The Dragon's Lair (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/nDYmXCooUR You enter the ridiculously named 'The Fairy Pawmother," a hybrid shelter, with very low expectations. Instead, you meet a beautiful Dragon hybrid named Namjoon, gaining a family and so much more.
(Couldn’t remember if I told you guys that I finally got around to putting this on there. I’m slowly adding all my fics one by one. I’m hoping there will be less people stealing my shit and putting in on there if it’s already there. Also, be sure to click through it even if you’ve already read it and vote on it, that way it will get a little more well known on there and it will be easier for others to spot when it gets stolen again. Because it’s already been reposted by someone like three times.)
Namjoon -shoot I need to go to sleep I’m tired of school
Y/N : okay then bye joonie
Jin : bye namjoon
* doesn't leave keeps on talking *
Y/N : joonie I thought you were going to sleep ?
Jin : he canceled sleeping for you
Namjoon : I said I needed sleep I can’t go to sleep rn I still have my last class ugh
Y/ N : see joonie would never cancel sleep for me I know
Jin : namjoon im trying to help yah what have you done!!!
Jin: now try to make your move! i wont help you anymore
Namjoon : hehehe I’ll stay up late tonight for u Y/N
Y/N : ...................
Jin: it wont work on her since you broke that line already use another line
Namjoon : if I could give you one thing in life I would give you the ability to see yourself through my eyes only then you would realize how special you are to me
Jin : Y/ N what do you think?
Y/N : hm.....i should be flat right now right? Ya I'm not
Namjoon: I’m running on three hours of sleep cut me some slack
Y/ N : one more and maybe I'm yours
Jin : hahahaha namjoon keep it up
Namjoon: my love speaks for itself it’s brighter than the twinkle in ur eyes whether or not u chose me or someone else the flame will never die
Summary: You’ve been happily married to Crown Prince Seokjin for months now. Or so it would appear to the public. What only you and the palace staff know your shameful secret: you never consummated your marriage.
Member: Jin
Word Count: 8.6k+
Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff
A/N: Requested by @forever-young-got7! Because Jin really is royalty, isn’t he?
Ever since that night you’ve keep asking yourself. What did you do wrong? Was it the way you looked? Something you said, something you didn’t say? Did he just… hate you?
If anyone had asked you prior to your marriage to Prince Seokjin, you would have never even entertained the notion of him hating anyone. The man just seemed too perfect, not only in looks, but in disposition as well, never one to lack poise, always composed. The few times you and your family had visited him prior to the wedding, he had been nothing but a gentleman.
And certainly it didn’t seem like he disliked you, in fact it seemed to be the opposite, even if there seemed to be some distance between the two of you but you attributed this to the fact that you had not known each other for very long, and had expected things to gradually change once you two had actually wed.
The warm expression on his face as you walked down the aisle gave you a hopeful outlook on what the rest of your marriage would be like. However, it all came crashing down later that night.
After the reception, the staff had sent you up to his chambers ahead of him, and you had presumed it was to give you time to prepare for him to see you, and you dressed down to the lingerie that you had picked out prior with the assistance of your ladies-in-waiting. You wrap yourself in a silk robe and sit in the middle of the mattress of the pristine, four poster bed, anticipating that he wouldn’t be long to join you. How wrong you were.
After the first half hour, you had figured he had gotten caught up at the reception. After all, many important guests had come to witness the marriage of the Crown Prince, not limited to dukes and duchesses, a baron or two, and even the prince of a neighboring nation. You told yourself you could wait a little bit longer, and you did.
You busied yourself while you waited, checking your garments, your makeup, before spritzing on some more perfume when you realize the scent had long started to fade from when you first applied it. You settled yourself back on the bed, hoping enough time had passed by now that you wouldn’t have to wait much longer. It was already dark outside, and you had to light a lamp so you wouldn’t be left in complete darkness.
However, the day had been very long and by now it was getting late, and you can’t help the yawns that escape from your mouth. The lamp light was starting to die out as well, and the darkness did nothing to help you stay awake, and you soon find yourself drifting off to sleep.
When you woke, it was from the sound of knocking at the door. You quickly grant whoever’s knocking permission to enter, hoping that it’s Seokjin, but instead were greeted by one of the workers, Eunbi, who, after bowing almost in half, informs you that the Prince was called to some very important business, and was very sorry he could not join you.
You’re shocked, to say the least, a cold feeling settling in your chest and in the pit of your stomach. Your distress had shown very clearly on your face as well, Eunbi taking notice almost immediately, offering to bring you some tea to help you get back to sleep, which you accept, knowing that you would need all the help you could get to fall back asleep, because the absence of your husband on your wedding night was weighing too heavily on your mind.
Seokjin at least has the decency to show up to breakfast the next morning, greeting you with what feels like an obligatory peck on the cheek and staying long enough to at least finish half the food on his plate before a servant comes into the dining room and whispers something to him, and then he’s pushing his chair back and rising out of his seat.
“I’m sorry,” he had said, wiping away a few stray crumbs with his napkin before leaving the piece of cloth on the table. “Something came up that I must attend to.” He had started to turn and follow the servant, but not before you grabbed his hand, holding him back.
“Will I see you tonight?” You’d said with a just the smallest glimmer of hope in your voice.
“I—I’ll try, princess,” he’d replied, looking at you but not fully meeting your eyes. You only nod, letting him go after that.
You don’t really know if he did actually try to meet you later that night, but the fact of the matter was that he wasn’t there. You sat on the bed in your dressing gown, when there’s a knock at the door, much like the night before.
Once again, it’s Eunbi, already with a cup of tea in hand for you, except she had a companion this time. She introduced the other girl as Yewon, before offering to keep you company. You smiled up at the two gratefully, before suggesting you move out of the bedroom and to the drawing room. You’d been glad that Eunbi had Yewon with her, allowing the two to carry on conversation without having to speak up too much. After all, you didn’t feel like talking.
For the next few weeks, your nights continue like this, spending time talking to Eunbi and whoever she brings with her, sometimes Yewon, sometimes another girl named Seunghee, but one things for certain: it’s never with Seokjin.
During the day you try and busy yourself with your newfound duties as the Crown Princess, but it never seems to be enough. You often find yourself wandering the halls of the palace on your down time, though never letting yourself peek into any of the rooms. You recall the queen assuring you that this was your home now, and to feel comfortable in it, but to be honest, it doesn’t quite feel like home yet. You wonder if it ever will.
Every few weeks, there is one event or another that requires you to be at Seokjin’s side. Even though you have spent very little time together outside of these events, you both fit into your roles with frightening ease once the guests start filing into one of the many large halls for events such as these. You smile, speak when addressed, and hold onto his arm as if it’s the most natural thing for you. And he looks at you like he could love you.
The people at these events coo over the two of you, the happy couple of the prince and his bride, none of them ever suspecting what the true nature of your relationship, if there even was one.
Sometimes you wonder if he’s having an affair. It wouldn’t be surprising with his good looks, but every time you find yourself wandering about the palace, you either run into him discussing diplomatic matters with some court members, or just even overhearing heated debates coming from one of the meeting rooms or conference halls. Besides, he always returns to your bed at the end of the day, though you wouldn’t say the two you of have ever truly shared it.
Thankfully, for most of these events, guests refrain from inquiring too much about you and Seokjin beyond anything surface. You’re grateful, not knowing how you would respond in that situation. However, it’s harder to avoid when the event is one celebrating you and Seokjin in particular, that is, the three month anniversary of your wedding.
Neither you nor Seokjin had planned on celebrating, at least not on a large scale, but it is not only the marriage between the two of you as individuals being honored, but also the alliance of your two nations.
Still, at the banquet, the majority of the focus seems to be and you and Seokjin. It’s a good thing that he is quite the convincing actor, making it easy to play along when asked about your time together. He seems to be prepared for most topics, from food to clothing to diplomatic relations, but there’s one topic in particular that he’s not anticipating.
“Excuse me if this might be inappropriate, but have you any news of an heir?” Both you and Seokjin seem to choke slightly on your drinks at the mention of a particular word.
“An—an heir?” Seokjin repeats back, a little bit in disbelief. He looks with wide eyes first at you, then back at the slightly woman who had originally asked the question.
“Yes, yes, an heir! Has the princess conceived yet?” You want to scoff at how strangely interested the woman is at the state of your womb, yet you know that almost all noblewoman like her are just looking for some good gossip.
“I-I don’t think so.” He knows so, because there is no possible way for you to be pregnant.
“Oh. Pity. Maybe you just need to try more.” Of course, unbeknownst to her, you haven’t tried at all, but saying anything suggesting as such would probably just fuel whatever unhealthy need for gossip she had. You just purse your lips, trying to hide your distaste before taking another swig of your drink. However, since you are slightly distracted, you end drinking too much, causing you to cough and sputter some of the liquid out.
“Princess!” Seokjin pats you on the back a few times, then you see something light up in his eyes and he starts to lead you away from the woman you had been conversing with. “I’m sorry, she hasn’t been feeling too well all day, she probably needs some rest.”
He takes this moment to escape not only this prying woman, but the event as a whole as he escorts you out of the banquet hall. There are a few guests lingering in the hallway, so he leads you upstairs until there is no one but maybe the odd servant.
“…How are you feeling?” He asks once he’s certain that the two of you are alone in the hallway.
“Funny, it almost seems like you care,” you mutter quietly, not caring if he heard or not.
“Excuse me?” Seokjin seems caught off-guard by your response, perfectly sculpted brows raising slightly in surprise.
“Nothing, your Highness, I’m just tired.” You shoot him a small close lipped smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.
“Oh. Let me escort you to the room, then.” And you can’t refuse him, because he’s the prince. Somewhere in the back of your mind you note the irony of the two people the banquet was honoring, leaving so early, but looking from the perspective of an outsider, two married people stealing away to their bedchambers on the night of their anniversary actually seems rather fitting. The lady the two of you had been speaking with must be having a field day.
You let out a chuckle when you reach the door of your chambers, prompting Seokjin to look at you in surprise.
“What is it?” He asks.
