#code name cupid

[gamerjanice]

The plot is really similar to some games that already translated so I’m not much interested in. Still, if they decided to put older games to English version, I wonder if Midnight Cinderella and My sweet housemate will be translated too 🤔

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 16

Previous: How Cricket Got Her Name 

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook X Reader/OFC/You

Genre: Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 3.04K

Warnings: Swearing 

Summary: Our lovely P.I. goes on the search for Min Yoongi, and stumbles into the identity of the mystery man with Taehyung. 

(this is... rough? did not expect it to be so long...) 

Missing Min Yoongi

Present Day

           My sister always tells me she’s given me all she can, that she can’t help me past my one favor a year. It’s a ploy, a deception, a boldfaced lie she tells at work or anytime we’re in earshot of anyone else. Does she misuse her government clearance? Yes. Does she defy laws and challenge the ethical code? Yes. Has she ever gotten caught? No. You’d think the government would put more tabs on her, considering her sister is a registered and licensed PI, but no, no one seems to bat an eye.

           Min Yoongi, Park Yoongi, Yoongi, is nonexistent. I barely understand what he did at Lee Enterprises, let alone how he ended up bedding Euna. He supposedly comes from no money, no name to build off of, nothing. His grades were fine, his college experience came and went with nary a note of youthful rebellion. Now, now that he’s no longer at Enterprises, I cannot fucking find him. Nothing on the web, nothing in the statewide system, nothing in the national system. No death certificates, no marriage licenses, nothing.

           All I’ve got are his charges, well, Euna’s charges against him.

           Cheating in the 1st degree, no proof, no photos or receipts or basic evidence of his behavior. She had nothing but her recollection of the fight they had, and minimal information on what led to the break up. From her manifesto, it seems that Yoongi was pulling away and she clung to him, claws drawing blood, trying to get him to stay. He didn’t, clearly. With only that to go off of, it’s no wonder I can’t find Min Yoongi, and I’m beginning to think that just maybe, Min Yoongi doesn’t exist. He’s her Snuffleupagus, and I’m starting to not believe.

           While I’m unsure if Yoongi exists, I do know a person who does.

           The man with Taehyung.

           Spectacled and broad shouldered, quaffed hair and arms the size of tree trunks, this man exists. He goes to the gym regularly, religiously, makes his coffee at home, and frequents his local nursery. The man is obsessed with plants, it seems unhealthy. Multiple days a week he’s carrying one, or more, I have photos of him watering them, speaking to them… He tends to them with such care, such love, it’s mesmerizing. He goes to work, some corporation, and once a week meets Taehyung. They’re clearly pals, best friends, brothers. They laugh and eat and enjoy one another. It’s cute, their friendship date. Once in a while, Jimin joins them. The three laugh uproariously and often draw attention for their volume. The unidentified man doesn’t seem to understand how loud he is, his baritone resonating enough for me to hear.

           I haven’t intentionally bumped into the three of them, yet, but I’ve stationed myself near enough to hear bits and pieces of their conversations. They never discuss work, only music they’re listening to, books they’re reading, podcasts, plants, general culture. Have I written down a few of the artists and podcasts they listen to? Yes. Do I feel dirty about it? Yes.

           But it’s the job, and I tail them for a month before a package arrives. A package with my name on it, waiting outside my apartment door. It’s not addressed, no stamps or packing label. It’s new, not reused as a shipping box or gifted for the umpteenth time, no dingy tape sticking to its brown coating. The box is sitting, like it’s appeared out of thin air. A secure building is only as secure as the tenants make it, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the owner snuck in behind some dummy who didn’t see the harm in letting a potential rapist, stalker, murder, into the building. Taking the package inside, and as my blood continues to cool and chills run down my spine, I delicately open it.

           I know, it could be a bomb. However, the only thought calming me down is the knowledge that my life has never once been a Shonda Rhimes production and thus, I’m not really worried this package is a bomb. Frankly, that’s far more sophisticated than any of the people I’ve worked for and gives them too much credit.

           Inside, there are copious amounts of surveillance photos and a note, written in a script that I’ve seen before.

           “That was your last warning / The line has been drawn and you’re bleeding / Next time, face to face is how we’ll be meeting”  

           Whoever heard of a stalker rhyming?

           I bag the evidence to toss under my bed so Jungkook won’t find it and pull out my list of potential threats.

Check It Once, Check It Twice

William Daniels

Cheated on his wife of 5 years with a stewardess who flew almost exclusively on his flights (big shock)

Threatened to ban me from American Airlines -  Jokes on him, I don’t fly American

Photos in the act & audio recordings

Wife divorced him immediately

He has to pay alimony out the nose

Lives in the area

Allanah McMahon

Arrested and tried for insider trading and embezzlement

Discovered who I was when I was subpoenaed to testify

Still in jail

My testimony added a few years to her sentence … oops

Cassie Harrington

Set up a Multi-Level Marketing scheme

Tried to hide out in Hawaii – but changed her Instagram to private after I’d already followed her

Ordered to pay back all the money she stole

On parole

Adam Gregory

Tried to run an illegal adoption agency for homosexual, non binary couples

Paid a fine and on parole – forbidden from creating any LLC’s or Incorporating

Brian Welch

Pissed that I found evidence of his partner cheating but turned him in on charges of possession of child pornography

In jail for kiddy porn and for threatening my life

His husband got everything despite the infidelity

           You acquire quite detailed list of people who want to threaten your life on the daily, but then again, wasn’t it Audre Lorde who said “I’m deliberate and afraid of nothing?” I can’t be afraid. If I’m afraid, they have the power. They have the power to intimidate me, to run my life for me, to make my decisions. I will not back down because they got caught. But I will protect myself, I will keep my license for my gun up and go to the shooting range often. I will strengthen the locks and security of my apartment, and I will ask Jungkook to stay over more, or sleep at his.

           I will not back down, not when Lee Euna has paid me what seems like the cost of tuition at Princeton for a year and wants answers. We signed a contract, didn’t we?

           And who am I if my word is no longer worth anything?

           Instead of harping on the sickening feeling that I’m being watched 24/7, I run through my plans for bumping into Taehyung and his friends. In the weeks that I’ve continued to follow him, he’s solidified Wednesday’s as his night for dinner with friends, and Thursdays as his cultural exploration. He goes to museum openings, concerts, movies, plays, clubs, all on Thursdays. While those nights are fun for me to watch and put on my expense account, it’s Wednesdays that I adore. I love following him from his house to the restaurants and am excited each week to see what he and his friends have chosen.

          This week, it’s an authentic Mexican restaurant. Slipping my coat on, I give them a few minutes before following in.

           The sound of mariachi welcomes me into the yellow painted restaurant. The furniture, dark mahogany against the vibrant walls, is full of people. I note the variety of sombreros, the different colors and patterns, the meanings hidden within the stitchwork. It’s not a large restaurant, but big enough to fit a few large groups of 7-10 people, and plenty of space for smaller groups such as the three men. The hostess asks if I want to sit at the bar, and I request a table near the men. Sitting a few feet away, I’m able to pick up their conversation easily. Instead of jotting it down, I hit record and let the metaphorical tape play.

           “Oh, it wasn’t that bad!” The mystery man says.

           “It was awful, Taehyungie couldn’t stop laughing, every time he hit the ball it went flying in the wrong direction,” Jimin says.

           “I was trying so hard!” Taehyung laughed.

           “That’s the problem, you were trying too hard,” The man tells him. “You’re too pure of heart.”

           “I am not,” Taehyung shook his head.

           “I know, you’ve experienced a lot, Tae,” Jimin says.

           “Joon, here’s the question,” Taehyung says, and I’m momentarily distracted by the utterance of the name, Joon. “You get to pick next week, we heading back to that barbeque place?”

           Jimin erupts in another fit of laughter, Taehyung following suit. It’s cute, watching them interact. I wonder if Jungkook has friends he does things like this with… those nights we aren’t together, if he has friends to spend his time with.

           I wait until they’ve left to take a glance at the signed bill on their table, Taehyung Kim is scribbled, no evidence of the other men, and I’m about to bag evidence when I hear my name.

           “Y/N?” Taehyung asks.

           “Taehyung! That was you!” I smile.

           “Have you been here the whole time?” Taehyung’s eyebrows express more than anyone’s I’ve ever seen.

           “I, yeah. I wasn’t sure it was you and Jimin. I didn’t want to interrupt,” I tell him.

           “Oh, you could’ve! Don’t worry about them, we’ve been friends a long time,” Taehyung smiles, it’s boxy and wide, the edges curling as his eyes soften.

           I’ve already started my dance, a waltz to an even tempo and I’ve got the next five paces planned. “Who was that new guy?”

           “Why, you single?” Taehyung smirks, his lips no longer joyful but devious.

           “I just was curious,” I reply, “And no, I’m not single, remember?”

           “Oh yes, yes, Jungkook,” Taehyung recalls with a nod.

           “You, Jimin and that other guy, go way back?” I lead him, it’s easy to lead Taehyung, he’s pure of heart, the most honest intentions in his eyes.

           “Mm, yes,” He continues smiling at me.

           “Your dinner looked fun, I’ll definitely be coming back to this place,” I tell him. It’s true, maybe I will bring Jungkook by one night when I know these three men won’t be around.

           “Yeah, we like it. We try a new restaurant every week. It’s a fun no work zone,” His arms are relaxed at his sides, one hand slipping slowly into his pocket, his cardigan open and glasses pressed close to his ebony eyes.

           “I like that, no work zone,” I agree, I wish I had one of those.

           “Yes, it helps clear the mind,” Taehyung tells me.

           “Do the three of you work together?” I inquire.

           “Kind of, we have a lot of the same shared interests,” he sidesteps.

           I nod, the final step in our dance presenting itself. “Very cool, well I don’t want to keep you from Jimin and –

           “Joon, yeah, very considerate of you. Maybe I’ll see you at the dog park again?” He asks.

           “Oh god, I hope not, Maisie is a nightmare,” I laugh.

           “Well have a good night, Y/N, take care!” He says as he walks out the door. I stand, watching, pretending to not notice how he gets in the car swiftly, not looking back.

           Joon.

           Joon.

           Joon.

           What kind of a name is Joon? If Taehyung and Jimin, and Jungkook, and Seokjin… and Yoongi, are all Korean, must Joon be short for something Korean?

           Glancing at my phone, it’s only 8:30PM, if I hurry, I can get in another few hours of work before I’m overcome with exhaustion and anxiety. But what will I find?

Oh Joon

Kim Joon

Lee Joon

Joon-Ho

Joon-Hee

Joon-Hyuk

Joon-Ki

Joon-Tae

Joon-Young

Byung-Joon

Ha-Joon

Hee-Joon

Hyung-Joon

Jae-Joon

Kyung-Joon

Jae-Joon

Kyung-Joon

Yong-Joon

Nam-Joon

Joon-Su

Ye-Joon

           Not to mention add in the top 5 Korean last names, and I’ve got hundreds of possibilities. Luckily, I can run the name against the address of the apartment building Taehyung picked Joon up from. Being a PI means I have access to the state databases, which gives me names and addresses. In the building, there’s one Joon, a Namjoon, Kim Namjoon. I pull the information before digging into my search.

           Unlike the seemingly nonexistence of Min Yoongi, Kim Namjoon is present. Every search result yields a perfectly manicured article dating anywhere from the year of his birth to age sixteen, and then, much like everyone else on this case, the trail begins to run cold. Whatever happened to him during high school, still radiates through his file. Whether he’s shaken it or not, that’s the question.

           No known career or job at all, his status as a prodigy in math, linguistics and rhetoric is astonishing. One of the highest IQ’s of recent memory, he’d mastered calculus by the time he was 8, besting PhD’s by 13, and then in a blaze of glory, disappearing by 16. He was studied, written about, documented, photographed, and somehow managed to be nominated for a Nobel Prize… how he accomplished all of that during puberty is beyond me. Not only does he accomplish that, but then, disappears completely, without a trace. How?

I’m ready to pack it in when someone steps into my office.

           “I saw the light on,” She says.

           “Ms. Lee, what do I owe this surprise visit?” I ask. This is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do tonight.

           “I wanted to, to talk to you,” She takes a few steps forward, pausing to ask for unspoken permission.

           “Please, sit. What did you want to talk to me about?” I lean back, hoping she can’t see the bags forming under my eyes or the tears from the yawn I’m stifling.

           “I wanted to tell you about, about why I need you to find Min Yoongi,” Euna informs me. She’s dressed in what can only be described as winter white, and only as a cashmere sweatsuit. Never have I ever seen such glamor in my dingy office. I feel bad that she’s risking the integrity of her outfit by being here.

