Organized Crime (Literally)
Summary: You are a librarian who somehow charms the most dangerous member of the family. The mobster tries to be threatening but keeps getting flustered when you correct his grammar or organize his illegal documents.
Fandom: ATEEZ
Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader
Genre: Mafia AU, Romance, Fluff
Warnings: Mentions of illegal activities, Money laundering
A/N: Me writing a reader obsessed with grammatical errors while I make mistakes every few seconds is something...
Organized Standards: Down Bad Behavior
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You’d always prided yourself on being predictable.
Monday through Friday, 7 AM sharp, you’d arrive at the Crescent City Public Library with your color coordinated planner, sensible flats, and a thermos of tea that was always, always Earl Grey. Your life ran on schedules, proper filing systems, and the Dewey Decimal Classification like clockwork.
Which is why finding a man bleeding on your library steps at 6:47 AM on a Tuesday was particularly inconvenient for you.
“Excuse me,” you said, adjusting your glasses as you approached the bleeding man in the expensive looking black coat. “The library doesn’t open until 9 AM. Also, you’re bleeding on municipal property.”
The man looked up, and you were struck by two things: first, he was devastatingly handsome in that dangerous, sharp featured way that belonged in noir films, not small town libraries. Second, his eyes held the kind of cold calculation that suggested he was used to people running away from him, not politely informing him of operating hours.
“Listen, sweetheart,” he began, his voice low and menacing as he struggled to his feet. “I don’t think you understand who you’re-”
“With whom! you’re dealing,” you corrected automatically, pulling out your keys. “The preposition ‘with’ can’t be omitted in formal speech. Are you having a medical emergency? Should I call 119?”
Seonghwa blinked. In his twenty eight years of existence, most of which had been spent in various states of criminal activity, no one had ever interrupted his intimidation tactics to correct his grammar.
“I… what?”
“Your sentence structure,” you explained patiently, unlocking the library door. “You said ‘who you’re dealing,’ but it should be ‘with whom you’re dealing.’ Although, in casual speech, ‘who you’re dealing with’ would also be acceptable, despite the dangling preposition.”
“Are you seriously giving me a grammar lesson right now?”
“Would you prefer to bleed out instead? Because those are really your only two options until the clinic opens at eight.” You held the door open. “Come on. I have a first aid kit in the reference section.”
And that’s how Park Seonghwa -heir to the most feared crime family in South Korea, the man who could make grown adults weep with a single glance- found himself getting bandaged by a librarian who hummed softly while she worked and smelled like vanilla and old books.
“So,” you said, carefully cleaning the cut on his forehead, “what’s your name? For the incident report.”
“You’re filing a report?”
“Well, yes. Municipal property, potential liability issues, and I need to document the use of library supplies for non library purposes.” You paused. “Don’t worry, I’ll categorize it under ‘community outreach.’”
Seonghwa stared at you. “Park Seonghwa.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Park. I’m Y/N.” You applied a neat bandage and stepped back to admire your work. “There. You should see a proper doctor, though. I’m only certified in basic first aid and children’s story time management.”
====================================
Three weeks later, Seonghwa found himself back at the library. Not because he was injured -though he’d taken a concerning number of hits lately- or because he kept getting distracted thinking about proper grammar, thinking about proper grammar, but because he figured you probably needed a proper first aid kit after using the last one on him.
He found you exactly where he’d expected: behind the reference desk, sorting through a stack of returned books with the focused intensity of a surgeon.
“Mr. Park,” you said without looking up. “Your books are overdue.”
“My what?”
You held up a copy of “Advanced Accounting Principles” and “The Art of War.” “Checked out on your library card three weeks ago. That’ll be ₩6.500 in late fees.”
“I don’t have a library card.”
“You do now.” You slid a laminated card across the desk. “I took the liberty of signing you up when you bled on my steps. Emergency contact information was needed for the incident report.”
Seonghwa picked up the card, noting his name printed in neat block letters. “You listed yourself as my emergency contact.”
