noticed some of the security guys leering at her while they were doing their rounds. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles and crouches down next to the pool. “How are you doing today?” He pulls something from his pocket. “Look what I got.” 

Kalliope’s curious eyes fixating on the big plastic comb in Jimin’s hand. He found it in the kid’s section of the store recently. It was pretty cheap but it’s pink and glittery and he knew she would like it. Her face lights up and she reaches out for it, frowning deeply when Jimin pulls his hand back.

“Sorry, you know I’m not allowed to give it to you,” he apologizes, a pout forming on her coral lips in response. “But I can comb your hair with it, if you’d like.” 

That makes her expression brighten up once more and she nods enthusiastically, the water of the tank lapping over the edge and wetting the fabric of Jimin’s pants where he’s kneeling on the ground as she turns around to give him access to her hair. 

He shuffles closer and starts combing it gently, the wet strands like silk between his fingers. Slowly and carefully, he untangles them and for a while it’s comfortably quiet around them, only the soft splashing of the water echoing through the empty space. 

As so often, Jimin wishes he could have an actual conversation with her. She’s the sweetest being and he’s sure they would be great friends under—well, different circumstances. Circumstances that don't involve his father having her hunted down and captured cruelly and then locked up in here, in a bare tank with nowhere to hide, just to sell her off to someone who will probably use her for all kinds of fucked up shit. 

A sour taste spreads in Jimin’s throat and he grits his teeth, trying not to let his emotions show.

To be fair, under different circumstances they probably wouldn’t have been friends either. Instead, if they had ever met outside, she probably would’ve lured Jimin into her waters and drowned him. Like mermaids tend to do.

Kalliope moves to turn her head, looking at him over her shoulder, and for a moment he thinks she was able to sense his emerging anger, but then she taps her lips. A familiar movement.

“You want me to sing?” 

She nods. 

“Okay,” Jimin smiles. 

She turns around again and he gets back to carefully dragging the comb through her hair, while he starts singing the song of all nymphs. A song he has sung for all the mermaids who were struck with the cruel fate of ending up here. His voice rings through the room softly, and after a while, Kalliope starts swaying in the water, from side to side, her head nodding forward as she slowly starts falling asleep.

“I’m gonna do my rounds and come back later with your dinner, okay?” Jimin whispers. “Get some rest.”

She nods again, then she turns around to look at him with a tired smile, tapping the spot right above her heart with two fingertips before submerging into the water. ‘Thank you’, it means. 

After checking up on the unicorn and then on the three tiny elves that came in only yesterday, draping a blanket over their cage when realizing how incredibly scared and stressed they were by the bright lights, Jimin makes his way further down the corridor, eyes fixated on the thick steel door at the very end. It reminds him of the door to a vault, protected by a double password and handprint scanner, behind it their most valuable and most dangerous creature. 

Jimin’s hands get clammy.

Mask your fear, he tells himself. He can smell it. Don’t show weakness.

This has been his mantra for the past four years, every single time before stepping into that room.

Mask your fear. Don’t show weakness.

When he reaches the door he closes his eyes, focuses on the rushed pulse in his throat.

Breathe in, 1, 2, 3, 4… breathe out, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5… breathe in…

As per usual it takes a while but once his heart rate has finally calmed down to a natural pace, he types in the general password, then scans his handprint, before typing in the second password specific to only him. 

The machinery inside the door starts buzzing, there is a low beeping sound, and then it slowly opens.

When he steps inside, he feels Jungkook’s eyes on him right away, almost like a burning sensation that makes his skin crawl. 

Jungkook’s cell is bigger than those of the others. When his status moved from creature to be sold to subject to be studied, Jimin’s father allowed to have him kept in a more comfortable environment. If you can call a huge see-through box right in the middle of a room comfortable. Its composition is strong due to the layering of glass, polyvinyl, and carbonates, its framing helping in absorbing all types of possible impact, even by the strongest creatures. 

There is a weak spot though. 

It’s located at the very far right: A door, made of the same type of glass, to a short passageway, not bigger than 5 square feet, that reaches into the cell. There, they usually place Jungkook’s meals or other stuff.
The area is double protected, thick steel bars on Jungkook’s side making sure to keep him away, until the glass door is closed shut again. Then the steel bars can be lowered into the ground with the press of a button on the outside, so Jungkook can grab whatever they placed inside the passage for him. 

With his living space being surrounded entirely by glass, everything Jungkook does can be monitored. Granted, he’s not supervised 24/7 but if they wanted to, they could. There is absolutely no privacy in Jungkook’s cell, even the toilet in the corner of his room isn’t protected from curious eyes. And while that might be an advantage for them, as they can observe everything Jungkook does like this, it also means Jungkook can observe everything they do. Just like he does right now with Jimin. 

His eyes follow him through the room. 

They are uniquely beautiful, Jimin has to admit. Like many lizards, Jungkook, even in his human form, has vertical slits for pupils and the color surrounding them is the brightest and at the same time deepest emerald green Jimin has ever seen. Sometimes, he could swear they glow faintly. 

But their unique beauty at first sight is marred the moment you catch the maliciousness in them. Something dark and dangerous, that turns Jungkook’s expression into something close to how a wolf would look at its prey. Although, unlike wolves, who only kill for food or defense, Jungkook very obviously takes great pleasure in people’s fears. Especially Jimin’s. 

To Jimin, Jungkook is scary and beautiful. Scarily beautiful. It’s hard to look at him but almost harder to look away. 

He’s tall – so tall that he would probably have to duck beneath the doorways upstairs – and he’s muscular, makes a point of working out every single day in the cell they're holding him in. Jimin is sure, even if he wouldn't, he would still be big, like dragons tend to be. 

Today his hair is not tied up, instead it’s falling in soft waves over his shoulders, reaching all the way to his pecs, and it’s dark as midnight, the very same color as the strange markings – runes and lines and spirals – that Jimin knows run from his right pectoral over his arm and all the way down to his wrist. 

Jimin makes his way towards the desk in the far corner of the room, tapping a key on the computer to wake it from sleep mode, checking with only a few clicks if Namjoon has noted down anything interesting in their daily log. There's nothing new.

“You know the deal,” he then says, trying to make his voice sound hard, determined to mask his nervousness, grabbing the clipboard from the desk before turning to look at Jungkook. He ignores the chill running down his spine when their eyes meet and straightens up.

“Undress and step closer," he orders, tapping his pen against the clipboard.

The corners of Jungkook’s mouth twitch, then he sighs theatrically. 

“You always say it in such an unsexy way.” 

His voice coming from behind the thick glass is slightly muffled and Jimin ignores his complaint but notes down the fact that Jungkook is just as annoying as ever.  

After he's done undressing, Jungkook is suspiciously quiet while Jimin makes him turn around himself slowly, scribbling away on his clipboard, taking note of every shift in muscle that's different from the day before. He's focused on his task, until-

“You got fucked yesterday.” 

Jimin almost chokes on his own spit, his pen slipping on the paper, his gaze snapping up. 

„Excuse me?“

Jungkook’s lips curl into a grin, revealing pearl white teeth and the sharp tips of fangs. 

“I can smell it on you.” 

“You’re lying,” Jimin retorts, although he knows it’s very much possible for Jungkook to smell stuff like that, even through the double layered glass of his cell. It’s just that Jimin made sure to shower thoroughly afterwards yesterday and then again this morning. For one, because he wanted to prevent exactly this from happening. And also, because he wanted to scrub it away. The lingering sensation of the guy’s touch on his skin.

The meeting was set up by his father, who’s been hoping to get funding from the business mogul for almost a year. When said business mogul showed interest in Jimin, his father of course didn’t hesitate and set up a ‘meeting’. It’s not the first time something like that has happened and it probably won’t be the last. His father doesn’t shy away from anything, not even from whoring out his own son to his business partners. 

“Oh, but I’m not," Jungkook grins. "I can even smell that it didn’t satisfy you.” 

Jimin’s face is positively burning now. 

Yeah, it was pretty bad. 

