No Harm List | Pt. 12
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Genre: mafia au, fluff, violence
Summary: You live in a city where crime runs rampant. One day, you save a young boy’s life, not knowing that he is one of the most powerful crime lord’s heir. And you have just been put on the no harm list.
Rating: 18+
Warnings: violence, alcohol, mention of drugs, borderline smut
Wordcount: 10.3k+
Beta reader: @punkisnotdead2318
A/N: So I thought I posted this last week but it didnt work! so lets try this again! Please like, comment, and reblog!
Masterlist
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J-Hope was on the seventh floor of the Lumi hotel along the main street of Alcor’s garden district. He watched through the sight on his gun as bright-colored convertibles inched by for the parade. The streets were packed, lined with masses of people cheering and begging for shiny, free plastic to be tossed their way.
“Three minutes until showtime.” Suga’s voice buzzed in the earpiece.
“Got it,” J-Hope said as he adjusted the long-range gun on his shoulder, waiting for the red convertible, containing his target, to inch a little closer. He was a large pot-bellied man with a winning smile and immaculately styled hair. Yet, despite his handsome, aging face, even from a distance, J-Hope could see how his blue eyes gleamed with greed.
J-Hope had thoroughly built his notorious reputation as one of the best sharpshooters in Alcor, possibly the entire nation of Kros, over the years and was often hired out to do work outside of BTS for other organizations and politicians.
He’s selective about what missions he accepts. He learned his lesson after he lost his sister, and since then, he built his trade with care. Taking the time to understand his clients and their motives. J-Hope learned the hard way what it cost to be a mindless soldier behind a gun and what happens when the family members of his more dangerous victims seek revenge. He has sworn never again to make the mistake of pulling the trigger under unquestioned orders. He would not let one of his loved ones face the consequences of his actions. Even the transactions of his payments are more secure than they were before to ensure theirs no trail for anyone to follow back to his trigger. He requires the payment to be made in advance through the Bulletproof casino. The hefty sum is loitered through the business to prevent any evidence from being traced back to him or his family.
After some intensive research, J-Hope couldn’t deny that he was excited about the mission RM gave him. It was ideal. He was making a scene but causing no loss of life.
Tate Hyde was a local asshole politician, worried about his re-election since an opposing smear campaign against him had gained traction in Alcor. After dubbing him “tater tot,” his approval rates and ego have both deflated, so he hired out J-Hope to make a ‘public attempt on his life’ during a parade celebrating the opening of the new school.
‘Tater tot’ thinks being attacked during one of his few selfless acts will stir up some good press.
Luckily, J-Hope’s pay wasn’t dependent upon the outcome of the public's reaction or re-election.
“One minute,” Suga’s voice crackled in his ear.
J-hope asked “Did you take down the cameras?”
While a scene like this is staged, it’s for nothing if it doesn’t seem real. And lucky for BTS, stirring up some trouble in the Garden District would take some heat off of BTS, or at least spread the cops thin, turning their focus on protecting local politicians and, as a result, getting less of them to look into the shooting at the Bulletproof.
The Black Tips also managed a few of the construction projects in the area. Any increased investigation on active gangs in the area might be bad for their business, and right now, BTS was taking any swing they could at the Black Tips.
Namjoon was willing to play the game and tear them down brick by brick.
“Rolling on loop now,” Suga confirmed.
J-hope still has to get himself out of the area without being caught, so Suga came for backup. He’ll be taking down any surveillance that could pick up his identity and help him navigate his way out of the building.
J-Hope aimed and let out a warning shot first, making sure to lodge it in the trunk of the convertible so it wouldn’t hit any witnesses. Piss poor aim was another way to protect his identity J-Hope thought smugly to himself.
The politician dove for his wife, covering her body with his own.
“Fuck” J-Hope cursed under his breath, his chance of a clean shot diminishing as he now had to account for his bullet going through the man and hitting something vital on his wife. The car stopped moving, and the crowd was already in a frenzy with guards running up to assess the situation.
“Take the shot, Hope they’re already heading for your building.” Suga’s voice ordered in his ear.
Aiming for the man’s shoulder, J-Hope fired before turning from the window quickly before a cop could identify the source. If the wife gets hit, it’s the bastard’s fault for moving closer to her.
“Stay calm,” Suga reminded as J-Hope broke down the gun quickly, making a mental note to clean it later as he tucked it in the compact case before sliding on the backpack.
He stepped out of his hotel room and into the hall, looking just as concerned as the other pedestrians in the area before carefully making his way to the main exit. Sticking to a crowd was the safest way to stay inconspicuous.
Then his phone rang.
“Hello?” He answered brightly, expecting it to be Suga online, providing him with a bit of extra coverage.
“Hi, Mr.Jung, we just wanted to let you know that Y/N has about 30min left in her procedure if you want to make your way over,” a cheery voice greeted.
“I’m sorry, what?” He asked, confused
“Y/N’s wisdom teeth removal. Everything’s fine; we would just like for the guardian that escorts her home to be here when she wakes up for a quick debriefing on further care.” The nurse responded in a sing-song voice, “It says here you consented to be responsible for her? We have her signature.”
Fuck.
“Hope?” Suga questioned softly from the Bluetooth piece in his other ear. “The cops are in the building. Take the stairs.” He ordered
J Hope turned away from the elevators and headed for the stairs as he continued to speak with the nurse on the line, “Yeah, I actually can’t be there. Is there any way you can send her home, and I can come by later for the instructions?” He asked hesitantly
“Sir, she is under anesthesia. She shouldn’t drive for the next 24 hours. I doubt she’ll be able to walk out of the building.” The woman’s voice turned harsh.
“Hope” Suga’s voice was a warning in his ear as he tracked the receiver’s line.
Hoseok looked over his shoulder to see the cops coming off the second set of elevators, and he picked up his pace as he made his way to the stairs.
“Please remain calm; we need everyone to return to their rooms.” An officer announced.