           “Oh, okay,” I sit up and reach for a notebook. “Do you want me to write this down?”

           “No, you don’t need to. We can just talk between women, between friends,” Euna’s voice is soft. The slack in her jaw, the demur manner in which her hands are placed on her lap, it’s evident she doesn’t know how to be girlfriends. Raised by her family, groomed to take over, friends was never a word in her vocabulary.

           “I wanted you to know that I really saw a future with Yoongi,” She starts. “You know that place in your heart where you hold all your hopes?”

           “Yes,” I say hesitantly.

           Her eyes narrow in warning, “Do you have someone, someone who’s beginning to fill that space?”

           “Um, yeah,” I reply.

           “I thought that’s what Yoongi was. I thought we were, we were building something. Jun-Seo had Jimin, they thought they were building an illustrious future together, but one day he disappeared too.” She pinches the slight bridge of her nose, inhaling slowly to steady her nerves. “I don’t know what changed in our relationship. Yoongi didn’t want me anymore, he didn’t want to be around me, or with me at all. A switch flipped, like one day he realized he didn’t love me in the first place. I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why, but when your entire future is destroyed, do you stand back and watch it burn?”

           “Do you want me to answer that?” I ask.

           “Sure, what I did after that was terrible, but it was within reason. Everything I did was within reason. I tried to hold onto him, I did what I thought was right to get him to stay and he just, ran. Bolted, broke up with me on the phone like I’m Taylor Swift in 2012. Maybe I am,” Euna rolls her eyes, the comparison both too true and too terrifying. “At least Seokjin had the kindness to break up with me in person. But Yoongi? The coward! He knew I loved him. He knew I would carry his child, would marry him, would love him eternally and then some. I would’ve done anything for him. Even after he refused to go family dinners or go on trips with Seo and Jimin, after he started lying and cheating and stealing. He broke my heart, shattered it. If anyone is to blame for what happened after our relationship, it’s him.”

           Interested peaked, I inquire “What happened?”

           “It’s in my document,” She snaps.

           “The handwritten one?” I clarify.

           Rolling her delicate ebony irises, “Yes, of course.”

           “The abortion, the embezzlement, insider trading?” I try to rattle off the accusations she’d detailed. Somewhere I had a list and had sorted them by man, but damn, there were a lot of them.

           “Yes,” She snips.

           “That’s all true?” I ask again. The look she gives me is unwarranted, this is the first time in months, nearly a year, that she has sat down with me and discussed the charges. I am well within my right as her Private Investigator to ask clarifying questions.

           “Do you make a conscious decision to not believe your clients? Am I not paying you enough Y/N?” Euna snaps.

           “I’m sorry,” I respond.

           “I should go, I expect next week at our meeting you will have an update on the mystery man,” She stands.

           “Yes, yes, I will,”

           “Good, oh, there was a note under your door. I didn’t pick it up,” She turns and walks, stepping gingerly over the note. Scrambling behind her, I pick up the folded paper, and scrawled in crystal clear letters it reads:

           Cricket, was driving past when I saw the light on. Why are you working? Come to mine when you’re done, it’s been three restless nights without you.

          XO – Bunny 

           Fuck me, I love him.

Next: Cricket & Bunny Pt. 1 

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 14

Previous: Justifying Jimin

Pairing: Kim Taehyung X OFC

Genre: Angst, Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG17

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Non-Consensual Sex, Mentions of Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recover, Rape Culture

Summary: Codename V and Codename Cupid begin their courtship, which ends rather quickly when Cupid crosses a line. 

TRIGGER WARNING: There is conversation regarding rape in this chapter. It does not glamorize, but does give modest details. 

PLEASE SKIP IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ 

Codename: Love Reimagined

Fall, One Year Post Grad

           Lee Euna met Kim Taehyung on a Wednesday. Both were attending a gallery opening, Taehyung as a friend of the artist, Euna as an investor. He knew the minute she walked into the gallery, the way her pearls glistened in the carefully planned lighting, her midnight locks curled to delicate tendrils cascading down her back. There were many adjectives to describe Lee Euna, and as a woman nearing the top of the largest company in the world, the one that was most often negated was beautiful. Lee Euna, a stunner, a total package, brilliant, kind, gorgeous. Taehyung could understand the draw to her, her demeanor was congenial, but her eyes were daring. They spoke when her lips didn’t, they saw what others tried to hide, they observed and recorded so that she could strike. To an untrained eye, in combination with the way tabloids depicted her, Euna wasn’t a threat.

           But Taehyung knew different.

           Armed with the knowledge of her last two relationships, Taehyung approached confidently.

           “The use of yellow is a fascinating commentary, don’t you think?” Taehyung asked.

           “Mm, I’m more intrigued by the abject use of black as negative space, particularly as it moves throughout the series, blurring ever so slightly with each piece,” Euna told him, eyes trained on the image in front of them.

           “Until you get to the end, completely white,” Taehyung finished.

           “You know the artist?” She asked him.

           “I do, and you?” He smiled brightly at her.

           “Let’s just say I have a piece in mind,” She smirked gently.

           “I’m Taehyung,”

           “Euna,”

           “It’s nice to meet you. May I walk with you to the next piece?” Taehyung asked, a gently smile dancing across his lips, the anticipation of understanding Cupid further, of getting to see the sides of her Codename Suga and Mr. Handsome, got to see. It was always exciting, he thought, getting to know a new mark, exploring the dynamics, flirting with the soon to be blurred lines. Ever the extrovert, he thrived when he was taken off surveillance and placed in the field, even when he ran missions on the ground, following marks, urging them in certain directions or to locations, the threat of being caught was high, and he loved it. Standing next to Cupid, waiting patiently for her response, he felt that first inkling of danger, of mystique, of upholding the narrative Namjoon had constructed for him.