“Congratulations,” he huffs and turns around to finish filling out the form, his heart thundering uncomfortably in his chest at the embarrassment.

“Was his cock not big enough?” He hears Jungkook ask behind him. “Or was his stroke game weak?” 

Both, Jimin thinks but tries to ignore him.

“What satisfies you, Jimin? You can tell me. Do you prefer it gentle and slow? Or hard and fast?"

Jimin's grip on his pen tightens, his nape slowly turning hot as well. Jungkook can probably see it flush. 

"Do you like being slapped around? You seem the type."

His deep voice rolls over Jimin’s skin like liquid fire and Jimin takes a deep breath, scribbling away on his clipboard, trying to get this done as quickly as possible. 

Truth is, ‘being slapped around’ by those old fuckers isn’t doing it for him. By someone as attractive as Jungkook on the other hand… He shakes his head and tries to push the thought far away as quickly as possible before it can get to him.

It’s to no avail. Immediately images start forming in his head. Inappropriate images. Images of Jungkook and him. Images that make his lower belly flood with a needy type of heat. 

He’s a dragon. A prisoner. A test subject for fuck’s sake, he scolds himself. And he can most definitely smell you.

The thought alone that Jungkook might smell hints of arousal on him right now, makes him squirm uncomfortably on his feet.

Get it together.

When he’s finally done filling out the final section, he feels at least somewhat more collected. He takes a deep breath, puts the clipboard down and turns around. Jungkook is standing a lot closer behind the glass now, his arms crossed, his expression amused. He looks down on himself pointedly.

“Aww, look what you’ve done.”

Great. So he could smell it. 

“You did that to yourself,” Jimin mumbles and doesn't look. He knows what it looks like. He has seen Jungkook’s cock hard before, since this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. He knows it’s big and that Jungkook likes to shave his public hair when they let him. He knows that the skin looks soft and that the tip flushes easily and that Jungkook, even though he hasn't jerked off in front of Jimin before, likes to grab and lightly squeeze his balls when he gets particularly excited. Just like he does now.

"You’re staring.”

Shit. Jimin tears his gaze away so fast that it makes the other chuckle. His cheeks burn even hotter.

“Wanna suck it? I’d let you.” 

Jimin ignores the thrill shooting up his spine at the words.

“Fuck off.”

“Uh-oh, what if daddy could hear you right now? Using such a bad word.” 

Jimin huffs and steps up to the control board on the right hand side of the cell, Jungkook following him behind the glass. He studies the displayed numbers and frowns at the oxygen level.

"How much did you work out today?"

"Beat my personal pushup record." 

“You need to stop working out so much, you’re using up all your oxygen.” 

Jungkook tilts his head and lifts a brow, the smile that’s spreading on his lips bitter. There is a bitterness in his words too. 

"Not much else to do in here, Jimin."

Jimin bites his tongue and averts his eyes. Of course, Jungkook is right. They're holding him captive here in a pretty gruesome way, without much distraction or entertainment, his cell only equipped with a bed, a table, a chair and a small shelf filled with books, which he reads a lot faster than Jimin can get him new ones.

Other than a few interactions with Jimin and Namjoon, Jungkook doesn’t have much to do. Reading, working out and keeping to his own thoughts is all there is. 

With a couple of taps Jimin increases the oxygen.

"I’ll talk to Namjoon," he mumbles. "Maybe we can keep the general oxygen capacity on a higher level.”

Jungkook shrugs. "Do whatever you want.” 

Jimin sighs and turns around. “Get dressed. I’m gonna get your dinner.” 

“Aw, getting all wifey with me?" Jungkook calls after him. "That’s so sweet!" 

Jimin ignores him. 

Fear and sympathy. They are without a doubt his biggest weaknesses when it comes to the captured creatures. And both are on a whole other level when it comes to Jungkook. 

Fear because he's the most monstrous of them all and none of his seemingly harmless teasing and tasteless jokes could ever make Jimin forget that Jungkook could rip him apart within seconds if he wasn't locked up. He wants to. Jimin can see it in his eyes.

All that aside— Jungkook is also the most human-like. That's where the sympathy stems from. His appearance, his demeanor, maybe even his conscience – Jimin isn't entirely sure in that regard though – are so unsettlingly human. He talks like them, uses rhetoric like them, his intelligence is on the same, if not even on a higher level, he sleeps like them, has sexual needs like them, he eats and drinks like them… 

Today’s meal for Jungkook consists of rice, ground beef and vegetables, together with some strawberry yogurt and chocolate milk for dessert. Even though Jungkook would never admit it, Jimin knows he likes sweets and he always makes sure there is some type of dessert included in his dinner when he's responsible for it. Which is most of the time. Namjoon and Jimin both don't like entrusting any tasks that have to do with direct contact to the creatures to third parties.

This time Jungkook doesn't complain when he eyes the tray. Sometimes he has stuff to say about how the food is too boring, how he doesn't like this, or has trouble digesting that… all of which Jimin knows is a lie, he only tries to get to him. He loves annoying Jimin or making him uncomfortable and how can Jimin even be mad at him for that, after all they are the ones holding him captive here. What’s a little bit of psychological terror a few hours a week compared to a probably lifelong (unless they do manage to make Jungkook pliant and sell him off) imprisonment as a test subject.

This time too, Jungkook is not making it easy for Jimin.

He’s waiting for him, fully dressed again, right at the end of the narrow passage, his fingers curled around the steel bars on his end. 

“You’re too close, step back,” Jimin says, parking his food trolley in front of the glass door, stepping to the control panel, finger hovering over the button to open it. 

Jungkook chuckles as he releases the bars and takes a tiny step backwards, crossing his hands behind his back, tilting his head. 

Jimin huffs. “Still too close.” 

“Aw, come on, Jimin. I won’t do anything.”  

“Step back.” 

“What are you so scared of, look here,” he puts his hands on the bars again and tries to rattle them. They don’t budge. “You know I can’t get out.” He grins. 

Jimin grinds his teeth. Even though Jungkook can’t get out, the gaps between the bars are big enough for him to reach through. He could try to grab and hurt him if Jimin steps too far into the small passage.

It’s a mind game. Even though Jimin is very much capable of opening the glass door, rolling the food inside and closing the door again without getting too close to those bars, let alone the act of going out of his way to be overly careful would give Jungkook some kind of power and satisfaction. Jimin knows it’s that power that he longs for. Those small moments are all he has left. The moments when he’s able to instill fear in people even trapped inside a cage. 

“Step back, or you’re not eating tonight.” 

For a long moment they glare at each other, then Jungkook sighs theatrically. 

“Fine.” He takes a big step back. “Better?” 

“No, I want you all the way back there.” Jimin points at the other end of his cell. 

Jungkook raises a single eyebrow. “You’re so snappy today. What got you in such a mood? Was the fuck really that bad?” 

When Jimin doesn’t answer, he shrugs and walks backwards until he’s reached the other end of his cell. 

“Turn around,” Jimin says. “Hands on the wall.” 

“Oh, kinky,” the other laughs, before lifting up his hands and turning around slowly, putting his palms on the glass. 

Jimin doesn’t take his eyes off him while he presses several buttons, making sure the bars on Jungkook’s end of the passage are up and secure. He catches the other turning his head to look over his shoulder when the door on Jimin’s side opens with a low buzz. They lock eyes through the bars and Jimin halts in his movements, his grip around the handles of the food trolley tightening. It’s always weirdly unsettling to make direct eye contact with Jungkook, without any glass between them. Maybe it’s because of his lizard eyes. Maybe it’s because the steel bars don’t give the same sense of security the strong double layered armored glass does.

“Turn around.” 

Jungkook just chuckles at his words but turns his head to face the glass wall again. 

Jimin’s shoulders are tense when he pushes the trolley into the passageway. The glass on either side of him is so clear that it almost feels like he’s stepping into the cell itself, the illusion of being trapped, even though the door behind him is open, making him shudder. 