“Oh, nothing,” you say as you try to compose yourself. “Just that…we actually seem like what everyone thinks we are right now.” Seokjin opens the door for you, silently pondering your words while letting you into the room.
“What do you mean?” You want to scoff. Do you really need to spell it out for him?
“You just need to try more.” You repeat the woman’s words before sitting down at the edge of the bed. “Try… we haven’t even tried once.”
“Oh… that.” Seokjin has closed the door behind him by now, but he hasn’t moved from where he’s standing by the door, not making any attempt to join you on the bed. The scoff you had been trying to hold back sets itself free now at his lackluster response to your accusation.
"Do you know how humiliating it is? To have them look at you like that, feeling—feeling so sorry for you.“ Your jaw clenches as you focus your gaze on your hands in your lap, not able to look up at him.
“It’s only the staff who know.” You don’t have to see him to know the blank, cold expression that graces his face. It’s one you are very familiar with. And it infuriates you to know that through it all, his features remain flawless, as if that perfect face was made and molded to show these emotions, or rather, lack of them.
“Some of them are my friends! You know why? Because you don’t seem to actually give a damn.” You finally take this moment to glance up at him, finding that he hasn’t moved his spot by the door. Even from where you sit on the bed you can see his muscles tense up at your accusation.
“I give you free reign to do whatever you please in the palace—”
“And I’m grateful for that. But honestly, that’s the bare minimum. We’re married, for god’s sake, Seokjin! I’m sorry, your Highness.” You purse your lips as you wait for his response, your breath hitching in your throat when he doesn’t reply right away.
“So what, I’m supposed to sleep with you for vanity?” His eyes meet yours and the weight of his words hits you, your heart sinking into your stomach when you realize how he ended up interpreting what you had to say.
“Well it sure as hell isn’t for love,” you mutter under your breath, but you don’t care if he hears, in fact, he does.
“Love?” Seokjin seems caught off guard by your choice of words, brows furrowing, lips falling slightly agape.
“…Yes. Love.” You take in a deep breath before continuing. “You don’t love me.”
“Well, I don’t really know—”
“Then get to know me.” You sigh, your gaze falling back down to your lap. “Three damn months. And I’ve barely seen you outside of official functions.” You bite your lip to keep yourself from spilling out anything more, trying to keep any ranting to a minimum.
“Did you want to see me?”
“Am I not supposed to?” The question looms in the air, before he clears his throat.
“I’ll arrange something for tomorrow, then,” he says, never really answering your question.
“…Arrange something.” You scoff a little under your breath. “I guess that’s as good as I’m going to get, isn’t it?” Seokjin lets out a defeated sigh, sounding so tired, and you feel a little guilt start to seep through into you.
“I’ll see you in the morning, princess.” His voice is closer than you remember it being, and when you glance up, he’s standing right in front of you, rather than by the door like he had been earlier.
“You’re not coming to bed yet?” Most times when he’d join you, you’re already sound asleep, but you know he’s there with you because his stirring in the early mornings always wake you up. “Wait, don’t tell me. Work.” The last word doesn’t come with scorn but rather despondency, but you have accepted it at this point, your gaze dropping back to your lap. However, your eyes dart back up once you feel Seokjin’s lips press into the top of your head.
“Good night, princess.” His voice is so low that if he wasn’t so close, you might not have been able to hear him. Even still, you can feel his warm breath on your scalp, sending little jolts of electricity through you.
“G-good night, your Highness,” you finally compose yourself to reply.
“…Seokjin.” Your heart thuds in your chest when you realize what he’s saying.
“Good night, Seokjin,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, but enough for him to hear. His smile that follows sends warmth through you, but you know that he’ll still have to go.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.” He starts to leave the room, but you speak up before he can grab the door handle.
“Promise you’ll meet me tomorrow.” Some part of you wants to yell at yourself for seeming so vulnerable, almost needy, but by now it’s too late. You can see Seokjin’s broad shoulders rise and fall as he takes in a deep breath, before he turns slightly so he can face you.
“I promise, princess.”
Surprisingly, at least to yourself, Seokjin keeps his promise the next morning. He stays through the whole duration of breakfast, for one, and doesn’t run off to a meeting immediately after, instead asking you to accompany him on a walk through the palace gardens.
You try to ignore the stares of the staff in the room, knowing they are probably shocked at his offer, and to be quite honest a part of you is as well. Still, you don’t hesitate in taking the hand he holds out to you, helping you stand from your seat at the dining table.
A guard accompanies the two of you through the gardens, but he keeps a good bit of distance between himself and you and Seokjin. Seokjin attempts to make small talk, something he has become rather good at by being a prince.
Though you long for something more, you answer all of his questions with as much enthusiasm as you can, not wanting to waste these moments. After a while though, he checks his pocketwatch for the time and you can tell by his expression that he needs to be somewhere soon. He gazes up at you, seeming to hesitate, but you smile comfortingly at him, if not slightly crestfallen.
“It’s fine, Seokjin. This was enough.” You take his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze, satisfied that not only had he kept his promise, but he seemed to be making an effort, not wanting to leave you immediately. What comes next takes you by surprise as he raises the hand that he holds, before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, leaving you speechless. As he walks off to tend some other important task, you can swear that he’s smirking to himself.
Oh well, at the very least he’s smiling.
Over the next few weeks, Seokjin makes it a point to meet up with you at least once a day. Sometimes it’s more walks through the garden, sometimes you stay in and peruse the huge library that the palace has, sometimes it’s just simply sharing a meal with him.
As the days pass by, you find yourself growing more comfortable with him and less resentful, finding him to be just as sweet as his reputation had held him to be, if not a little tired. Still, something seems a bit off about him. And one afternoon you find out why, when your stroll through the garden with him is interrupted by a rather distraught servant.
“Your highness, it’s your father.” That’s all the servant needs to say to get Seokjin’s attention, as well as your own.
“Take me to him,” Seokjin says without much thought, then he remembers you, and looks to you. “Is this alright?”
“Actually…can I join you?” You almost regret asking, afraid that this might be some important governing affair or something similar, and you see Seokjin glance towards the servant, as if asking if it was okay.
“Of course, milady is free to come with us,” the servant says without hesitation, and Seokjin nods, taking your hand as you both start to follow the servant back into the palace.
You had expected to be taken one of the conference rooms or maybe an office, but the servant leads the two of you past those sorts of rooms and into the wing of the palace that is mostly residential, causing you to wonder just why you have been brought here.
Your eyes widen when you realize you are being taken to the royal suite itself, and you weren’t sure what you were expecting when you went with Seokjin but it wasn’t this. The servant stops right outside the door to the main bedroom, letting you and Seokjin enter for yourselves.
You notice that Seokjin has not let go of your hand this entire time, and in fact his grip has started to tighten now that you’re here. Seokjin is the one to push open the door, leading you in behind him.
Entering the room, you’re not sure where to look. You’d be lying to yourself if you’d said that you’d never wondered what the king’s and queen’s private quarters looked like, but at the present moment, you reckon the most striking thing about the room is the king himself.
The man, usually so regal, befitting his title, lies in the middle of his bed, looking so…vulnerable. Another man stands by the side of his bed, writing a few things down in a notebook, and you assume from his garments that he is a doctor. He looks up from his notes when he hears you and Seokjin enter, greeting the both of you with a warm smile.
“Your highness! Thank you for joining us, and I presume this is the princess?” The doctor turns and nods at you. “I was just finishing up your father’s check up, nothing too drastic.”
“Oh? The servant made it sound like it was urgent,” Seokjin says, his brow furrowing.
“Oh no, not at all. Nothing has gotten worse, granted nothing is much better but—”
“Of course it’s urgent! I haven’t seen my daughter in law in so long!” It occurs to all of you in the room that the person you had been discussing is very much also in the room and awake. Feeling a little bashful at the attention being turned to you, you give the king a small wave after curtsying.
“Hello, your majesty.”
“Ah, such a nice girl, I knew you’d be perfect for Jin.” You don’t really think much of his nickname for his son, mostly because your head is reeling from the compliment he gave you.
“T-thank you, your grace.”
“So polite too, I hope Jin is treating you well.” He gives you a bright grin before shifting to sit up on the bed, wincing slightly as he adjusts his position.
“Father—”
“Yes, he is. Very much so.” You smile at the king, who returns the gesture tenfold.
“Good, good. I raised him to care for others. Not only for the country as a whole, but the ones closest to him. I’m glad to see he’s following through on both fronts.” You can’t help but smile at the pride that he has for his son, but your face quickly falls when he starts coughing, prompting the doctor to rush to his side.
“Your majesty!” Part of you wants to approach him, but a bigger part of you hesitates, not sure if it’s your place.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assures once he catches his breath. “I just wanted to check up on the both of you. Now go, I’m sure I must have been interrupting something.” You only nod as Seokjin starts to lead you out of the room. By the time you reach the hallway, you realize how quiet he had been through all of this.
“Seokjin, is everything alright?” You ask, taking both of his hands in yours, trying to meet his eyes.
“…Why did you lie?” The way he looks at you puts you on the spot.
“About you treating me well?” He nods silently at that. “It wasn’t a lie, Seokjin. You treat me very well.”
“But before—”
“He wasn’t asking about before, he was asking about how you are currently treating me. And you have been doing quite well.” You give him a small smile and muster up enough courage to guide his face to look at you.
“But we still haven’t…” Oh.
“Are you still concerned about that?” You ask, surprised he still remembers.
“Weren’t you the one who originally brought it to my attention?” You’re not quite sure how to respond to this, knowing that he has a point.
“That was weeks ago, though. I—I’ve just been fine spending time with you, Seokjin, really.” Your hand comes to rest on his upper arm, rubbing it up and down in an attempt to soothe him. “Look, I’m sorry if anything I said pressured you, that wasn’t my intent at all. I was just…frustrated at the time.”
“Frustrated?” The way he mulls over the word has you scrambling to make sure he doesn’t misunderstand.
“N-not like that! Just with our relationship in general!” You let out a nervous laugh.