           “That would be lovely,” Cupid smiled before turning to walk towards the next piece.

~~~~~

           Taehyung courted Cupid for the next few weeks, before she took him to dinner and into her bed. From there, it was a blur of museum openings, concerts, gala’s and drinks with friends. From the jump, Cupid was 100% in. She was immediately falling for Taehyung, making plans for their future, and bulldozing boundaries like traffic cones in drivers ed. Tired of being hurt, jaded from heartbreak, Cupid was already swimming in the deep end while he tiptoed in. Getting him to her side, though, proved difficult and frustrating. Taehyung tried to resist, to persistently put up new and more transparent boundaries, but they always seemed like a suggestion to Cupid. He allowed it to go on for a few months, until it became alarmingly clear that this was not acceptable, and she was going to move forward without asking him if it was okay.

           Taehyung scheduled a meeting with Namjoon, in the privacy of his fully walled office, and sulked in. The nerves at an all-time high, the panic he felt, the sickness in his stomach, the low taste of bile in his throat, loomed large over him.

           “Something’s not right,” Taehyung said to Namjoon. He sat opposite his brother on the couch Namjoon kept in his office for late night missions, or nights when he didn’t want to drive home.

           “Meaning?” Namjoon asked, confusion laced in his bespectacled eyes.

           “I think it’s getting out of hand,” Taehyung sat with his hands in his lap, eyes downcast as the tears began to fall. He’d shown minimal distress throughout their team meetings but was spending less and less free time in the office. A sign, that both Yoongi and Seokjin took to mean he was with Cupid, though transcripts weren’t showing up.

           Gently placing a hand on his forearm, Namjoon asked, “Tae, what’s wrong?”

           “I can’t do this, with Cupid,” He whispered.

           “What’s happened?” Namjoon asked, unsure where this was going.

           “She, she’s trying to get pregnant, Yoongi was right, she’s obsessed with it,” Taehyung inhaled slowly, rickety breaths leaving his quivering lips.

           “By you?” Namjoon was confused, it hadn’t been long enough for her to start making these claims, they’d only been seeing each other for a handful of months. Was she deviating from the pattern?

           “Yes,” Taehyung let out the sob he’d been trying and failing to hold. Namjoon had seen the man cry, in their years together, he’d seen everyone cry. They’d lost a mark, years ago, and Taehyung had just been a trainee. The man, in touch with his emotions and often lost in thought, took his job seriously, and worked diligently to do his best at all times. This, whatever was happening between Cupid and him, was abnormal.

           “Taehyung, what is she doing?” Namjoon’s voice was measured, gentle in tone and volume, deep resonance embracing Taehyung in support, in love, in familiarity, in understanding.

           “She’s scraping out condoms, not letting me pull out, and I’ve torn condoms before because there’s holes in them. Holes, Joon, I’ve found them in the wrapper!” Taehyung was shaking, tears still streaming from his emotive eyes.

           “Does she think you don’t know?”

           “I don’t know. She doesn’t care or she thinks I don’t care, or -

           “Is this nonconsensual?” Namjoon asked.

           A simple question, a measurement of balance of power, of two adults mutually agreeing on a set activity, of a designated maneuver, of an act, together, one not moving forward without the other, in tandem. Do you consent to this, or do you not?

           “Absolutely not. She has never asked, nor have I given any form of consent. I have actively tried to stop her, I have actively tried to not engage with her, I have said no and stop. She doesn’t.” The sobs return, shaking his entire body.

           Namjoon wrapped an arm around Taehyung and pulled him into his side. Taehyung didn’t need to look at Namjoon to know how incensed he was, how furious he was, how heartbroken and disgusted and devastated, he was. He felt it in the bear like hold he had over him, he heard it in his voice as he spoke again.

           “Your mission with Cupid is terminated immediately, get your phone, you will end your relationship right here and now.”

           “Will that ruin the plan?” Taehyung whispered.

           “What’s the number one rule?” Namjoon countered.

           “Our safety, and our emotional and physical health are more important than a mark or mission,” Taehyung didn’t need to think, it was written on his heart, he’d just hoped he’d never have to evoke it.

           “Exactly. Do you want to use your time off? I suggest you do, take a few days. Do you need to go back to your therapist, Dr. Aarons?” Namjoon rattled off the necessary measures Taehyung could take, knowing he would force him to rest and ease back into work.

           Nodding solemnly, Taehyung’s voice was a whisper. “Yeah, that might be a good place to start. I’m sorry,”

           “Sorry for what?” Namjoon shook his head, confusion in his tone.

           “For, I don’t know, disappointing the team.” Taehyung glanced up at Joon for the first time.

           “Taehyung, when have you ever disappointed the team?” Namjoon’s question was rhetorical. “You are risking yourself for a mission and it’s not worth it. She’s engaging in dangerous, illegal, immoral behavior. You have to look out for your personhood. I am so sorry that she has done this, and that you feel like you need to apologize to me at all. You are not at fault. I am only disappointed that when I noticed you pulling away, I didn’t seek you out to ensure you were okay. I am sorry for not doing my part as your leader.”

           Taehyung held Namjoon as they let the words float between them, Taehyung breathing them in as Namjoon’s softened gaze continued to hold him.

           “Thank you,” Taehyung whispered.

           “Do you want me to accompany you and Golden Maknae when you break up with her?” Namjoon stood up, stretching before sitting down at his desk.

           “Can’t I just ghost her?” Taehyung was surprised by the suggestion of doing this in person.

           Namjoon looked at him, realizing the suggestion he’d made. “Aren’t you past that point in your relationship?”

           “I don’t know, it’s only been four months?” Taehyung stood.

           “Four months and she already wants to procreate?” Namjoon was stunned again, nothing about Cupid predicted this. It wasn’t a pattern of behavior, but a hint at one, nothing had come to fruition and he wasn’t going to put another man on Cupid detail ever again.

           “You’ve seen my jaw,” Taehyung smirks.

           “Text her, don’t call, we know how that went for Yoongi,”

           “Can I do it in here?” He asks.

           “Conference room? I need to brief the team,”

           “Okay,”

           “You don’t have to stay. Once you break up with her, you can go home, Tae. You don’t need to stay for this at all, you aren’t required to,” Namjoon stood from his desk and guided Taehyung out of his office to the conference room.

           “I’ll stay,” Tae nodded, using the sleeve of his cardigan to blot his tears.

           “You do not to explain to them what happened,” Namjoon informed him.

           “I know,” Tae nodded again.

           “What’s up?” Hoseok asked sitting down at the conference table. He’d yet to finish his project, recreating a few false documents for Jimin.

           “Yeah, we’re having a full meeting at 3PM? Isn’t it almost quitting time?” Yoongi wondered as he twirled in his chair.

           “One step closer to Friday,” Seokjin reminded him.

           “We have an update on Codename, Hoseok, what did you name V’s mission?” Namjoon said, stuffing his hands in his suit pants.

           “Love Reimagined,” Answered Hoseok.

           “One of your shorter titles,” Yoongi quipped.

           “What was Yoongi’s?” Jimin asked.

           “Codename: Another Shot at Love,” Hoseok was proud of himself, beyond proud. He took great care to name each mission or task, ensuring it was fitting and catchy. He was waiting for their final mission on this case, a chance to reference one of his favorite Netflix Originals.

           “And Jimin’s?” Yoongi added.

           “The ongoing, Codename: The Mochi of it All,” Hoseok beamed.

           "What was mine?" Seokjin wondered.

           "Codename: The First Heartbreak," Hoseok couldn't stop smiling.

           “Why must you take the time to give such long names?” Seokjin laughed.

           “It’s part of my flair,” Hoseok giggled.

           “Alright, Codename: Love Reimagined is hereby closed, finished, completed.” Namjoon said redirecting the men. They all turned to face him, confusion and shock on their faces. This wasn’t the plan.

           “Really?” Hoseok asked.

           “Why?” Yoongi followed.

           “How come?” Seokjin rounded out the men.

           “It’s cancelled,” Namjoon’s voice was firm, a means to end the conversation.

           “Taehyung, are you okay?” Jimin asked. The two men shared an apartment, and Jimin had noticed on more than one occasion Taehyung retreating into himself. He felt it too, the absence of his best friend, his partner in work and in friendship, no longer wanting to spend time together like they always did. He hadn’t checked in as much as he wanted, his own mission filling his time as the relationship progressed consistently. Jimin spent time twirling his engagement ring on his finger, embarrassed by how much he liked the medal on his skin, the small encrusted diamonds twinkling in the light.  

           “No, I’m not okay,” Taehyung could always meet Jimin’s gaze, his hurt brown irises inked with tears told Jimin it was far worse than he realized.

           “You don’t have to tell us,” Yoongi said. “But if you do, I guarantee we’ll fuck them up.”            “Codename Cupid took advantage of me, more than once, in a sexual manner,” Taehyung pushed the words out of his mouth, the burden leaving his shoulders as he leaned into the comfort of his friends.

           “Are you fucking serious?” Yoongi yelled.

           “No, no,” Jimin shook his head, the tears already forming.

           “Tae,” Jin whispered.

           “You, are you, oh my god,” Hoseok couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of Taehyung’s mouth.

           “I’m done, cancel my mission,” Jimin declared.

           “We can’t cancel your mission,” Namjoon said.

           “Why not?” Jimin demanded, eyes on fire.

           “What good does that serve us?” Countered Namjoon.

           “I, you expect me to date this guy, be engaged to him, when his sister raped one of us? Are you fucking with me?” Jimin yelled again, standing to slam his hands against the table. Taehyung winced, not only at the volume, but because he hadn’t used the word yet, hadn’t thought it applied to what had happened to him… but maybe, it did.

           “I expect you to complete your mission as directed unless Codename Arrow is endangering your life,” Namjoon repeated.

           “I won’t,” Jimin said.

           “You will, you have what, three weeks left?” Namjoon asked.

           “The engagement party is December 21,” Jimin said.

           “Alright, it’s almost Thanksgiving. You just gotta make it until then,” Yoongi offered, a shrug of his shoulders. In Jimin’s place, he would absolutely end things with Arrow, but they needed the last set of Christmas bonus checks and the final 2020 financial reports, both of which wouldn’t populate on Arrow or Cupid’s computers until mid-December.

           “She abused him,” Jimin whispered, the tears falling down his cheeks.

           “Jiminie has a point,” Hoseok muttered.

           “We cannot let this slide,” Seokjin said. “I never thought, I never thought she’d do this.”

           “We will have justice when we bring them down,” Namjoon reminded them, his words hollow in the moment of their pain.

           “Do we have evidence of the, of the, fuck, I can’t say it,” Yoongi shook his head, the words stuck on his tongue.

           “You don’t have to say it,” Taehyung’s voice was raw, emotions bare. “I’ve documented what I can, bagged things, written a detailed report… I used one of Hobi’s forged Police Reports to document what I knew they’d ask and took pictures to accompany it. The evidence is sealed in my office.”

           Lifting his head to look at him, Yoongi asked, “Taehyung, how long have you been sitting on this?”

           “Not too long, a couple of weeks,” Taehyung shrugged. It had only happened three times, which is three times too many, and three times it shouldn’t have. He had been shocked the first time, unsure what had truly happened to him. The second time, she used a different tactic, and he knew what it was. The third time caught him off guard, unawares. He was embarrassed that he let it happened, mortified that he put himself in this situation, and angry that he was so mad at himself instead of being outraged, furious, loathing, towards her.

           “Tae,” Jimin said again.

           “We need to write an official report so we can put this into our official filing,” Namjoon’s voice had simmered, its resolute calm returning.

           “Not tonight,” Seokjin said, a reminder that Taehyung was still reeling from the trauma.

           “Have you broken up with her?” Yoongi asked Taehyung.

           “I texted when we sat down,” Taehyung fished his phone out of his pocket. “She responded.”

           “Do you want to read it out loud?” Namjoon questioned.

           “Hobi’s just going to send us a memo of it anyway,” Yoongi shrugged, his heart weighing down his entire body. “After this, can we call it a day?”

           “Absolutely,” Namjoon agreed. “Taehyung, you want to read it?”

           “It says,” He scanned the message, eyebrows shooting towards his hairline, jaw slacking as he reread the message. “She says, she says she’s pregnant.”

Next: How Cricket Got Her Name

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 12

Previously: Another Shot at Love Pt. 4

Pairing: Park Jimin X OMC

Genre: Angst, Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Legal Alcohol Consumption and Recreational Drug Use, Flirting, Jimin’s backstory 

Summary: The history Codename Mochi and how his relationship with Codename Arrow came about. 

Codename: The Mochi of it All

Winter, Senior Year 

          Jimin joined OT7 in his late teens and was kept away from his hyungs until he had finished his coursework, spent time in the field, and proved his worth. A quick study, deft in the art of reading people and empathizing, Jimin became an essential asset in the realms of surveillance and field work. Everyone was charmed by him immediately, his megawatt smile and friendly demeanor, as if Mary Poppin’s herself had given him spoonsful of sugar every day of his childhood. Jimin loved tracking marks, observing their tendencies, watching for changes in behavior. He could slip into their lives without them noticing to make strangers become friends, lovers, discerning with ease what he needed to do to become their confidant. Having studied with Codename Cuttlefish for over a year, he knew what to say and do. Joining a yoga class? No problem. Hopping into their pottery studio?  Easy. Wine tasting in Napa Valley? He knew the most exclusive vineyards. Cooking? Please, he was trained. There wasn’t anything Jimin couldn’t do, which is how he fell into bed with Jun-Seo.

         The expectation within OT7 was that you accepted your post, you took your directions and followed through on your work. When it came to dating, relationships of a sexual nature, there was explicit language that if you weren’t comfortable, you didn’t have to. There was nothing so important that the powers at be wanted you to risk your personal comfort and safety for. If Jimin didn’t want to entrap Jun-Seo, he didn’t have to, the plan could be changed, nothing was so definite that it didn’t warrant discussion. Namjoon had taken Jimin aside, walked him through the blueprints ahead of the full team meeting, conferring with him on what he was comfortable doing, and what he wasn’t. The rules for Yoongi applied to Jimin, if he didn’t want to have sex, he didn’t have to, and if he did, he was required to turn off his mic whenever sexual situations arose, as was standard practice. He didn’t have to log any aspects of his sexual relationship with any mark, only if it proved important in the case. With Jun-Seo, it did.

         Jimin, ever the professional, always prepared and always 5 minutes late, took it all in stride. It wasn’t difficult for Jun-Seo to fall in love with him, and unlike Yoongi and his quest to rectify all past failings through his relationship with Cupid, Jimin found it easy to be committed to one person, one man, in spite of the deception. After all, Codename Arrow, wanted exactly what Cupid did: to be loved.

         If Jimin was excellent at everything, he had perfected loving someone.

         Infiltrating Jun-Seo’s life was a manner of timing. Yoongi had been placed in Lee Enterprises while Jimin had already been making the rounds in Jun-Seo’s circles, elusive and enticing, it took three weeks before Jun-Seo had cornered him.

         “I can’t get a read on you,” Jun-Seo said, sitting across from Jimin in a dimly lit bar.

         Smirking, lips plump and coated in a thin layer of petroleum jelly, Jimin played dumb. “How do you mean?”

         “You talk to everyone but me, then you dance with me and flirt with me, but the minute I try and talk to you, poof, you’re gone,” Jun-Seo recited Jimin’s offenses, eliciting a giggle from him.

         “Maybe I like it that way,” Jimin responded.

         “Maybe, or maybe you’re scared,” He countered.

         “Scared of what, a pretty boy in last season’s Balenciaga?” Jimin scoffed, not going so far as saying As If, but implying.

         “A pretty boy with enough money to bury your deepest secrets or sell them to the highest bidder just for fun,” Jun-Seo threatened.

         “Your threats mean nothing. I don’t care about your money. I guarantee I have more,” Jimin brought his glass to his lips, water in vodka glass with a paper-thin lime slice deftly floating on top.

         Cackling, Jun-Seo responded, “Lies,”

         “You wanna play?” Jimin countered.

         “Only if you’re the prize,” Jun-Seo winked.

         It was banter back and forth, texts becoming phone calls that led to dates and nights out. A trip to Paris, followed by Seoul and Australia, all the while Suga was swindling Cupid. By the time Suga and Cupid broke up, Jun-Seo had proposed to Jimin.