“Well, I don’t know your family, and you seem like the type who might not have many close friends. Occupational hazard of being mysterious and intimidating.” You finally looked up, adjusting your glasses. “Although you’re not very good at the intimidating part.”
“Excuse me?”
“You apologized when you bumped into the biography section. Twice. And you’ve been standing there for five minutes without saying anything threatening. Very un-menacing behavior.”
Seonghwa opened his mouth, then closed it. You were right. He was probably the least intimidating he’d ever been in his life inside this library.
“I brought you a first aid kit,” he said instead.
“Keep it. You seem like you might need it again.” You stamped a returned book with unnecessary force. “Besides, I ordered a new one. Much more efficient.”
That’s when Seonghwa noticed your desk. Every pen was in its designated holder, arranged by color and tip size. Your staplers (you had three) were lined up in ascending size order. Even your paper clips were sorted by color in a small divided container.
“You’re very…” he searched for the word.
“Organized? Yes. It’s a professional requirement. And a personal preference. And possibly a mild compulsion, according to my sister, but I prefer ‘thorough.’”
“I was going to say ‘perfect,’” Seonghwa said, then immediately looked horrified that he’d said it out loud.
You blinked owlishly at him. “Oh. That’s… thank you?”
For a moment, you both stood there in awkward silence, the air filled with the soft sounds of the library; pages turning, the distant hum of the air conditioning, someone typing on the ancient computer in the corner.
“Would you like me to show you how to properly return books?” you asked finally. “Since you’re apparently a cardholder now.”
“I should probably mention,” Seonghwa said, because he was apparently having some sort of crisis of conscience, “that I’m not exactly a law abiding citizen.”
“I assumed as much. People who follow the law don’t usually show up bleeding.” You walked around the desk. “What kind of not law abiding are we talking about? Tax evasion? Jaywalking? Running a criminal empire built on fear and violence?”
“More the last one.”
“Hmm.” You considered this. “Do you sell drugs to children?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Do you return your library books on time?”
“I… didn’t know I had library books until five minutes ago.”
“Well, we’ll work on that.” You smiled at him, the first real smile he’d seen from you, and Seonghwa felt something dangerous happen in his chest. “Everyone deserves access to literature, Mr. Park. Even morally ambiguous individuals with dramatic tendencies.”
====================================
The next few months fell into an unlikely routine. Seonghwa would show up at the library every Tuesday and Thursday, apparently to fill out his paperworks or browse the business section, but really to watch you work. You’d greet him with the same polite professionalism you showed everyone, but you’d also started leaving books you thought he’d like on the reserved shelf- biographies of famous strategists, novels about complicated anti heroes, and, memorably, a cookbook titled “Meals That Don’t Require Alibis.”
“That’s not a real cookbook title,” he’d said.
“I know. I made a custom cover. The actual book is ‘30 Minute Meals for Busy Professionals.’” You’d looked pleased with yourself. “I thought the joke was appropriate.”
It was things like that; your dry humor, your thoughtful book recommendations, the way you’d started keeping bandages at the reference desk “just in case” that made Seonghwa realize he was in serious trouble.
The kind of trouble that had nothing to do with rival families or federal investigations and everything to do with the way you’d started smiling when you saw him, like his presence was something pleasant rather than threatening.
The crisis came on a rainy Thursday in November.
Seonghwa had been having a particularly difficult week. A territorial dispute had required his… intervention, and he’d spent most of Tuesday in meetings that were really negotiations that were really threats wrapped in polite language. He was tired, on edge, and probably should have gone home instead of to the library.
But he’d promised to return “The Prince” (which you’d recommended with the note “thought you might relate to the moral complexity”), and Seonghwa had never broken a promise to you.
He found you at your desk, but something was wrong. Your usually perfect organization was in chaos. Papers scattered, books in wrong piles, your pen holder knocked over.
“Y/N?” He approached carefully. “Everything okay?”
