Jungkook holds your hand, so tight it's like he's dying.

His fingers almost cut off your circulation, keeping you warm despite the wave of chilled air that pours over you in the entryway to the cavernous room that you're currently approaching.

Your heels click on the marble floors of the hotel ballroom, the chandelier lights glimmering off of the pristine surfaces in tiny starbursts that disappear as your shadows pass over.

It's cold here.

"Sirs, ma'am," says a tuxedoed server upon your entrance.

He's clad in a simple black waistcoat and slacks, dismal in comparison to the extravagant evening gowns and apparel whirling in a tornado of wealth behind him.

He waves the three of you to a stop just inside the doorway, quickly running a small device over your figures from an arm's length away.

You glance questioningly at Yoongi, who tilts his head with pursed lips and mutters, "Metal detector."

Ah, that's right.

This is a ceasefire - no weapons allowed.

The metal detector remains silent as it scans you, signaling the lack of weaponry on your persons. Normally, before this entire adventure, it would have reassured you that you were safe.

Now, all you want is for Yoongi to have a gun shoved down the back of his pants and Jungkook, a knife inside his jacket.

As swiftly as the server had appeared, he melts into the sparkling background, cutting a bow as he goes.

You pause to take a deep breath.

Here it is.

Somewhere in this building is a man with silver hair and a sweet disposition, bound and held captive against his will. Also somewhere in this building are four men sneaking around, clad in tuxedos and desperate to find their brother.

And then there's the three of you.

The distraction.

Yoongi, pale and unaffected in his tux jacket and dress shirt, the bow tie that was circling his neck earlier now mysteriously missing to give him a lazy air.

Jungkook, stiff and straight-cut, and more sober then you've ever seen him before. It's like someone's drained all the emotion from him in lieu of cool blankness. He's a darkly handsome statue, embossed with inky tattoos and black eyes.

There's you. Red-clad and sweating, an anxious mess of fearful imaginings. If Jungkook and Yoongi didn't have a tight hold on either side of you, you might sprint for the door.

It's a good thing you were chosen, too, because to the people in this room, you're apparently very distracting.

When you advance forward, arm in arm with Yoongi, hand intertwined with Jungkook's, people watch you.

You aren't sure if it's because some of them recognize the men at your sides or because the three of you are far too young to be here; either way, it feels like there a sort of gravitational field around you, drawing people's reluctant gazes your way.

The fact that Yoongi is an already-retired Boss by his age is, as you know, an anomaly. It's startling to think that he's already been at the top, being so extraordinarily young when compared to the crowd of high-class criminals.

The rest of the men and women here are middle aged at the least, straight-backed and somehow distinguished in all their gory glory. Ball gowns and tuxes and glittering fine jewelry litter the ballroom like a plague.

In your mind, you can see drops of blood sparkling death red in every diamond.

"I can't see my father," you mumble. You tighten your grip on Jungkook's hand, feeling the warm metal of his rings pressing into your skin.

This is making you anxious, as unsurprising as it is. There are so many people in here that finding your father will be like a hunt for Waldo.

The thought that worries you even more, though, is that your father or Seoungmin could slip up behind you in this mashed-up throng before you could even think of escaping.

Your dress of silky scarlet is a vibrant beacon, screaming here I am! Come and get me!

Jungkook's favorite color or no, you want to rip it off.

"He's here," Jungkook says in a hushed voice. "I can feel him."

"Feels icky, doesn't it?" Yoongi says casually. "You can feel it sitting there in your stomach, but you don't know when you'll be attacked. Like diarrhea."

Jungkook's cool demeanor cracks, and he slips Yoongi a smile. "Hyung."

His humorous comment may calm Jungkook's nerves, but you can't stop scanning the people around.

Jungkook's right - you can feel your father's presence, like blight in the air. It's a creeping, sickening sense of impending doom and wickedness. It chokes out the beauty of the ballroom, black darkness blotting out all the gold.

The three of you are deep into the room now, approaching where the crowd gives way to a gilded dance floor. Couples spin to and fro in graceful elegance to a small orchestra across the way, smiling and laughing as they turn.