“Of course, of course.” Seokjin follows up with his own nervous laugh, and you hope none of the servants are passing by, otherwise they would surely think the two of you were crazy. “And it wasn’t pressure. I just want to make sure you’re happy.” Your cheeks heat up at this.
“Don’t worry, I’m happy.” You grin up at him, a little giddy at how he must’ve been worrying over you, and his gaze softens as he looks down on you. All of a sudden, time seems to pass much slower, and you can swear that his face is getting closer and closer, and you can’t help but glance down at his lips, when—
“Your highness! You’re needed in the conference room!” One of the staff calls from down the hall, obviously not seeing, or perhaps not caring, the moment between you and Seokjin. Seokjin only sighs before turning to the staff member to answer him.
“I’ll be right there!” He turns back to you and finds you nervously toying with your bottom lip with your teeth. “I’m so sorry, I’ll try to join you for din—”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before you’re leaning up and connecting his plump lips with your own, your hands braced against his shoulders.
“I’ll see you later, Seokjin,” you say, a little bit breathless. With that, you’re almost trotting out of the hall, relying on your adrenaline to remove yourself from the situation before you can feel embarrassed by it. You start to make your way back to your room, the whole time not able to get how soft Seokjin’s lips felt against your own.
Seokjin is busy with work over the next few days, but you don’t mind, partially because he told you beforehand that he would be busy, but also because you now had some insight into why he was always so busy. After that visit with his father, you found out via Eunbi that the king’s health had been failing, and that even if he didn’t step down completely, he would be considerably less involved in governing. So Seokjin, as the Crown Prince, naturally has stepped in, having been groomed for this his entire life.
With this revelation, you were amazed he was able to see you so often as he did recently, and you cherished your time with him even more. So when he seems a little out of it the next time you see him, you don’t press him. You had originally planned to go horseback riding, but seeing how tired he was, you opted instead to stay in and have tea with him, despite his protests that he was fine. You retort that you’d rather he not fall asleep atop his horse.
You try to be the one who carries on the conversation, as he seems more content to just nod and listen to you at this point, or so that’s what you think before he finally speaks up.
“You know, I wasn’t always like this.” He stares into his now empty cup of tea as he speaks.
“Like what?”
“So tired,” he says with a sigh. “You know, I was quite lively when I was young.” He chuckles as he glances up at you.
“You’re still young, Seokjin.” You give him a reassuring smile as you reach out across the table towards him, and he takes your hand without hesitation.
“I feel like I’ve aged twenty years.” He laughs, meaning it in a joking way, but you know that there’s so much truth in that statement. The yawn that punctuates his sentence does not do much to disprove this.
“Well you certainly don’t look it. You’re just as handsome as ever.” You find nothing unusual with what you had just said, but from how surprised Seokjin seems, you start to backtrack in your head of the words you just used. “Did I say something strange?”
“No, not at all.” Seokjin bites his lip in attempt to keep himself from grinning, but he can completely hide his smile from you. “It’s just, you called me handsome.”
“Am I not allowed to call you that? I mean it’s true.” You know that Seokjin most likely has no problems with your compliments if his reaction is anything to go by. “You probably hear it all the time.”
“Yes, but not from you.” His hand is still in yours, and he takes this moment to squeeze your hand. “Keep this up and you might actually fool me into believing that you like me.” His smile is contagious, and you can’t help but let out a little giggle at his joking.
“Of course I like you, Seokjin.”
“What? You like me?” He feigns surprise, his mouth falling almost comically agape, a brow quirked.
“Oh, hush. We’re married.” You use your free hand to cover your mouth as more laughter escapes from you.
“Yes, we are.” The way Seokjin says it sounds like he’s still trying to get used to the fact, and you feel a sort of warmth bubbling in your chest. “We almost feel like a normal couple,” he mutters lowly, and you’re not sure if he was talking to himself or if he meant for you to hear.
“Yes, it feels nice.” You smile up at him while rubbing circles into the back of his hand with your thumb.
“It does—ah—doesn’t it?” Seokjin lets out a rather large yawn in the middle of his sentence, you would have admired how good he looked even while yawning if not for the fact that you have been worried about how tired he’s become of late.
“…You really need to rest, Seokjin,” you say softly, mostly because you don’t want to raise your voice when he seems so exhausted. He respond with a sheepish smile.
“I—I know, I really should. One of my advisers actually made me leave during the meeting because I kept yawning.” He chuckles at this. “Though this same adviser always seems to be taking a nap himself. I wish I could be like that.”
“I mean, if you have nothing to do later…” You start, almost immediately regretting the suggestion you had come up with in your mind.
“He did tell me to take the rest of the day off.”
“Yes, you need a nap,” you say, half joking but ultimately wanting him to step back from work, even just for a little bit. “Come, I’ll walk with you back to the room, you can sleep there for a bit.” Without waiting for a response, you rise from your seat, his hand still in yours as you lead him out of the parlor you were in and down the hall, towards the wing of the palace that had most of the residential areas. You let him enter ahead of you into the room, wanting him to relax as much as possible.
“…I’m sorry, I’ve just been really stressed with work and everything.” Seokjin lets out a sigh as he sits down on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t as…engaged as I could have been earlier. I know how much you had been looking forward to spending some time together.” You give him a reassuring smile as you take a seat next to him.
“It’s fine, Seokjin. I know how it can be. Besides, at least you were there at all.” You had meant this in that you enjoyed just having his presence, but how he winces in reaction shows that your words had brought up past instances of his mistakes.
“Like I said, I truly am sorry.” Your face softens at his remorseful tone, and before you can stop yourself, you reach out to grab his hand.
“Do you want me to help you relax?” The way his eyebrows shoot up tells you that he had once more misconstrued your words, but to be fair, your offer had been fairly vague. “Not like that! Don’t worry!” A nervous laugh escapes from your mouth a you would have slapped yourself if your hand wasn’t currently intertwined with Seokjin’s. “Eunbi knows some massage techniques, and she’s been teaching me a bit. If you want, I could …” You trail off, nervous that you might be overstepping some sort of boundary, but Seokjin gives your hand a squeeze in reassurance.
“If you’re comfortable, that would be nice.” You nod vigorously once it’s clear that he’s accepted your offer, and you scramble to position yourself behind him on the bed. You’re glad that he’s facing away from you at the moment, because you need a minute collect yourself and keep your hands from shaking, as you haven’t been this close to him since you kissed him after visiting his father.
Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you finally place your hands on his shoulders. Touching him now, and seeing your hands against his body, reminds yourself of just how broad Seokjin is, and you try not to think about it any further, lest you get distracted from the task at hand.
You start by pressing your thumbs into him, rubbing circles into his back as you feel the tension in him gradually start to relax. You start kneading your other fingers into his flesh, hesitant to press too hard but know that it wouldn’t do much good if you don’t apply enough pressure.
“Goodness, you’re tense,” you remark as you attempt to work out knot after knot.
“It comes with the stress,” he quips playfully, even if the statement is all too true. “You know, work.”
“Is it just work, though?” You ask, mostly to yourself, but you know that he hears.
“I…”
“Look, Seokjin.” Your hands start migrating lower on his back and your fingers start pressing against him slightly harded. “I know things have been hard with your father. Just know that you can always talk to me.” He doesn’t respond right away, which worries you slightly, but then you hear him let out a soft groan, and you realize he has been too wrapped up in the massage to fully pay attention to you. You smirk to yourself, glad he can’t see you right now.
“Yes, yes, o-of course.” His tone makes it seem like he’s only talking to make it seem like he’s paying attention, but it’s clear that his full attention is on how your hands work against his body.
“You seem to be enjoying this a lot.” A surge of courage has you leaning in to mutter the words softly just next to his ear.
“I, uh, yes. Yes, very much so. Ah.” He lets out what is clearly a moan once you start to apply more pressure on him, and deep down a part of you muses how much more effective this would be if his shirt were not in the way. You start to shake your head vigorously at the thought, the image of Seokjin being bare from the waist up flustering you significantly. In your effort to clear your head, your hands stop moving against Seokjin, causing him to turn a look back you. “Y/N.”
“Y-yes?” Instead of him speaking, Seokjin’s lips are crashing against your own. One hand comes up to cup your cheek, angling your face towards him. “S-Seokjin…” You’re left breathless after the kiss, having been taken by surprise. He presses another kiss against your lips, this one more chaste than the previous one.
“I’m sorry, I’ve just been thinking about you all day.” You feel heat rise to your cheeks at his admission, and also at the thought the Seokjin has been thinking about you all this time. “Ever since we visited my father… I couldn’t get you out of my head.” You’re almost certain that you know why.
“I’m flattered.” You reach up to stroke his cheek while one of his hands migrates lower to hold you at the waist, the gesture making your breath hitch in your throat.
“And you?” He leans in close again, his lips hovering near your jaw but never closing the distance.
“What about me?” You voice is almost breathless, and you find it rather difficult to think when he’s this close.
“Do you want me?” Seokjin says in a very matter of fact. Manner, causing your heart to jump a bit in your chest.
“…If you want me.” Your words seem to set something off in Seokjin, and once more his leaning in to connect his lips with yours. Your arms wrap around his neck, while he holds you close by your waist. This kiss must be the most heated one yet, and warmth shoots to your core when you feel his tongue start to probe into your mouth.
After a while, the two of your break apart for air, and while Seokjin catches his breath, you settle for scattering kisses down his neck. Your lips brush a particular spot, and he lets out a sound so heavenly that you would do anything to hear it again. Pulling back, you look up at him through your eyelashes.
“Stand up.” Seokjin immediately complies, scrambling to his feet to stand in front of you.
Your fingertips play at the outside of his thighs before slowly moving inwards to palm him through his pants. The soft moan that leaves his lips sends a shiver down your spine, and warmth starts to pool in the space between your legs. You bite your lip, peeking up at him to see his head thrown back.
“Do you like that, your Highness?” You teasingly ask in a low voice as your hand continues to move, playing with him through the fabric of his pants.
“D-don’t, don’t call me that,” he stutters out, just barely holding on to any composure he had. Your eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but you guess it’s understandable for him not to want the title in such an intimate situation.