         Jun-Seo was known for being a serial monogamist, flitting from one short term relationship to the other, always trading in the old for what seemed brand new. He had a reputation to maintain, an appearance he worked to cultivate. While Dae-Seong and Kwan-Min had to toe the lines of professionalism, of being the faces of the company until Euna was ready, Jun-Seo was given the autonomy to fuck around. A yacht trip in the Mediterranean? Annual. Closing Harrod’s and nearly buying out Chanel and Ferragamo? That was just a Tuesday. He could do no wrong, because while his siblings were busy fighting, he was busy charming. Every relationship, however devoid of emotion it was, provided him with more social capital than any socialite could dream of having. Though the tactics he used to gain this capital were not morally sound, and the level of blackmailable offenses he had witnessed was sociopathic, he continued to be sought after by anyone who breathed. To date Jun-Seo, no matter how brief, was to move up several rungs in society. The longer you dated, the higher you could climb, though Seo had the final say in your destination.

         No one was off limits to him, and he was afraid of nothing. Money afforded him security. Wealth afforded him an attitude that no one was better than him. Being 4th inline to the Lee fortune afforded him privilege. For these reasons, nobody dared mess with Jun-Seo, and in return, Seo messed with everyone.

         For the majority of his life, Seo had just wanted to be seen, to be heard, to be loved. Gossip swam with stories of his escapades, his philanthropy and business prowess made him legendary. He had few friends, but his closest confidant remained Kwan-Min. At the end of the day, however, she would always be his sister. There was no cuddling, no longing stares or passionate touches in the night, there was barely love, mostly respect. Jimin, though, had the potential to become the person Seo went to for everything.

         Jimin knew the lines were blurring when Seo took him to Seoul to track down distant relatives, and then fly to Japan to listen to Kyoto while walking the city. It wasn’t in the way Seo spoke to Jimin, but in the touches he gave, the way his eyes softened, how he was kinder to strangers and compassionate when someone messed up. Jimin was changing him, and that terrified Jimin. A mark is a mark, until they’re not.

         “He’s in too deep,” Hoseok argued, Jimin sitting at the conference table, going through transcripts of his last few days with Jun-Seo.

         “It’s getting to the point where Arrow is clearly, invested. He sees a future with Jimin, a tangible life together,” Yoongi responded, concern in his eyes. He had just started working at Lee Enterprises.

         “That’s what I’m concerned about,” Namjoon responded.

         “Arrow hasn’t given enough information to warrant the intensity of this relationship. It’s high risk, low reward. Better to get out,”

         “But we need to think about when Yoongi is dating Cupid, we’ll have two sets of eyes on the inside. Jimin has to infiltrate Arrow’s computer or very minimum, the philanthropy network so they can access the records,” Namjoon reminded them.

         “He’s going to propose, right?” Seokjin voiced. “There’s no way, at this rate, that he Arrow hasn’t thought about it.”

         “He hasn’t mentioned it, but he does play with my ring finger. It’s almost absentmindedly, and I wouldn’t think much of it except it’s pretty frequent,” Jimin informed them.

         “I thought he wasn’t the ‘marrying type’?” Seokjin asked.

         “Everyone thinks they aren’t something, and then Jimin shows up and all bets are off,” Yoongi smiled. “He’s magic.”

         “It’s because he’s so cute,” Hoseok agreed. “His laugh,”

         “His smile?” Namjoon continued the list.

         “Remember when we were laughing so hard, he told us to stop being funny because –

         “He can’t see when he’s laughing!” Hoseok finished, erupting in wall shaking laughter.

         “Okay, okay, I get it,” Jimin couldn’t help but giggle at his hyungs. “The question is, what do I do with Arrow?”

         “Stay, you have to,” Namjoon’s composure was back. “That’s your order.”

         “Do I push off the inevitable?”

         “A proposal? Yes,”

         “Tell him you aren’t sure you’re ready, or ever want to be married. Give him a real crisis and he’ll spend the next three months trying to figure out where he stands.” Yoongi suggested.

         “Has he said that he loves you?” Seokjin inquired.

         “Yes,”

         “Have you said it back?”

         “The question isn’t if Jimin’s said it back,” Yoongi began, “It’s if he means it.”

         “Jiminssi, do you mean it?”

         “I, no, no,” Jimin shook his head, his quickly lightening pink hair moving with his head. “I don’t love him,”

         “You love who he is with you,” Yoongi followed up, “He’s kind, and thoughtful, compassionate, fuck he’s even empathetic.”

         “It doesn’t excuse what he’s done, or who he is at his core,” Hoseok reminded him.

         “But it does make it infinitely more challenging to not blur the lines between who he really is, and who he is trying to be,” Jimin sat back, uneasiness in his veins. “I have to remember that.”

         “Do you need to retrain your brain?” Namjoon offered.

         “No, no, I’ll be fine, I can do this.” Jimin nodded.

         “Our second to last member to be put into the field is doing well. Codename V, he’s been onboarded and will continue working Yoongi’s job with minimal fieldwork until Cupid and Suga’s relationship is over, he’s finishing his last bits of training before becoming a full-time member. His office will be next to Yoongi’s,” Namjoon pulled up the file, V’sphoto and information enlarging on the screen.

         “Chim, you also trained him, correct?” Seokjin asked.

         “Yeah, he picked up everything on the first go, insanely intelligent, charismatic, he’s an amazing guy.” Jimin smiled fondly. “He’s my best friend, has been since we joined. Yoongi trained him for a bit too.”  

         “His first year in, he was in my year four training. V stayed in the program to train others and work with the last member of our team-

         “Because it’s impossible to be OT7 when there’s six of us,” Seokjin joked, the fact that they weren’t a complete set had bugged him for over two years.

         “V is the best,” Jimin finished.

         “We’ve all worked with him, why are we acting like we didn’t hand pick him?” Hoseok wondered.

         “Fair,”

         “I don’t know him as well as you do,” Seokjin said.

         “Are you still the new kid card?” Hoseok guffawed.

         “I’m just saying you went to training, the most I got was a month crash course,”

         “You didn’t need additional training. You had freely chosen a path that you loved and are passionate about. It was a choice. We were preyed upon, selected for a Hunger Game’s like war and we’re District 1.” Yoongi informed him. “It was fucking brutal. They took us from our lives, our families, our friends. This newbie? Codename Golden Maknae, was taken when he was 13! Barely old enough to make decisions for himself. He’s been raised in this system, conditioned to work for the betterment of the world, he knows nothing else. We know nothing else!”

         “He worships the ground Namjoon-hyung walks on, he is best friends with V because once you’ve been tapped, you can only rely on each other,” Hoseok said.

         “It hasn’t been a bad life,” Namjoon, ever the diplomat, interjected.

         “Sure Joon, sure. I shouldn’t have been a trained sharpshooter by 19,” Yoongi snapped. They could see it in his eyes, the darkness. Yoongi’s temper flared when he was truly angry, but largely held off until he was a perfect storm of exhausted, anxious and overwhelmed. Or, when competitiveness struck, and he became determined to win. This anger, rarer than the others, struck when he felt defenseless, used, when the job started to take parts of his soul instead of his brain.

         “You were hacking into government systems across the globe by 15!” Jimin refuted.

         “Allegedly!” Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin all yelled in unison. The three looked at each other before bursting into a fit of giggles, leaving Yoongi fuming.

         “The point is, you got to live a normal life, go to university, stumble into a relationship out of mutual attraction. You’ve had all the things weren’t afforded. For Jimin, V, Golden Maknae, this has been their life, so be fucking grateful, Mr. Handsome.” Spitting the codename at Seokjin, Yoongi stood violently and shoved his chair in against the table. The men stared after him as he grabbed his coat from his office and left.

Next: Justifying Jimin

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 9

Previous: Another Shot at Love Pt. 3

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook X OFC

Genre: Fluff, Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU, Slice of Life

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Swearing, Kissing, Mentions of Consensual Sex, 

Summary: The P.I.(Y/N) wakes up in the arms of the man from the bar, Jungkook, and goes on another quest to find the first man who broke Lee Euna’s heart. 

Searching for Seokjin Pt. 2 

Present Day 

          I awoke the following day to untangle myself from Jungkook, whose arms and legs ensnared my own. His warmth radiated through me, lingering as I step out of bed, my bed, and am grateful to be fully clothed. Somewhere between making out and drinking a gallon of water, we had found ourselves snuggled under my duvet, and sometime after midnight, nearing 2AM, we had fallen asleep. If I wasn’t careful, this was going to turn into a whole sleeping together twice and having sex once or whatever nonsense Cameron Diaz spewed in The Holiday.

         It’s not often that I sleep through the night or sleep well. It’s rare that I find the silence of my apartment comforting in the slightest, which is evident by the industrial locks on my door and windows, coupled with the registered gun in my nightstand – never loaded – or the countless surveillance measures I’ve put in place to guarantee my safety. The countless hours I’ve accumulated listening to meditation, ASMR videos, are all signs that my line of work brings little to no peace of mind.

         I will never admit to sleeping well in a man’s arms, but damnit if I didn’t sleep like I’d rubbed CBD oil all over my body and cocooned myself in Egyptian cotton. Jungkook’s arms are nothing like anything I’ve experienced before. They’re strong, assuming, muscular yet lean. His right, decorated in a tight sleeve of tattoos, expressing the deepest parts of his life, flexes lightly, holding me to him. I could spend days, weeks, months, tracing the lines on his skin, asking him questions, wondering aloud the meaning behind the ink. Jungkook’s body is strong, impenetrable, washboard abs that I could easily wash my dirtiest of laundry on, but it’s his eyes and smile that give him away. He’s soft, he’s cozy, he’s inviting and he’s respectful and sexy and mysterious and all-consuming at the same time. He’s all I want to think about, and I know he’s all that’s going to be occupying my mind until I see him again.

         I turn the coffee maker on and open the fridge to see what I can scrounge up for breakfast. Miraculously, the hangover is non-existent, most likely because I drank so much water before falling asleep, in an attempt to stare into his eyes, like a galaxy, ever expanding as they pulled me in.

         “Morning beautiful,” Jungkook says, a tattooed hand running through his raven hair. His bare chest confronts me, the wide expanse I had spent the better part of 8 hours pressed upon, staring unapologetically.

         “Hi,” My voice is a soft whisper. “You sleep okay?”

         “Mm, best night sleep I’ve had in a while. Your mattress is insanely comfortable,” His smile is light, bright and glowing.

         “Oh, so it wasn’t snuggling with me?” I question.

         He tilts his head, unsure, “Snuggling?”

         “Yes?” My confidence is wavering.

         “Cuddling,” He says.

         “Snuggling,” I reply.

         “Cuddling,” Jungkook’s smile grows.

         “They’re the same thing,” I inform him.

         “Are they? Snuggling sounds like, like leaning,” He takes a step towards me. I’m very aware that I remain pantless.

         “Oh god, how many times have you seen While You Were Sleeping?” I allow him to cage me in against the fridge, his forearm resting against the cool stainless steel.

         “Enough to know that leaning is a sign of mutual want, it’s about desire, craving, needing,” He recites.

         “Leaning,” I whisper, my breath a ghost across his lips.

         “Wanting,” He closes the space between us, his gentle and velvet lips press delicately against mine, the dull roar of heat building as he slips has hand up my thigh to rest on my hip, under my shirt. He licks my bottom lip gingerly before parting them and welcoming my tongue into his mouth. The pressure of my tongue on his releases a low moan as my hands rest on his pecks. I am fully aware that I could do this forever.

         Jungkook pulls away first, slowly disentangling his lips from mine.

         “Are you saying you want me?” I ask, eyes still closed.

         “Do you want me?” He retorts.

         “I asked you first,” I tease.

         “Can I take you to breakfast?” His eyes are unwavering as they stare into mine, the authenticity and kindness washes over me, a blush coating my cheeks.

         “Like a first date?” My teeth pull the inside of my lip into their grasp. I haven’t gone on a first date in a while, let alone with a man like Jungkook.

         “I’d like to think last night was our first date,” He says, hands still on my hip, thumb drawing circles on my skin. The sensation is calming, a trance coming over me as my body responds gently to his.

         “I’m cool with that,” I say. “Do you want to shower or anything before we go? I know I don’t have anything for you to borrow…”

         “A shower would be great,” Jungkook nods.

         “Without me,” I clarify.

         “Oh?” He quirks an eyebrow, a trait I’m already starting to find sensual.

         I smile, “But maybe after you buy me breakfast, we’ll see.”

         “Maybe after I buy you breakfast, I can take you on a traditional date, dinner and a movie? Earn my keep?” He counters, leaning in again to press an adoring kiss on my lips.

         “You don’t have to earn anything,” I say.

         “That’s good to know,” He responds. I can tell in his eyes that he’s had to pay a price before, someone down the line made his love a commodity, not something worth freely giving or receiving, but earning. He was worth something, and its sinister ramifications still remained in the darkness of his irises.

         “I’m not a prude, I just, your eyes,” I clarify.

         He opens his eyes wider, “My eyes?”

         “Yeah, I want to know what I’m going to be drowning in before I take the dive,” I tell him. My hands, still on his forearms, move up and down gently, an offer of comfort in this moment of vulnerability.

         “You’re so poetic,” He earnestly responds.

         “I minored in English,” I tell him.

         “Mm, what do you think about dinner?” Jungkook asks again.

         “How do you know you won’t be sick of me?” The question, flying out of my lips before I can stop it, insecurity flinches across my face.

         Jungkook, though, laughs, his nose scrunching softly. “How about Monday, you free Monday say 6:30?”

         “I can do Monday at 6:30,” I tell him, “You’ll pick me up?”

         “Absolutely,” He nods.

         Inhaling, I ask again, “You won’t be sick of me?”

         “I’m not sure I’m ever going to be sick of you, but ask me again in a few months,” Raven eyes, wide like saucers, sincerity abounding, bring calm to my intense, laser focused, unwaveringly anxious orbs.

         “You’re really sexy,” Deflecting, I speak again. Anything would be better than a conversation about my vulnerabilities. “I’m not so sure we’re going to make it to break-

         His lips are on mine before I finish the sentence. His hands, once drawing tantalizing shapes on my skin, have now pulled me to him, his hips grinding into mine. His gorgeous digits sprawl against my ass, anything to get me closer to him. I in turn have wrapped my arms around his neck, hands entangling in his locks. I can’t stop the moans that escape my lips as he grinds into me again.

         “We’re never going to make it to breakfast,” My voice comes out between a moan and a breathy whisper, Jungkook’s lips leaving wet open-mouthed kisses down my neck, teeth nipping my collarbone. “J-Jungkook,”

         “Y/N,” He responds, eyes tracing my clothed figure before meeting mine.

         “I’m starving,” I whine, a smile cracking through my lust.

         Jungkook laughs, doubles over laughing hysterically. “I’m sorry, yes, I’ll shower quick, yeah? Ten minutes? Do you know where you want to go?”

         “Yeah, I know a place,” I tell him. “Let me brush my teeth and get you what you need to shower.”

         “Perfect,” He’s still recovering, the dulcet ring of his laugh hitting me straight in the heart.

         “On a constructive note?” I stop at the door to my bedroom, pausing.

         “Hmm?”

         “I slept really well too, and that’s not normal… But I’m not sure, in this moment, if normal is ever anything I have ever wanted?” I tilt my head to the side, feeling my pulse quicken.

         “It’s overrated,” He nods, his voice mimicking mine, cautiously fielding the hidden meaning in my words.

         “Yeah, totally,” I nod.

         I am positive I have said too much, what guy wants to hear their supposed one-night stand say that they slept better with the other person there? We didn’t even have sex! He’s going to think I’m clingy, oh god, that’s the worst. He’s going to think I’m clingy and then when he discovers that I am actually a relationship-phobic asshole, who can barely hang onto the relationships with her blood relatives, not to mention the fraying connections between friends, a romantic relationship is impossible.

         But what if he’s different? Oh, hope, you fickle bitch. What if he’s considerate and thoughtful and listens when I rant and is okay that I own a gun? What if he likes the way I cling to him in my sleep, or how I brush my teeth a minimum of 2.5 minutes, often 3, morning and night, and never skip flossing? Will he like my cooking? Or how I sing to every single song that plays through my speakers, and listen to the same ones over and over until they’ve become a part of my psyche?

         You cannot tell me Taylor Swift didn’t write Out of the Woods about me.

         Maybe he’ll be all of these things… or none of them… maybe this isn’t the start of something new, as Zac Efron would say, but just… a moment?  