Hoseok made a break for the stairwell.
“Hey!” A voice shouted at him.
“I’llsendsomeonetogogetherbye!” J-Hope hung up his phone as he started to race down the stairwell. “Suga, we have a problem,” he panted as he heard the door fly open behind him and a set of footsteps storming after him.
“You have a few problems...” His partner growled in his ear.
“Can you link Jimin in the call?”
“You really want to find Y/N a babysitter right now?” He asked incredulously.
“I don’t want her to wake up alone!” He defended as he jumped the railing and landed on the third flight of stairs, ripping the door open and running down the hall, pulling the first fire alarm he saw.
“A fire alarm, really?” Suga sighed as he dialed Jimin.
J-Hope listened to the dial tone while surveying the hall as people began flooding out of their rooms. Then, turning into the first room left open and unattended, he slammed the door shut behind him and went straight for the window, praying for a fire escape.
There was not a fire escape.
“Hello,” Jimin’s voice greeted him in his ear.
“Do you think I can make a three-story drop without breaking my legs?” J-Hope asked in lue of greeting.
Jimin didn’t miss a beat, “Depends. Does the building have high ceilings? Is it a tall three stories or, like, a shitty motel three stories?”
“Uh, definitely tall,” J-Hope said as he leaned out the window before spotting the fire escape further down the building. Eyeing the decorative ledge on the side of the hotel, he stepped up on the windowsill, testing the integrity. “Got it. Can you pick up Y/N from the dentist?” He asked distractedly.
The younger man stated his confusion with a hum.
“I kinda forgot about her wisdom teeth surgery, and I’m kinda caught up.” J-Hope grabbed at the divot in the building’s bricks as he leaned on his leg out the window, his heart stuttering in his chest.
“I’m sorry, dude, I’m in the lab right now, and I can’t leave for at least three hours,” There was a faint sizzling noise in the background, and Jimin cursed as he scrambled to his work table, “make that four hours.” He added.
“Damn, alright. Suga called Jin.”
“Jin has a meeting this afternoon. He can’t. And V went into deep cover.” Suga replied, ending the call with Jimin.
“Call JK,” he asked, his voice now wavering as he scaled his way across the building, nails cracking with how they harshly gripped the grout and stone.
How did JK and V make this look so easy when they do shit like this?
Suga muttered his disapproval and something along the lines of ‘Might as well let Y/N’ choke on her blood,’ but did as his partner requested. J-Hope was near the fire escape trying to center himself as he reached his right foot out for its edge.
Jungkook picked up on the third ring.
“Yo, I need a favor-” J-Hope's sentences cut off with a yelp of fright as the ledge beneath his left foot crumbled.
---
Jungkook fidgeted as he followed the nurse into the post operations room. He had just woken up after pulling an all-nighter with a task force to sabotage two of the Black Tips construction sites when he got the call from Hoseok tasking him with picking you up and watching over you for the rest of the evening. Since the kiss over a week ago, he has barely seen you, working day and night with RM to recover from the shooting and the warehouse raid. He was so caught up in the gang's affairs that he forgot that you were even getting your wisdom teeth removed.
You and Jungkook have only seen each other in passing at the bakery once in over a week, where the two of you had an uncomfortably short and awkward conversation and made the mutual agreement not to let the others find out about the kiss. Mainly for Jungkook’s safety because he was pretty sure Hoseok would use him for target practice if he found out. Jimin was sworn to secrecy and Taehyung...
Well, that was another conversation Jungkook was due to have but dreaded approaching.
He still felt queasy at the thought of having to talk out his feelings with his brother. But V had insisted he was fine and was quick to volunteer himself to go under deep cover to keep a better eye on the Black Tips from the 6th ward. As a result, no one in the inner circle has seen him in four days. Only Jin, who got daily reports from his cousin, had a clue where he was each day.
And while Jungkook would always worry for his brother's safety, he was relieved to have V out of the picture, especially while he was still trying to figure his own feelings out.
If he was honest with himself, Jungkook let his work keep him away this week. He didn’t even know what to say to you or how he was supposed to feel after the kiss.
Saints, that kiss was amazing.
He knew one thing: he liked you, a lot and he loved spending time with you, but he had no clue how the kiss impacted your relationship. He didn’t know if he could have a relationship beyond what the two of you already had. Or if he was capable of giving you the affection and support you deserved.
Jungkook has had partners and flings in the past, but none of them went very deep. They were mostly other members of BTS whom he trained and had a short fling with until they got settled in their assignment and realized they wanted someone more emotionally available to call a partner. Once the thrill of dating a gang member wore off, he had a hard time keeping the attention of any female in his life.
And that was on a good day. Now, Jungkook was navigating the beginnings of a gang war, and you were trying to finish medical school. How could either of you even try for a relationship? Especially when your dreams and ambitions conflicted so much. Jungkook shot people and sold drugs. Your job was to help people recover from the damage he inflicted. Any thoughts of being with you triggered a moral dilemma he often worked himself to mind-numbing exhaustion to avoid thinking about.
You were still fighting the effects of the anesthesia when the nurse-led Jungkook into the room. Slouching in a wheelchair with your head drooping a little too far to the right, your cheeks were so puffed up from the swelling and cotton that it was past the point of adorable and more comical.
You were also drooling.
“Y/N, your friend is here to take you home.” The nurse cooed at you as if she were talking to a child. You sat upright immediately, grimacing as you attempted a smile but your eyes squinting to show your excitement all the same.
Jungkook stood awkwardly in the doorway with a small bag of your items from the nurse in one hand and a can of soup in the other, not knowing what to do with himself. Jungkook was clueless about what to expect when Hoseok called him. He just knew he ate soft foods after he got his cavity filled once and figured you might want soup if you were hungry.
You let out a muffled “Hoobiii” as you tried to stand.