“Seokjin, then.” The air is tense with silence as you wait for his approval.
“Just—just Jin. Call me Jin.” His request makes your cheeks heat up, the words flustering you even when your hand is literally cupping his erection.
“J-Jin.” You take in a deep breath when you feel his dick twitch within your hold. You can do this, you’ve gotten this far. “Do you want me to take this off?” Your free hand toys with the waistband of his pants, signaling your desire of stripping him down.
“Please.” At his acquiescence, you slip your fingers under the waistband of his pants, before using them to slide them down his long legs and pool around his ankles, leaving him only in his underwear. You can see him bulging through the fabric, and your mouth almost waters as you reach down to take him in your hand over the cloth.
“Ah…” He lets out a soft moan as you start to work him through his underwear, his hips slightly pushing forward into your hand. “That feels so good…”
“Do you want more?” Your question is answered with a vigorous nod, and you use that as a cue to pull down his underwear as well. His hard length springs free from the confines of the fabric, and you wish you had given yourself at least a moment to prepare yourself mentally for what you see.
His cock is painfully hard, red and already dripping at the tip. You gulp, not really ready to see how he literally throbs for you. Nonetheless, you steel yourself internally before reaching out and wrapping a hand around his member.
Above you, Seokjin sucks in a sharp breath from between clenched teeth as you start to move your hand up and down, pumping him at a steady pace. After a few more pumps, he lets out another moan, the sound instilling so more confidence in you, and you start moving your hand faster on him.
“Do you like that?” You ask coyly, heat rushing through you when you feel him start to buck his hips into your hand. In a moment of teasing, you slow your hand around him, causing him to groan out of frustration rather than pleasure.
“Don’t tease me.” His voice is low, sending a shiver down your spine in the best way possible.
“Or what?” You punctuate your challenge with a kitten lick to the head of his cock, riling him up even more. He reaches down, gently tugging your hand away from his erection, before pinning you down with his gaze.
“Stand up.” He uses the hand that he’s holding to guide you onto your feet, and once you’re standing, he turns you to face away from him. His fingers start working against your back, attempting to unlace your dress. “Dear god, why are women’s clothes so elaborate?” You giggle slightly at his frustrations, but your laughter is cut off when you feel his lips press against your neck. “Focus, Y/N.” You bite your lip to keep anything else from spilling out, and shift and move accordingly to assist Seokjin in shedding you of your dress.
Finally, the lacing is undone, and Seokjin is pulling slightly at the fabric so that it slides off your shoulders and onto the bedroom floor. You step out of your dress while Seokjin’s arms wrap around your waist, his face buried in your neck.
“Goodness, you’re so beautiful.” He murmurs against your neck.
“How would you know, though? You can’t really see me from there,” you tease, and you feel his grip slightly tighten around your waist.
“Then get on the bed so I can see you.” With that, he releases his hold on you, and you scramble to lay back on the mattress, waiting for him to join you. He undoes the buttons on his shirt as he saunters up to the bed, each inch of newly exposed skin making your mouth water, until the shirt is completely open, baring his chest and abdomen for you to admire. He shrugs his shirt off before climbing onto the mattress, starting to crawl up towards where you lay back on the pillows.
Your heart jumps in your chest when you feel his hand touch your thigh, before sliding up past your hip to cup your breast over your brassiere, and you press your thighs together for relief. His hand doesn’t stop at your breast, continuing upwards until he’s cupping your face. He leans in close enough so that your foreheads are touching, and at this proximity, he barely has to speak above a whisper to be heard.
“See? I was right, beautiful.” He looks you straight in the eyes before letting his lips collide with yours, one hand cupping your face while the other braces himself over you. Your hands come up to tangle in his soft hair, and a particular nip against your lips has you tugging at the silky locks. He moans against your mouth as his hips roll down in reflex against your core, and the action surprises you so much that you’re immediately bucking up against him.
“Shit, do that again, Jin.” Seokjin pulls away with a chuckle, admiring your flushed form and swollen lips.
“The princess has such a dirty mouth on her.” You pout slightly at this.
“That’s because the princess wants you to fuck her.” You’re not sure where this boldness has come from, but the adrenaline is coursing through you too much for you to hold yourself back anymore.
“Really? Are you sure?” Seokjin’s face softens for a moment, hesitating slightly. You let out an exasperated sigh before grabbing his hand, leading it to hover over your crotch. You lift the waistband slightly to allow his fingers under the fabric, then you push your hips up so he can feel just how wet you are. “Oh, Christ.” He curses under his breath as you continue to grind yourself against his hand, gasping when his hand shifts and his fingers brush against your clit.
“Please, Jin. Can’t you see how much I want you?” You let go of his hand, leaving him to start to rub you in your panties, while you sit up slightly and undo the clasps of your bra, before sliding the material off your shoulders, leaving your chest bare for him to see. His ministrations on your core halt as his attention is diverted towards your chest, and the way your nipples perk up at being exposed to the slightly chilly air. His gaze darkens as he looks down at you, and then he’s leaning in to scatter kisses across your chest, before taking one of your nipples between his lips.
“J-Jin, please. I need you.” You gasp as you roll your hips up against him, his bare length rubbing against your skin. You tug at his hair to get him off of you, then you reach down to discard the last piece of clothing on your body. Jin sits back and watches as you lie back down on the bed, your legs spread enticingly for him. “Please, Jin,” you say before biting your lip.
With that, Jin is scrambling to position himself between your legs, holding one of your thighs to spread you wider for him, while his other hand reaches down to position himself at your glistening entrance. He pushes into you slowly, looking down to make eye contact with you as his cock slowly fills you up. You try to keep your eyes open to keep looking at him, but his dick just feels too good at filling you up that you can’t help the way your eyes flutter close.
Once he’s nestled in all the way, Jin gives you a moment to adjust to having him inside you, then he’s pulling back slightly out of you just so he can push himself back in. His pace is gentle, nothing too harsh, and not at all enough. With a groan, you hook your legs around him before using the leverage to roll over so that you’re on top.
“P-princess…”
“You were going too slow, Jinnie.” You’re not sure where the nickname comes from but it seems so natural falling from your lips as you start to bounce on Seokjin’s lap. You brace yourself up against his toned abdomen as you begin to ride him vigorously, your head tipping back in pleasure once you find the right angle. “Oh, Jin.”
“Y/N…” He groans as he starts to roll his hips up in time to meet your own downwards thrusts, allowing you to feel him even deeper than before. One of your hands comes up to push some hair out of your face, before traveling lower squeeze your breasts, wanting a little more stimulation. You continue kneading the flesh as your eyes close in pleasure, but then your hands a being pulled away, causing you to let out a sound of displeasure.
“Let me.” With that, Jin reaches up to take your breasts in his own hands, all while continuing to thrust up into you. You let him attend to your chest, and let your now free hand wander lower on your body until it’s toying with your clit.
“Jin, I’m so close,” you gasp as you start to rub increasingly faster circles around your clit, starting to grind down on his cock to drag out the pleasure.
“Me, ah, too.” Jin hisses when he feels your walls starting to clench around him, the tightness starting to make his head spin. “Let me—let me help.” One of his hands joins your own between your legs as he helps you rub your clit, and with each motion you feel yourself nearing the edge until—
“Jin!” You gasp out as you finally reach your release, your eyes clenched shut as bright vibrant colors flash behind your eyelids, warmth swiftly taking over your body. Seokjin isn’t far behind, and with a few more thrusts, he surrenders himself to the tightness of your cunt, releasing himself against your walls, causing you to shudder slightly at the feeling of being filled up with his warm seed.
You roll your hips against him a few more times as you both come down from your highs, before lifting yourself up and allowing his softening length to slip out of you. Jin almost immediately falls back against the mattress, understandably exhausted, and you take this moment to scurry off to the washroom to find a warm towel to clean yourself up.
When you re-enter the bedroom, you’re greeted with the sight of Jin, sound asleep, having only moved since you left him to cover himself up with a blanket. You smile fondly down at him before joining him under the covers, not right next to him but close enough. “Good night, my prince,” you say softly before shortly joining him in sleep.
You’re woken up later by the door creaking open, followed by gasping and a rush of words, the speaker in a hurry to apologize.
“I’m sorry, your Highness, I didn’t mean to intrude!” Your eyes flutter open to see Eunbi struggling to close the door as she shuffles backwards in order to leave the room. Shifting slightly, you feel a warmth against your back, and when you turn your head to look you realize that Seokjin had wrapped an arm around you in his sleep, pulling you close to his chest. He still seems to be asleep so you turn slightly so you can peck him on the lips.
“Hey, wake up.” You say with a pinch of his cheek. He grunts before opening his eyes all the way, looking at you with a slight bewilderment. “I think we scared Eunbi.” You giggle to yourself, enjoying the sluggish way Jin blinks his eyes as he attempts to wake up. “I don’t think she was ready to see the future ruler so stripped down.”
“I’m not either. This is only for you,” he says, finally seeming to come to his senses.
“So are you saying that this will happen again, your Highness?” The title comes as a jest rather than a formality, and you’re sure he can tell by the way you punctuate it by tapping his nose.
“Yes, oh god, yes.” You want to laugh at his enthusiasm about this. “If only I had more time…” He mutters quietly, and you feel your heart tighten in your chest. That’s when an idea pops into your head.
“Seokjin, how involved would you say your mother is with governing?” The question catches him off guard, and you don’t blame him. You are, after all, lying in bed with him naked.
“Um, very much so. In fact, she has been one of my main guides throughout this whole time, especially with my father’s help the way it’s been.” You take a deep breath before speaking once more.
“How about…I help you some more with your duties?” Seokjin blinks a few times, taking in your offer. “I mean, a queen will have to rule next to her king. Besides, I want to lighten your load, even just a little bit.” You take one of his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers together.
“You…are you sure?” You nod, pressing your lips against his knuckles.
“At the very least, I would get to see you more,” you say half jokingly. Suddenly, Jin is cupping your face to press a short kiss against your lips.