He eyes Jungkook’s back through the bars in front of him, pushing the trolley forward until it almost hits the steel. Then he kicks down the roll stop, before slowly stepping back out of the passage without taking his eyes off the other. 

The moment the buzzing sound of the door closing is ringing through the air, Jungkook looks over his shoulder again, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Am I allowed to get my food now?” 

Jimin pushes another button and the bars on Jungkook’s side slowly lower into the ground. He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand. 

“You are.” 

Jungkook grins as he walks up to the trolley, eyeing his meal. Then his gaze snaps up to Jimin.

“I wonder— What would it take for you to feed me?” 

“Nothing in the world would make me do that. You'd kill me within seconds.”

Jungkook’s grin widens. "Within seconds? Oh no, Jiminie. I'd let you live a for a while." He licks over the sharp edge of one of his canines, his emerald eyes traveling up and down Jimin's body. "As long as you'd make it worth it."

Jimin just rolls his eyes and turns around, hoping that the other doesn’t catch the flush spreading in his cheeks. 

It always takes quite a while until Jimin is able to shake his shifts in the basement off. 

By the time he’s done downstairs it’s well past midnight and he’s exhausted, taking a long hot shower to wash off the tension that’s been gradually building in his neck and shoulders for hours, especially during his interaction with Jungkook.

Once he’s out of the shower, toweled dry and dressed, Jimin locks the door of his room twice and pulls the curtains of all the windows shut, before approaching the dresser in the corner of his room. 

There he takes one of the familiar vials, filled with the familiar sheer purple liquid, out of the secret compartment hidden in the far back of one of his drawers. 

It’s his second to last vial, he has to get some more soon. 

He measures the liquid carefully, pours a very specific amount of it into a glass of water, watches as the purple color swirls and dances around for only a few seconds before it completely disappears, leaving not a single trace behind. 

He’s upping the dosage today, has made sure his schedule is free tomorrow, just in case tonight gets bad. 

He takes a deep breath. Then he downs the water-poison mixture. 

It tastes like nothing. 

When the poison hits his blood, he feels dizzy, drags himself to the couch at the other end of the room on unsteady feet, lies there, staring into the bright light at the ceiling, the room spinning around him. 

Mithridatism. 

That’s what it’s called.

The process of taking a little bit of poison regularly, gradually increasing the dosage, until your body has reached an immunity to it. 

Jimin started two years ago, has been taking poison each and every day ever since. 

Another way of trying to protect himself from his father. 

He’s sure the time will come when his father will try to get rid of him the same way he always gets rid of people: By poison. And even though he knows the risks are immensely high, only getting his body used to said poison is what makes him feel somewhat at ease.

He curls up on his side and groans when a wave of nausea hits him. It takes a long moment until it subsides. His head is swimming and he feels incredibly sick but he would probably be sicker if he skipped a dose, his body having acclimated to the poison by now, craving it even. 

Even after two years he still experiences continuous side effects: His pupils are blown a little too wide, the skin that’s shimmering through his fingernails is bluish, as if his blood is not getting enough oxygen, and usually his sleep is strange, full of nightmares that chew him up and spit him back out. Just like tonight. 

When he wakes the next morning his skin is sticky and cold and his heart is beating in an irregular pattern. Now he can taste the poison, heavy on his tongue. While it tastes like nothing when drinking it first, it coats your mouth with a weird sticky sweetness the day after. A sticky sweetness that probably none of the people who got poisoned with it ever got to taste, since they never make it until the next day. 

The sticky sweetness of death.

The servants would clean Jimin’s room if he'd let them, but he’s too scared that they might find the stolen poison. So he usually manages to keep his room tidy and neat himself, albeit his busy schedule of attending lectures and studying during the day, and working downstairs in the basement at night.

“Anything interesting yesterday?” Namjoon asks when Jimin runs into him around noon. 

While Jimin has just gotten up and is currently getting served his breakfast in the dining room, Namjoon just made his way out of the basement probably for the first time since he's arrived this early morning, to collect his lunch from their head chef and his crew, who have all started their days even earlier than Namjoon. Aside from organizing daily meals not just for Jimin and his father, there are several servants, security guards and other staff to feed. Not to forget the creatures.

"Nope," Jimin says and pushes the scrambled eggs around on his plate. The poison makes it hard to eat sometimes. There is still a hint of heavy sweetness lingering in the back of his throat and he's a little nauseous.

"How was Kalliope doing yesterday?" Namjoon asks, flopping into the chair across from him.

Jimin frowns and sits up taller. "Why? Is something wrong?"

The other shakes his head. "Nothing to worry about. She just seemed a bit down this morning. Her vitals were good though." He takes a bite from his sandwich.

Jimin's shoulders sink. "She seemed very relaxed yesterday. I combed her hair." He smiles. "I think it made her happy." 

Namjoon looks up at him, his eyes softening, an expression flickering across his face that’s akin to pity.

"Jimin—"

"I know," Jimin sighs and leans back. "I'm getting attached again. I know." 

"It will make things so much harder on you," Namjoon says, lifting the bread of his sandwich up to pull a tomato slice out with a frown, discarding it on his plate before taking another bite. "You know she's scheduled to leave soon."

Leave. Jimin bites his tongue. Sounds a lot better than being sold off.

"Do you— Do you know who is most likely to buy her?" He mumbles not meeting the other's eyes. He's not sure why he asked, he doesn't even want to know.

"Yeah—" 

Namjoon’s voice is hard and laced with resentment. Jimin meets his eyes. The look in them is hard too and it makes his stomach drop. He looks around the huge dining room to make sure they are alone before leaning forward.

"Is it bad?" He whispers.

Namjoon’s frown deepens, his lips tightening.

"Yeah."

A sudden wave of nausea makes Jimin shudder and he sinks further into his chair, pushing his plate away from him, the smell of his scrambled eggs making his throat constrict. Suddenly, he just wants to cry. Kalliope doesn't deserve this. None of them ever do. But she— Kalliope is so small, so young, so precious—

Across from him Namjoon sighs, puts his sandwich down on the plate and rubs his face. He looks tired and exhausted. He usually does, the circles under his eyes always deep. 

Jimin knows, even though Namjoon is better at keeping his emotional distance from their creatures, it's not easy for him either. He's sure if Namjoon could, he would leave. On the other hand though— Jimin has never witnessed his father letting anyone leave. Too great is the risk of someone letting something slip once he lets them out of his sight. Wanting to quit here is not really a thing. At least not a thing you’d want. It’s a death sentence. Once you’re involved, you’re involved forever.

Only very few know about the existence of the creatures they sell. To normal people they are legends and myths. To the people his father surrounds himself with – all of them filthy rich and members of exclusive circles – they are investments and fun pastimes, something exotic to own, something to show your wealth off with.

Sometimes Jimin wonders why none of those rich people have ever reported his father to any authorities. Don’t they have any conscience?  

Probably not. On top of that, which authority is even responsible for mythical creatures? Who would even believe such reports? Plus, who would voluntarily take the risk of possibly getting on his father’s bad side?

Everyone who is involved with them and their organization is of course aware of the power Jimin’s father holds, of his ruthlessness and his cruel methods. Aside from being greedy, of wanting access to something only very few selected people have access to, those rich dudes are probably just as scared of or at least intimidated by him.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin mumbles as he takes in Namjoon’s tired face. 

“For what?”

“For ruining the mood.”

Namjoon snorts. “The mood? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the only one here not ruining my mood.” 

At that Jimin chuckles. “Could say the same about you.” 

Namjoon smiles, then his expression morphs into something more serious. He keeps his voice low for what he says next.

“He wants me to test a new suppressant on Jungkook.” 

Jimin’s throat goes dry, something cold spreading in his fingers.

“A new one?”

“Someone super important wants to buy him for an insane amount of money.”

“He can’t possibly be bought. He’s too dangerous.” 

“That’s why they’re willing to fund the development and testing of new treatments. Apparently they are very determined. And you know how your father is when it comes to money—”

Jimin swallows drily. 

“It’s not gonna work.” His voice gives out. “Right?”