~~~~~

         That evening, after Jungkook has left, I venture to my favorite grocery store. Not only do I not have anything for breakfast, but there is nothing to make any semblance of a meal, let alone alcohol to wash it down with. I don’t hate cooking. But I hate cooking, in the way that most millennials do. The prep, the planning, the shopping, the chopping, then the actual cooking and cleaning? Why is it so difficult? Why so many steps? Why does it matter if I use oil or butter in the bottom of a pan? How come my banana bread turns out soggy in the middle if I use a square pan instead of a rectangle? Why is it a science?

         I digress. The point is, I’m going to the store. AirPod in one ear, podcast playing at a low roar, list in my phone, I grab a mini cart and head straight for produce. Why I go to produce first when I always bruise what I put in first, I do not know. Some deep masochistic tendencies within me. Nevertheless, I walk towards the oranges, trying not to laugh uproariously at the joke being told and grab a bag of Cuties. Gathering a variety of items that will soon be left to rot in my fridge, I stop dead in my tracks. Standing in front of me, a sight I have been searching for, well, my search has truly just begun, but still, in his full glory, reaching for Braeburn apples, a bold and incorrect choice, he stands.  

         “Kim Seokjin,” I whisper, eyes narrowing on him. He’s unbelievably handsome, pouty lips, dark eyes and a baseball cap protecting his face from the harsh lights of the grocery store. A cream t-shirt covered by a black bomber jacket with a wide collar, he’s a sight to behold. I don’t know what to do. I have none of my PI tools, but then again, I have a cell phone. I quickly switch to camera and try to covertly take a few photos of him before he’s turning around and walking away from me. Tossing a few items into my cart, I follow, but he’s gone. Not in the chips aisle or frozen section, nowhere to be found in the bakery, in the millisecond it took me to blink, he’s disappeared.

         Making my way out to my car, I find a note sitting on my seat. Freezing, I inspect my surroundings. No shattered glass, no misplaced seats, no smudges or fingerprints on the door handle. I feel the taste of bile in the back of my throat before I realize the sensation overcoming me, and as if in slow motion, I turn my head and vomit. Fear does crazy things to you, and it’s been a while since I’ve been this scared. Trembling hands and shaky breath, I reach for the handle to the backseat, locked. I check the driver’s door, a cold sweat soaking through my sweatshirt, locked.

         Who the fuck broke into my car and locked it on the way out?

         I quickly place the groceries in the backseat and grabbing a pair of gloves from the extra box I keep, daintily pick up the envelope. Opening it, a single piece of paper is folded in thirds.

         “Stop looking, Y/N,” I read. I read it again, turning it over and over.

         Stop looking? Looking for who? For what? I’m always fucking looking, don’t tell me to stop and not be specific about it. Tilting the paper, catching the evening light, I see a watermark, two trapezoids meeting at their shortest, parallel side before branching out. Who is classy enough to stalk me, leave a note in my car, and have a watermark on what feels like silk cardstock? This is not normal, not even for the highest-level criminal.

         My phone rings, and the jolt of fear cascades through me again.

         “Hello?”

         “Hey – I found that guy you’re looking for,” C says.

         “I thought you said you weren’t looking,”

         “I wasn’t, at work,” The condescension is clear in her tone.

         Exhaling, I ask, “What did you find?”

         “He’s in the area, he dated some heiress to a huge conglomerate, but other than that, he’s pretty low key. Works a day job in an office doing accounting,”

         “Who was the heiress?”

         “It doesn’t say, literally anywhere, whoever it was scrubbed the web clean of it,” C takes a sip of what I’m guessing is Merlot.

         “Is there anything unusual about his profile?” I question.

         “No, he pays his taxes, never had a ticket, lives a pretty average life,”

         “Okay, okay, can you send me the –

         “You know the deal,” C reminds me. Ah yes, the “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but no paper copies or digital trail” deal, an unspoken agreement.

         “Fine. Tell me this, what’s the mile radius of where he lives?”

         “I’m surprised you haven’t run into him before. He seems to operate around where you live,” C tells me. “Look, I gotta go, that was my one good deed for the year. Don’t call me, I’ll call you,”

         “Sure, love you,” I say.

         “Love you more,” She responds before hanging up.

         If he frequents the mile around my apartment, that greatly increases the likelihood of me running into him again. Realizing I haven’t put the cart back, I exit my car, careful not to step in the pool of vomit, and start to wheel the cart to its resting place.

         I, very kindly, push it through another cart and as I turn to leave, find myself nose-to-chest with a baseball cap wearing, broad shouldered, pouty lipped stunner.

         “Sorry,” He says, eyeing me. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

         “I’m sorry, I truly wasn’t paying attention either,” I tell him, shaking my head in faux embarrassment.

         “Are you okay? You look a little, sick,” Seokjin worries.

         “Oh yeah, totally, just a little … evening sickness,” I lie.

         “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of that,” He smiles politely.

         “Yeah, sometimes I just you know, get sick,” I say, trying to buy time. This is easily the worst conversation I’ve ever had, and I once asked an A-Lister if he could take a photo of me and his wife… at an award show, where he was nominated.

         “Hmm,” He nods, “Well, have a good night.” Seokjin turns and walks back to his car. Hastily moving into mine, I wait with bated breath for him to pull out before I start to follow him, sugar free tropical popsicles be damned.

Next: Tailing Taehyung

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 10

Previous: Searching for Seokjin Pt. 2

Pairings: Light Jungkook x Reader 

Genre: Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU, Slice of Life

Ratings: PG13

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: She finds Taehyung at the local dog park, an unfamiliar face by his side. 

Tailing Taehyung

Present Day

          I’ll be honest, this is my favorite part of the job. Music low, tinted windows, unmarked baseball cap adorning my head, GPS tracking my every move so I can retrace my steps. I’ve already downed a grande latte, two bagels and a family sized bag of sour skittles. But it’s the quiet waiting, the planning of every move, the sleuthing and interpreting, anticipating another person’s every move.

         Kim Seokjin is predictable. He gets up, goes to work, comes home. There’s no romantic partner, no gym time, nothing. His office building, non-descript, standard skyscraper. It’s painful how predictable he is. Which is why after three days, I begin to search for another name on Euna’s list. Kim Taehyung.

         He’s easier to track, beloved librarian, he works at the downtown branch where he packs the house for his weekly story hour. Costumes, characters, voices, he commands the room, never demanding adoration because it’s so freely given. His name at the Library, though, is not Kim Taehyung, but Jung Taehyung, as if he got married and changed his name without telling anyone. My only indication that they’re the same person are photos from Euna.

         Tailing Taehyung is thrilling. He’s going to book launches, gallery openings, museum exhibits, clubbing, and on a few nights, stays late to close the library. Those are my favorite, he puts headphones on and dances around the library, re-shelving children’s books and shaking his ass. He lives across town from Seokjin, in a quaint house with a green door. He seems to have an abundance of friends, rarely goes out with the same people twice in one week. No partner on record, no flirting or taking someone home with him. He does have a dog, something he must’ve picked up after leaving the Lee’s.

         Picking up Johnson from my sister’s house, I park near the dog park by Taehyung’s house, a frequent weekend spot. He might go to different clubs every Thursday or try a new restaurant with a pair of gentlemen, but he goes to the same dog park on both Saturday and Sunday, then to the coffee shop on the corner, where he tries a new drink on Saturday. If he likes the drink, he gets it again on Sunday, but if he hates it, he picks something new. He never orders coffee, only tea and juice concoctions. How he exists, with all that energy, and no coffee, I will never understand.

         Another thing I will never understand is Johnson. A golden doodle with a slight limp, she’s both deeply loving and simultaneously polarizing. She runs hot and cold, licking you one minute, growling the next. There’s no reason for her split personality, her ability to turn on a dime, but I’d like to think Johnson is struggling with her identity and would really benefit from therapy. At two years old, still fully a puppy, she has gone to obedience school three times, and is only truly unkept when forced to be with humans for too long. The dog park is her happy place. She loves running around, sniffing everything, frolicking in the grass, no leash, totally free.

         What a blessing to borrow my sisters fur baby to ensnare Kim Taehyung.

         Maisy pulls me towards the dog park, excitement coursing through her body. It takes everything in me to not drop the leash and let her go, but she has a high chance of running into traffic and her death cannot be on my conscience. Within moments of stepping into the park, I spot Taehyung and his little pup. A black and gold Pomeranian, he weighs the same as Johnson’s front paws. Taehyung stands, sunglasses on, black hair parted slightly to reveal his honeyed forehead. He looks too cool for school, and I’d believe he was, if he wasn’t laughing energetically at the man to his right. The man is familiar, one of the usual men he tries a new restaurant with every Tuesday.

         Setting Maisy free, I move around the park, monitoring her, hoping she’ll land exactly where I want her to.

         The initial contact with a mark, or suspect, is the most precarious. I can’t come on too strong, can’t give too much away or seem too eager. I have to have every moment planned in order to get the information I need. In this case, it’s getting close enough that I can speak with Tae to find out what he knows regarding Lee Euna and her family, and maybe see if he’ll drop hints about her manifesto.

         I circle the park, my eyes on Johnson and Taehyung, slowly moving closer to the man and his friend.

         “Did you catch the end of the game last night?” The other man asks.

         “No, was I supposed to?” Taehyung responds.

         “It’s too early in the season to be calling it, but they’ve got a chance to go to the Superbowl,”

         “Huh,”

         “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt,” I say, turning my body to face them. “Is that your dog? The little one?”

         “Yeah, it is,” Taehyung answers, smiling lightly at me.

         “It’s so cute, what’s its name?”

         “Yeontan, or Tannie,”

         “Adorable, is that Korean?” I ask.

         “Yes,”

         “Very cool, my boyfriend’s Korean,” I lie. Jungkook isn’t my boyfriend. He’s just a guy I’ve slept with once and fallen asleep next to twice … or whatever.

         “Nice, I wonder if we know him,” Taehyung said. “What’s his last name?”

         “Jeon,” I tell them. I clock the miniscule movement in their brows, the exchanged glance, but I don’t know what it means.

         “Not too many of those, what’s his first name?” The man next to Taehyung asks.

         “Jungkook” I tell them. My eyes don’t leave their faces as they both nod, neither daring to share a glance.

         “I don’t think I know him,” Taehyung says.

         “Well, what are your names? I can ask him if maybe he knows you?” I offer. Take the bait, take the bait.

         “I’m Taehyung, this is Jimin,” He says.

         “Y/N,” I offer my hand to shake, which they each accept.

         This is my moment, “This is going to sound crazy, but do you know Lee Euna?”

         “Who?” Jimin asks.

         I scrutinize his features, no slight quiver of the upper lip, no pupils dilating, no quickened breath. “Lee Euna, she’s part of the family that owns Lee Enterprises?”

         “Oh, Lee Enterprises, I’ve heard of them, they’re brokers?” Jimin asks.

         “Traders,” Taehyung responds.

         “Candlestick makers,” I finish the rhyme, both men look at me quizzically, then laugh. “They do banking and stock trading for the top 0.01% of society, royals, billionaires, human traffickers, etc.”

         “Ah,” Jimin nods. “Not my area of expertise.”

         Agreeing, Taehyung nods, “Mine either,”

         “Same,” I add. Maisy runs up to me and begins growling at the men I’m standing with. “Johnson Maisy Lou, knock it off,”

         “Johnson Maisy Lou?” Taehyung laughs.