It's odd how normal they seem. Even though you know that every man and woman in this ballroom is either privy to or guilty of heinous activities, it doesn't make the laugh lines on that old man's face disappear, or dim the tinkling sound of that woman's laughter.

As your small part stands at the edge of the dance floor, you can't help but notice it the enormous pressure of it.

Of the eyes on you.

"Why is everyone staring?" you ask as a woman with emerald earrings the size of your eyeballs turns her whole torso to watch you glide by.

"Isn't it obvious?" asks Yoongi. "It's because I'm so stunningly attractive they can't take their eyes off of me."

"That's not a real answer," you object sullenly and start to demand further clarification, but you're interrupted by Yoongi's hand shooting out in front of you to stop your steps.

"Well, well, well." His dark eyes narrow beneath black bangs, mouth tightening around his single lip ring. The very tip top of his tear drop tattoo crinkles up into the folded skin beneath his eye. "Look who decided to join the party."

Following his gaze, your stomach bottoms out, roiling like an uneasy sea and threatening to spew up your throat.

Tonight, your father is more charming than ever. His face is creased with an easygoing smile, teeth shining and sparkling in the golden-hued chandelier light. Boss Song greets men and women like a grateful celebrity as he travels through the crowd, giving no hint of any malicious intent.

But it's the eyes that give him away.

No matter how hard your father smiles, no matter how hard he bares his teeth in that painfully cheerful grin, his eyes remain vast, blank pits of coldness.

The eyes are the window to the soul, and you can see the stark absence of such a spirit in the hollow shell of your father.

That soulless gaze narrows in on you, a heat seeking missile.

Your breath lodges in your throat. "Okay. He's here. What's the plan?"

"Plan?" Yoongi tilts his head, keeping an eye on your father. "What plan?"

...what?

"There...isn't a plan?" you say breathlessly.

Your father is moving toward you, slipping through the crowd like an eel. He shifts to the side, straightening his lapel, and you can see Seoungmin behind him.

"Not a definite one," comments Yoongi. He's doesn't seem to be feeling the same sense of frantic panic that you are.

Jungkook's hand tightens around yours in a reassuring manner that, oddly enough, isn't very reassuring.

"We're the distraction," he says, reaching up to touch his hair before remembering that's its gelled into place. "Having no plan makes it a little easier to be adaptable."

"Being a distraction is all about improvisation." Rubbing his hands together, Yoongi watches your father with a narrow-eyed, speculative look. "Hmm. How should we improvise?"

He's almost upon you now. The closer that he gets, the quicker your father's face sets into the familiar mold that, in the years you were trapped under his thumb, you saw every day.

His eyes are hard and unwavering, solid jaw set into an unbreakable line.

"What are we gonna do?" you whisper.

You're afraid.

Afraid for Taehyung, afraid for Jungkook, and Namjoon and Hoseok and Jin. Yoongi, and Jimin too.

You're afraid for yourself.

You don't want to go back.

Here, teetering on the edge between the dance floor and your father, it seems like there's no escape.

"I guess we'll just have to improvise," Yoongi says.

He takes your arm from his and turns you, hand on your back, so that you face the dance floor. A woman skims by you, so close that her passing stirs your hair from where it rests on your shoulders.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

He doesn't answer.

Instead, he pushes.

"What the-" Yoongi's solid shove sends you reeling into the hurricane of dancing figures, your grip on Jungkook's hand bringing him along with you.

As you narrowly avoid stomping the life out of one man's foot with your skybridge heels, you spin just in time to see Yoongi disappear like magic into the crowd.

Seconds later, your father surfaces at the dance floor's edge, his eyes narrowed on you.

The eye contact only lasts for a mere millisecond before you and Jungkook are swept away by the dancers.

"What do we do?!" you panic.

Yoongi's gone, your father knows where you are, and even though it's only been a while since this whole mission started, you worry at the fact that you haven't heard from the rest of the men.

Your brain is flooding, brim-full with terror.

What now?

Jungkook rotates you to face him in some semblance of a waltz position, pulling you close with one arm around your back as your other hands stay connected.

"This is fine," he says. "This is good. Let's dance."

He's here. He's here.

