Chapter Text
Another Tuesday, another abduction/ransom deal situation. Nothing particularly new, Jimin figures. Hell, it’s good timing, because he’s kind of pissed off at his parents right now, so at least it got him away from all of that for a while. And this time things are a little different, more sophisticated than usual: whoever kidnapped him even bothered to put earmuffs on him. How high-effort of them; Jimin usually only ever gets blindfolded and his limbs ziptied together.
He’s been left alone for a while, and by alone he just means he doesn’t think he has company. No one has touched him, he can’t hear a sound through the earmuffs, and he can’t actually tell where he is or if anyone else is in the same space, though — he squirms in his seat, tongue pressed to the insides of his cheek — he doesn’t think he’s in the same clothes he got kidnapped in. As far as he can recall, he was just in an oversized hoodie and baggy sweats when he stormed out of the manor. Whatever he’s wearing now feels tight, though surprisingly soft against his skin. Feels a little expensive, honestly, and it’s definitely nothing too modest, judging from the breeze against his skin. Jimin seems to be exposed, in more than one way.
This can’t bode well for him, he notes detachedly. Various scenarios scroll in his brain like he’s flipping through case files, and none of them seem particularly appealing, knowing the type of people who would pull this kind of stunt in the first place.
Hw wonders which enemy of his parents’ this could be, combing through his mental database of organisations he knows tends to be a little more upper-class than the typical kidnapper riff-raff. The only suspects that come to mind are the Kims from up north. Jimin could absolutely see them being behind this, with their tendency to splurge a little bit more on anything involving inter-clan relations and general operational competence.
Jimin would be about eighty percent sure this is them – except he’s not accounting for the fact that Taehyung would never allow something like this to happen. Not to mention that they have no reason to take him by force when Jimin’s close with multiple people who are in high positions within the organisation.
So who exactly could this be?
Granted, he isn’t exactly familiar with the current political landscape (so to speak) of underground crime, so this could very well be an up-and-coming clan with rising influence. After all, he hasn’t got the chance to brush up on their neighbours or enemies since his father stripped him of his position and essentially banned him from participating in any clan activities.
He’s cursing his parents in his head when his blindfold is yanked off him, and —
There’s a man leaning over him.
Oh. He’s hot.
He's hot, and he’s holding direct eye contact like he can see into Jimin’s filthy little mind. The man standing in front of Jimin, leaning forward with one hand resting on the back of the chair Jimin’s tied to, is insanely built. Jimin can tell, thanks to a three-piece suit that is unfairly well-tailored and the sheer size of him. He’s in full black, save for a tie clip that Jimin is almost certain is real gold, and his shoulders are just so fucking wide, and dear lord.
Jimin kind of wants to climb him like a tree. Wants him to toss him around a little. Make him cry. He looks like he could make Jimin cry.
He thinks he must be staring. No, he’s definitely staring. He just hopes he’s not doing anything even more embarrassing than that. Like drooling.
This must be the boss. He just has that aura — dominance, power and money, all as subtle as a car crash. Tattoos peek out his sleeve. The faded scar on his cheek and even just the way he holds himself speak of experience and age. The Rolex on his wrist catches the light briefly when he reaches out.
And Jimin’s earmuffs are pulled off him and dropped onto the floor.
“Hello,” he says, dark eyes glinting. His voice is smooth, a little higher than Jimin would’ve expected, but authoritative nonetheless. A hot fucking voice if he’s ever heard one. God, it’s like the universe distilled his ideal type into a singular person and sent him Jimin’s way. Forget all the care and consideration put into his abduction, this man could’ve very well just asked Jimin to follow him home and he would’ve been tripping over his feet trying to keep up.
Jimin shies away, flustered. It’s not his fault; this very attractive man is just very close to him, and it’s. It's been a while since he’s been so immediately enthralled by someone – putting aside the fact that he’s never actually met anyone who looks like they’ve just stepped out of Jimin’s darkest fantasies.
“Hi,” he squeaks out.
The corners of the man’s lips quirk up in a half-smile. He pulls back, and Jimin can finally breathe right again, although he’s still surveying Jimin intensely. “It’s good to finally speak to you, Park Jimin. My name is Jeon Jeongguk, and I have a bone to pick with your father.”
Oh, tell me about it, Jimin nearly blurts. Or get in line, actually.
Thankfully, despite the fact that he doesn’t recognise the name, he steels himself (as much as he possibly can), and responds with what he thinks is a pretty intelligent, eloquent answer.
“Oh. That’s nice,” he says.
Jimin thinks Jeongguk might be laughing at him, if the twitching of his mouth is any indication, but the older man says nothing, continuing what Jimin assumes is his kidnapper spiel.
“Your father’s men came to my turf and shot a few of mine over a trivial disagreement.” Jeongguk studies Jimin closely, gaze sweeping over him. “So I decided to steal his pride and joy, his pretty little Jiminie, from right under his nose. An overreaction for an overreaction. It’s only fair.” He raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
He’s really not his dad’s pride and joy, but forget that, Jimin needs to focus on the important parts of what Jeongguk’s saying.
He goes moony, gazing wide-eyed up at Jeongguk. “You think I'm pretty?”
Jeongguk blinks, narrowing his eyes, and Jimin’s hit with the sobering reminder that Jeongguk is probably the leader of a rival organisation and is likely armed to the teeth, in both weapons and knowledge of how to kill someone with his bare hands. This is not a man he wants to push too far.