Characters: NamjoonxReader
Length: 2200-ish words
Genre: Mafia AU
Warnings: Violence
Part 36 Part 38
“Where are they going?”
Jimin leaned over the dashboard and squinted his eyes at the street signs hanging high above the road. They had names of places he’d never heard of and probably wouldn’t get to see anytime soon, if the numbers of kilometers next to them were any indication. From what he could tell, there was nothing around them for quite some time – nothing but mountains and woods. If he turned around, he could glimpse the ocean of lights that was the city of Seoul, but it seemed like there was nothing but darkness ahead. Then again, he couldn’t be sure. He had never before been to Seoul.
So far, he didn’t care much for it.
There was now a considerable distance between the car in front of you and the Porsche, but you weren’t worried about losing it.
You knew where they were going.
“My father has a hunting lodge about 15 minutes off this road,” you answered.
“Is hunting legal in Korea?”
You threw Jimin a look. It struck you as odd that he was suddenly worrying about the limitations of the law while clutching his unregistered and illegally purchased S&W. If you had been in the mood, you would have made a joke.
“It’s not for hunting,” you mumbled, only realizing the fact just now yourself.
If Jimin had been in the mood, he would have laughed.
“Don’t give them too much- ow!” Jimin protested when you suddenly made a sharp left, causing his head to hit the side window. “What are you doing?”
“It’s the middle of the day, we can’t just park in front of the front door,” you argued. “We’re going through the woods – on foot.”
Jimin looked like he wanted to say something, but bit his tongue. Instead, he focused on gripping the handle above his head as the Porsche battled its way over the rocky dirt road that was barely suitable for machinery equipped for forest work, never mind a vintage tin can such as this. It didn’t help that you were going way too fast, and Jimin could hear tree branches angrily whipping against the vehicle. He doubted the car was going to make it through in one piece.
Then again, its safety wasn’t at the top of his priority list right now.
“Why do you think he took them alive?”
“Hoseok,” you replied curtly and barely avoided a small stack of wood on the side of the road. Jimin’s blood froze in his veins.
“The will.”
“Exactly. I doubt they care about Jungkook, but my father must have figured out the connection by now, especially since my mother left part of her inheritance to Jin. He probably thinks Namjoon is the link that connects them all, and the one who can convince Hoseok into making my mother’s will disappear.”
“What if he tries to hurt them?”
“Killing Hoseok won’t make the will any less final. Killing Namjoon won’t make Hoseok any less likely to give into my father’s demands.” The knuckles of your hands had turned white from holding the steering wheel a little too tightly, and your gaze seemed to want to will the forest to part and make way for you. Jimin nodded slowly, unable to look away from you. He had never seen you this determined, this focused, this tough. There was not an inch of fear left in you, only the unbendable wish to save Namjoon and Jungkook, and the icy hatred of someone who had discarded the idea of mercy.
Your resolve and courage seemed to cloak you in a mantle of steel, and Jimin was sure that if he reached out, you would be cold to the touch.
“What about Jungkook?” Jimin finally said, more to break the unbearable silence than anything else. He still hadn’t been able – or willing – to spend much thought on the fact that Jungkook was his older brother. It felt weird, distant – like the right feelings, the correct feelings were just slightly out of reach. He knew how he was supposed to feel about having a brother; he had Namjoon, after all. But the only thing he had felt when Namjoon had sat him down and told him about the mayor, Jimin’s parents, and Jungkook was anger at yet another thing that had disrupted their life, turned things upside down, and changed things forever. He couldn’t do this, not again, not right now, not yet.
He had only just accepted you.
The truth was, he had been holding a grudge against Namjoon that he had never quite been able to explain. Namjoon had never approved of Jimin’s relationship with Hoseok, so Jimin had tried hard not to rub it in his face, to be discreet about it. And Hoseok had been understanding and supportive, because Hoseok was wonderful and the best thing that had happened to Jimin since he had become a Kim.
And then one day, Namjoon had brought you home with him and fallen in love with you for the whole world to see, no matter how hard Jimin had tried to keep his eyes closed. And you had made a home for yourself in their lives, not caring whether or not there was space or whether you were welcome there.
And then you had dragged in the cat.
Jimin understood. He understood how Namjoon felt about you and you about him, and he understood that you were going to be together no matter what. He understood, because he felt the same way about Hoseok. But he couldn’t help but be afraid that Namjoon would love him less, that he would rather spend his time you than with him. He was afraid that their little family would fall apart. It had taken him a while to realize that that wasn’t going to happen.
Family was stronger than that.
And Jimin felt like the bond had become even stronger with you around. Your existence in their lives hadn’t taken anything away from him.
Quite the opposite.
“We’re here.” You killed the engine and Jimin blinked, confused. All around there was nothing but trees, bushes, and a frightened squirrel racing up a tree when you got out the car and angrily slammed the door shut. Jimin climbed out of the vehicle and tentatively followed you to the edge of the seemingly impermeable underbrush.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Please, Jimin.” You pulled a pair of gloves out of your pocket and slipped them on. “This is my city.”
Jimin shrugged and grinned.
“Then let’s go, noona.”
You felt like ants were crawling over your skin, leaving raised hairs and tingly nerve ends in their path. You tried to focus on your surroundings – light, distance, angles – but the air was too heavy and the tension weighed like lead on your shoulders, and you weren’t able to hold on to a single thought that was rushing through your head.
“What?” you hissed when you couldn’t take Jimin’s prolonged staring for a second longer.
“You said it was a hunting lodge.”
“It is a hunting lodge.”
Leafs rustled when Jimin stood up and carefully swept them aside to take another look at the building about fifty yards away.
“I have seen palaces smaller than this.”
“Oh shut up, Jimin, don’t be so dramatic.”
“It’s huge.”
“It’s in a forest and made of wood, what else would I have called it?”
“Beaver paradise?” suggested Jimin, and a smile tucked at his lips. You frowned disapprovingly.
“If you turn this into a dirty joke, I will leave you here.”
“Fine.” Jimin pouted and crouched down to meet you on eye level. “What now?”
You met his gaze with a smile that sent chills down Jimin’s smile. “I’m a ghost, Jimin. I can get in anywhere.”
Jimin was convinced by neither your logic nor your – maddeningly uninspired – plan. But nonetheless, he followed you as you made your way through the thicket closer to the house. When you finally burst through the branches and boscage, and out of the safety of hiding, you were only a few feet away from the building itself. The dark brown walls stretched left and right from you, and the windows were oddly high, as if the floor inside was elevated. The house seemed to have only two stories and possibly an attic, but even amidst the tall trees and their crowns which seemed to reach into the sky, it was an intimidatingly enormous man-made structure. At first Jimin was not quite sure why you had chosen this spot to approach the building, given the absence of doors as far as the eyes could reach, but then he discovered the latch surrounded by a cement frame in the ground.
A basement.
Without hesitation, you grabbed the handle of the metal latch and pulled it up, seemingly unbothered by the grating sound it made as you forced it out of its comfortable resting position. Jimin peeked over your shoulder and into the opening, but all he could see was an abyss of darkness.
“Aaand we have creepy.”
“Do you have your phone?”
“It’s 2016.”
You rolled your eyes at Jimin and pulled out your own cell phone – the one Namjoon had gotten you, the one that only had a handful of numbers in it, and yet those were all the ones you needed. Suppressing a sigh, and the urge to call Namjoon’s number, you switched on the flashlight and pointed it into the entrance of the basement. It was just as you remembered: the stone steps leading into the seemingly shallow belly of the house, but part of the ceiling of the basement was slightly higher than ground level. When your father had the lodge built, it had turned out that water was running not too far underground, so the architects had to get creative to make sure the average adult could still walk upright in the rooms – or at least the ones in use by your family.
The space that you were about to enter was a different story.
As a kid, you had loved the low, cramped part of the basement that stretched under the entire length of the kitchen and dining room. It was used for the storage of non-perishable food, old furniture, and long-forgotten clothing, among other things. It was accessible not only from the outside, but also connected to both rooms on the inside.
You figured the kitchen was your better shot.
After about five minutes of walking and Jimin’s continuous mumbling of gross, gross, gross behind you, you arrived under the trapdoor that would grant you access to the ground floor of the lodge. You shot Jimin a look to shut him up and silently urge him to turn off the flashlight on his phone, as you had done with yours. Then you looked up at the wooden ceiling and listened.
Nothing.
Carefully, you grabbed hold of the most convenient rung of the wooden ladder that assisted the ascent into the kitchen. Your heart was beating in your chest and the gloves were sticking to the sweaty skin of your hands, but no physical reaction to the situation would keep you from doing everything you could to save Namjoon and Jungkook. They would have done the same for you.
They had done the same for you.
You looked back at Jimin one last time and waited for him to give you a curt nod before slowly pushing open the trapdoor. A quick glance around the kitchen revealed that it was empty except for the furniture which had been around for as long as you could remember. Everything in this house was familiar, and yet you felt like you only now saw it for what it was. Your father had invited many a business partner up to his hunting lodge.
Some of them you had never seen again.
Jimin gently closed the trapdoor behind him after he had climbed into the room. You were already by the door, cracking it open just a bit to look outside. There was nobody in the hallway, but you could hear muffled voices from the living room, or rather one voice – your father.
“Guess the funeral ended early,” you commented bitterly and felt the nervousness replaced by disdain and disgust.
“Don’t think about that now,” said Jimin softly as he walked up behind you. “If we die here, your mom will kick my ass in heaven.”
You let out a noise that resembled a laugh as much as it did a sob and grabbed Jimin’s hand to squeeze it briefly.
“They’re in the living room.” You pointed at a pair of big double doors down the hallway before taking the Beretta out of the waistband of your pants. Automatically, Jimin followed your example. You moved to pull on the door knob, but before you could someone kicked at it from the outside, making it swing wide open. You recognized the man standing in front of you instantly – he had been with your father for at least seven years.
It took him a second longer to realize who was standing before him.
“Y-you?” he stuttered, but before he could finish the thought, Jimin punched him in the throat hard, reducing his words to an indistinguishable gurgle. Another deliberate strike to his temple sent him to the ground where his eyes fluttered shut as Jimin prepared for a third hit.