Your mind is spamming, seizing, a bigger reaction than you ever anticipated at the sight of your father. Jungkook blurs in front of you, and you can see cage bars closing in.

They're gilded gold, but stronger than the purest steel.

"Y/N?" Jungkook asks.

"Taehyung. Taehyung," you chant. You hope the mantra will bring your brain, hissing like a cornered animal, back into submission. "We have to get him out. We're here to get him out. My father won't-"

"He won't get you. We're protecting you." Jungkook lets his fingers skip out of yours, cupping your face warmly. His black eyes are firm but soft, dark and sweet like honey and focused as the thick lashes flutter over them. "Hey, do you wanna know what they're all staring at?"

"You," you say. "And Yoongi, and my freaking gaudy red dress. And the hickeys on my thigh. Jin saw those."

"Not the hickeys," Jungkook denies. Your steps, which had been awkward and out of sync with the music as you tried to integrate into the crowd, are growing smoother and more solid under Jungkook's lead. "Well, maybe the hickeys. But mostly the tattoo."

"Why the tattoo?" This is distracting you. That's good, because your father is still at the edge of the dance floor. He's watching, but unable to get to you.

You close your eyes and trust Jungkook with the dance, trying to breathe.

This is what you're here for.

You're stalling while the others find and extract Taehyung.

Jungkook's fingers trace your jaw, his thumb sweeping across your cheeks as he murmurs in his lullaby voice, "They all know what it means. They recognize it."

"How? When I asked my cousin, she didn't know that your gang had a tattoo." Jisoo had, in fact, denied the existence of such a thing. It obviously isn't common knowledge.

You glance down at the ink in question, flashing clearly through the high slit in your dress with every step. It twines beautifully around your skin, like it's meant to be there.

You glance back up and notice that a man with silvery hair is staring at it, switching his gaze from the tattoo to your face, and then on to Jungkook's, his eyes narrowing.

"Anyone below the upper levels of hierarchy wouldn't know, but most of the people here? We've worked for them. Or they knew us before Bangtan." His voice drops to an almost silent level and his eyes suddenly intensify, adopting the pull of two black holes, sucking you in. "That's my tattoo, Y/N, on your body. You know exactly what that means. They know exactly what that means."

You consider yourself officially distracted as shivers cascade down your spine in response to his words. You can't think straight when his thumb is tracing your lower lip, and his hand at your waist constricts like a tightened metal coil.

The pull brings you into him, chest to chest, eye to eye.

Soul to soul.

"You aren't yours anymore," Jungkook says. "You're mine. You're ours. You're Bangtan."

"I'm Bangtan?" You don't know how you're capable of laughter right now, but a small chuckle slips out of you.

Jungkook twirls you in some kind of twisty maneuver. "Hey. I'm serious."

His hand moves from your waist to rest at the top of your thigh; because of the gaping emptiness where the dress material should be, the tips of his fingers are grazing skin your skin, burning hot.

You stop laughing.

"You shouldn't have worn that dress." Jungkook's thin, uneven lips twist ruefully, eyes scrunching in bemusement. "Honestly, it's really hard to be a distraction when I'm so distracted."

You laugh again, and let your head fall forward to rest on his shoulder as the orchestra eases the waltz smoothly into a lulling lyrical piece.

The air around the two of you is gentle and still. In this moment, it doesn't feel like a precariously-planned rescue mission. Your mind clings to his hand grasping yours, to his arms around you and the slight warmth of his breath moving your hair.

Jungkook's relaxed, swaying, his eyes closed as he rests his cheek against your hair.

He says, so softly that you have to strain to hear even this close, "Princess."

"It's been a while since you've called me that." Your voice is a muffled mumble against his chest.

"It's been awhile since you said you hate me, too." He draws back and extends your intertwined hands in an arch above your heads, spinning you through it. "Any particular reason why?"

There's a smirk on his pretty pierced lips, one that's smug enough to cause the cross on his cheek to ripple into a wavy line.

You fight to hold back your own grin and say, "What do you think?"

His eyes flash, a bolt of lightening through the darkest midnight.

You wish it could be like this for forever.