You looked up, and he saw how your eyes became red and puffy. “Oh. Hi, Seonghwa. I’m fine, just… budget cuts. The city’s closing the library.”
“What?”
“Lack of funding. Apparently, we’re not cost effective.” You gestured at the mess. “I’m trying to organize the collection transfer, but some books will just be… disposed of. Forty years of carefully curated literature, and they’re treating it like garbage.”
Seonghwa had seen you handle rude patrons, broken printers, and his own dramatic appearances with unflappable calm. But the thought of losing your library, your kingdom of organized knowledge and quiet sanctuary, had you falling apart.
Something protective and fierce rose in his chest.
“No,” he said.
“I’m sorry?”
“No. That’s not happening.” Seonghwa pulled out his phone. “Hongjoong? I need you to look into the Crescent City municipal budget. Specifically, library funding.”
“Hey! Seonghwa, you can’t just-”
He held up a hand while listening to his brother’s response. “Yes, I know it’s weird. No, I’m not having a breakdown. Just… do it. And see what it would take to make a significant anonymous donation to keep it open.”
You stared at him. “You can’t buy a library.”
“Watch me.” He ended the call and looked at you seriously. “How much do you need?”
“I… this isn’t how municipal funding works. There are protocols, procedures, approval processes-”
“Y/N.” He stepped closer, and for the first time since you’d met, his voice carried the edge that made other people afraid. “How much do you need?”
You told him. He made another phone call.
“It’s handled,” he said afterward.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He started helping you reorganize your scattered papers. “Though I should probably mention that you might want to be extra careful about following proper shelving procedures for the next few months. The donation is coming from a… let’s call it a ‘shell corporation,’ and we don’t want to attract unnecessary attention.”
You watched him sort your papers with unnecessary gentleness, and something clicked into place.
“You’re not just ‘not law-abiding,’” you said slowly. “You’re actually dangerous, aren’t you?”
Seonghwa’s hands stilled. “Yes.”
“Like, genuinely scary to most people.”
“Yes.”
“But you just saved my library because I was sad.”
“…Yes.”
You were quiet for a long moment, processing this. Then: “Your shell corporation has a grammatical error in its name.”
“What?”
“‘Mars Enterprises LLC.’ You can’t use ‘LLC’ with ‘Limited Liability Company’ because ‘LLC’ already stands for ‘Limited Liability Company.’ It’s redundant.” You pulled out a red pen. “Also, you’re missing a comma in your articles of incorporation, and your tax documentation is filed under the wrong fiscal year. I've seen the documents you've brought here.”
Seonghwa blinked. “You read my corporate filings?”
“I read everything you bring in here. Did you know you have 8 different shell companies, and all of them have minor clerical errors?” You started making neat corrections on the papers. “It’s like you’re trying to get audited.”
“I… no one’s ever mentioned that before.”
“Well, your accountant should be fired. This is sloppy work.” You handed him the corrected papers. “I took the liberty of fixing the most egregious errors, but you really should have someone detail oriented review your documentation process.”
Seonghwa looked at the papers, then at you, then back at the papers. Your corrections were neat, precise, and absolutely accurate. You’d identified problems that had somehow slipped past his very expensive legal team.
“Y/N,” he said carefully, “would you be interested in a consulting job?”
====================================
Which is how you found yourself, three weeks later, sitting in the back room of what was definitely a legitimate import/export business and absolutely not a front for organized crime, color coding financial documents while Park Seonghwa watched you with fascination.
“The red tabs are for quarterly reports, yellow for tax documents, and blue for… what did you call these? ‘Operational expenses’?” You held up a receipt. “Though I have to say, claiming a flamethrower as a business expense seems optimistic.”
“It was for a barbecue,” Seonghwa said.
“A barbecue that required a flamethrower?”
“It was a very large barbecue.”
You gave him a look that suggested you weren’t buying it, but you filed the receipt under blue anyway. “Your bookkeeping is atrocious, by the way. How have you not been arrested for tax evasion?”