It’s not gonna work. It’s never gonna work. None of the suppressants have ever worked fully on Jungkook and that won’t change. Right? They might have been able to trap him in his human form but he will never submit. 

Right?

“He had a team of experts from overseas develop a first batch,” Namjoon mumbles. “On the basis of what my team had managed to create so far. I haven’t seen the finished product yet, it should arrive next week—” He pauses with a frown. “Their Head of Science sounded very— optimistic.” 

Jimin feels like he’s about to throw up, the glibbery eggs in front of him looking less and less appetizing.

Jungkook is a Zelkath. A tribe leader. He’s the strongest creature they’ve ever captured and they’ve only managed to suppress parts of his dragon, never all of it. There is no way they’d ever be able to tame him. No way they’d ever be able to sell him off. 

But Namjoon's words don't reassure Jimin at all.

The cold spreads all the way to his chest.

“So— You think it might work this time?” 

Namjoon worries his lower lip. 

“Honestly, I’m at a point where I’m almost certain that no human made substances would ever work on a dragon.” He sighs and leans back in his chair. “But who knows—”

Who knows?

Jimin stares at him, an uncomfortable pounding starting up in his head as his mind conjures up the image of Jungkook’s file, of that first page with the red letters on it, of those letters switching colors, of them being replaced, changing from DEADLY red to TAMED green. 

For a while it's silent, Namjoon just staring at his sandwich without eating.

“At least he would be out of our hair though, right?” He eventually asks.

Jimin huffs out a tired laugh. “He really does get under one's skin, doesn’t he—” 

Namjoon snorts. “That’s putting it mildly. And to make it worse, his intimidation tactics even work sometimes.”

“Yeah—” Jimin doesn’t mention that Jungkook tries to intimidate him in entirely different ways. And that it’s kind of working too. Namjoon doesn’t need to know about any of the inappropriate thoughts Jimin has about their most dangerous creature.  

Just when he opens his mouth to say something else, Jimin is interrupted by the door at the far end of the dining room opening. A servant peeks her head in, smiling in an apologetic manner. 

"Master Jimin,” she says politely. “Your father wants to see you."

Jimin’s stomach churns. He’s really not getting any breaks today, is he?

His father’s office is Jimin’s least favorite place in the house. It’s big and empty and cold, and it smells weirdly sterile, just setting foot in the room is enough for Jimin’s palms to get clammy, his fingers stiff and cold. Too many bad memories are lingering in the air here. 

“We’re having important guests over tomorrow night,” his father says the moment the door closes behind him, without even looking up from his computer. “They are interested in you.”

The muscles in Jimin’s shoulders strain, his jaw clenching. 

Am I expected to sleep with all of them or is there a fool you want a deal with particularly badly?, he thinks, flexing his cold fingers.

“Is there a preferred pick?” He tries to keep his voice steady and matter of factly while asking. Those things are business transactions, nothing more, nothing less. 

“There is.” His father reaches for the file that Jimin already noticed lying beside the keyboard the moment he entered. It looked out of place on the neatly organized desk. “This is all the information you need.”

Jimin takes it. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

For the first time since he entered the room, his father's eyes meet his. Jimin tries not to shrink back out of habit.

“Don’t mess this up.” 

Jimin bites the inside of his cheeks and nods eventually. This isn't anything new. A regular occurrence. But there is a question burning on his tongue.

“I—" He clears his throat. "Is he the one who’s going to buy Kalliope?” 

At that his father’s eyes narrow. 

“I mean—” Jimin takes a step back. “I heard— her time is coming up, right? She’s almost ready-” 

“Specimen 258 is indeed ready. But that’s none of your business.” 

Jimin ducks his head. “I know. It’s just—” He trails off.

His father leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, his eyes still narrow. 

“Your ridiculous display of sentiment towards them disgusts me, Jimin.” 

“That’s not-” 

“Don’t interrupt me.” 

Jimin clamps his mouth shut, pressing the files to his chest. 

“Since you’re so curious,” his father flicks a spec of dust from his desk, before meeting Jimin’s eyes again sharply. “He’s interested in buying specimen 177.” 

Jimin’s shoulders tense, his throat going tight. 

Jungkook.

Suddenly, the folder weighs heavy in his arms. 

So, that guy is the one who’s funding the development of those new suppressants Namjoon mentioned earlier?

His father’s eyes are burning into him uncomfortably and Jimin knows he’s gauging his reaction. He ignores the sudden cold feeling that’s spreading in his stomach, tries to act nonchalant when he speaks up. 

“Specimen 177,” the words taste foreign on his tongue. “Can’t be sold. He’s not tamed.” 

His father leans forward, puts his elbows on the table and even though he’s sitting while Jimin is standing, he looks intimidating like this and Jimin feels so very small. 

“The prospect is willing to fund a new suppressant treatment, including the developing and testing costs.” 

Jimin’s jaw clenches as he tries his best not to react.

“Is that so?” 

His father’s eyes narrow. “There is a lot at stake. I repeat: Don’t. Mess. It. Up.” 

Jimin wants to argue that he’s never messed anything up before, so why should he now? He’s always slept with those disgusting fuckers without any complaints. 

His father jerks his chin towards the files in Jimin’s arms. 

“That’s his son, who will inherit his business eventually. Your instructions are in the file."

Jimin frowns. “Instructions?” 

He’s never gotten instructions before. It’s usually just a list of things that are good to know about the person, followed by a vague ‘please them and don’t complain’.

“Instructions,” his father says with a finality that makes it clear that he has no patience left for Jimin. “Now get out.” 

Back in his room, Jimin stalls for time. He organizes his backpack for his lectures tomorrow morning, dusts off all the surfaces in his room, cleans the sink and mirror in his bathroom, takes another shower… 

It’s over two hours later that he finally opens the folder. He steals a quick glance at the photo of the guy, before he skims over the bullet points of information about him. Kim Doyoon, 32 years old, estimated wealth: $20 billion, hobbies and interests: playing polo, collecting antiques, collecting exotic animals… 

Jimin rolls his eyes and turns the page. 

Instructions, it says at the top and his eyes fly over the list. 

He frowns, goes over the list again, then again.

His chest tightens uncomfortably. 

It can’t be—

He can feel the thunder of his pulse inside his throat when he gets up and makes his way down the stairs, not slowing down until he reaches his father’s office, where he knocks. 

“What?” His father’s irritated voice sounds muffled by the thick wood and his eyes pin Jimin down when he steps inside, barely managing to wait until the door has fallen shut behind him before speaking up.

“Those instructions you gave me–,” he asks, trying to calm his breathing from running down the stairs. “What— What is that supposed to mean?”

There is an annoyed twitch in his father’s jaw. 

“What about the instructions is too hard for you to understand exactly?” 

“You want me to— I’m supposed to make him fall in love with me and— and marry him?!” 

“That’s what it says.” 

“But— But I-” 

“But, but,” his father mimics him with a scoff. “Oh, come on, Jimin. It’s about time that you make yourself useful and put some effort into this business. You can do more than just waste your time in the basement and warm our clients’ beds.” 

Jimin’s eyes go wide, hot anger flaring up inside him, spreading like wildfire, so quickly that it takes his breath away, leaving him slightly dizzy. His fingers start trembling.

“Warm their beds?!”

“Watch your tone.” 

Jimin bites his tongue.

“The sole purpose of their visit tomorrow is because his father wants to see for himself how well the first batch of funded suppressants have worked on 177.” His father continues with a wave of hand. “Of course they won’t work. Not yet. Not for a while. There is a lot more testing necessary. And we need something to keep them in a good mood. We need their funds, preferably also in the future. We need their loyalty. We need to bind them to us. And that’s where you come in.” His father shrugs. “His son has been declaring interest in you for a while now, so it shouldn’t be hard. Turn on your charm, keep him entertained, make him want to stay.”

Jimin stares, his throat going dry.

According to Namjoon the new suppressants weren’t supposed to arrive until next week.