Then he laughs, and Jimin stops thinking he’s about to be shot for impudence and starts mentally replaying his laugh in his head instead. If his feet weren’t bound together, he’s pretty sure he’d be kicking them right now. “That’s what you’re going to focus on?”
Jimin smiles dreamily. There’s a little black dot right below Jeongguk’s bottom lip, and another on the side of his neck. God. He's so perfect.
“The rest doesn’t really matter to me.” he says, then stops. Maybe that’s not something he should be saying. “I mean, I'm sorry he did that, he’s such an asshat, seriously, but I hope you did enough research on me to know I had no part in that…?”
Jimin is not involved whatsoever in any gang business, even if he wanted to be. (Which he doesn’t. Not anymore. At all.) To his father, he’s useless. Just an abnormal brat who decided to, among other things, major in dance simply because he wanted to give his parents a heart attack. Factually incorrect, but the day Park Seunggi and Lee Jaeun remove their heads from their asses is the day… well, whenever it is, it’s probably around the same time Jimin finally stops getting fucking kidnapped thanks to their shitty security.
Jimin’s frankly losing hope in any of those ever happening. Seriously, it’s a miracle none of them are dead yet.
He snaps out of his thoughts when Jeongguk lifts his chin with the tip of his index finger, so very gentle, and all anger at his parents melts away. No time to be upset when he can be horny instead. And trying to get dicked down by Jeongguk seems like a much more productive, healthy way to spend his time and energy. With that in mind, Jimin really starts to focus up.
Jeongguk’s eyes are dark. “Of course. What, you think the only thing I know about you is that you’re pretty?”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Jimin breathes. He wishes he weren’t tied up completely, he’d love to be a little more forward in terms of his body language, but being completely helpless and at Jeongguk’s mercy isn’t so bad either, he has to admit.
Jeongguk hums. “Are you always this shameless?”
“Only with people I really like.”
“You must really like me, then.”
Jimin flushes and swallows. He nods, watching how Jeongguk’s gaze dips down to linger on his lips.
“I guess that makes this easier, then.” Jeongguk begins to circle Jimin, and it’s really only now that Jimin fully takes in where he is — a bedroom that’s furnished with what looks like the bare minimum, but Jimin can recognise expensive furniture and woodwork when he sees it. Only two exits – a window on his left that looks like it’s been taped shut, and a door on his right. It’s a deep mahogany, and it looks heavy. Jimin’s also willing to bet that there are at least four guards beyond the door, keeping watch and lining what Jimin assumes would be a hallway right outside.
Doesn’t matter. Jimin wasn’t planning on escaping anyway. Not since he first laid eyes on Jeongguk.
“See, I wasn’t going to keep you for long. I was thinking I’d keep you just long enough for your father to start worrying. I'd rough you up a bit, take some photos, see how he reacts, see how he decides to apologise before I did anything… rash.” Jeongguk’s fingers glide across the back of the chair Jimin’s strapped to, brushing against his back.
Jimin perks up. This is sounding like very good news.
“But you’ve been so cooperative. A lot more amusing than I thought you’d be.” Jeongguk’s back in front of him, crouching down so they’re eye-level. “And now that you’re here in front of me, all tied up like a fucking present —“
Jeongguk runs a hand up his body slowly, starting from his thighs and going up, from his hip to his ribs, then to his chest, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. Jimin shivers when he stops at his face, thumb hovering right over his lips.
Definitely good news.
His hands are big — Jeongguk could easily snap his neck in a second. Maybe Jimin should be turned off by that, but it seems the heat curling in the base of his stomach says otherwise.
“I’m afraid I'll be taking out my frustration against your father on you.”
Jimin squeezes his thighs together. How did he get this lucky?
“Oh, nooo,” Jimin says dramatically, pouting for extra effect. “That would be so bad and evil of you… hyung? Can I call you hyung?”
Jeongguk snorts. He stares at Jimin like the younger’s a particularly amusing pet and says nothing, so Jimin takes this as affirmation.
“Hyung-nim,” Jimin trills. “You can do whatever you want to me. Promise.”
This time, Jeongguk laughs. “Oh, princess,” he purrs, leaning in till their noses are a hair’s breadth from touching. His mouth curves up in an easy smile. “I don’t need your permission for that.”
A shiver rushes through Jimin. He says nothing, eyes lidded and face angled up. The anticipation of it all has him practically vibrating in his seat, thighs pressed tight together.
“Only my men call me hyung-nim,” Jeongguk says. “I think you deserve special treatment.” He tilts his head, eyes searching for something in Jimin’s, and from the looks of it – he finds what he’s looking for.
Jimin holds his breath.
Jeongguk clicks his tongue. “Be good for Daddy, won’t you?”
The air rushes out of his lungs. There’s a tingling between his thighs as his eyes go wide, and he forgets his hands are bound behind him when he tries to reach out to Jeongguk. “I – yes.”
Jimin’s given an unimpressed look, and he quickly amends his words.
“Yes, Daddy.”
Jeongguk’s smile is one of smug satisfaction. “We are going to have so much fun together.”
Slender fingers cradling his jaw, Jeongguk leans in, eyes lidded and lips parted. He looks as if he’s gazing at prey, and Jimin is all too willing to let Jeongguk simply consume him. He cranes his head up, tongue swiping over his lips, and braces himself, excitement bubbling up in him —
And the door explodes.