“He’s out,” you commented when you saw the blood lust in Jimin’s eyes, and the aggression in his stance. It took him a moment to collect himself, which you used to scan the motionless form of the man on the ground. You couldn’t tell if he was still breathing.
And you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
“They really think I’m dead,” you whispered, painfully conscious of the now-open door.
“Well, rumor has it that Taehyung killed you.” Jimin clicked his tongue. “Sloppy job, if you ask me.”
You managed a grin and raised your gun again. You were merely a few yards away from Namjoon, Jungkook, and your father, but it felt like a unbridgeable distance. You had no idea what awaited you behind that door. How many of your father’s men? What state were Namjoon and Jungkook in? How would the scene play out? Who would live?
Who would die?
But this was not the time to hesitate. This was the time when you had to rise and show your true strength. When you could finally repay courage with courage and love with love.
Jin could feel the heat radiating from the pavement underneath his feet, the wind from the ocean doing little to make the temperatures any more bearable. He was reminded of Abu Dhabi and the relentless desert sun and the flickering air on the race track. However, compared to Abu Dhabi, his outfit today was a lot more casual – T-shirt and shorts – in order to blend in with the masses of kids, families, and tourists swarming the beach of Haeundae.
He stopped when the phone in his pocket started to ring and stepped off to the side, his feet immediately sinking into soft, white sand.
“Yes?”
“Where are you?”
Jin adjusted his sunglasses and looked around as if to confirm his location first. “Busan.”
“It sounds like a fucking zoo.”
“The weather is gorgeous.” He grinned. “You should come down here. Escape the smog of Seoul. Get some sun.”
“No, thank you. I’m busy.”
Jin grinned even wider at the annoyance evident in the tinny voice.
“Hey, I’m working, too,” he finally said in fake protest. “You sent me here, remember?”
“I didn’t send you there to get a tan,” came the cold response. “Remember, we have a deal. Do what I hired you to do.”
“Sure, boss.” Jin hung up to escape the anger of the person on the other end at his sarcasm and slid the phone back into his pocket. He would hold up his end of the bargain – even though it was quite a gamble for a man like him. His forte was games of chance, not jetting through the world to monitor thieves and assassins, liars and cheaters, creatures of the night that made even his blood run cold. But he had his eyes on the prize.
And the prize was well worth it.
Hot sand kept creeping into his sneakers as Jin slowly walked over to one of the seemingly thousands of parasols that lined the beach. Even in the shade, Park Jimin’s fiery red hair was glowing, and his tan skin looked smooth and healthy; nothing like when they had carried his unconscious body out of the club and out of Seoul. Even with his features relaxed, his face had seemed tired and too worn-out for a 21-year-old kid. There had been fine lines on his forehead and next to his eyes, a testament to the draining lifestyle he had led.
Now they had been replaced with gentle creases when he laughed heartily at something, the ocean breeze carrying his voice over to Jin. It had been three months since they had brought him back to Busan, and Jimin had been lying low. He had moved back in with his parents and was giving dance classes to children at one of the local studios and sometimes at the elementary school near his childhood home.
He was safe from the cartel, but everything came at a price.
Jin pressed his lips into a thin line when Jimin leaned over to kiss the girl next to him. She was pale, but not as pasty as usual, and the long, flowy dress she was wearing gave her a certain softness that could have fooled anyone. With a few more steps, Jin arrived at the spot they were lying on, engrossed in each other and an illusion of something they knew would never last. Jin almost felt sorry for them.
Queen seemed to enjoy her time in the sun, but for both of them the days in the light were long over. The night was waiting for them.
It was time to bring them back.
You hung up the phone just as the elevator doors opened. Daylight was flooding in through the high windows of the lobby of the third floor of the hotel, and it was no surprise that people were standing in couples and small groups and chattering away here instead of going into the spacious ballroom down the hall from the elevators. You felt a little silly in your long, sleek, backless dress when it was barely four pm, but it wasn’t like you were here for fun, anyway.
Clutching the small purse in your left hand, you nodded at people you knew – even though that was a relative term in these circles – as you made your way through the tastefully decorated venue. A large banner over the main door of the ballroom proclaimed the occasion of this humble get-together of Seoul’s richest and most powerful.
Apparently, someone had gotten even richer and more powerful.
Despite the early hour, there were close to a hundred people in the room, scattered around the four dozen round tables which were donning champagne-colored tablecloths and white china with thin, gold rims. The silverware and glasses were spotless, and every table had a gorgeous flower arrangement in the middle. Stiff waiters were serving champagne and appetizers, and you grabbed one of the tall glasses from the tray of a pretty girl with neatly styled short hair.
You weren’t usually keen on appearing in the public like this. The people who recognized you mostly knew you as your mother’s daughter – the most successful and feared defense lawyer in the city; feared mostly by the people on the right side of the law. You had heard of people speculating about you before – what is she like, who is she with, what does she do? - but you didn’t care much. If someone ever had the courage to ask you directly, you told them about the NPO you were involved in; a program that helped women released from prison, or whose lengthy trial ended in them being declared innocent, to find their way back into society. What about the ones who don’t even want that, you know, the scum? a self-righteous middle-aged lady had once asked. You had smiled at her, and then at her husband, whose business partner Joker had eliminated on his summer vacation in Belize.
“We have something for everyone.”
Slowly, you moved towards the stage, where a group of young men were standing and talking animatedly. They were all dressed in smart, black suits, their hair expertly coiffed and their watches and jewelry worth more than most people’s college tuition. Their voices were loud, confident, carefree. Two of them had dyed their hair a subtle and classy brown, but the third man stood out not only because of his tall frame and unbelievably long legs, but even more so because of his blond hair that was slicked back to reveal his darker undercut. You smiled to yourself.
You had found him.
Kim Namjoon.
You put a little swing into your hips as you walked over to them. All three were famous in their own right. Kim Namjoon and his childhood friend Jung Hoseok were both from wealthy families and had made both their parents and the public very happy – their parents by excelling in academics and becoming very promising heirs, and the public by being attractive bachelors who kept the rumor mill running overtime.
And then of course there was young millionaire Kim Taehyung.
“Look who’s here.” Hoseok had spotted you first and stepped back to let you into the small circle. “May I introduce-”
“That won’t be necessary,” you cooed, ignoring Namjoon in favor of introducing yourself to Kim Taehyung and shaking his hand firmly.
“Isn’t the decoration nice?” said Taehyung, gesturing towards the tables. “I’m really looking forward to the food.”
“And the wine.” Namjoon grinned. “Good thing most guests were invited to stay at the hotel.”
“Are you?” you asked, batting your eyelashes at him. “Staying here?”
Namjoon stared down at you, his eyes darting from left to right, but before he could answer, Hoseok’s nervous giggle interrupted the moment.
“Maybe we should sit down,” he said and put an arm around Namjoon to lead him away – or rather, away from you. You looked around, your gaze briefly stopping at the main entrance, then smiled apologetically at Taehyung.
“I am going to freshen up a little. Please excuse me.”
“Of course.” He winked at you. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
You turned on your heel and walked out of the room, ignoring the burning hot sensation on your back as Namjoon’s dark eyes followed your every step. The hallway felt cooler compared to the ballroom, and you took a deep breath before pushing open the wooden door next to the cloak room.
Only the toilet in the middle was occupied, the other two doors were wide open revealing empty stalls. You leaned against one of the marble sinks and checked your phone for texts. You scrolled past the unimportant ones, and only read the two that had been sent shortly after your earlier call.
We’re on our way.
Jin.
I’m sorry.
Queen.
You smacked your lips and put the phone back into your purse. The truth was, you weren’t going to be too hard on her. She had done good work with Park Jimin; thanks to her efforts you were very close to cutting off the snake’s head and destroying the cartel. She had earned herself a vacation.
But she didn’t need to know that yet.
The middle door opened, and a girl in a gorgeous gold dress and matching heels emerged from the bathroom stall. She paused when she saw you just standing there, but then walked over to the sinks to wash her hands.
“Are you having fun?” you asked casually. The girl frowned.
“Yes.”
“Too bad tomorrow’s Monday.” You turned around to check your makeup in the mirror next to her. “Back to work.”
“Yes.”
“Well then. I’ll see you.”
The clicking of your heels echoed from the tiles and filled the silent room, adding to the tense atmosphere. Without looking around, you left the bathroom and returned to the ballroom.
Joker didn’t follow.
The evening progressed slowly, or at least too slowly for your taste. After what felt like hours of speeches, you forced down the six courses of food, passing on the wine and opting for water instead. When the meat came out, you saw Kim Namjoon two tables over asking the short-haired waitress to just leave the bottle of red that was offered with the course and grinned, knowing he would come to regret the decision.
Before dessert, you stepped out again to use the washroom, and when you came back out, Namjoon was leaning against the counter of the cloak room, his cheeks almost as red as his lips.
“Are you okay?” you asked politely and looked around to make sure nobody was watching as you stopped in front of him.
“Fantastic.” He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he slipped a flat plastic card into the front of your dress. “You’ll need this later.”
You swallowed hard, forcing a neutral expression on your face as you looked up at him. Namjoon just smiled, his hand slowly trailing down your side and finally settling on your waist.
“You look beautiful in that dress.”
“I look even better without it.”
Namjoon laughed and moved down his hand to squeeze your ass before walking back to the dinner, swaying ever so slightly.
“Pervert,” you mumbled and fished the key card out of your bra.
You were alone in the elevator as you rode up to the 24th floor of the hotel. The hallways were carpeted, but you had opted to take off your heels anyway. They were dangling loosely from the same hand with which you were holding your purse, as the fingers of the other hand flew across the display of your phone. Finally, you hit send.
You had started the countdown.
Swiftly, you ran down the dim hallway, your heart beating in your chest. The cameras in the elevator and on this floor would be down for only ten minutes, so you had to act fast. When you had arrived at the right door, you slipped the straps of your heels over your wrist, put away your phone, and in exchange took the key card and the small .22 caliber from the purse. Then you opened the door.