“Shh, not yet.” The nurse said, pushing you gently to sit down. You were still squinting, and that's when JK remembered that your glasses were in the small bag of your things along with your cell phone, wallet, and earrings.
“She had some trouble waking from the anesthesia, but she seems fully responsive now. It’s normally about an hour or so before the effects wear off, but you’re welcome to take her home after your briefing.” The nurse explained with a sweet smile as she wiped the drool from your chin carefully. Jungkook just nodded blankly, still concerned by the swelling in your cheeks.
He’s never seen anyone after wisdom teeth removal. He remembers a few stories from RM caring for Suga, mainly because RM was a terrible caretaker, and Suga got dry socket.
“I can’t feel my face,” you informed him as he got closer.
The nurse was quick to give him a run down. Pain pills and antibiotics twice a day, no talking for at least today, soft food, no staws (you were quick to tell the nurse that straws kill turtles), try to be elevated when you sleep, the list goes on and on. Jungkooks thumbs couldn’t type the notes down on his phone fast enough. She handed him a pamphlet and assured him Google had plenty of answers, and if not, he could call at any time. And then they were getting ready to wheel you into the hall.
Jungkook quickly fumbled for your glasses, slipping the frames on your face. You blinked at the adjustment before looking up at him and promptly turning distraught.
To his utter terror, you started crying.
“Y-you’re not Hobi. Where's Hobi?” You demanded, finally able to see his face clearly.
“Y/N, it’s okay. Hobi asked me to pick you up! It’s fine. We’re going to have so much fun!” Jungkook leaned to your level, trying to console you. The nurse sighed at the inconvenience.
“I never have fun with you,” you accused with a pout trying to roll your wheelchair away from him. The drool spilling from your mouth was now tinted a slight pink as you started to irritate the stitches.
Jungkook looked up pleadingly at the nurse who shrugged, “be more fun” she suggested with a smirk as if she was enjoying your meltdown. Jungkook sighed and tried to barter.
“C’mon princess, don’t you wanna go home? We can eat soup.”
“Ion wan your soop!” You nearly wailed.
“We can get popsicles”
You froze instantly, and Jungkook wanted to laugh, even in your post-drugged state, your sweet tooth was the leading factor in your decision making. Unbelievable.
“You should actually minimize the sugar,” the nurse said blandly.
You were crying again.
Jungkook glared at the nurse accusingly. “You can have sugar princess. Come on let’s go home.” He cooed at you, brushing your hair away from your face.
The nurse steered the chair to the front and waited with you while Jungkook pulled the car around. He supported most of your weight as he transferred you from one seat to the other and buckled you, which triggered a fierce burning from the injury in his arm. You were still shivering from the anesthesia wearing off, so he leaned to his backseat, cluttered with textbooks and takeout wrappers, and grabbed his spare hoodie he always kept for you and laid it across your lap. By the time he buckled himself into the driver’s seat you were nuzzling into the jacket, and he found it adorable even if the gray fabric was noticeably absorbing your spit.
Jungkook put on some music as he began planning his next steps. First, he needed to go to the pharmacy to pick up your meds. Then, he should probably secure some soft food for you to eat. He had a feeling you would need more than a can of soup for the next three days.
He also promised you a popsicle, and after referring to the pamphlet and seeing sugar wasn’t banned, the nurse was just a terrible person; he intended to get you that fucking popsicle.
Then, he supposed he would take you home? Which was on the second floor of a building without an elevator. And you couldn’t even hold yourself up to get from the wheelchair to the car. Jungkook knew he could probably carry you up the stairs, but that could require you to sit still, which you were not doing one bit in his car.
He was also terrified that his left arm wouldn't be able to support you fully, he was still healing from the bullet that grazed him last week. Not to mention the other fears of being alone with you and not knowing a damn thing about how to care for a sick person. He was so clueless, he was categorizing you as sick because he didn’t know what the hell to call a post-dental surgery person. Jungkook supposed he could go to the Den, they did have spare bedrooms there, and Namjoon and Jin would be there tonight to help make sure you didn’t die.
During his mental debate, you started singing along to the music, the cotton protruding slightly past your lips, it was endearing for all of half a chorus until he saw the pink tinge to your mouth again and remembered you were not supposed to be talking right now.
He quickly changed the song and challenged you to a humming game, hoping that somehow any use of your vocal cords didn’t damage your battered mouth.
Everything was fine again when he pulled up to the pharmacy. You were humming and lightly running your fingertips over your lips as they slowly gained the sensation back, a mesmerized look in your eyes. So he deemed it safe to leave you in the car while he ran in to grab your meds, hopefully, some soft food, and some extra gauze for your mouth.
What he wasn’t anticipating was for you to pull your hand away from your mouth after poking at it a little too hard, biting down on the cotton as you winced and squeezing some of the absorbed blood out of it.
You were horrified when you saw the blood on your fingertips, flicking your tongue along your lip to confirm that you were in fact bleeding.
And then you were crying, a horrible inconsolable cry as you registered the dull ache in your mouth, and the fact that you were bleeding and going to die soon. You felt like you were choking on your own tongue as you pulled bits of bright red cotton from between your lips without a clue of how it got there.
Jungkook was horrified when he returned to the car taking in the blubbering mess you were in. Then, running to your side of the car, he knelt down to your level, desperate to console you.
“Hey, hey, hey, you’re fine, it’s okay,” he tried to sooth you. You blinked down to him as your lashes wet and clumped with tears.
“Koo- Kookie, I’m bleeding blood.” You offered as an explanation while trying to pull more cotton from your mouth; you were a mess of blood, spit, and tears.
After some time, he convinced you to calm down and worked some of the cotton back into your mouth, praying that it wouldn’t lead to some kind of infection from touching it. And telling himself, he’ll change it out as soon as he gets to the Den.
He sent Jimin a text to bring you a popsicle after his work and another message to Jin and Namjoon to give them a heads up before making his way home.