         “I didn’t name her,” I shrug.

         “Her?” Jimin continues laughing. He’s like, really pretty.

         “Yeah, my sister’s dog. She gives no shits when it comes to gender norms. Johnson was a bet she lost though,” I inform them. I reattach Maisy’s leash and give her a good once over. “You ready?”

         She wags her tail in response.

         “It was nice to meet you guys, maybe I’ll see you next weekend?” I smile again, friendly and kind to a flaw.

         “Yeah, bring your boyfriend, we might have some friends in common,” Jimin smiles again.

         I wave before dragging Maisy back to the trail and slowly to the car. They know Jungkook, I don’t know how, or why, but something in their reaction tells me that they are more than just friendly with him. Maybe they went to school together? Or worked together before their respective positions at the library and whatever Jimin does? That would answer few questions but makes me feel uneasy.

         When I return to my car, I’m met with a familiar sight. An envelope resting on my driver’s seat. Car locked, windows intact, it sits, waiting. My blood runs cold, chills down my spine as I stare. I swallow the bile in the back of my throat and survey my surroundings.

         “The first was a warning shot. This is your last chance. Stop. Looking.”

         I panic, glancing all around me, trying to find someone who stands out in the weekend shuffle. There’s no absurdly dressed person, no one in a weird hat or harboring a long-range camera, no one glancing at me in my sheer panic, fear pushing my fight or flight into overdrive.

         Choosing a stance somewhere between fear and power, I walk swiftly towards the coffee shop. Ordering a concoction I’ve heard Taehyung order, I ask the cashier a leading question.

         “That’ll be $3.57,” He smiles. I glance at his nametag, Robert.

         “Thanks, Robert. Can I ask you something?”

         “Of course!” He answers.

         “You see that black car?” I point towards the general direction of my vehicle. “Have you seen anyone approach it in the last hour?”

         “No, but I just started my shift twenty minutes ago,” Robert informs me.

         “Okay, thanks,” I move out of the way and watch as other customers flit through the shop, the open concept rustic café is a hot spot, known for their tea infusions and gluten free pastries, it’s a hot ticket. The line is often out the door, and everyone who works here receives massive tips. I don’t know who gives their spare change, but I’ve seen the jar completely full on more than one occasion. Tipping for leaf water is preposterous, but then again, a good cup of leaf water is hard to find. I think, I’ve never really truly looked for it.

         After giving myself 30 minutes to calm down, I head back to my car, taking the note and slipping it into an evidence bag. I drive the 15 to my sisters, knocking aggressively as I am positive Maisy is one bark away from biting me.

         “Did you have to bring her back?” C asks, opening the door.

         “I don’t want to be arrested for dog-abuse, that’s a serious crime,” I hand her Maisy’s leash, and she obediently retreats into the house, running towards her food bowl.

         “Oh, I’ll stick the ASPCA on you for sure. How was she?” C asks, stepping back to allow me into the house.

         I sigh, “Useful, did exactly what I needed her to.”

         “That might be the first time in her life she’s listened to directions,” C laughs. “Water?”

         “And probably the last, isn’t that right Johnson Maisy?” I ruffle behind her ears and take the can of Bubly from my sister.

         “How’s your little man friend?” She asks, hope in her eyes.

         “He’s not little, and he’s not a friend,” I correct her.

         “Right, right, how’s lover boy?”

         “Don’t call him that,” I squeeze my eyes closed, knowing full well where she’s headed.

         “Oh, baby, how’s baby?” She does her best Jennifer Grey impression.

         “You’re the worst. And he’s fine,”

         “Have you been seeing him regularly? What’s his name again? JK? Did his parents just really like New York Undercover? Or I’m sorry, the Killing Joke?” C laughs at her own jokes, which makes me hate her cleverness even more.

         “Jungkook, and yes you can call him JK,” I sip on the pineapple flavored sparkling H2O.

         “And?”

         “He’s great, he’s wonderful, he’s sexy and intelligent and thoughtful and kind and I could swim in his Bambi eyes forever, okay?”

         She laughs at my tone, frustration evident as I blush profusely.

         “You like him,” She sings. 

           “Too much it seems,” I roll my eyes.

         “Are the feelings mutual?”

         “He took me to breakfast, after dancing, we didn’t have sex, and then, he took me to dinner and a movie the next day, a ‘traditional date’ as he called it. It’s been a month? Not even, and I think about him constantly. I want to see him every second of everyday and I feel so sad when he’s gone. I’m literally handing him my heart to break and I think, all signs are pointing to him handing me his,” I bury my face in my hands, feeling the heat radiate onto my palms. Why is this so embarrassing?

         “Are you going to take it?” C asks.

         “Haven’t I already?”

         C lets it hang I the air, my willing acceptance of heartache at the hands of this lionhearted man, my willingness to be absolutely gutted by him, and in return, his vulnerability to be tossed out like every other man who has ever dared to get close to me.

         “Maybe he’s worthy,” C offers.

         Shaking my head, “It’s not about being worthy, I don’t deserve anyone.”

         “No, no one deserves anything except basic human rights, food, shelter, education, healthcare… but maybe you’ve found a guy who is actually going to be supportive and challenging, someone who isn’t scared of your callousness and thrives in your ability to love without bounds. Maybe he’s that person for you.” Her stare is knowing, and I hate how correct she could possibly be. I hate that I’m falling so quickly, and I hate that he might be falling too. It’s easier when one person has the upper hand, when a bluff pays off with a win. But if we both fold, then are hearts become collateral, and to whom the pieces go becomes a mystery.

         “Can we please stop talking about him?” I request, the tears brimming giving way to my distress.

         C smiles softly, her knowing sisterly gaze on my tears. “Absolute. How’s the case going?”

         “Fine, I found another guy with Taehyung, they both seem to know Jungkook, but I don’t know how they know him or why they lied about it. Neither mentioned anything that was useful,” I wipe the few tears away and pick up my drink.

         “Will you keep digging?” She asks.

         “I’m not sure there’s much more to dig. Euna has her list, she knows what they did, she doesn’t want proof that they’re guilty, she just wants to know where she can find them.” I inform her.

         “That’s the business you’re in, finding people who don’t want to be found?” C clarifies. She knows better than anyone what I do. Though I function in dark allies and make backroom deals, C follows the letter of the law and works for a branch of the CIA. Doing what, I do not know, but she understands the importance of hiding, and the lengths people will go to, to remain out of sight.

         “It’s not my job to protect them, C, if I can find them, anyone can.”

         “Why does she want to find them?”

         “Revenge is my guess, why she had to come to me when she’s worth billions is beyond my understanding. She could’ve hired anyone, had a mole in the government search, literally anything other than showing up at my broken-down door,”

         C pauses, “What if they’re in witness protection? What if she was abusive?”

         “They’re not in witness, if they were, they wouldn’t use their real names or live in the same city she does. That and you would’ve found out. And, there are no records of abuse in the system, no restraining orders, nothing.”

         “Could they be hiding from her?” C questions.

         “In plain sight?” I counter.

         She laughs. “Staring Mary McCormack now streaming on Amazon Prime.”

         “I’m leaving,” I roll my eyes.

         “Just, be careful, okay?” She reaches for me, and I enter her embrace. Sister hugs always carry more weight.

         “I will be,” I say into her hair.

         “Don’t dig a hole bigger than you can fill,” She kisses my cheek gently, her lip gloss sticking to my skin.

         “That’s not a saying,” I reply as I wipe the goo from my face.

         “Don’t care. Love you,” C stares me down, her words echoing through me.

         “Love you, mean it,” I respond, and her shoulders relax.

         We haven’t always had the best relationship, the most love, the most respect. She’s anal and controlling, I’m easy going and dare I say, happy? We’ve always been opposites, she loved analytics, statistics, history. I craved action, drama, constant stimulation. We both love puzzles, though hers remain recreational and mine professional. At our core, we’re cut from the same cloth. Mannerisms mimicking the other, eyes of similar shape, looking enough like sisters to never be questioned.

         But she’s right.

         Am I digging a hole bigger than what I can fill? Has Lee Euna, Euna Lee, set me up to completely fail? Do these men want to remain in hiding, and if so, what’s the level of risk I am putting them at?

         Maybe solving the mystery of who the man was with Taehyung will guide me towards an answer.

Next: Codename Another Shot at Love Pt. 4

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 8

Previous: Another Shot At Love Pt. 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi X OFC, Park Jimin X OMC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU, Slice of Life

Rating: NC17

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Swearing, Legal Alcohol Consumption, Degradation, Humiliation, Verbal Abuse, Horrible Family, Bullying, Sibling Rivalries, Homophobia, Toxic Masculinity

Summary: Codename Suga joins Codename Cupid at her parents house for family dinner. It’s both everything he imagined, and so much worse. 

Codename Another Shot at Love Part 3

Fall Post Graduation

           Park Yoongi, Codename Suga, arrived at the Lee residence dressed to the nines, a new suit, top of the line glasses and Ferragamo loafers that Hoseok had picked out especially for him. Nothing about his look screamed mid-level employee at a top-level bank, or government agent bent on destroying a company from within, which was the point. Namjoon had determined that to impress the Lee’s, Codename Valentine, Suga had to be runway ready. His hair was slicked back, and in his arms, a bottle of Makers 46, a bottle Cupid had ensured her father would appreciate. In his ear, a flesh-colored earpiece, specially designed, allowing his teammates, Codenames RM, Worldwide Handsome and J-Hope, to feed him lines when needed.

          Adjusting his spectacles and turning them on, Suga’s vision was momentarily blocked as the sensors began their job scanning everything and everyone insight, transmitting data in real time to his set up at OT7 headquarters. The glasses, a creation he had spent the better part of a year working on, were a modification of his third-generation specs. Not only could they recognize faces, scan for heat sensors, but log sounds such as alarm codes and lock patterns, decoding their passcodes in seconds. This was a marked improvement from the generation twos, which recorded sound and took up to 24 hours to decode. The recorded surveillance was wired through the major databases used by OT7 to track down faces of everyone Suga came in contact with. Tonight, their goal was to memorize every aspect of the Lee’s estate, transmit the layout into a CAD (computer aided design) drawing and print a scaled blueprint. They were also responsible for identifying every human in the Lee’s house, pulling names, birthdays, permanent addresses and social security numbers. In his glasses case, Suga had placed several microscopic microphones, which he placed on any surface he touched. They might not have eyes inside the mansion, but OT7 would have ears.

          “Park Yoongi,” The attendant declared as he stepped through the foyer and into the sitting room, where the entire Lee, Codename Valentine, family sat waiting for him.

          “Good evening,” Yoongi bowed deeply, a remnant of his heritage and a sign of respect.

          “Yoongi!” Euna said, standing and quickly wrapping her arms around his neck. Leaning in, she placed a delicate kiss on his cheek. “Mom, dad, this is Yoongi, my boyfriend.”

          Mr. Lee rose, looked Yoongi up and down before he spoke, “I hear you work for us. Good.”

          “Yes, sir, I do,” Yoongi nodded.

          “Your work is good, you fly under the radar, if you’re to continue this with Euna, you will need to do better,” Mr. Lee extended his hand, shaking Yoongi’s, before moving past him.

          “Sir, I brought you a gift, I heard it’s one of your favorites,” Yoongi handed the man the bottle and watched as he unwrapped it. His oafish hands tore through the tissue paper, impatient to get his hands on something he didn’t buy but eagerly wanted.

          “Ahh, a bribe, thoughtful,” Mr. Lee said before handing the bottle to the head of house, who had quietly walked into the room. She took it and carefully moved to place it on the shelf which housed an impressive collection of whiskey.

          Mrs. Lee looked at her cohort of older children. “Don’t be rude.”

          The three children rose and walked towards Yoongi. Towering over him, Dae-Seong and Jun-Seo glared down at him, a sinister smirk on both their faces.

          “Dae-Seong,” He said, squeezing Yoongi’s hand harder than necessary.

          “Jun-Seo,” He repeated the action, his hold lighter, his smirk faded into a thin line, laced with more concern than Yoongi imagined Dae-Seong could ever muster.

          “Yoongi,” Kwan-Min bowed before extending her hand, “Kwan-Min.” Her smile mirrored Euna’s, gentle and vibrant. Her eyes told the same story as her brothers, watch your back.

          “Nice to meet you,” Yoongi responded. Carefully taking a seat next to Euna, he smiled tersely at the family.