The only lights that were on were those in the hallway, and the sound of running water filled the dark room. You almost sighed with relief. This would make things so much easier. Returning the key card to your bag, you walked into the living room without turning on the lights. Instead, you switched on the TV and turned the volume to the highest level.
Carefully, you made your way to the bathroom. The water was still running – obviously, he hadn’t noticed the deafening sound that the music program on TV was making. Clicking off the safety of the semi-automatic weapon, you pushed the door open. You took one last deep breath, then you pulled back the shower curtain, aimed, and shot.
The wound in his forehead was small, but the impact had made his head jerk back, and when his lifeless body sunk down into the tub, a streak of red painted the white bathroom tiles. You turned off the water and used a towel to yank the head forward. Blood was still streaming from a wound in the back, dyeing his hair an obscene scarlet.
“Shit,” you cursed and wrapped the towel around his head to keep the wound from bleeding everywhere. You were still washing remnants of the mess you had made from the wall when the hotel room was suddenly bathed in light, and two voices mixed with the sound from the television. Without looking at your phone, you knew that they were just on time, and a few seconds later, two narrow eyes were scrutinizing you and your work.
“Jesus,” Min Yoongi said and looked at your purse. “I didn’t know you could fit a jackhammer in there.”
“Shut up,” you snapped and stepped back from the tub. Jeon Jungkook’s head appeared above Yoongi’s, and you sighed in relief.
“Thank god he sent some muscle, too, and not only a mouth.”
“Hi,” Jungkook smiled, his innocent eyes a stark contrast to his line of work.
“Be careful when you take him down.”
“Yeah, we were just going to wrap him in a rug and walk out the front door.” Yoongi let Jungkook squeeze past him to assess the situation. You rolled your eyes.
“Very funny.”
“Can we wrap him into something?” Jungkook whined. “He’s naked.”
“Do what you have to do and call me later.” You put away your gun and left the bathroom. “I’m done.”
The TV was blaring, but you barely heard anything. Your purse and shoes were lying next to you on the couch. You had your eyes closed, trying to focus on your own breathing as you tried to push back the images of the naked body in the hotel bathroom. You had always tried to justify what you did to yourself – they were criminals, they were murderers, rapists, thieves – but recently, you had become less and less successful. The truth was, some of your targets were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time, or had made the wrong people their enemies, or gotten involved in things they didn’t understand. They weren’t evil.
They were unfortunate.
Kim Seokjin had been a rare case – a collector wanted the watch, so you got him the watch. Kim Taehyung had been a similarly harmless instance. His wife wanted a reason to divorce him and milk him for everything he was worth, so you had sent Joker to get incriminating evidence of him cheating.
You had almost enjoyed telling his wife that Taehyung had not taken the bait.
It didn’t matter that you had known that you were lying.
For Park Jimin, you had nothing but pity. The cartel had set him up – gotten him hooked and then used him to sell their goods to impressionable kids.
It was always easier when it was one of their own.
The original plan had been to eliminate Park Jimin, too, but you didn’t have it in you to agree to those terms, and instead ordered Queen and Jin to get him out of Seoul for the time being. However, despite Park Jimin only being a small piece in the rotten chess game he had been playing, it had made sense that he had landed on the radar of people who wanted him dead.
But you would never understand why someone would target Kim Namjoon.
By all appearances, he was one of the good ones – a smart kid who liked books and music, who grew up into an attractive young man who had enjoyed the company of girls during his college days, but who had since settled down to focus on his future career. The only reason someone had wanted him dead was that if he died, more shares of the company would fall to the other holders. A young life for this.
Money and power. The game of life.
You snorted and turned off the TV.
What a sick game you were playing.
“You’re home?”
The voice made you jump, and your eyes widened when you saw a tall figure standing in the dark doorway. Hadn’t you turned on the lights? Apparently not.
“Yeah.” You sighed and got up from the sofa. “How was the party?”
“It was okay.” Namjoon shrugged and when you leaned against his chest, he tightly wrapped his arms around you. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” you said and snaked your arms around his waist, taking in the faint scent of expensive cologne and wine. Namjoon held you silently, knowing better than to press you about what had happened after the dinner.
He had hardly recognized Ace in the short wig. She had hidden the key card under the bottle of wine, which he had finished by himself to calm his nerves.
“Yoongi is probably going to ask for another raise,” you finally mumbled against Namjoon’s shirt and he laughed.
“Yeah, well, this wasn’t exactly in the job description.”
“Good man.”
“He is.”
You lifted your head and kissed Namjoon’s jaw. You had met him two years ago – one of the big cheeses of his father’s company wanted him gone, and it would have been so easy. From the moment you had entered the room, Namjoon had followed you around almost everywhere. He had talked, and you had listened, or so you had thought, because at the end of the night he had somehow known your entire life story even though you had had no intention of telling him anything.
You only remembered his smile and his hand on your arm, and him being by your side the entire evening – and he had been ever since.
He knew what you were. He knew what you did.
He knew the rules of the game.
“What are you going to do about Jin,” Namjoon asked and slid down the straps of your dress, watching it fall onto the floor and pool around your bare feet.
“He did what I asked him to. So I’ll help him with what he wants.”
“Ace.” Namjoon’s lips brushed over your forehead.
“Love makes people stupid.”
He smiled widely, his eyes almost disappearing. “It does.”
He let you push his jacket from his shoulders and gently ran his hands up and down your sides as you slowly unbuttoned his shirt.
“Hoseok couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.”
“He thinks we’re too obvious.” Namjoon chuckled and gripped your hips. “He says we have sex written in capital letters on our foreheads whenever we’re together.”
You laughed and stood on your tiptoes to bite his earlobe.
“He’s not wrong.”
“We could just tell people, you know.” Namjoon pulled you flush against him with one arm, and used the other to lift your left hand. For a moment, you both stared at the small, silver wedding band he had given you the day you had registered your marriage – no family, no friends, just you and him, and a whole different kind of game you both still didn’t know all the rules to.
“The press would go batshit,” you sighed and kissed his fingertips. “I don’t need the attention.”
“I know.” Namjoon let go of your hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you.”
“You’re not.” Cupping his face, you kissed him quickly. “There will be another one. You know how it works. I just need some more time.”
“All the time you need, my love.”
You smiled and kissed him again, letting out a pleased sound when his hand dipped down the back of your panties and pressed you against him. You lightly raked your fingernails down his exposed back, and Namjoon hissed into the kiss. Burying his other hand in your hair, he pulled back your head to bring his mouth to your neck, leaving red marks and bruised skin in its wake.
“Namjoon,” you moaned, and without missing a beat, he grabbed your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist, carrying you into the bedroom of your apartment. He unceremoniously dropped you onto the bed and you giggled as you bounced on the soft mattress. For a split second, the look on Namjoon’s face softened, but then you got to your knees and started working on his belt buckle, and then his pants, and his words got stuck in his chest when you pulled them down along with his underwear.
“I hope you didn’t drink too much wine,” you mocked, and Namjoon threw you a lewd look.
“Stop using that pretty mouth for useless talking and let’s find out.”
“Nasty,” you commented and slapped his bare ass roughly. He winced, but then the sound turned into a long moan when you took him all the way into your mouth without warning. You pressed your tongue against his dick and then started moving your head back and forth, enjoying the way he twitched when you teased him with your teeth. His dick grew in your mouth, and you loved the way he felt, the way he ran his hand through your hair, the way he whispered your name.
You licked up the precum when it formed on the tip and let your tongue swivel around his head one last time before he suddenly pulled back and stepped out of his clothes. He pushed you down with his body, kissing you, and your neck, and your collarbones as you lay back on the bed until you found yourself pinned to the mattress by his warm, familiar weight.
“You were right,” Namjoon breathed, pushing your legs apart with one knee.
“About what?”
“You really do look better without the dress.”
Chuckling, you hooked one arm around his neck and lifted your back so he could undo the clasp of your bra. Namjoon’s hot mouth found one of your nipples, and he started sucking while rubbing his knee against your clothed center. You could feel your panties dampen and almost cried out with relief as Namjoon finally moved down, pulling off your underwear and burying his tongue inside you. You angled your head to watch him – his head nestled between your legs, his cheeks flushed, his big hands holding your thighs apart – and the sight alone was enough to make you grip the sheets in pleasure.
A load moan escaped you when he replaced his tongue with two of his long fingers, and it caused him to look up at you and lick his lips. You shot up, your arms flying around his neck, and you kissed him furiously. His warm skin, his plump lips, his gentle hands – nothing made you want to forfeit the game like being with Namjoon.
But the only way to win was to keep playing.
“I love you,” you whispered into his ear as Namjoon adjusted his position under you so you could comfortably sit in his lap.
“Then that’s all I need,” he replied, and guided your hips as you sank down on him, sighing at the way he felt inside you. You started moving, slowly, taking him in deep and enjoying his hand gripping the flesh of your ass. Even after two years, the way he filled you up, the way he moved in you left you feeling breathless, mindless, reckless, always wanting more, more, more.
When you picked up the pace, Namjoon grunted and carefully pushed you back down onto your back. You let him swing your legs over his shoulders and braced yourself on his biceps when he slid back into you effortlessly.
“Oh god,” you moaned when he started to slam into you at a hard and relentless speed, hitting the spot inside you he knew would send you over the edge fast. Your fingernails were digging into the skin of his arms, but he kept pounding into you, even when you screamed his name, even when you were writhing underneath him, even when you stopped clenching around him, your arousal turning into oversensitivity.
When Namjoon finally came, he was covered in sweat and his hair was a tousled mess as he collapsed next to you. You pulled his head to your chest and kissed the top of his hair, and thought that he was never more beautiful than when he was lying in your arms.
His phone started ringing, and Namjoon groaned as he clumsily crawled to the foot of the bed to search his pockets for the device. When he found it, he picked up and immediately lay back down on your chest, closing his eyes when your hand found its way into his hair again.
“Yes? Okay. Thank you.”
He hung up and you frowned.
“Was that Yoongi?”
“Yeah. They took care of him.”
“Good.”