“So— If they want to see tomorrow how their suppressants have worked, are you— Does that mean you’ll test the suppressant on Jungkook today?” 

His father frowns at the sudden change of topic. 

“Quit giving them names.”

“What– I’m not giving them names, these are their names!” 

“Names that shouldn’t interest you.”

“How come I wasn’t notified about the new suppressants beforehand?” 

“Because that shouldn’t interest you either.” 

“But— it’s my job, it’s-”

His father slams his palms flat on the desk and surges to his feet, his chair nearly toppling over from the force. Jimin backs away at the outburst, his shoulder hitting the doorframe. 

“Your job is to help with our clients, not our creatures,” his father spits, his face contorted with fury.

Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. Suddenly, there is a blurry haze in front of Jimin’s eyes, his heart racing. He blinks to keep the tears at bay. 

“The shipment arrived this morning. Earlier than expected,” his father says matter of factly and sits back down in his chair, rearranging a pencil that has rolled dangerously far to the edge with steady fingers. 

This is what frightens Jimin the most about him. One moment he loses control, and before you know it he’s all calm and collected again. He’s violent as well as calculating. He’s unpredictable.

“I set up a meeting with our client and his son for tomorrow right away, and sent Kim Namjoon a notice to start the testing process immediately. Which should’ve reached him by now. For all I know, they’ve already begun.” 

Jimin’s stomach sinks and he doesn’t wait for him to say anything else. Without another word he turns around, pulls the door open and hurries down the corridor for the stairs to the basement. 

The uncomfortable memories of how it used to be flash through Jimin’s head, making him rush faster towards the heavy door to the room where Jungkook's cell is located, his fingers trembling when he types in the code.

Memories from years ago, when they realized the suppressants weren’t working as effectively on Jungkook. Memories from when they kept doing tests on him. 

He remembers Jungkook on the floor in the middle of his cell, naked, covered in sweat, gasping and heaving, the pain of the freshly injected suppressants making him lash out and crash into the walls violently. 

He remembers the way the pain made Jungkook lose his mind, the blood that covered the walls and floor because he clawed at his own skin, because his knuckles split open from him throwing punches against every unforgiving surface.

He remembers how they had to sedate him more often than not, so that his body could ride it out without him hurting himself in the process. He remembers the many tranquilizer darts they had to shoot at him because sedatives didn’t work well on him either, remembers them hanging from his sickly pale body and how he ripped them out before they could fully unload.

He remembers Jungkook’s face contorted with pain, hair wet with sweat, and his screams of agony. Ground-shaking roars from deep within his chest that ended with a hiss, a sound so dragon that it shook Jimin to the core every single time. 

He also remembers all the times he broke down after those sessions, in that one corner of their lab, shaking and crying, whispering to Namjoon that he can’t do this anymore, that he had to get out of here. He remembers Namjoon’s hands cupping his face, telling him to calm down, to think clearly, to pull himself together because his father could under no circumstances see him like that, all the while having a sheen of tears in his eyes as well. 

All those memories play through Jimin's mind as he types in the code. 

With shaking fingers he presses the final button to unlock the door and when it swings open he's greeted with— silence.

Namjoon is sitting behind the computer right opposite to Jungkook’s cell, blinking up at him through his glasses with a surprised expression.

“Jimin.” 

There is movement from the oversized glass box.

“Why, Jiminie, what a surprise. It’s not even dinner time yet.” Jungkook grins, his hands in the pockets of his joggers as he steps closer to the glass. “Came to keep me company?” 

He looks normal, his skin having its usual bronze glow, his eyes sparkling lively. 

Jimin ignores him, although he’s sure the relief that washes through him right now is hard to miss. He turns to look at Namjoon. 

“Why didn’t you call me?” 

The other ducks his head, an apologetic look crossing his face.

“I thought about it but decided against it. Just in case it would’ve gotten— you know—” He rubs his neck. “Bad.” 

“Well, how bad is it?” 

“A little rush in the area where we injected it. That’s it.” 

“Injected,” Jungkook snorts from his cell. “Shooting at me like a fucking animal,” he kicks something across the cell, which Jimin recognizes as a dart that must’ve contained the suppressants. “Again,” he adds, his expression hard and both Jimin and Namjoon immediately know he’s referring to a couple of years ago when stuff like this was a regular occurrence. Namjoon averts his gaze awkwardly, just like Jimin.

“That was some weak ass shit, though. It’s almost insulting that you thought it would work on me.” 

Jimin makes the mistake to look at him and Jungkook cocks his head to the side, his emerald eyes narrowing when they meet Jimin’s, before trailing up and down the length of his body. 

Immediately, Jimin feels hot under his clothes.

“Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I do feel a bit under the weather.” The corners of his mouth quirk up. “Wanna come in and make it better, Jimin?” 

Jimin rolls his eyes and with a sigh turns to Namjoon, who throws him a pitying look after Jungkook’s attempt to get under his skin. Little does he know that there is no space under his skin left anymore. His father has taken up all of that earlier.

“So you don’t need me here?” He asks. 

Namjoon shakes his head. “I’m all good. But maybe pay Kalliope a visit? She’s still in a bad mood, seeing you will surely cheer her up.” 

Kalliope’s eyes do light up when Jimin steps into her enclosure. She makes him sing a couple of songs again, swaying from side to side in the water happily, sometimes diving under, her hair shimmering prettily while she swims a couple of laps around the pool, which is way too small for a mermaid. 

All Jimin can think about, with a tight chest and a heavy heart, is that the enclosure in her new home will probably be even smaller. 

When he gets back to his room about an hour later, he only has a couple of hours left before his actual shift in the basement begins.

He throws the files on his bed a glare. 

Marriage. 

Something cold and hard coils in his stomach, the icy feeling of upcoming panic slithering down his spine. 

“I need to get out of here,” he whispers to himself. 

He knows it's empty words. There is no getting out. Not yet. 

Kim Doyoon is a good looking man, with dark hair, a strong jawline, a charismatic smile and an immaculate sense of fashion. 

All the points he scores with his good looks though, he loses immediately with his terrible character. 

Not only is he lacking patience and respect – he's been snarling at their servants for 'not getting him his drinks quickly enough' twice already – he's also arrogant, clearly a narcissist and has the same manipulative air around him that Jimin knows all too well from his father. 

The moment they have sat down at the dinner table he’s intruding Jimin’s space, his hand finding Jimin’s knee right away, where it stays firmly planted during their wait for the food, hidden by the white tablecloth. Jimin is overly aware of it the entire time, the warmth unpleasant, a slow strain building in his jaw and shoulders, his hold around his glass of water tightening. He should’ve gotten wine instead.

Unlike his son, Mr. Kim senior, while clearly being just as much of an asshole, does look the part. Not necessarily for the lack of him trying to be handsome but because of it. The artificiality of his face is almost shocking, Jimin wouldn’t be surprised if there was some kind of addiction to plastic surgery going on. 

The conversations are fake and shallow in the beginning, all parties taking a while to test the waters, and Jimin is on edge. Like a robot, he goes through the motions of eating, trying to look normal. He cuts the meat, brings the fork to his mouth, chews, swallows, and repeats. He takes a sip of water. Doyoon moves next to him, Mr. Kim tells a joke and everyone laughs. Jimin laughs along. Takes a sip of water. Cuts the meat.

When he’s addressed and asked about his law studies, Jimin’s throat goes tight. Everyone’s eyes are on him, his father’s boring into him particularly uncomfortably from the side.

Don’t fuck this up. 

When Jimin starts talking, there is a fake smile in his voice that makes a shudder run down his own back, but nobody else seems to notice. They listen and nod and make affirmative noises. Only when he’s done and his father changes the topic, Jimin notices how clammy his hands are. 

It takes a while for his father and Mr. Kim to dive into deeper talk about work and business. Once they do, Doyoon starts thrumming his fingers on Jimin’s knee, clearly bored. 

“So our suppressants haven’t worked on the dragon?” Mr. Kim asks, not sounding surprised and Jimin doesn’t miss the way his father relaxes at the revelation that Mr. Kim has not expected any progress today. 