          “Yoongi, tell us about yourself,” Mrs. Lee requested. She slowly clinked the perfectly shaped sphere of ice in her glass, it slowly melting into the brown liquid.

          “Is there anything specific you want to know?” He responds politely.

          “Your file is thin, you don’t seem to want to advance at Lee Enterprises, so how’d you end up here?” Dae-Seong doesn’t mince words. Much like the booming timbre of his voice, his words cut straight to the point.

          “I worked in the Manhattan branch every summer of college, had two internships my junior and senior year, and then applied for an entry level position,” Yoongi could hear Namjoon, Codename RM, in his ear, repeating the fabricated story made ever more real by Hoseok’s ability to forge documents.

          “They moved you out here?” Mr. Lee questioned.

          “Yes, they asked if I would transfer,” Yoongi replied.

          “Why?” Dae-Seong was perplexed, no new hire was asked to transfer unless they were a problem worth handling.

          “They said I was polished, and my work was good,” Yoongi shrugged. WWH reminded him to lean into the nonchalance, the ultimate fuck-you attitude the Lee’s hated.

          “Seems vague,” Jun-Seo remarked. “Your childhood was rather bleak, wasn’t it?”

          “It wasn’t the best, but it was temporary,” Yoongi knew this was the line of questioning they’d take, and not just with him, with anyone not from the upper echelon, anyone not worth less than 100 million.

          “Your parents were, sorry, are, quite poor,” Dae-Seong pressed.

          “Poor to some is rich to others,” Yoongi answered.

          “But poor is still, poor,” Jun-Seo responded.

          “You haven’t dated much, either have you Yoongi?” Kwan-Min’s voice was velvet, soft and supple in the tense air.

          “I’ve had a few relationships, but none like Euna,” Mr. World Wide’s voice was clear and gentle, sell it Suga.

          “What makes her so different? Clearly you see things that we don’t,” Dae-Seong snorted back a laugh, it was a hideous sound, loud and haunting.

          “I see a lot of things in Euna. She’s thoughtful, considerate, she’s caring and funny. She accepts me for who I am, and makes me a better person,” Yoongi laid on the compliments like he hadn’t spent the last two weeks rehearsing them for OT7.

          It had taken him a while to list the characteristics he liked about Cupid, and ultimately had recruited WWH to write it for him. He stared at the words Mr. Handsome wrote, and was shocked that he still cared this much about her. Yoongi felt none of these things, none of these adjectives or memories that Mr. Handsome had strewn together resonated with him in the slightest. Cupid was a mark, a pawn in the play, nothing more.

          “Huh, lucky someone does,” Jun-Seo laughed, ribbing Dae-Seong and leading him in a cackle all their own. Yoongi glanced at Euna to see her jaw set, cheeks flushed, eyes glossed.

          “Jun-Seo, you have a guest,” The attendant from the front door announced, standing taught at the door. A blond-haired man entered, smirking with a hint of humor. Yoongi stared at his dazzling smile and kind eyes.  

          “You made it!” Jun-Seo stood to engulf the man in a hug, lips pressing aggressively to his lips. “I thought you said you were busy.”

          “I got away,” The blond responded.

          “It’s lovely to see you,” Mrs. Lee stood to embrace the man, followed by Kwan-Min. Yoongi watched carefully as Dae-Seong and Mr. Lee scowled, arms crossed, brows set. They didn’t have to speak their distaste for Jun-Seo’s apparent partner, it was written in their body language.

          “It’s lovely to see you too,” He said. His eyes didn’t glance at the elder males but landed squarely on Yoongi and Euna.

          “Lee Euna, is that how you greet me?” He questioned, a hand resting on his hip, hair lightly falling in his eyes.

          “I’m so happy to see you!” She bounded off the settee towards him, arms around his neck, holding him close. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you before the big trip!”

          Yoongi stared, dumbfounded, and blinked quickly, trying to understand the rapid change in her demeanor. Gone were the tears, the anger, the hate that was coursing through her body. It was replaced with care? Genuine excitement? What the hell is the big trip?

          “I had to get in one more family dinner before I’m gone for the month,” The blond smiled warmly at Euna, a twinkle in his eye as he glanced at Yoongi. “Is that?”

          “Oh! This is my boyfriend, Park Yoongi. Yoongi, meet Jun-Seo’s partner, Cho Jimin,” Euna said. The two men exchanged a handshake before sitting down next to their respective partners.

          “How long have you and Jun-Seo been together?” Yoongi inquired.

          “Hm, a year?” Jun-Seo replied, a hand resting gently on Jimin’s thigh.

          “Did you meet at work or-

          “Twenty questions with the twinks! Line em up, it’s time to play!” Dae-Seong yelled, earning a chuckle from his father. “First question, who tops and who bottoms? Follow up, is Jun-Seo as weak of a top as he-

          “Dinner is ready,” The head of house said, stepping into the room just in time. Rolling his eyes, Dae-Seong stood.

          “You’re gonna need your strength,” He winked at Jimin before brushing past them and heading for the dining room. Yoongi followed obediently and cautiously, taking his time putting one foot in front of the other as he followed the Lee’s. Pausing every so often, he carefully trailed a finger over a surface, leaving a singular mic, completely invisible, behind.

          The dining room was stunning, taken out of the palace of Versailles with a Korean twist, the marble floors and ornate chandeliers were out of this world. Flowers blooming in ancient vases, artwork that looked to be that of Picasso and An Kyŏn, Monet and Manet, lining the walls like the Louvre. There wasn’t anything the Lee’s money couldn’t buy, even 15th century originals were bound to become fodder in their quest for prestige.

          Draped across the table, a gold runner, glittering with what could only be described as actual gold flakes. Waterford Crystal glasses, and hand painted china rested delicately against the gold, the white shining brilliantly under the lights of the chandelier. Awaiting the guests, an endless array of traditional Korean food: Jjajangmyeon, Bulgogi, Samgyetang, Kalguksu, Galbi, Dubu Kimchi, Kimchi Fried Rice, with bowls of Hobakjuk as everyone’s appetizers, and Gyeranjjim waiting on a refined plate to be consumed with each passing spice.

          Yoongi’s eyes were wide, his lungs breathing rapidly to take in the scents of home, of familiarity. How peculiar to be eating the cuisine of his ancestors, of his blood, in a room with people who would willing spill each other’s.

          “Yoongi, sit next to Dae-Seong.” Mr. Lee instructed.

          Excellent, Namjoon muttered in his ear.

          “Dae-Seong, I hear that you’re making quite a splash as the Chairman,” Yoongi voiced.

          “Only bottom feeders eat my ass, Yoongi. For that you need to see Jun-Seo, appointment only,” Dae-Seong rolled his eyes.

          “Please, do not speak of your brother’s depravity at dinner. Save it for dessert,” Mr. Lee scolded, eyes hard on Dae-Seong.

          “When are we going to discuss Kwan-Min’s latest triste?” Jun-Seo inquired.

          “Now seems like the perfect opportunity,” Mr. Lee answered. “Dae-Seong?”

          In some sort of twisted ritual, Dae-Seong cracked his knuckles, then his neck, swirled a sip of whiskey between his lips and leaned in. Batting his eyes delicately at Kwan, he bared his teeth. Yoongi restrained from asking “you getting this?” to his team, because they were in fact, watching with bated breath.

          “The category is, colossal fuck ups. The reining champ, for the first time in, Euna, how old are you? Never mind, age has no number when you’re a twat. Kwan-Min, for a million dollars, explain how you found yourself cunt up with a political fundraiser? I’m sorry, a Republican political fundraiser?”

          Mrs. Lee gasped, her soup spoon dropping aggressively into her bowl, rattling the china. Euna didn’t look up, but quietly shoveled soup into her mouth, feigning ignorance.

          “Kwan-Min, how could you?” Mrs. Lee demanded.

          “If the rumors are true, and we’ll need Jun to confirm, Mr. Brady, I believe?” Dae-Seong inhales, eyes never leaving Kwan’s, voice even, “He’s particularly gifted in a few areas, and very well endowed and what was that other word? Oh yes, generous.”

          “Quite a generous tongue on that one,” Jun responded, shame flickering past his eyes in a brief moment before his resolve solidified.

          “How could you?” Mrs. Lee repeats again. “You are the second eldest of this family, the face of our philanthropy, and you are consorting with a known republican? Not to mention a man so cruel he, he,

          “He thinks Dae-Seong is weak,” Euna spoke. Her wavering voice echoed over the table, everyone’s eyes turning to her. “I mean, that’s what you’re doing, right Kwan? Find someone so repugnant that Dae is outraged, spurring on another break down in hopes he’ll OD and you’ll what, become chairwoman of the board?”

          “Fuck you for insinuating I make my decisions based on Dae. Do you live and breathe at his request?” Kwan spat, the heat from the food and the fight rising in her cheeks.

          “No,” Euna was incredulous, how could Kwan assume that?

          Through gritted teeth she responded, “Neither do I.”

          “For two million, Mr. Chairman,” Jun motioned toward Dae, “explain to us how you could be fucking a member of the opposing party, who has tried to ruin this family numerous times? Is the dick that great?” Jun-Seo pressed.

          “Don’t pretend that you haven’t fucked him, fag,” Dae laughed. “You two are the biggest whores in the game.”

          “That’s not true,”

          “The fact that you’re Eskimo siblings, not once, not twice, but have shared more than three sexual partners is revolting. You’re fucking freaks, sodomizing the legacy of this family for some log cabin taint who can’t even be bothered to pay the child support for the kids he knows about.”

          “How do you know so many categories of gay men?” Euna asked, eyes narrowing at Dae-Seong, “You been experimenting?”

          “Oh, don’t even get me started on you and your choices, Euna,” Dae rolled his eyes then glanced at Jun-Seo, who was sneering at him.

          “What could you possibly say that you haven’t before?” Euna cackled, a sound so foreign Yoongi can’t help but feel his eyes bug out.

          “Whoa,” Mr. Handsome says in his ear.

          “Oh shit,” RM responds.  

          “You’re not even worth discussing,” Kwan-Min stepped in, and swinging the last of her cocktail back, she turned to Dae-Seong. “I’m more interested in your affinity for homosexual stereotypes. Tell me, when you’re alone in your house, your wife sleeping in a separate apartment, cities away, is that what you’re watching? Is that what gets you off? Picturing a willing gaping hole, just waiting to be ruined? Or no, I’m sorry, but Jun, don’t you think he’d be-

          “A power bottom? Absolutely, he spends his nights ogling over submissive bears, trying to find one big enough to fill him, scrolling through chatrooms under, what was his username?” Jun-Seo doesn’t look at Kwan, he knows she understands what is about to transpire.

          “Beary-willing007,” They recite together.

          J-Hope guffaws in Suga’s ear, followed by a loud “oh shit!”

          “I can’t imagine how it would look if your little, what did you call it?” Kwan asked.

          “The twink or the fag?” Jun-Seo repeated Dae’s words so seamlessly, so effortlessly, to a blind eye it would’ve been hard to tell that Jun wasn’t Dae’s twin.

          “Both, if your nefarious activities and browser history was discovered, or dare a say, leaked?” Kwan raised an eyebrow.

          “You think you scare me?” Dae-Seong asked. “Summer, 2012, what happened to you?”

          “Why would you bring that up?” Kwan’s glare faltered, a subtle shift in her brow, the sneer dipping before returning at full capacity.

          “We need to know what happened summer 12,” RM stated, voice low as he jotted down the date.

          “You want to throw dirty laundry out into the open, might as well air yours,”

          “Fuck you,”

          “I didn’t start this,”

          “Yes you did,”

          “Jun-Seo, care to tell us what happened to you winter, 2014?”

          “No,”

          “I thought so,” Dae pointed his knife at each of them, “Before you go accusing me of being a fucking homo, check that I don’t have your history sealed and filed.”

          “Did you get that?” RM asked.

          “Yeah, got it,” J-Hope responded.

          “And Euna,” Dae turned his attention to his youngest sibling, who sat quietly eating her food. “Don’t ever bring a bottom feeder home again, unless he’s going to eat my ass, you hear me? Or I will do to you what was done to Kwan-pussy-ass-Min.”

          “Fuck you Dae,” Euna spewed.

          “Excuse me?” He yelled, standing to his full height.

          “I said, fuck you,” Euna repeated with a little more gumption.

          “Oh Euna, little Euna, too smart for everyone, too polite and meek to ever be taken seriously, to fucking boring and oblivious to know that her boyfriend’s only date her for access or career status, so stupid that she can’t recognize that the only reason she’s getting the company is that she’s so incompetent, no one will believe her when –

          “Dae-Seong!” Mr. Lee yelled.