You must have tired yourself out from the crying because you fell asleep in the short commute from the pharmacy and didn’t seem to be budging when Jungkook pulled into the garage. Sticking your personal things into the grocery bag from the pharmacy, he unbuckled you and squatted down to work his arms under your knees, and pulled you out of the car. Careful not to bump your head against the low roof.
You were dead weight in his arms, and instantly the wound on his bicep burned at the strain but he clenched his teeth, focusing on breathing and not hitting your head on anything as he made his way to the door. Jungkook managed to use your legs to help him open the door, and then he was laying you down on the couch in the living room, where you remained snoozing and unphased.
Jungkook felt the stinging in his arm and knew he would have to change both of your dressings soon, but first, he wanted to read through the directions on the pamphlet one more time to make sure he didn’t miss any steps.
----
“How is she?” Jin asked softly as he made his way into the living room.
The elder was still dressed in slacks and a button-up, his tie loosened around his neck, and Jungkook knew he came to check in between meetings.
“Okay, I think, we just got in, but I need to change her dressing,” Jungkook answered as he washed his hands.
Jin eyed the pill cutter on the counter and the pill sorter next to it. Jungkook must have been getting all your medication together in advance, so he didn’t miss anything.
“You’ll do fine. Once the wounds clot give her some teabags to pack in her cheeks, it helps with the swelling,” Jin encouraged, noticing the Youtube video tutorial playing softly on his phone, explaining the process of how to change the gauze.
Jungkook nodded moving, to the couch to wake you.
“Can you stay for a minute? I made her cry earlier.” Jungkook asked hesitantly.
Jin nodded, following the younger’s lead as he made his way in the living room and tapped you softly to wake you.
“Ella, you gotta wake up,” Jungkook sang in a sing-song voice.
You cracked your eyes open, disoriented, and Jin had to stifle a laugh at the sight of your chipmunk cheeks as you sat up.
“Can you take some medicine for me?” Jungkook asked, moving to cup the pills in your hand.
“If it’s for you, you should take it, Kook.” You mumbled back.
“You know what I mean, silly,” he insisted as he guided the medication to your mouth. You eyed him suspiciously like you didn’t know what he meant, but you didn’t resist as he pressed the bottle of water against your lips.
“Hey, that's my boss!” You informed as you noticed Jin.
“Y/N, good morning. I heard you got your wisdom removed. How does it feel to be less wise?” Jin teased. You blinked owlishly up at him as you connected his words. Less wise? Shit, you really did get your wisdom removed.
Your eyes watered as the emotion bubbled up your throat, and you let out a quiet sniffle. Jungkook swore under his breath as he raced for you.
“I told you to be careful, she's really sensitive.” You were full-on crying now, hiccuping your ragged breaths. “Ella what’s wrong?” He asked, rubbing your arm soothingly.
“I-I wanna be a doctor, but who wants a wise-less doctor. I have no wisdom to help them!” You sobbed in despair.
Jungkook glared at Jin, who could only smile sheepishly at your outburst. It seems the anesthesia was still taking its toll. The nurse had warned the side effects would make you emotional.
---
Watching over you was easier than Jungkook thought; once he got all your prescriptions sorted into one of those plastic pill sorters he picked up from the pharmacy, you mainly just slept.
You rode a pain pill haze most of the afternoon, drifting in and out of consciousness.
The room you were in was dim but not too dark or silent. You were tucked under a pile of blankets and a pillow that smelled like the best detergent.
You remember being woken up by Jungkook a few times, all soft bunny smiles and whispers as he tried to keep you calm and help you sit up so you could take your medicine, then trying to change the dressing in your mouth as gently as possible. He flinched as the tender movements still made your eyes water, but you nodded at him encouragingly as you gripped the edge of your shirt to ground yourself. Finally, he offered you food, but you drifted off before you could ever get around to eating it.
At one point, you woke up to a sweet, burning smell and looked over to see a kitchen next to you and Jungkook cursing as he moved a pot from the stove to the sink. You tried to smile at the moment, but it made your mouth ache, so you tucked yourself into your pillow and tried to sleep the pain away.
It was hours later when you woke fully to the squeaking sound of someone washing windows. You were prepared to ask Kook to clean more quietly, but when you sat up from the couch, you were met with the sight of Jin and Namjoon sitting at the breakfast bar.
It took a moment for you to get your bearings, and you realized you were on the first floor of the Den, not your home. By the look of the books on the table, you figured Jungkook brought you in here to watch you while he did homework.
You felt like a mess with dried tears making your swollen cheeks feel stiff. You don’t even know if you can do your skincare in this state. The thought of breaking out and having a fat AND pimply face made emotions bubble up and bring tears to your eyes. You tried to blink them away. Was it normal to be so emotional after a surgery?
Jungkook’s face lit up as he noticed you rise. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” he said with a smile. “I need to change your dressing soon,” he clarified, getting up to go wash his hands.
He was gentle as he removed the blood-soaked cotton out of your mouth before moving to work the clean gauze in.
His brows furrowed in concentration, and for a moment, you were mesmerized by him. The way his dark hair framed his features, you didn’t realize how long it had gotten over the months. You wondered if you could tie it back with a hair tie if you tried.
He had a small scar under his eye. You once asked him how he got it, expecting some cool story of his rising years in BTS, and remembered how he grinned as he explained Taehyung literally threw a video game controller at his face in a more intense session of Mario Kart.
Your eyes traveled down his face, taking note of the small mole just under his full bottom lip. His lips were..
“Ow!” Jungkook yelped, jerking his hand away as you bit down. Namjoon and Jin turned to the commotion as Jungkook demanded, “Why did you bite me?”
“Because you’re an idiot,” you sneered—your displeasure written on your face despite the swelling in your cheeks.
Jungkook looked at you shocked, “What’d I do?” he demanded, offended.
“You kissed me, then ran off and played mobster for a week.”
Jungkook blanched at your accusation, “Y/N,” he warned, looking pointedly at their two spectators.