“Unfortunately not. I’m sure our head scientist will be able to report back to your team soon with detailed results. Together we’ll manage to break it.” 

It. 

Jimin’s jaw clenches. He hates when his father does this. Talking about them as if they’re things.

Just an hour earlier, when he was doing his daily check-ups on them, serving them their dinner, he couldn’t stop watching the pixies getting all excited about the honey-covered hazelnuts and sunflower seeds. So excited that they started fluttering around in their cage in little circles, dancing and twirling, their tiny wings shimmering. It was beautiful.

“I was expecting it to take a while,” Mr. Kim nods. “My wife and I are looking into an estate in the area for rent. Just for the time being. It’s a bit tiring to fly overseas so often.” 

Jimin’s father hums in agreement. “Doyoon, are you looking for a place here too?” 

Doyoon’s fingers still. 

“Well,” he drawls, leaning back in his seat, his hand sliding up higher on Jimin’s thigh under the table. “No really. I don’t mind flying back and forth, so there isn’t really a reason to stay around.” His hand squeezes Jimin’s thigh. “Yet.” 

Jimin’s father smiles – Jimin has always thought expressions like that look unnatural on his face – and his eyes flicker to the spot where Doyoon’s arm disappears under the tablecloth.

“I understand,” he says before his eyes find Jimin’s and immediately a strain settles in Jimin’s shoulders. “Jimin, why don’t you show Doyoon around a little? Mr. Kim and I have boring business stuff to discuss anyway, surely there are more interesting things to do for the two of you.” 

At that, Doyoon leans forward excitedly. “I would love to see the dragon.” 

Jimin’s hands curl on the table as he’s searching his father’s eyes. Surely, he’s not gonna allow-

“177 just had its food, so it should be in a good mood. An exclusive basement tour for our friends shouldn’t be a problem, right Jimin?” 

Jimin frowns. “I guess— not?” 

“Take security with you,” his father shoots him a warning glance. Don’t fuck this up. “We’ll join you later.” 

Jimin hasn’t been aware how important this deal is to his father, and how much money is most likely on the line. Never before was any of their customers allowed downstairs. 

“Do you have any electronics on you?” He asks Doyoon as they approach the first security door to the basement, a member of their security trailing behind them as per his father’s demand. 

Jimin chose this particular guard for a reason.

Min Yoongi is probably the only security guy he doesn’t hate. He’s been with them for almost three years now and even though he’s a bit shorter than the rest of their security, a bit smaller in size too, he quickly worked his way up. He has an authoritative air around him, a no-bullshit demeanor that Jimin’s father likes and that the other members of security look up to. He’s also the only one who seems to at least somewhat respect their creatures. He doesn’t leer at them during patrols, doesn’t tease or taunt them. He just does his job, always thoroughly and punctual, seeming like he doesn’t give much of a fuck about any of this. 

So yeah. Jimin likes him. Even though they’ve never really talked much. 

Doyoon frowns. “My phone. Why?” 

“No recording devices allowed,” Jimin explains and points at one of the plastic containers on top of the small table right next to the entrance. “You can leave it over there.”  

“Ugh, really?” The other asks, pulling his phone from his pocket. “That’s kinda annoying.” 

Jimin shrugs. “Sorry. It would set off the alarms.” 

With a roll of eyes Doyoon makes clear how much this is inconveniencing him, but puts his phone down in the designated area anyway. 

“Please don’t step too close to their cells, don’t move too quickly, don’t talk too loudly. You might scare them,” Jimin explains while they ride the elevator down. Only now, sharing this small enclosed space with the Doyoon, does he realize how intrusive and overpowering the other’s cologne is. 

Doyoon snorts. “Am I allowed to exist?” 

I’d rather you wouldn’t, Jimin thinks, but just chuckles along. 

“They might get angry when they’re scared, so just be mindful of your surroundings.” 

“But they can’t attack me, can they?” 

“Well, no. We have security measures in place.” He pauses. “But we shouldn’t scare them anyway.” 

“We have him too if things get hairy,” Doyoon points his thumb at Min Yoongi standing behind them and laughs. Jimin is sure he hasn’t listened to a word he’s said. 

“I suppose,” he mumbles, taking a look over his shoulder and when their eyes meet, Min Yoongi throws him a tight-lipped smile, which – for the fraction of a second – seems just as annoyed as Jimin feels, before his expression slips back into a neutral mask. 

During their tour of the basement, Doyoon steps too close to the enclosures, knocks on the glass and startles the gnomes, pulls the fabric from the pixies’ cage that’s supposed to keep their enclosure dim, making them flutter around nervously, and stares openly at Kalliope, who shrinks back into her pool, turning her back to them, after sending Jimin a disapproving glare – he has to make sure to accordingly apologize to her later. 

“Holy shit, is that a unicorn?!” Doyoon bellows and Pearl, the unicorn in question and their latest addition – she’s only been with them for a little over a week – startles in her stable, kicking the metal wall with her hind legs, her rainbow mane flying when she rears up, her horn starting to glow faintly. The suppressants are already working on her, so the glow vanishes into nothing. Soon, all her power will be gone. 

“Shhh, it’s okay—” Even though it’s risky, Jimin steps closer and carefully puts his hand between the bars to give her soft nose a rub. She snuffles against his palm, looking for treats. Jimin chuckles. “I’ll give you some sugar cubes later, okay?” 

“How much would this one be?” 

Jimin almost rolls his eyes and doesn’t look at Doyoon when he answers.

“I don’t know. This one is not a pegasus, so-”

“Oh, so it doesn’t have any wings?”

“No.” 

“That’s boring.” There is a short pause. “Can I touch it too?” 

“No.” Jimin says, his voice hard but when he turns around and catches Doyoon's displeased expression, he backpedals, his father’s words loud and clear in his mind. Don’t fuck this up. “I mean— maybe next time. She’s a bit timid still, the suppressants haven’t fully taken effect yet.” After a short pause he adds. “She might bite.” 

That seems to work because there is something unsure flickering across Doyoon’s expression and he takes a step back. 

“Fine,” he says and crosses his arms. “I’m here to see the dragon anyway. Where is it?” 

Jimin gives Pearl’s nose a final gentle pat, then he motions for the corridor to their left. 

“Down there.” 

Something feels off when they step into the room. 

Min Yoongi seems to feel it too, because immediately, his hand flies to the gun he’s carrying at his hip. 

There is the usual faint whirring and buzzing of the machinery keeping Jungkook’s enclosure aired out and at a certain temperature, there is the faint glow of the computer in the corner that Jimin forgot to shut off earlier after he’s brought Jungkook dinner, the light in the room dim, mimicking the nighttime outside. 

Aside from that, there is— nothing. 

It’s strangely quiet.

Jungkook is never quiet when someone enters his room. And he must have heard them come. 

Jimin steps up to the control panel to increase the brightness and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust when the fluorescent lights flicker on. 

He can make out the shape of Jungkook lying curled up on the floor behind the glass even before his sight fully clears. 

His heart drops.

“Jungkook?” He asks carefully, taking a step forward. 

Nothing.

“Jungkook,” he tries again, stepping even closer to the cell, knocking on the thick glass.

Still nothing.

Jimin crouches down, something cold spreading in his fingertips, his heart tumbling nervously inside his chest when he catches sight of the dragon’s pale skin. So pale that in this lighting it looks almost translucent. 

“Hey!” He knocks on the glass again, louder this time. “Jungkook, can you hear me?” 

He’s breathing, isn’t he? 

Jimin swallows thickly, a faint sense of relief washing over him when he catches Jungkook’s chest moving. It’s moving only shallowly, though. Something’s clearly not right.

“What’s going on?” Min Yoongi asks behind him as Jimin jumps to his feet, hurrying towards the exit. He has to call Namjoon, immediately.

“I don’t know,” Jimin replies breathlessly, squeezing himself past Doyoon, who stands there with a disapproving frown.

“Is it sick or what?"