          “Don’t bring a fucking knife to a gun fight, Euna, I will end you.” He seethed.

          “What is your problem with Yoongi? He’s the first man I bring home and you-

          “What do you not understand about our family? What do you not understand about the caliber of person we need to be with in order to-

          “What, watch porn, order sex workers and pray the gay away?” Euna yelled.

          “Watch your tone,” Mr. Valentine said.

          “You’re acting like you don’t have secrets, like your marriage is pure and good, it’s not Dae. I don’t blame her for leaving you, anyone with a modicum of sense would see that you are nothing more than a toxic, manipulative, alcoholic coke head, who only has his job because daddy loves him the most.”

          “You think your relationship with Yoongi is going to be any different?” Jun-Seo spoke up, deflecting from the rising anger in Dae. “What makes you so special?”

          “First, I love him,” Euna responded, earning a scoff and eyeroll from every member of the Lee family. “Second, if he makes it out alive from this dinner with you assholes, then he truly is the most resilient person in the world. Finally,”

          “Thank fuck,” Jun-Seo exclaimed.

          “Finally, he was raised to be kind and respectful, unlike the four of us,” Euna concluded with a haughty exhale and a glare at her mother.

          “Wait – are you sure that’s not just Seokjin in a new suit?” Dae-Seong cackled, nodding at their father who also laughed.

          “I hate this family,” Euna rose and tossed her napkin on the floor, a dramatic flair that sent her brothers and father into a fit of laughter.

          “You act like you aren’t the ingrown hair on the taint of this family, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that I would love to extract you,” Dae said.

          His words hung in the air as Euna walked out of the living room, Yoongi on her tail.

          Catching up to her, Yoongi reached for her hand, which she hastily pulled away.

          “Euna,” His voice was measured.

          “Can we please just go?” She whispered, tears beginning to stream down her face.

          “Yeah, can I just run to the bathroom quick? Grab the coats and I’ll meet you outside,” He pressed a kiss to her forehead before following one of the workers to the nearest bathroom. Hoping to shake the worker, Yoongi deftly exited the bathroom before wandering down the hall. He followed the sound of voices and stopped short of what he assumed was Mr. Lee’s office.

          Mr. Lee stood next to Dae-Seong, a fresh glass of whiskey in hand. “Did you read the brief on UAE?”

          “Yes,” Dae-Seong answered.

          “I want your recommendations tomorrow by 9AM,” Mr. Lee instructed, “None of that pussy shit you drew up for Spain, either.”

          “Pussy shit in Spain is child’s play in the Emirates. I’ll bring something, nuclear,”

          “Don’t jerk me around like you do with your pathetic excuse for a cock, Dae. I do not want to have to fire you and replace you with Jun-Seo,” Mr. Lee slammed his glass down before retreating through a door Yoongi hadn’t seen when he’d glanced in.

          “I’m sorry father, I will have the materials ready,” Dae’s voice was pathetic, deflated in the wake of his father’s anger. He hated being belittled and demeaned, hated the hurt his father hurled at him, the constant need for him to be better than everyone else. He hated how easily it came to Euna, how she could understand the numbers and draw connections within seconds of being presented with the problem. He hated Euna’s prowess, how businessmen and women flocked to her, a cello prodigy, ballet star in training, perfect grades, whored out to different branches so she could learn the business. Every fuck up Dae-Seong had made resulted in Euna’s success, and their father and mother, though more covertly, had egged his jealousy on.

          Yoongi placed a mic on the inside of the door before slipping back into the hallway and out of the Lee estate, to Euna’s embrace.

          “Your place or mine?” He asked as he sat in the driver’s seat of his car.

          “Anywhere but here,” She responded, eyes blinking down tears as Yoongi drove.

Next: Searching for Seokjin Pt. 2

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 5

Previous: Codename First Heartbreak 

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook X OFC/PI, Mentions of Kim Seokjin X OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Light Strangers to Lovers AU

Rating: PG13

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Swearing, Legal Alcohol Consumption

Summary: The search for Kim Seokjin begins, and our PI makes an unexpected acquaintance. 

Searching for Seokjin 

Present Day

         I’ll admit, the heartbreak Euna endured at the hands of Kim Seokjin felt a little too real, a little too personal, a little too familiar. Reading the chapters in her manifesto that detailed the love she had for him, reminded me of listening to Kacey Musgrave’s first album and asking, to no one in particular, who hurt you?

        Whether or not he realized it, their five-month triste had set in motion the ways in which Euna moved through her relationships with men. It was clear that their college love story created deep seated insecurity, one that caused her to shy away from dating. Shy away, and then lean in fully and totally in a manner that would make Charles Manson go “whoa step back”. But that’s a story for later, because Seokjin never felt the extend of Euna’s love. No, that was reserved for Min Yoongi. But again, a story for another time.  

        Kim Seokjin, being first on the list, was the first man I wanted to track down. He had practically no social media presence, no LinkedIn or job profiles, no known address. All Euna had to go off of was he worked at some bank in New York, but that was after graduation. Five years later, she didn’t know if he’d still be there.

        “Hi, I am calling for a Mr. Kim,” I say into my phone.

        “Which Mr. Kim would you be referencing?” The receptionist asks.

        “Kim Seokjin,” I respond.

        “Hmm, I do not have a Kim Seokjin in the directory,” She says.

        “Do you happen to have a forwarding number or address?” I ask.

        “No, unfortunately not. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

        “No, thank you,” I hang up and gently set my phone on my desk. Of course, he didn’t still work there, what promising young man would stay at a mid-tier firm when he had the potential for such greatness, as Euna described?

        I pick up my phone and dial my favorite number.

        “If this is to ask me to search something for you illegally, the answer is no,” My sister says, not bothering to begin our chat with any formality.

        “C, you know I have full access to the state database,” I remind her, twirling in my chair.

        “Then what’s your question?” She demands.

        “I need a national search,” I inform her.

        “No,” C says.

        “Come on, please?” I ask.

        “No,” She says again.

        “You know you’re the golden child, mom and dad already love you more, so can you help me out?” I plead.

        “You get one chance a year to use the ‘mom and dad’ card,” She reminds me.

        “Sis, this is an extenuating circumstance,” I tell her.

        “Lies,” She responds.

        “I’ll pay you,” I offer.

        “You do know the NSA taps these phones?” She whispers, knowing full well I do.

        I laugh a little too hard, “Then why are you absolutely dragging me?”

        “I can’t,” She tells me, voice returning to normal volume.

        “Fine.” I say, fingers moving swiftly over the keypad of my phone.

        “Why do you insist on putting me on speaker?” She groans.

        “It’s easier, I have many things to do,” I remind her.

        “Sure, you do, like find the pennies you lost in the couch. Still enough for rent, right?”

        “You can be such a bitch, you know that?” I snap.

        “You still coming out with us on Friday?” She changes subjects fluidly.

        “Well, I wasn’t-

        “You are coming, when’s the last time you, you know, hooked up?” She asks delicately.

        “I thought we were being tapped?” I laugh callously.

        “No no, that’s what you’re not doing,” She reciprocates.

        “You’re the worst, and I hate you,” I tell her.

        “Wear something revealing,” She suggests.

        “Don’t slut shame me,” I say.

        “You’re insufferable,” She responds.

        “Love you, mean it,” I tell her.

        “Love you, mean it,” She replies.

        If I know my sister, and I do, better than she realizes, tonight at the club she’ll have the information I need, the information to help me find not only Kim Seokjin, but the lot of them.

~~~~~

        Dressing in what my sister would ultimately call a boring, going to work outfit, I hopped into the Uber. I knew better than to drive, the full extent of the evening outlined in detail in a message from C. She always planned elaborate nights out, which resulted in black outs, drunk hook ups and dirty dancing. C wanted the nights to remain perfect blurred memories, fuzzy in our minds, growing more and more hazy as the years progressed. She knows well enough to schedule them quarterly, if not twice a year max, maintaining their elusiveness. She invites only the best of the best, her favorite people, and being the single younger sister, I am the pet project of all her married friends. It’s fucking excruciating. I would rather be shaving my legs dry than spend a drunken night with her friends who all remember me as the braces wearing tween they met me as.

        Tonight, will be no different.

        I enter the club, no cover, and slip my bomber jacket off as I walk towards the bar. My sister sits on a stool, laughing uproariously at her girlfriends, shoulders exposed as she downs what I’m assuming is a Lemon Drop. Spotting me, she waves.

        “You’re here!” She yells and eyes me up and down. “So glad you tried.”

        “I put make up on,” I tell her, blinking my eyes slowly enough that she can see the shadow and attempt at eyeliner. “I’m even wearing foundation.”

        “Wow, and what tween did you learn that from?” She asks, flagging down the bartender.

        I don’t dignify her question with a response, in turn favoring the bartender. He stares at me expectantly, “Tequila, shaken,” I turn to count the party, “Ten shots.”

        He nods before grabbing what I assume is the cheapest tequila from the shelf.

        “For you?” Elise asks.

        “For all of us,” I say winking. The bartender sets the shots down before asking if I want to close my tab. I nod, handing him my card without thinking.

        “Really? Two shots and you’re done for the night?” C asks me.

        “No, I just won’t be paying for them,” I reply laughing. Together we down our shots before turning to the dance floor. It’s a mess of sweating bodies, the neon lights illuminating fractions of everyone’s face, a nose here, an ear there, lips entangled over the beat of a Dua Lipa song. Clothing, soaked to the bone, clinging relentlessly onto everyone’s skin as they sweat through the music, liquor moving their limbs in wild gestures, inhibitions down, booties dropping. It’s euphoria and chaos, pleasure and sin.

        I fucking love it.

        My sister and I, though very different, have always had a shared love of dancing. Music bumping through speakers, full volume never being enough, in our blood. A part of us from our father, uniting our waring personas across decades, across the globe, and tonight, across the floor. Is there anything as blissful as dancing, hips swaying, arms overhead, lungs burning as we shout the lyrics. Heavenly.

        I retreat from the dance floor to the bar, waiting patiently for the bartender to notice my presence.

        “You look so happy out there,” A man says from behind me. I turn, surprised to see someone seated on the stool behind me. I truly almost sat on him.

        “Oh, hi, yeah, thanks,” I reply, smiling softly.

        “Do you think you could spare me a dance?” He asks, blush coating his cheeks.

        “Tell me this,” I say, eyes absorbing his Bambi like orbs, “How many fingers does Yoda have?”

        “Depends, which movie you’re talking about,” He smiles, and I swear I’ve been shot in the heart. No one should be this stunning in a dimly lit club, which means he’s going to be breathtaking in the light of day.

        “So how many?” I repeat.

        “Three in one film, two in another,” His nose scrunches.

        “Are you a nerd or just really into bar trivia?” I ask.

        “A bit of both,” He’s still smiling, and I’m wounded again.

        “Good to know,” I laugh lightly.

        “Can I buy you a drink?” He offers.

        “I thought you wanted a dance,” I remind him, winking.

        “Can I have both?” He asks, left eyebrow raising.

        “Depends,” I say smirking.

        “On?”

        “What are you drinking?” I ask.

        “Is this your game? Ask me questions to extrapolate information so you can decide if you’re interested?” He doesn’t mean to blast me, but he does.

        “Oo, you do read me so well,” I wink, a poor attempt at keeping any pretense or posture intact. “Tequila shot, shaken, lemon wedge, no salt.”

        He orders two shots and looks me over.

        “You’re gorgeous,” He says, sincerity in his eyes.

        “You are too,” I reply, eliciting a laugh from him.

        “Are you usually this forthcoming?”

        “Absolutely not, when you get to know me, you’ll see how closed off I truly am,” I thank the bartender before grabbing my shot. “To strangers in bars,”

        “And lovers amongst the stars,” He replies.

        “Shakespeare?” I smile again before tossing my shot back. “How’s about that dance?”

        “On one condition,” He stands, towering over me, his black hair moving like a curtain in front of his eyes.

        “What could that possibly be?” I ask, hand already reaching for his.

        “Tell me your name,” He uses his new hold on my hand to pull me close to him, chests pressing against one another’s.

        I stand on my tiptoes, pressing my already flushed cheek against his. “Y/N,” I say, lips grazing his decorated ear.

        He turns slightly, ensuring my cheek remains against his. “Jungkook,” His voice is husky, deep and resonating. It shivers through my body, the heat from him mixing with the anticipation building. Pulling away, he smiles again, “Let’s dance.”

Next: Codename Another Shot at Love Pt. 1