But it was too late; the fog in your mind had cleared, and your emotional dam had cracked as the last effects of your pain pill had worn off. Your eyes teared up; all the sadness, confusion, and insecurity of the past week without him converted itself into a rage as you leaned to shove him away from you.
“When you said you wanted to take your time with me, I didn’t think you meant texting me back.”
Jin choked on his drink at the accusation, and Jungkook had the decency to look ashamed for ghosting you. He opened his mouth to apologize when Jimin burst into the doorway.
“I bought popsicles!” He announced in a sing-song voice as he entered the room. “What's wrong? Did Namjoon make you cry?” Jimin asked at the sight of your disheveled state.
Namjoon argued the accusation as you blinked up at Jimin, your eyelashes still clumped with tears.
“I want to go home.” You said in lue of a response.
Jimin’s smile faltered as he looked between you and Jungkook, who still sat on the floor. Then turning to Jin and Namjoon for a better read of the room, Jin gave a subtle nod, and with that confirmation, Jimin didn’t hesitate to stoop and grab your things off the coffee table, dropping them in the grocery bag of popsicles.
“I love a good sleepover. Can you walk, princess?” His words were bright and bubbly, dismissing his distressed brother, who sat silently on the floor.
You nodded with a sniffle, working yourself into a standing position. Jin handed Jimin all of your medications that were already sorted neatly into a pill divider by Jungkook earlier that day.
With a quick smile and a wave of farewell to the others, Jimin led you out to his car with no questions asked.
“I’ll get your medication schedule from Jungkook later; you don’t have to worry about a thing,” Jimin assured as you both buckled in.
You didn’t want to talk about it once you got home and settled on your bed, and Jimin didn’t push; he could infer what had upset you from what he observed at the bakery this past week or the lack of what he saw.
Jimin had noticed the way you walked in, beaming as bright as the sun the day after the kiss. And how it faltered slightly after Jungkook came in for a quick rendezvous in the supply closet. He watched as your smile faded completely and insecurity ate your good spirit up as the week went on, silent on his end.
Jimin wasn't one to medal in his friend's business. That’s a lie. He’s a no-good busy body. But in this case, in particular, Jimin was careful not to push; he was aware of the delicacy of the situation and how much stress Jungkook was under at the moment. But the way he had completely ghosted you this past week made him want to grab his friend by the ear and drag him to your house to apologize. If Jimin had any clue the choices for picking you up from your wisdom teeth removal were between himself and his shit head of a friend, Jimin would have left the lab to burn without a second thought. Research be damned.
-----
Four short days later, you found yourself returning to a sense of normalcy as you unlocked the entrance to Sugar Daddy. You were granted a soft open, thank heavens, and only had to come in at 6 am, but even after nearly 5 days of nothing, but sleep you found yourself yawning as you battled with the key.
“Jimin,” you called as you entered the dark shop, surprised to see the front cabinets were empty, and the air smelled of baking bread instead of the sweets that were usually in the oven by now.
He must have been running behind schedule.
You hope he didn’t stay up too late after checking in on you yesterday evening. Then, your worry shifted to guilt at the thought that you might have interrupted his evening routine. He had sacrificed so much of his personal time to come and check on you and keep you company between shifts.
“Jimin?” You called, making your way to the kitchen, relieved to see the ovens were at least running. A quick scan of the kitchen showed no sign of your co-worker, but the counters were messy for Jimin’s work, and for a second, you wondered if you misread the schedule.
That's when you noticed the door open in the back.
It was a solid metal door labeled maintenance. You had no clue what was behind it but never bothered to ask because it was never open.
You made your way towards it cautiously, one voice in your head reminding you, you were in a bakery and would be fine, and the other taunting you that you were in a gangster bakery and to always be prepared for surprises.
Your heart pounded its way up to your throat as you approached the cracked door, careful to make your footsteps quiet as possible.
“Ella,”
You gasped in shock as Jimin appeared in your line of vision, cracking the door open a little wider to see you.
“Jimin, you scared the shit out of me,” you breathed one hand on your chest. His mouth quirked into a small smile that seemed to say, ‘my bad.’ “What are you wearing?” You questioned the thick gloves and safety goggles on his head.
Jimin grimaced.
“It’s personal protection equipment,” he started to explain.
“Yes, I know what PPE,” you said with a roll of our eyes. You had worn the equipment plenty of times in your chemistry labs in college, “Why are you dressed like your about to go to the lab?” you questioned.
Jimin grinned sheepishly, “Because you’re in my lab?” he offered as an explanation.
Jimin thought your eyes might bulge out of their sockets as you pushed past him and took in the intensive research lab behind the metal door.
It makes sense given the dimensions of the building. You guess the kitchen didn’t quite fit it, but you were still shocked and showed a little bit of fear of working amid explosives all this time.
Everything was starting to make sense; this is what the gangster bakery was hiding. You thought back to the chemistry books you saw in Jin’s office, and the odd hours Jimin always seemed to be working.
“How do you even know how to do all this?” You asked, a little in awe as you took in the different devices that lined the walls, and the bubbling beakers along the counters.
Jimin smiled ruefully, “I’ve always had a natural talent for it. Some people work well with numbers or orders. For me, it’s chemicals that connect the world and make it the way it is,” he explained bashfully.
“Yeah, but do you Google how to make bombs and just go for it, or did someone teach you?” You asked.
Jimin tilted his head as if contemplating his answer before he turned back the beakers, turning down the flames and scribbling down a few notes.
“It’s a bit of a long story. We should probably talk in the kitchen,” Jimin offered in response as he finished whatever it was he was doing and made his way back to the bakery.
It was quiet as you both set to work unloading the baked goods out of the ovens and putting them on the cooling rack. Jimin grabbed a tray of cookies ready to be iced and handed you a piping bag with a smile.