He's just about to tell the other to shut the fuck up and get lost – not in those exact words of course – when there is a faint groan behind him. He whips around. 

Jungkook is slowly heaving himself up to his feet, then he sways, his knees buckling before he stumbles to the side, his shoulder crashing into the glass.

“Jungkook,” Jimin hurries back into the room. “Are you in pain?” 

He puts his hand on the glass, right where Jungkook is leaning against it. 

Too close, his mind scolds but he doesn’t find it in him to care. 

“Hey–,” he begins, but then the other slowly lifts his head to look at him. 

Jimin almost flinches back.

Jungkook’s pupils, which are usually thin slits – typical for lizard eyes – are blown wide, swallowing up almost all of the emerald color surrounding them. They’re unseeing, looking through Jimin as if he wasn’t there.

“Jungkook, can you hear me?” 

Jungkook just keeps staring but Jimin doesn’t miss the fact that he’s clutching the fabric of his shirt in his side, as if something is hurting his ribs. 

“Shit,” Jimin curses and hurries to the control panel. He needs to get a better look. 

With a few flips of switches he makes sure the bars on Jungkook’s end of the passage between his cell and the room are secure, then he presses the button to unlock the glass door on their side. It swings open with a low buzz. 

“Come here,” he tells Jungkook, making sure to keep his distance, but the other doesn’t react, still leaning against the wall on the other end of the cell, clutching his side, his breathing seeming more erratic now. 

“Jungkook, come here,” Jimin repeats, almost pleading now, but the dragon doesn’t even look at him. 

“Sir, you should call Kim Namjoon,” Min Yoongi says from behind him. “With all due respect, please don’t do this stuff on your own.” 

Jimin throws him a glare, but ultimately he knows he’s right. He knows a bit about dragons but he’s for sure no expert and most definitely no expert on medical stuff.

He’s just about to turn around and make his way towards the exit again, when he catches a tremor going through Jungkook’s body. Then the dragon moves. Slowly, he lifts his head and then, as if he’s trying his best not to trip, he makes his way towards Jimin, keeping himself propped up with his shoulder sliding along the glass, his grip on his side visibly tightening. 

“Wait, did the suppressants work after all?” 

The voice right behind him makes Jimin jump and he turns around to look at Doyoon, who’s taking Jungkook’s state in with a curious expression.

“Doyoon, please step back, this isn’t-”

“Yeah, they actually did, didn’t they?” 

Doyoon doesn’t pay him any mind as he squeezes himself past Jimin and steps further into the passageway. 

“Get out of there immediately!” Jimin grabs the other’s arm. “It’s too dangerous.” 

Doyoon barks out a laugh. “Dangerous? Look at him,” he jerks his chin at Jungkook. “He’s totally out of it.” He yanks his arm from Jimin’s hold and steps further inside, tapping the bars with his knuckles.

“Come here, dragon.” There is an amused tilt in his voice. “Let me see you.”

Jungkook stumbles closer, his face lax, the look in his eyes still far away, his shoulder crashing into the bars right in front of Doyoon in a way that makes Jimin flinch from how painful it looks.

“Good boy,” Doyoon chuckles. “You will be my little lap dog in no time.” He throws a look over his shoulder, flashing a pearly white grin at Jimin. “Our little lap dog,” he says, his gaze gliding up and down the length of Jimin’s body. “If you want.” 

Before the shudder has even fully formed on Jimin’s back, before he can even try and keep his face from contorting into a grimace, before he can tell Doyoon again that he should get fucking out of there because he’s way too close, there is a sudden shift in the air. 

Jimin only gets a brief glance at Jungkook’s pupils tightening to slits, at his empty expression sharpening, at the sudden jerk that goes through his body as he straightens, before lashing out and tangling his clawed fingers in Doyoon’s collar.

A startled noise squeezes its way past Doyoon’s throat as he’s yanked against the bars, his forehead colliding with the iron with a painful thud. He slaps at Jungkook’s hand, pushes himself back, even manages to turn around in the attempt to run away, but he only gets half a step in before he’s grabbed and yanked back again, Jungkook’s arm sliding through the bars and around his throat, pulling him in, keeping him trapped. 

“That was easy,” Jungkook chuckles, his eyes gleaming with a sick satisfaction, maybe even a bit of surprise, as if he didn’t think it would go that well for him.

The adrenaline surging through Jimin’s veins makes him dizzy. He stands there, numb, frozen, the cold shackles of fear keeping him pinned to the spot.

“Let him go,” he rasps, his heart racing. He takes the tiniest step closer. “Jungkook, let him go!” 

“Aw, but I don’t want to,” Jungkook fake-pouts and turns his head to look at Doyoon, who stares straight ahead, eyes wide, gasping in fear, his entire body shaking. “I wanna spend some time with my dear owner,” he purrs and increases the pressure on Doyoon’s throat, whose face is slowly turning red from the lack of air. 

“Kill it!” He gurgles, clawing at Jungkook’s lower arm. “Kill— it!” 

“Don’t shoot!” Jimin shouts when Min Yoongi comes up beside him, gun pointed. 

Doyoon wiggles in Jungkook’s hold. “K-Kill it!” He coughs and then starts screaming when Jungkook’s other hand comes up and the tip of a clawed finger runs over his jaw, blood collecting where the skin splits.

“Kill it!” Spit flies from his mouth as he trashes and squirms. “Fucking kill it! Or my father will kill you!” 

“And my father will kill all of us if we hurt his most prized possession!” Jimin hisses. “Calm down! Stop squirming!” 

But Doyoon doesn’t stop. He screams and thrashes around, his face sweaty, teary and red.

Jungkook grins, his shoulders shaking with loud amused chuckles, his fangs flashing. 

“Jungkook, please, let him go!” 

“How about a deal, Jiminie?” The dragon asks and cocks his head to the side. “I’ll let your friend go, if you press that red button over there.” He nods at the control panel. 

Jimin doesn’t have to look to see what kind of button he means. There is only one red button, hidden behind a password protected lid made of security glass. The button that turns off all security measurements. The button that would open Jungkook’s cell. 

Jimin swallows thickly. “You know I can’t do that.” 

“Thought so.” Jungkook sighs. “Well, at least I’ll have some fun with this one.” He looks at Doyoon again and leans in to whisper: “Looking forward to it. I haven’t killed in ages.” 

This time his claws sink into Doyoon’s jaw, right underneath his chin, so deeply that it makes Jimin actually panic. He hears Min Yoongi shout something that he doesn’t understand as he hurries into the passageway without a second thought, almost tripping over his own feet. 

“Let him go!” 

He grabs Jungkook’s wrist, trying to yank his hand off Doyoon and only realizes his mistake when he’s met with no resistance whatsoever, when Jungkook lets go of Doyoon immediately. Only a second later, there is a bruising grip on his upper arm, claws digging into his flesh through his shirt, as he’s pulled in, his shoulder crashing into the bars. 

Shit. 

“Well,” Jungkook grins, his face so close that Jimin can feel his breath on his skin, closer than he’s ever been. “Hello there.” 

The sound of a gun’s safety catch being taken off makes him look over his shoulder. 

“Don’t shoot,” he breathes, his heart racing in panic, his eyes finding Min Yoongi’s, which are probably just as wide with shock as Jimin’s.

“But sir-” 

“Don’t. Shoot.” Jimin’s jaw clenches when Jungkook digs his claws deeper into his upper arm, the sharp pain making him flinch. “Get him upstairs,” he nods towards Doyoon who is a jittering mess on the floor, pressing his palm to his bleeding face. “He needs medical attention.” 

“But-” 

“Get him upstairs! I have it under control.” 

Min Yoongi lowers the gun. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says, as he whirls around, grabbing Doyoon by his arms to pull him up and drag him towards the exit. “Come on, man, walk!” 

When the heavy door has fallen shut behind them a deafening silence settles in the room. Only now Jimin grows aware of how hard he’s breathing. 

Slowly he turns to look at Jungkook, his throat dry.

“You played us,” he whispers. He should’ve known. 