But, as the orchestra's strains draw to a close, floating off into silence amidst the chatter of the cavernous room, reality slams down like an anvil on the Wile E. Coyote.

People are clapping for the musicians, and your father, tailed by Seoungmin, is already striding towards you.

Yoongi appears at your side. "Show time."

"Holy-" You clutch your chest and gasp. "Where did you even come from?"

"What's the plan, hyung?" Jungkook asks, keeping one hand securely on your waist.

Yoongi doesn't smile full out, but the edges of his mouth tilt up in a semblance of amusements. "You know any good magic tricks, kids?"

Magic? Your heart is pounding, seconds away from physically bursting out of your chest cavity and exploding like a bomb, and Yoongi wants to talk about magic tricks.

You shrug. Why the heck not, you guess?

"Um, no," Jungkook says, just as perplexed in voice as you are in thought. "Is that important?"

Yoongi snaps his fingers. "The biggest secret of magic is misdirection. If you get the audience to look close enough at the rabbit in your right hand, then they aren't watching to see you skip the card up your left sleeve."

The analogy is confusing for a moment, until you actually think about it. A sudden realization makes the put in your stomach widen into a yawning abyss of fear.

You're going to let yourselves be caught - the biggest distraction possible while the others find Taehyung.

"Well, crap," Jungkook sighs. He runs a finger along one of his lip rings, grimacing. "Let me guess. We're the rabbit, right? And the dancing and the avoiding has all just been...what? A distraction before the main distraction?"

"Stalling," corrects Yoongi. "I want to give them the largest time slot available. There isn't much more we can do now."

There's no time for any more words.

Your father is here.

He seems to be twenty feet tall as he stops in front of you, lips peeled back in a false grin to keep up appearances.

But, just like earlier, his eyes are empty and dead.

"Hello, daughter," your father says, his voice cool and smooth, rasping against your nerves like snakeskin.

You don't reply.

"Boss Song," Yoongi greets, somehow informal despite the respectful wording of his sentences. "So nice to see you again."

Seoungmin is there, too, standing behind your father with a blank face and professional posture.

You clutch onto Jungkook's hand like it's your lifeline, terrified.

"We're here to negotiate, just like you asked. Though your method of invitation was..." Yoongi sucks a breath through his teeth, angling his head. "Well, let's just say it didn't put you on our good side."

"You didn't enjoy our present?" your father asks with faint amusement. "How unfortunate, we thought it would leave quite the impression."

Fury boils like fire under your skin.

This is all just a game to them. If it wasn't for Hoseok, any one of you could've died in that explosion - not to mention that the reason for the bomb was simply a distraction for them to take Taehyung without you noticing.

Jungkook, too, has schooled his face into a mask of indifference, but his hand shakes in yours. You can see the restraint cast like a net around his raging emotions, as clear as if it were tangible.

"If you'd like to accompany me, I think you have a friend waiting for you," says your father.

Behind him, Seoungmin smiles eerily. "I never pegged him to be a screamer. Did you know?"

Oh crap, Taehyung.

The net bursts, and Jungkook lets loose an animal-like snarl.

But Yoongi's hand on his chest holds him back.

"Lead the way," says the black-haired man, his eyes a frightening mixture of hell black and scarlet vengeance.

When your father smiles, it feels like he's already won.

All you can hope is that somehow, some way, the others have already gotten Taehyung out, and that Yoongi and Jungkook can get your own party safely out of your father's hands.

Your father turns, Seoungmin behind him, and motions the three of you forward.

You hook your arm through Yoongi's again and, still holding Jungkook's hand, follow your greatest fear like a lamb to slaughter.

[A/N]
Severely unedited

Guys, I don't know how to describe to you how hard it is to keep up with anything when you're in college. You're constantly tired, constantly hungry, constantly busy or sick or working or something. I'm so sorry it's taken so long. Thank you for your support and patience.❤️❤️

As you can probably guess, Blood Ink is drawing to a close. There there, don't weep 🤫 it'll be okay. There will probably be several more chapters, but not many.

Lastly, I haven't done fanarts in a really long time, so I put a bunch in! Thanks to all the amazing artists!

❤️PB