“Just glaze them. They don't need to be pretty,”
You rolled your eyes before snatching the bag from him and starting to carefully trace the perimeter of the oval-shaped sugar cookies, laying down a base coat for Jimin to later design.
“I was kind of a protege back in the day,” he offered, finally breaking the silence. “Ya know, the small-town country kid who was good at math and science. I got accepted in some big STEM boarding school in East Alcor; I was surrounded by students who wanted to cure cancer or end climate change. Some really inspired me, but most were my rivals. The program was competitive, we were constantly pinned against each other for performance reviews. They would do a big review, lots of tests, and a research presentation at the end of the year. I was 16, and working on a thesis. If you didn’t do well you got cut and sent home. I didn’t want to disappoint my family like that. I couldn’t stand the thought of not being enough, so I became too much.” He said with a shrug.
He stayed quiet, and for a moment the two of you just focused on icing the cookies as you gave him space to gather his thoughts and decide whether or not to tell you more.
You glanced up and met his gaze. Then, saw the invitation to ask, “How did you end up in BTS?”
You waited for his face to fall, for the deep sadness that brought him here to surface as it did for Taehyung or Hoseok any time you asked about their pasts.
But Jimin smiled a crooked little smile that was better classified as a smirk as he started talking. “I wanted to set myself apart from the others, and as I said, chemistry came naturally to me. I knew that I could make something big. Have some kind of breakthrough if I had enough time, so I broke into the labs at night to work on my own research for my second year. The goal was to create a more isolated explosive that you could control or manipulate for small-scale construction projects or even disaster relief.” He explained.
You swallowed nervously, able to predict where this was going.
“It’s kinda handy if you think about it. Especially in Alcor, where construction and development happen so quickly, it would be an easy way to clear roads or old districts with mostly vacant buildings.” he continued, and you admired how his eyes lit up in excitement. It was work he was passionate about, proud to talk about. Somehow calling him an arsonist like most of the inner circle referred to him as seemed like an oversimplification of all he was capable of. He was a chemist and a visionary.
“So, what happened?” You prompted, wanting to keep him on track. As much as you would love to discuss his passions, the bakery did open in less than an hour.
This time Jimin’s face did fall, “I made a miscalculation, and it blew up in my face. Literally. I almost lost my arm from the impact of the explosion,” he paused for a second, worming his arm out of his shirt to show a band of wicked scarring along his left shoulder and down his arm.
You gaped at the brutal injury. By the look of the scarring, the burn wasn’t treated or healed properly. It hadn’t occurred to you until now that Jimin wore exclusively long sleeve shirts. Only rolling up his sleeves to a portion of his forearm where the thinner scars could be dismissed, especially compared to the stark tattoo on his inner forearm.
“And the school lost half an entire wing of the building. So naturally, I was sent to juvie.”
“So you joined a gang in a juvenile detention center?” You asked in disbelief.
At the accusation, Jimin laughed. “Technically, yes, it’s pretty brutal in there. But not BTS. Namjoon got word of some mad scientist sent to juvie and thought it sounded like a waste of potential. So he sent Taehyung there, who posed as a prisoner, my roommate actually, and he offered me a way out. I could take the tattoo, and they would get me out, and I would have a lab to work on all my passion projects as long as I did some jobs for them. The bakery came to be a few years later, and I just really liked the pace of life here.” He said with a shrug.
You imagined Jimin and Taehyung together. The two always seemed thick as thieves—a friendship born of pure mischief. But friendship, aside you could see the ambition clear as day in Jimin’s eyes.
You couldn't keep the disbelief off your face, “You never wanted to go back to school, continue your research?” You asked incredulously.
Jimin frowned, setting down his icing bag with a sigh, “I ruined myself when I broke into that lab after hours. I put students sleeping in the dorms at risk. I violated a million different school policies. I was a few months out from turning 18 and being truly convicted for the crimes I committed. Even so, juvie ruined me. I would never get accepted into a college or a research program, my work as a scientist wouldn’t be respected because of the boundaries I pushed when I was young. But even if I would have been pardoned, breaking out of jail and escaping like that is unforgivable. There was a warrant out for my arrest for nearly a year before they tossed it up and filed me as a missing person. I ruined my future myself, but Namjoon and the others breaking me out was the final seal in my coffin. It took away my chance of living any kind of quiet life.”
You frowned, disturbed by Jimin’s words. Hoseok once described taking the BTS tattoo as both a target and a shield. RM had given Jimin safety but also made him entirely dependent upon him to receive it.
You shivered as you realized the parallels in your situations.
If you were caught treating and practicing on gang members in your home, you could lose your chance of ever becoming a licensed doctor. It was a detail you didn’t dwell on very often, but you could only hope you could make it through this encounter with BTS, provide your services and pass through the gang unscathed.
And once you graduated and were an actual doctor, then what?
You were quite the rest of the morning as you finished opening the bakery. Your thoughts cycling in the same nerve-wracking spiral of “what ifs?”
-----
You were left to close the bakery alone.
Which you didn’t mind at all. While the tasks were mundane, they kept you busy enough to keep you from dwelling too hard on negative thoughts. But, more importantly, it kept you from dwelling on Jeon Jungkook and the absolute fool you made of yourself by biting him like a feral animal instead of talking out your feelings like a normal person.
You came to peace with the fact that while fun, a romantic relationship with Jeon Jungkook was mostly a bad idea. He would distract you from school, and you were collateral on his end. Nothing but a big fat target to be used against him, and you decided after being trailed down an ally so many months ago that the damsel in distress was not your vibe.
You tried to logic away from your genuine feelings behind the kiss. You were both stressed and recovering from a life-threatening situation. That kiss was a comfort and a distraction for both of you, and it was the distraction you needed at the moment. The physical touch and spark of desire were what kept you from totally falling apart when you went home that evening. The memory of his touch was a break of light that soothed away the nightmares of the shooting the day before.
You were prepared for Jungkook to say he wasn’t interested and tell him the feeling was mutual.