Jungkook looks pleased with himself, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. This close, Jimin can see the tiny little specks of gold around his pupils that he’s only known from photographs. Never before has he been this close to actually see them in person. They’re gorgeous. 

“Indeed I did. And you were so concerned for me too," Jungkook coos. "That part was actually really cute."

“Let me go,” Jimin demands and tries to yank his arm back, only to hiss in pain when Jungkook’s hold tightens.

“But where would be the fun in that?” 

“You’re hurting me.” 

“Aww, am I?” The dragon snorts. “So sorry about that. Consider it payback. For all the times you hurt me.” He leans in. “With your little experiments and that stupid medicine.” 

The accusations make Jimin’s face burn hot. Because they're true. 

“You think you know what pain is, Jimin?” His grip on Jimin’s arm is so tight now, that the limb slowly grows numb. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers. 

“I bet you fucking are,” Jungkook laughs. 

“Let me go.” 

“No.” Jungkook leans in, towering over him, tall and big and intimidating. And Jimin is scared. The fear is settling inside his throat, making it hard to breathe, his heart is racing and he wants nothing more than to shrink back, to whimper and beg. 

Don’t show your fear, something deep inside his mind tells him. Mask it. Don’t let him know. He’ll use it against you. Breathe in. Breathe out. 

Jimin straightens his spine, swallows the suffocating feeling down. 

He needs to get out of this. Without being killed and without Jungkook being killed. 

He inhales deeply. 

There must be a way. He just needs to think clearly.

He can do this.

“Okay, and what now?” He asks, ignoring the sensation of warm blood running down his arm from where Jungkook’s claws dig into him, ignoring the feeling of his shirt getting wet in the area. “What’s gonna happen now?” 

There is a twitch in Jungkook’s jaw, his eyes narrowing.

“Security will be back any minute now,” Jimin continues. “And then what?” 

“Then I’ll tell them to let me out, or I’ll kill daddy’s little sunshine.” 

The laugh that flies out of Jimin’s mouth is dry. 

“You’re greatly overestimating my worth here, Jungkook.” 

“Do I?” 

“Yes.” 

“Should I kill you right now then?” 

Jimin desperately tries to calm the beating of his racing heart. Jungkook can probably hear it. 

“You know what I think? If you really wanted to kill me you already would have.” 

Jungkook’s intense eyes wander over Jimin’s face, the corner of his mouth twitching when he huffs.

“Oh, but I like seeing you suffer like this.” He looks Jimin up and down. “Look at your knees shaking from the pain.” He tightens his grip and Jimin’s knees buckle at the sharp sensation, sending him forward into the bars and even closer to Jungkook’s face. 

“It’s quite adorable,” Jungkook breathes against his lips as their eyes find each other again. 

“Adorable?” Jimin laughs and hates how he can’t hide the pained strain in his voice. 

“Indeed.” 

The word is spoken with a roughness that makes Jimin’s pulse quicken again. 

Jungkook’s face is way too close. 

Oh God. 

Suddenly, being stared at by those emerald eyes feels like being burned down and Jimin’s mind is swimming, his skin starting to prickle. 

Suddenly, he’s overly aware of the fact that Jungkook is touching him. 

They’ve never touched before. They’ve never been this close. 

Jungkook’s skin is hot, feels almost feverish. Jimin knew he has a higher body temperature than humans but to feel it like this, not just seeing it in numbers and charts, makes it so much more real. 

It makes Jungkook so much more real. 

Suddenly, there is a need building inside Jimin. 

The need to run his fingers through Jungkook’s silky hair and over the smooth skin of his defined jaw, the need to trace the inked patterns on his arm, the need to feel the bulge of those muscles under his palms. 

Suddenly, he’s aware of the fact that he can smell Jungkook.

There is the faint scent of that cheap body wash that they always buy for him but it’s overshadowed by something else. By some kind of woodsy scent, something that reminds Jimin of a hot day in a forest, of a bonfire on a warm summer night.

It’s the short moment when Jungkook’s gaze flickers to his lips that Jimin knows what to do to get out of this. 

That’s the only reason why he does it. To get out of this situation. Obviously. 

It has nothing to do with that need that grows stronger with each second. It has nothing to do with that burning kind of longing that he, if he’s being honest, has been feeling for quite a while now. It has nothing to do with the fact that he secretly has been wanting to try this for months, if not years, to satisfy this deeply rooted science curiosity inside him. But also that other type of curiosity that’s kind of— forbidden. That type of curiosity that’s entirely not scientific in nature, but shockingly primal.

None of all that has anything to do with him getting on his tiptoes, or with him leaning in between the bars, or with his heart surging into his throat when Jungkook’s eyes darken, or with the goosebumps spreading all over his body when he feels Jungkook’s hot breath on his lips. Unnaturally hot. As if he’s breathing fire. 

Jimin swallows thickly. He’s just doing this to walk out of here alive. 

His heart is thundering in his throat and it skips several beats when their noses bump.

There’s no turning back now.

When their lips meet it’s surprisingly soft, and Jimin feels almost high when Jungkook starts moving first, almost immediately, as if he’s been waiting for this too. 

Their tongues slide together and within half a heartbeat their kiss turns deep and rough and messy, as if they’re fighting, Jungkook’s fangs grazing his lips, scraping over his tongue, and Jimin’s toes curl in his shoes, the kiss taking his breath away so quickly that it leaves him dizzy, as if in trance. 

Jungkook tastes like he smells. Of summer, of being surrounded by trees, and a bit of burnt wood. His tongue is unnaturally hot too and something pulls in Jimin’s lower stomach, tightens, making it hard to breathe. 

He wants to bury his fingers in Jungkook’s hair, wants to pull him closer, wants to kiss him deeper, he wants more of this— but the moment he feels the other’s grip on his arm loosen he slams back into reality. 

Jungkook’s state of distraction is exactly the chance he needs. 

With a jolt, he yanks his arm out the other’s hold, hisses when his skin is ripped open by claws in the process, and stumbles back, tripping over his feet, losing his balance and crashing with his back into the frame of the door as he lands on his butt ungracefully. 

His heart is pounding in his ears when he stares up at the other, his breathing going hard. 

Jungkook blinks, seeming legitimately confused for a moment. His lips are red and slightly wet and Jimin’s face is on fire at the sight. 

A moment later, the other’s eyes wander down to his empty hand, his fingers dripping with Jimin’s blood. Then his eyes snap toward Jimin, who almost shrinks back at the fury inside them. 

“Well played,” Jungkook growls before he steps closer, his blood-covered fingers encircling the bars. He cocks his head to the side. “Are you scared, Jimin? You smell scared. Has your daddy not told you to hide your fear from monsters?” His emerald eyes are gleaming as he runs his tongue over his swollen bottom lip. “They give chase if you run.” 

“You can’t chase me,” Jimin whispers, taking hold of his upper arm, putting pressure on the bleeding wound. “You’re locked up.” 

Jungkook’s eyes narrow, his jaw visibly clenching. 

“For now. But mark my words—” A slow grin spreads on his lips. “One day, I will get out of here.” 

Jimin startles when shouts and footsteps from outside the heavy security door reach his ears, chills running down his spine when Jungkook’s grin merges into an expression that can only be described as sinister. 

“I will get out of here and I will hunt you down.” 

The door swings open.

“Mr. Park!” 

Min Yoongi runs up to him, gun pointed at Jungkook, followed by three more security guards. His eyes flicker between Jungkook and Jimin and when he’s made sure that the situation is under control, he takes in the state of Jimin’s arm.

“Come,” he says and helps Jimin up, who gets to his feet on wobbly legs. “Let’s get you patched up. That looks like it hurts.” 

“I think he actually likes it when it hurts,” Jungkook scoffs behind them and Jimin wills the flush in his cheeks down to the best of his ability. 

"That must've been scary,” Min Yoongi says as he leads him down the corridor towards the elevator. 

"Yeah—," Jimin breathes. His hard half hard cock throbbing inside his pants. "Scary."