“We have lawyers.”
“You need accountants. Possibly accountants who specialize in creative financial interpretation, but still.” You pulled out another stack of papers. “What’s this receipt for ‘duck food’? Fifty thousand dollars worth of duck food?”
“We own a duck pond.”
“Nobody owns a fifty thousand dollar duck pond, Seonghwa.”
“We have very expensive ducks.”
You stared at him. He stared back, his expression perfectly serious.
“I’m not going to ask,” you decided finally.
“Probably for the best.”
You went back to organizing, but Seonghwa noticed you were smiling. Somewhere in the past few weeks, you’d stopped being shocked by his world and started being amused by it. You treated his criminal empire like an especially chaotic library collection. Something that just needed proper organization and systematic management.
“Seonghwa,” you said suddenly.
“Yes?”
“This document says you’re the ‘Regional Manager of Intimidation Services.’”
“That’s… accurate.”
“It’s also the most ridiculous job title I’ve ever seen. What does that even mean in practical terms?”
Seonghwa considered this. “I make people afraid so they’ll do what we want.”
“And how do you do that?”
“Usually I just stand there and look menacing. Sometimes I have to break things. Occasionally I threaten people.”
“Hmm.” You made a note on your tablet. “What’s your success rate?”
“Pretty high. Most people find me intimidating.”
“I don’t.”
“I’ve noticed.”
You looked up from your organizing. “Does that bother you?”
Seonghwa thought about it. Six months ago, the fact that someone wasn’t afraid of him would have been a professional problem requiring immediate correction. Now, the thought of you being afraid of him made something twist uncomfortably in his stomach.
“No,” he said. “I like it.”
“Good. Because I have some suggestions for improving your operational efficiency, and they’re going to require you to be significantly less mysterious and dramatically brooding.”
“I don’t brood.”
“Seonghwa, you spent twenty minutes yesterday staring pensively out that window while wearing all black and looking like you were contemplating the weight of your sins.”
“I was watching for surveillance.”
“While brooding.”
“I don’t-”
“You definitely brood. It’s very atmospheric, but probably not great for productivity.” You pulled out a color coded chart. “I’ve analyzed your workflow, and I think we can streamline your intimidation process significantly.”
Seonghwa looked at the chart. You’d somehow turned his methods of frightening people into a neat, organized system complete with decision trees and efficiency metrics.
“You made me a flowchart.”
“I made you several flowcharts. This one’s for standard intimidation scenarios, but I also have specialized charts for ‘dramatic reveals,’ ‘threatening negotiations,’ and ‘ominous warnings.’” You looked proud of yourself. “I even included a section on proper dramatic timing. Did you know you pause for an average of 4.7 seconds too long during threatening monologues? It’s affecting your impact.”
Seonghwa stared at the charts, then at you, then back at the charts. “You’ve been timing my monologues?”
“I time everything. It’s a habit.” You flipped to another page. “I also noticed you tend to over complicate your threats. For example, instead of saying ‘Cross me and you’ll discover what happens when someone forgets that actions have consequences in a world where power determines the difference between mercy and justice,’ you could just say ‘Cross me and you’ll regret it.’ Same message, 73% fewer words.”
“But the first version is more intimidating.”
“Is it, though? Because based on my observations, people stop listening after about fifteen words. You’re burying your actual threat under unnecessary philosophical commentary.”
Seonghwa opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. You were probably right. You were usually right about these things.
“I’ve been doing this for ten years,” he said instead.
“And I’m sure you’re very good at it. But there’s always room for improvement.” You smiled at him, and Seonghwa felt that dangerous thing in his chest again. “Besides, think of how much more time you’ll have for other activities if you can resolve intimidation scenarios 23% faster.”
“What other activities?”
“Well, you still haven’t finished reading ‘Pride and Prejudice.’”
“That book is 400 pages long.”
“It’s a classic of English literature.”
“It’s a romance novel.”