You were working on closing the shop and losing the don’t-think-of-Jeon-Jungkook game when the doorbell rattled, and a group of men entered the bakery. You were five minutes from closing, and while this wasn’t out of the ordinary, you weren’t thrilled with your quiet evening being interrupted by a group of rowdy customers. Especially when you already packed up most of the pastries in the back.
Taking a second look at the men, you felt weary and wondered if they were members of BTS coming in for a late meeting Jimin forgot to tell you about. They were all tall and broad-shouldered, most sported several tattoos, and they had a look that made you feel uneasy. Not only did they intimidate you, but their expressions looked like they wanted to intimidate you.
But your panic quickly softened as you locked eyes with a familiar face.
“Marcus!” You greeted with delight.
Your usual, Marcus was a quiet guy who often came to the bakery to people watch throughout the day. The two of you have had a handful of conversations over the months, all surface-level banter. Still, you always enjoyed his presence. Aside from that one time he and V got into a weird pissing contest, Marcus had never made you uncomfortable or feel unsafe.
The fact that he might have brought his friends here for a late-night snack put you almost at ease.
“You're in luck, most of the pastries are put up, but I think we have a few lemon bars in the back.” You offered, knowing they were his favorite.
“I’m not here for lemon bars,” he answered with a sneer,
Your smile faltered as two men made their way towards you, passing the counter and heading for the kitchen.
“Hey, you can't go back there!” You cried as one man called back with a gruff, ‘all clear.’
The depth of your situation sunk in as Marcus pushed open the door, and a handsome Korean man in a well-tailored suit made his way into the bakery and locked the door behind him.
“Miss L/N, I was hoping for the chance to speak with you,” he said with a smirk.
What little emergency response training you got for your job kicked in through your panic.
‘Don’t fight back, just comply,’ you told yourself fiercely.
“Look sir, yesterday was bank day, so there isn’t much money in the till; I’ll give you everything we have,” you started to barter as you reached the register.
Your hand scrambled beneath the counter, feeling for the emergency button that would alert Yoongi or an Army about the break-in.
“I’m not here for your money. I’m here to talk to you.” The man said with a nice, calm smile.
“You came packing pretty heavy if all you want is a conversation.” You stalled as you pressed the panic button one last time before forcing yourself to keep your hands by your side so that you wouldn’t give yourself away.
One of the bodybuilders from the kitchen stalked towards you behind the counter, grabbing your arm and leading you out from behind the wall of safety.
“This will go a lot smoother if you don’t resist.” The man chided.
You begrudgingly complied, realizing it would be safest if you played along for now. Help was on its way and you were outnumbered by dangerous and potentially armed men. You just needed to buy some time.
You soon found yourself manhandled into one of the cafe chairs while the man in the suit stood over you, arms crossed. The position required you to tilt your head and look up at him to see his face, and he looked smug at the submissive position. Nevertheless, he held himself with the kind of confidence that told you he was used to getting his way and getting people to listen to him.
“It’s on record that you’ve gotten close with the inner circle of the gang BTS” he started, though the tone sounded more like an accusation than an observation.
You stayed silent, making an effort to keep your expression cool, maybe even bored, not wanting to give away your feelings on the situation.
He sighed after a moment before continuing, “I’ll get to the point Y/N, BTS is dangerous. More dangerous than you think. In fact, you probably have no idea what games they’re playing or what risk you’re putting yourself at by owing them money.”
You tried to keep your face impassive at the bit of knowledge he had about you.
“I don’t even know what their plans are. But I’m not going to ask you to stay away from them. I need you to stay close to them, find out what their plans are, and give me that information.” It wasn’t a request as much as a demand.
Up to this point, you had sat uncomfortably in the chair, your palms down flat on your thighs, scared that any sudden movements would lead to you being seriously injured, but the tide in the conversation turned as you realized he needed you in his corner to further whatever weird motive he was working towards. You took a moment to cross your legs, making yourself get comfortable, hoping he couldn’t see the way your hands trembled as you interlock your fingers and perched them atop your knee.
You thought back to the time you asked V what a spy entailed being, and he told you he often let himself get caught in the act because he had a talent for making interrogations against him work for him. The rule was never to give them your power, always hold yourself with a bit of confidence and control and never let them see you scramble for answers. It unnerves them, and as long as you complied and didn’t give a reason for the interrogation to get too violent, you could walk out with your own information.
Of course, there was the inevitable beating at the end, and you were hoping to skip that part.
You let your eyes travel over the man's body in a once-over, allowing your expression to look unimpressed, “I don’t even know who you are. Why would I help you?” You asked, keeping your tone light.
The man smiled, “Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that BTS is nothing but a bunch of no good criminals, and they tarnish and corrupt this city more and more every day. They think they have some kind of power over it.” He finished with a hiss, his distaste obvious.
“BTS doesn’t trust me as much as you think they do, your sources are wrong, and I’m not risking my neck for some white knight attempt to take down the gang that runs half the west side.” You deflected.
“They don’t run half-”
“Shut it.” The man in the suit hissed at the balding henchmen to the left of you.
You looked over to him, interested by the apparent bias, the bit of pride in the balding man’s eyes. You hit a tender spot with that comment, and you could only think of one group of people who would care that much about an exaggeration of BTS’s power. He was with the BlackTips. You don’t know how or why the Korean man in front of you was affiliated with him, you doubted he was the leader of the stereotypical Irish gang, but somehow he influenced the group of men in this room.
“Enough lies. I know how close you are to BTS, and I know you’re the only person they trust enough to help me take them down. So help me, Y/N. Help me rid this city of the horrors of this gang, and I will pay off your debt to BTS, and I will make your dreams come true.” He promised.
You couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped you, “You sound like a cliche villain right now trying to lure me to the dark side. Make my dreams come true,” you mocked, “You know nothing about me or my dreams.”
