clobber girl

À Triomphe - BTS AU

AU:  Art Thief!Bangtan

Description: You are a curator at one of the many museums in Paris, and have finally earned the bosses trust.  But after a strange meeting with a new coworker and his friends, you begin receiving messages from an unknown party.

Part:  Five / Four / Three / Two / One

Warnings: Violence, Swearing.

Originally posted by kook-min

Text Message from Unknown Number

I can’t stop what will happen next
but Don’t let Jeon see you

Jin stopped in front of the back entrance of Maillol, quick to avoid the transport trucks parked in front which carried in the latest paintings bought from various markets around the world.  He stood, feet together, staring at the moon as it shone over the cityscape of Paris, leaving a glow against his skin that left you breathless.

“Ah, this was fun, (y/n).”  Jin took a moment from admiring the moon to glance at you, smiling as soon as he did.  He took a step forward, his nimble fingers grazing the nape of your neck.  “I hope you’d want to see me again,” he hummed.  

A loving smile inched it’s way onto your cheeks, leaving a red tint as you chuckled to yourself.  “I’d love to, Jin.”

Jin stood taller, happy with the news of a guaranteed second date.  “Well, then, princess, I think you should get back to your castle.” You laughed, covering your gummy smile as he himself began to snicker.  “Why are you so shy?”  He quizzed.

A small sigh escaped your lips as your hand fell back to your wallet and the small box of macarons, half of which had been eaten on the way back. “I’ve never had that good of luck with guys, honestly.”

“Am I the exception?”

“For sure.”

Jin grinned, gently removing the box of macarons from your grip and rattling them.  He placed the small parcel under his arm as he moved his hands to sit gently on the nape of your neck, bending over slightly to leave a kiss on your forehead. Jin brushed out your hair before removing his touch from you, bowing slightly and waving goodbye as he turned the corner.

You backed against the brick wall that was the tail end of the Maillol, clutching your chest as you sighed.  “God, what are you doing to me?”

You quickly gained your composure, removing your hand from your now ruffled shirt to the inner pocket of your jacket.  Nothing.  Your heart stopped momentarily.

You had left your keys in there, hadn’t you?  Hadn’t I? you thought.  Your hands began to roam every inch of your body, furiously patting as you began to grow more frustrated by the minute. You could’ve easily ignored it and walk home, had that very set of keys contained the only key to your apartment.

Click.  It hit you.  You must have left them at the café.  Duh, you muttered, I didn’t lose them, you thought.  Although they were important, they weren’t important enough to trek another hour back to the café at night.

Your hand instinctively gripped the back of your head, lightly tugging on your hair, as it was a nervous tick you gained while working in retail some years ago.  It never seemed to leave you.

A lightbulb went off, smiling as you had remembered the carrier truck parked out front. In a matter of minutes, you found yourself doubling back onto the main street and to the front doors of Maillol, stopping to grasp the edge of the carrier truck to catch your breath. A man of rugged texture, with a clean shaven beard, stood in front of the door, his back to you.  He began to fidget with the locks, before turning promptly.  You quickly rose back to your full posture, shouting as you waved your hands for his attention.  “Ah, sir, please stop!”

He stood, staring suspiciously as you approached him abruptly.  “Sir, I work here and I’ve misplaced my keys, could you please let me in?” He stood, still, almost timid to walk away from you.  Had it not been for your uniform, you were sure he wouldn’t have tolerated your beratement.  But he quickly turned, letting out a small groan as he began to fidget with the lock once more.

You smiled, jumping in your socks as you thanked him repeatedly.  He opened the door for you, nodding with a small grin as he watched you enter before turning, and leaving.

You stood in the front room of the Maillol; a scene completely different to that of a serene environment.  A small sound made what seemed like a million echoes on the marble flooring of the complex, only made worse by the narrow and shallow halls leading to many of the exhibits.  You sighed, placing your wallet on the reception desk as you quickly took off your jacket and setting it down, as well.  You flipped the light switch on.

Your kitten heels clicked as you paced across the floor to the nearest employee office, which had been locked.  A groan escaped your lips.  The next best place for you to sit in peace would be the director’s office.

Slowly opening the director’s door, you inched yourself across the room to the desk, sitting as you let yourself rest before reaching for your phone to call a cab.  You pulled the string hanging from the bosses decorative light, which only brought in a little light to the room.

After you had made the call, you began to play with the different apps on your phone, finding anything to entertain you for the period of time it would take for the cab to get to the outskirts of Paris.

As you had just begun watching oddball videos on youtube, your phone glitched.  The screen turned black.  

Of fucking course, you thought to yourself.  Could this get any worse?