“It’s a brilliant examination of social class, personal growth, and the dangers of first impressions.” You gave him a pointed look. “I thought you might relate to Mr. Darcy.”
“The brooding rich guy everyone thinks is an asshole?”
“The brooding rich guy who turns out to have a good heart under all the dramatic posturing.”
Seonghwa stared at you. “Are you saying I have a good heart?”
“I’m saying you saved my library and you bring me coffee every Tuesday and Thursday.” You went back to your filing. “Also, you alphabetized my emergency contact list without being asked.”
“It was bothering me that it wasn’t in order.”
“See? Good heart. It was bothering me too.”
They worked in comfortable silence for a while, you organizing and labeling while Seonghwa watched and tried to figure out when exactly his life had become something he didn’t recognize. When had he started looking forward to Tuesday afternoons in a back room, watching you turn his chaotic criminal enterprise into neat, color coded files? When had your approval become more important than his reputation?
When had he fallen completely, irrevocably in love with a librarian who corrected his grammar and wasn’t afraid of him?
“Y/N,” he said suddenly.
“Mmm?”
“Would you like to have dinner with me? Somewhere that’s not a library or a legitimate business establishment that definitely isn’t a front for organized crime?”
You looked up, a slight smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Regional Manager of Intimidation Services?”
“Yes. I am.”
“Will there be proper grammar involved?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“And no dramatic brooding?”
“I make no promises about the brooding.”
You laughed, actually laughed, and Seonghwa felt something settle into place in his chest.
“Okay,” you said. “But I’m picking the restaurant. You have terrible taste in public venues.”
“How do you know that?”
“You chose a library for bleeding out in front of. A library, Seonghwa.”
“I didn't have lots of choices, and It worked out.”
“It worked out because I don’t intimidate easily and I have a thing for mysterious men with good bone structure and poor organizational skills.” You went back to your filing, but Seonghwa caught your smile. “Also, you’re paying. Saving libraries is expensive, and I assume your ‘duck food’ budget can handle dinner.”
“The ducks are very high maintenance,” Seonghwa said solemnly.
“I’m sure they are.”
And as he watched you organize his criminal empire with the same care and attention you gave to library books, Seonghwa realized that maybe being predictable wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe having someone who treated his dangerous world like a collection that just needed proper cataloging was exactly what he’d been missing.
Even if she did keep correcting his grammar.
Especially because she kept correcting his grammar.
THE END
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BONUS PART:
“Seonghwa,” you called from the kitchen of his ridiculously secure apartment, “your tax documents came in, and I have concerns.”
“What kind of concerns?” he called back, not looking up from his laptop where he was reviewing what were definitely legitimate shipping manifests.
“The kind where you’ve apparently donated half a million dollars to ‘Literacy Programs for At Risk Youth’ and I’m wondering if that’s code for something illegal or if you’ve actually gone soft.”
Seonghwa smiled to himself. “Maybe I just think education is important.”
“Seonghwa Park, Regional Manager of Intimidation Services and secret supporter of childhood literacy programs.” You appeared in the doorway, wearing one of his shirts over your pajama pants and holding a cup of tea. “Who would have thought?”
“Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”
“Your reputation as what? The world’s most considerate criminal?” You settled next to him on the couch, automatically straightening the papers scattered across the coffee table. “Hongjoong called earlier, by the way. He wants to know why all your recent contracts include clauses about proper citation format.”
“You said it was important.”
“It is important. But I’m not sure your clients appreciate having their illegal agreements corrected for APA formatting.”
“They’ll learn to appreciate it.”
You laughed, and Seonghwa realized that this, you in his space, organizing his life and making everything make sense, was better than any reputation he’d ever had.
Even if you did still correct his grammar.
Especially, because you still corrected his grammar.
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A/N: Reader has been copying and correcting Seonghwa's documents because she got annoyed and angry at all the stupid mistakes in it, so her heart dropped for a few seconds when she heard that they were illegal documents. Thank god our reader fears no one in this scenario and could finally get those documents in proper order.