His eyes darkened, and one of the henchmen inched their way a little closer to you. You felt a bead of sweat drip down your back; for a moment, you forgot the danger of the situation you were in, but in that slight movement by the balding man, your reality came crashing in. Where the fuck was Yoongi in the others? You could feel your time slipping.
“I know that you want to be a doctor. And you would do anything to become one, even doing something as reckless as borrow money from a gang leader and risk your license before you even get it. I can pay your debt and ensure your spot in the program. I can have you starting your residency this summer, even.” He offered with a smile.
“That’s impossible. I don’t even have my masters yet,” you corrected.
“Is it? You’ve never heard of a grad student with the right connections start their residency at the university hospital a year early?” He prompted, leaning back against a table to seem casual and give you space. He was trying to win you over.
He was right, it wasn’t unheard of, but it was a position of privilege possible for third-generation doctors or ones with a lot of money.
“I’m on the board of directors for Alcor University Hospital. I could make this happen for you,” he promised with a smile.
And for a second, to your shame, you paused and considered. All your hard work, paying off. Your chance of becoming a doctor expedited so you can start your training nearly two years early, getting that much closer to getting your licensing.
The man in the suit’s eyes gleamed as he saw your hesitation, your ambition.
You let yourself fantasize for one more moment before making a promise to yourself that if you were going to do it, you would do it your way. You wanted your title to be earned by you and you alone. All your hard work would be for nothing if someone let you cheat the rest of the way through.
You tilted your head in mock consideration, sucking your teeth and making that ‘tisk’ sound that used to set your dad off growing up. Of course, it hurt your still healing mouth, but by the way the man’s eyes flared as you cooed, “Not interested.” You knew it had the desired effect.
The man in the suit composed himself and smirked as he pushed off the table, “I have to respect your loyalty to them, but it is a pity-” he said with a shake of his head.
“It’s not loyalty to BTS,” you corrected, “Maybe I’m just not interested in working for a guy who brings big scary men along to intimidate me into taking the world’s shittiest job offer.”
This is where you immediately question your decisions. Before, he was tolerant to you because he needed you, but you just clearly rejected his offer. So now he had no reason to play nice.
You were seriously pushing your luck.
“We’ll see, until next time Y/N, boys... you know what to do.” He ordered as he made his way out.
You didn’t know how to process the need to roll your eyes at this man’s seemingly rehearsed cheesy supervillain one-liners and the fear that spiked through you at what his henchmen ‘knew what to do.’ It resulted in a confused flutter of your lashes before one man picked up a chair and threw it at the glass display, shattering it.
You cried out in shock as he picked up another chair to repeat the task.
Frantic to stop him, you grabbed for his arm. Effortlessly, he shook you off, and you lost your footing, falling to the ground. Pain erupted through your head-turning your vision white as your jaw slammed into your own shoulder at the impact.
When your vision cleared, you could see the three men and Marcus working on wrecking the bakery—tearing apart the display cases and wall that held baskets for the bread. You flinched back as the thousand-dollar espresso machine crashed to the ground littering espresso beans all over the floor.
You had to get out of there, suddenly terrified they would use the ovens to burn the place down.
You got up, quickly making a break for the kitchen where the back exit was.
“Hey, someone grab her!” You heard Marcus shout as you made it through the swinging doors. You turned, adrenaline aiding you as you pulled the bakers rack by the doors in front of them, hoping the slight obstacle would slow them down and keep them from following you out into the alleyway.
You raced for the exit, pushing on the door, your momentum reverberating back up your arms as it did not budge. You shoved again, a sob of panic escaping you as you realized you already locked up the back earlier when closing. And your keys were behind the counter with your phone.
You were trapped, and if BTS wasn’t here by now, then no one was coming to save you.
An idea came to you as the baking rack fell to the ground as the intruders shoved against the kitchen doors. But it still managed to block the doors from opening fully. So you got a few more moments of safety as they fumbled to push through your shitty barricade.
You raced across the kitchen to the maintenance door, moving to punch the code in. You couldn’t believe it was just this morning when you found Jimin in his lab, and he gave you this very code.
With a shout of victory, you turned and saw two of the men squeeze their way into the kitchen, dragging the baker’s rack with them.
“Nowhere to run,” the balding man sneered right as you submitted the pin.
There was a momentary delay before the lock processed the code and unlocked the door for you. In that time, the balding man charged forward. You had enough time to crack the door open enough for your body to slip in and grab the first device on the table.
You sent up a prayer begging that the canister in your hand wasn’t an explosive as you pulled the trigger and tossed it into the kitchen, slamming the lab door shut behind you and bracing yourself for the boom.
You heard the man shout in shock and a faint but familiar hissing sound on the other side of the door. Soon Marcus and the others were crying out in surprise as you listened to the pressurized canister release gas into the kitchen.
You glanced at the counter beside you, seeing a row of the canisters twin to the one you launched in the kitchen, lining the countertop in a neat line. Next to it was the beaker Jimin was working with this morning. A cure to the effect of the smoke, he had explained. While you can build up a tolerance to the gas, he realized after your encounter with the smoke that some civilians and witnesses may need an immediate cure to cooperate and keep their memories for interrogations.
You grabbed one of the viles, tipping back what you hoped was a safe dose in your mouth, and grabbed a rag tying it around your face for good measure. You had one option, hide behind this door and wait it out.
‘It’ being the intruders getting bored of waiting for you and running off or for someone in BTS to come to your rescue.
Or you could fight your way out.
The risk of them using the ovens to burn down the bakery wasn’t one you were willing to take now that the chances were in your favor.
And while you couldn’t take two men, much less four, in a fight on your own. When they’re dizzy and have their vision impaired from the gas, you knew you could take them if Jimin’s cure worked. You knew the layout of this kitchen like the back of your hand; you knew you could navigate your way around it and weaponize what was in it.
And you like your chances.
----
A/N: This bitch really said I have the power of God and anime on my side.
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