♡ Part ~ 13 ♡

Jimin let out a relaxed sigh as he stepped out of the bathroom, fresh from his shower. A fluffy white towel was loosely wrapped around his waist, tiny droplets of water trailing down his smooth, pale skin. His damp hair clung to his forehead as he walked towards the closet to grab his clothes.

But before he could take another step, the door suddenly swung open without warning.

Jimin's eyes widened in shock as he instinctively gripped the towel around his waist. “Yah! Don’t you have any manners? Knock before entering someone’s room!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of surprise and anger.

Standing at the doorway, Yoongi leaned casually against the doorframe, his sharp eyes drinking in the sight before him. His gaze slowly roamed over Jimin’s exposed upper body, the younger’s toned yet delicate form, his soft porcelain skin, his slim waist, and those smooth, milky thighs peeking beneath the towel.

A smirk curled on Yoongi’s lips. “Well, I don’t need permission to enter my own room.” His voice was laced with amusement as he strolled inside like he owned the place—because, in his mind, he did.

Jimin's face flushed in embarrassment when he noticed how Yoongi was blatantly checking him out. "P-Pervert!" he stuttered, quickly rushing to the closet. Without wasting a second, he grabbed the first set of clothes his hands found and darted back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Yoongi chuckled lowly at Jimin’s reaction, finding it adorable. He made his way towards the king-sized chair in the corner, settling into it like a king on his throne, waiting patiently.

A few minutes later, Jimin emerged from the bathroom fully dressed in a loose sweater and sweatpants. His wet hair was slightly tousled as he dried it with a towel. But as soon as he looked up, he saw Yoongi still there, sitting with his legs crossed, watching him intently.

Jimin huffed in annoyance, his brows furrowing. “Why are you still here?”

Yoongi didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze lazily traveled over Jimin’s form before he murmured, “You’re so hot, you know that, doll?”

Jimin rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “And you’re so annoying and irritating. You know that?” he shot back without missing a beat.

Yoongi let out a deep chuckle, the sound making Jimin’s skin prickle. “Feisty, aren’t you?” he mused, pushing himself up from the chair.

Before Jimin could react, Yoongi was suddenly in front of him, standing too close for comfort. Jimin instinctively stepped back, but Yoongi was quicker, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him flush against his body.

Jimin’s breath hitched as Yoongi’s hand came up to cup his cheek, his thumb grazing over his damp skin.

“W-What are you doing?” Jimin stammered, his body tensing. He could feel Yoongi’s breath ghosting over his lips, his scent intoxicatingly close.

Yoongi smirked, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. “Nothing. Just admiring my beautiful doll.”

His fingers trailed up, tucking a few strands of Jimin’s damp hair behind his ear, his touch surprisingly gentle. Jimin’s heart thumped against his chest—he didn’t know why, but something about the way Yoongi looked at him made him feel… strange.

Snapping out of it, Jimin quickly shoved him away, creating much-needed distance between them. “Don’t you dare touch me!” he snapped, glaring at him.

Yoongi tilted his head, unfazed by the younger’s resistance. “And why can’t I touch what’s mine, hmm?” he asked nonchalantly.

Jimin’s fists clenched. “How many times do I have to remind you? I. Am. Not. Yours.” His voice was sharp with anger.

But Yoongi didn’t falter. Instead, his expression darkened, and within a second, he had Jimin’s chin in his grip, tilting his face up. His hold was tight—tight enough to leave a bruise.

Jimin gasped, his hands instinctively flying up to grab Yoongi’s wrist, trying to pry him off. But Yoongi didn’t budge.

“And how many times do I have to tell you?” Yoongi’s voice was dangerously low, his eyes glinting with something possessive. “You are mine. You belong to me, whether you like it or not.”

Jimin tried to protest, but before he could get a word out, Yoongi’s lips crashed against his.

It wasn’t a soft kiss. It wasn’t sweet or gentle.

No—Yoongi was claiming him.

Jimin let out a muffled whimper when Yoongi bit down on his bottom lip—hard. The sharp sting made his eyes water, and before he knew it, he tasted the metallic tang of blood.

Yoongi didn’t let go. Instead, he sucked on Jimin’s lip, licking away the crimson stain before finally pulling back, leaving the younger breathless and shaken.

Jimin’s chest heaved as he clutched onto Yoongi’s shirt for support, his legs slightly trembling. He looked wrecked—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and eyes blown wide in disbelief.

Yoongi leaned in, his lips barely grazing Jimin’s ear. “That should remind you, doll.”

Jimin gulped, feeling his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Yoongi finally released him, straightening his posture as he looked at Jimin one last time, admiring the mess he had made.

"I'm going somewhere," Yoongi said casually, as if nothing had just happened. "Have your lunch on time. I'll meet you in the evening."

And with that, he walked out, leaving Jimin standing there—flustered, furious, and utterly confused.

Chapter: Trapped Between the Past and Present

Jimin sat motionless on the edge of the bed, his mind clouded with thoughts, his body still tense from everything that had happened. His fingers unconsciously brushed against his bottom lip, and a sharp sting shot through him.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, wincing at the pain.

He pushed himself up, his legs feeling weak as he made his way to the bathroom. The moment he stepped in and flicked on the light, he caught his reflection in the mirror.

His breath hitched.

His eyes were red and puffy from crying, his cheeks pale, and his lips—his bottom lip, swollen and bruised. A deep red mark remained from where Yoongi had bitten him. The sight made his stomach churn.

Jimin swallowed hard and turned on the faucet, cupping cold water in his hands before splashing it onto his face. The chill helped soothe his burning skin, but it couldn’t erase the memory of Yoongi’s lips on his.

"It reminds you of me, doll."

Jimin shut his eyes tightly, his grip on the sink tightening.

"Sick bastard," he whispered to himself.

Reaching for a towel, he carefully dabbed his lips, flinching as the fabric grazed the wound. His hands shook slightly as he opened the cabinet, searching for something—anything—to ease the pain. His eyes landed on a small tube of ointment.

Slowly, he squeezed a tiny amount onto his fingertip and applied it to his lip, hissing softly at the sting. His fingers trembled as he traced over the wound, the action reminding him of how roughly Yoongi had held him, how possessive his voice had sounded.

"You’re mine, whether you like it or not."

A bitter laugh escaped Jimin's lips.

"Over my dead body," he muttered, shaking his head.

Once he was done, he turned off the bathroom light and stepped back into the room. The soft glow of the afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting warm golden streaks over the plush bed. Jimin dragged his tired body towards it and collapsed onto the mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling.

His mind drifted—back to his old life.

University.

He missed the long hours of studying, the quiet moments in the library, the feeling of freedom as he walked through the bustling campus. He missed his classes, his professors, even the stress of exams.

But more than anything, he missed him.

Taehyung.

His best friend. His only friend.

Was he looking for him? Was he worried? Did he even know what had happened to Jimin?

Tears welled up in Jimin’s eyes, but he blinked them away. He couldn't afford to break down now. He had to find a way out of here.

Lying there, he wrapped his arms around himself, feeling so utterly alone.

His body was still weak from being sick, his mind exhausted from everything Yoongi had done. He wanted to escape. He wanted to run far away from this nightmare.

But right now, he could do nothing but wait.

With a heavy heart, he closed his eyes, trying to push away the terrifying thought that haunted him the most.

What if he never got out?

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