You looked up from your now useless gadget to stare at the door, out of sheer instinct;  the lights had turned off, as could be seen from the crack leading to the outside of the office. You turned on the lights, hadn’t you?

You pushed yourself up from the desk slowly, walking towards the door as you gently began to turn the knob.  Your heart stopped.

“God damn it, Jimin, help me!”

Jimin?  Your mind raced to hours before.  The small man, his hair as orange as the sunset and a smile that could charm millions.  There’s no way, you stood baffled.

The footsteps got closer, as did two new voices.  “Yah, you jackass, it’s not that heavy.  I’ve carried tons of heavier things.”  

The disembodied voice boasted on the number of things he had stolen, the number of weight he can list, how heavy a human body was after the loss of consciousness.

“Shut the fuck up, Guk. If you’re such a strong man, help me.”

You removed your hand from the knob, quickly holding your breath in as you tried to calm yourself down.  It can’t fucking be, you groaned.

Four years.  Four years I’ve worked here, and not a damn robbery had happened.

But it seemed the night you were most vulnerable was the night most eligible for this act to be carried out.

The voices and footsteps echoed as they got farther away, farther and farther; soon out of earshot.

You quickly, and quietly, opened the door, staring out into the pitch blackness to see flashlights glowing in the distance.  You rushed yourself across the floor into the other direction; an amateur mistake you regretted as soon as you had made it.

“Who the fuck is there?”

“Don’t fucking stand there, go get them!”

You yelped as you looked over your shoulder, seeing a bulky man jogging as he came down his end of the hall. You doubled across the Picasso exhibit and into a small hallway leading to and from the Degas room.  You stood at the corner of the Degas room entrance and the dead end hallway.  This was the only room in the entire museum that didn’t lead to another room, and thus was also one of the most reclusive exhibits.  The position you chose was cloaked in darkness; you hoped for the best.

“Come here, I won’t hurt you.”

The lights in the hall seemed to strobe over you but never landed in a precise enough position to give you away.

“I just want to help you out of here, you’re safe with me.”

The voice mocked you; how sweet and coddling it was.  His boots walked in an eery rhythm, keeping you on your toes with every inch.  You held your breath, pushing yourself flat against the wall as the footsteps engulfed you.

One. Two. Three. Four.

As the boots clicked closer to your corner, your sanctuary, your hideaway, you grew more anxious.

What did he want? For fuck’s sake, what did he want? And why aren’t I getting any fucking service?

You fidgeted with the buttons on your phone; your hands shaking, the clock ticking as he gained on your position.

Clunk. Your phone teetered on the floor, the screening cracking on impact.

Shit, you thought, fucking shit, you muttered. His footsteps halted.

“There you are, baby,” the gravelly voice cooed.

You panicked, letting out a curdling scream before a harsh impact sent you falling.  Your vision went black.

You could hear everything.

“Oh smart, Jeongguk, the poor girl might have a concussion.”

“Did you want was a witness?  Because, hehe, last time I checked, you fucking hate witnesses.”

“I’m not the one who clobbered a girl with the blunt end of a flashlight.”

Your head nodded back and forth as you began to rock in the cold, metal chair.  You felt your wrists grow itchy as you gained feeling in your extremities.  

“You asshole, why’d you do this?”

“Oh, you go on one date with the girl, because it’s your fucking job, and suddenly she means the world to you?  Grow some balls Jin, this is how we work.”

“We don’t work to give girls comas, we work to get money.”

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, only to be greeted with blurred vision.  You couldn’t recall much of what happened, only the immense pain pulsing from the back of your head.  “Get out the way, idiots.”

You felt a strong grip grasp your chin, as your vision slowly came to a focus.  A man with familiar caramel colored skin was staring you in the eyes, pushing his tongue against his cheeks as he examined you.  It was Theo. “Her pupils are reactive, she’ll be fine.”

Another boy, a little shorter than him with dark brown hair let out a small growl.  “I still think we need to take her to a doctor or something.” Another, in a black v-neck and boots, barked back, “I’ll die before I let her rat us out.”

A laugh echoed from the corner of the room before coming into sight.  “Settle down, Jeongguk… you go on a couple heists and got a taste for blood again, I see?”

The boy named Jeongguk visibly winced at the saying, memories seeming to flood his thoughts as he let out a small groan.  “All I’m saying is we can’t trust her, Namjoon.”

Your eyes rolled involuntarily as your head fell limp.  The restraints on your wrist seemed to grow tighter.

“She doesn’t look fine, Tae.”  

Jeongguk came close, his feet carrying the weight of a thousand different personalities it seemed, lifting your chin back up to see you losing consciousness once more.  

“My poor baby,” you heard him mutter.

Degas: A famous French artist

Picasso: A famous Spanish artist