You held Namjoon even closer to you as you could hear him slowly drifting off to sleep. Not only did he know what you did, he had helped you countless times with jobs – if he couldn’t beat the game, he had said, he would learn to play it. As a beloved public figure, his alias was more than befitting – magazines had called him The New King of Seoul more times than you cared to count.
Namjoon was regal, he was a man people admired and supported; he had a knack for acting like he was trying to please the public while enforcing his own agenda. Nobody suspected that he was your strongest, most loyal player.
Characters: NamjoonxReader
Length: 2525 words
Genre: Mafia AU
Warnings: Violence
Part 35 Part 37
The car floated through the streets of what could barely be called Seoul anymore, the asphalt in the area of your childhood home was well-maintained and even. No potholes shook the passengers, no sharp corners needed to be turned to get from one too-narrow street into the next too-narrow street. The Bugak mountains stretched out before you as you got closer to the mansion. You had loved growing up here – now you wished that you would never have to come back.
“I can't believe I'm the one who's most eligible to drive.” Jimin's voice cut through the silence like a crow's cry at dawn. “How is it possible that everybody in this car got shot?”
“Twice!” said Jungkook and you in unison, and shared a conspiratorial grin. Namjoon turned around in the passenger seat.
“We're almost there,” he announced, and every trace of a smile disappeared from your face. “We won't have much time. Hoseok will meet us at his office when we're done. When we get to the mansion, I will take care of the downstairs office. I want names, records, especially of what he was doing in Busan. Babe, you go to your room. Grab everything you need – especially documents. Do you know where your birth certificate is? Your passport?”
“Yes,” you replied immediately. Your mother had given you all your important papers when you had turned eighteen and told you to keep them in the safe in your room, to which only you knew the combination.
Now you wondered if she had anticipated something like this might happen.
“Good. Your father should be at the cemetery by now.” Namjoon waited, gauged if you would react to his words – but you didn't. You couldn't. You had to focus, had to follow orders, because if you didn't, someone might get arrested.
Or worse.
“We'll just go in and out. Do not waste any time. Do not get distracted. Do not do anything reckless. Time is against us.”
“What about guards?” Jungkook asked, casually inspecting the safety and chamber of his gun.
“It's handled.”
Nobody reacted, nobody doubted him, nobody asked.
When you pulled into the driveway of the mansion two minutes later – the gates wide open the the alarm disarmed – everything stayed quiet. Without interruption, Jimin steered the car along the winding road that ended in a spacious lot that was framed by the main house, the garage, and the guest house.
A solitary car was parked facing the exit, and when Jimin turned off the engine, the driver's door opened. Jin's long legs emerged from the vehicle, and you swallowed hard when you pushed open your door to get out of the SUV.
Jin was leaning against his Lexus, his face hard and pale, his eyes red.
“You know I hate doing sh- stuff like this, Namjoon,” he said once you had gotten into earshot.
“Consider it warm-up.”
Namjoon reached out his hand and Jin took it, shaking it firmly before letting his eyes fall onto you.
“How are you doing?”
“I don't know,” you answered truthfully. “Yoongi and Taehyung are dead.”
Jin nodded solemnly and then jerked his head in Namjoon's direction. “So is this one, allegedly.”
“I was there.” Tears were starting to well in your eyes. “I couldn't – I didn't-”
“At least you're alive,” Jin interrupted you, but there was no warmth in his voice. “Make the best of it.”
You bit your lip and lowered your gaze. Did Jin wish you were dead instead of your mother? That you could take the place of his unborn child? Did he wish he could trade your life for that of his family?
Were you not his family?
“I gotta go.” Jin pushed himself away from the car and got back into the driver's seat. “This was the last time, Namjoon. No more favors. I have things of my own to do.”
“I understand.” Namjoon closed the door and tapped the top of the car twice with his flat hand. “Goodbye, friend.”
The entrance of the building looked the same, but different. It smelled the same, but different. Everything about it made you miss the living room in Namjoon's penthouse: the three, comfortable couches, the smell of Jungkook's surprisingly good cooking in the air, along with the sound of Jimin's cartoons mixed with his crystal-clear laughter. You missed the study with all its books that you had never even heard of, you missed the low, night blue bed, you missed falling asleep next to Namjoon.
You missed home.
You let your hand brush against Namjoon's as you followed him to the foot of the stairs, and he turned around immediately, a touch from you all it took to get his attention.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” you whispered. “I really, I – I love you, Namjoon.”
He bent down to kiss your forehead. “It's going to be okay, I promise.”
“Noona!” Jungkook came in through the front door after having circled the main house once with Jimin. His gun was still in his hand, the safety clicked off. You didn't even want to know what they had encountered.
“Clear?” Namjoon asked in a professional tone.
“Clearer than my flawless skin.” Jimin's steps sounded heavy on the wooden floor. “Let's do this, hyung.”
Jungkook holstered his weapon and his gaze trailed up the stairs in front of you. “Where's your room, noona? I'm going with you.”
“No.” Namjoon pointed at Jimin. “Go with her. You,” his finger wandered to Jungkook, “come with me.”
Without waiting for protest or questions that were surely coming, he stomped off into the long hallway off the right of the stairs. Jungkook was staring at his back, confusion and anger battling each other in his dark eyes. Fortunately, Jimin just shrugged and lightly pushed your shoulder.
“If hyung says so. Let's go.”
You nodded, and Jungkook watched you and Jimin climb up the stairs before following Namjoon with long strides. When he entered the office at the back of the hallway, Namjoon was already tearing out drawers and rummaging through piles of paper. Jungkook stopped in the doorway, weighing his options if he said the words that were sitting on the tip of his tongue, bitter like venom, bitter like the truth.
“Stop being jealous,” he finally snapped, and it was as if the temperature in the room suddenly dropped a few degrees. Namjoon's hands stopped, and he slowly straightened up to stand at his full height.
“What?”
“I know you don't like me because you think I'm your rival. But I'm not. I don't like her like that. I don't know how to like someone like that. I don't even know what like that is supposed to feel like.”
Namjoon pursed his lips as he very deliberately set down the pile of files in his hands.
“First of all, I don't like you because you shot Jimin, you hurt Yoongi, and you almost broke my girlfriend's skull before shooting her in the back.” Namjoon's eyes narrowed at Jungkook's guilty face. “Don't think I will ever forget what you did, kid. She may have forgiven you, but I won't.”
“Fair enough.” Jungkook pressed the words out between his teeth, his hatred for Namjoon's arrogant and condescending attitude making him want to beat him senseless, but remorse froze him to the spot.
“Second of all, you are not my rival. I love her. She loves me. I trust her. You play no part in this, so get over yourself. Plus,” Namjoon resumed going through the papers on the table in front of him, “I know you don't like her – like that.”
Jungkook blinked in confusion. “Then why didn't you let me go upstairs with her?”
Namjoon made a triumphant face when he evidently found what he was looking for, and started taking photos of the contents with his phone. Jungkook rolled his eyes, but waited patiently.
“Because,” Namjoon said finally, “you're a soldier. You're a fighter. If something happens, I'd rather have you down here. I may not have forgiven you, but I trust you and your skills, Jungkook. And I trust you with her.”
Jungkook pressed his lips together and watched Namjoon as he found more files and took more photos. He had assumed that Namjoon leaving him alone with you so much the past days was because he had been busy with other things, not because he knew you would be safe with him, because he knew that Jungkook would not leave your side, ever.
He hadn't thought that Namjoon was putting you in his care while he went out and took down your father – and his.
Jungkook had no doubt that Namjoon had something to do not only with the fact that nobody had come to take him back or take him out, but also with the mayor's untimely demise, although Jungkook guessed that was debatable. He personally felt like his death had been long overdue. In a way, Jungkook was curious to know what had happened between Namjoon and his father – but at the same time he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Maybe it would be best to leave the past in the past. Not that Jungkook would ever forget his past – what he had done for his father, what he had done to others, what he had done to you. And just like Namjoon, he would never forgive himself for it.
So the least he could do was make amends.
A loud noise from the lobby of the house made both Jungkook and Namjoon pause.
“They probably got everything,” Namjoon mumbled without looking up from the paper he was reading. “I'll be done in a second. Go meet them.”
“Yessir,” Jungkook replied automatically and tried to ignore the tiny smirk on Namjoon's face.
Namjoon didn't care about the mess he had made. Papers and folders were strewn around, covering every surface and some of the floor. He considered it a favor to the police since they wouldn't have to remove them from the cabinets and drawers themselves. When he was positive he had had enough, he slid his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket and looked up – just in time to see the man with the semi-automatic walk into the room.
His heart rate sped up and his face tensed – he was your father's man. Once during a particularly boring party, he had listened to the man talk about his two daughters for forty-five minutes. Right now, he displayed nothing of that kindness and softness he had shown that night. Right now, he was a killer.
“We got a weird phone call from one of the guards, but when we picked up, nobody was there.”
“And now you're here,” Namjoon finished the explanation.
“Kim Namjoon.” The man's lips twitched. “On the day the boss has to bury his beloved wife. You really have no shame.”
“We're all peas in a shameless pod,” replied Namjoon dryly. “Where's the boy?”
“Come,” said the man without answering the question. “I'm sure the boss will be happy to see you alive and well.”
Namjoon kept a stoic face as he passed the man and felt the gun press against his back, and even when they arrived at the landing of the stairs where Jungkook was being confined by two bulky men clinging to his arms. One of them was bleeding from his nose, and the other's eye was already swelling shut. A few steps up the stairwell lay another man whose head was twisted in an unnatural angle, and whose wide eyes stared dully into the air. He had obviously been attacked on the way to the upper floors. Namjoon locked eyes for a second with Jungkook, who barely noticeably nodded his head.
Nobody had made it upstairs.
Nobody knew you and Jimin were there.
Namjoon rubbed his hands in an exaggeratedly chipper way. “Shall we go say hello to the boss then?” he suggested and made for the door. The other men followed him, suspicion evident on their faces. But Namjoon had no intention of trying to escape before leaving the mansion. He knew they were headed straight to hell, but he refused to think about that now. He would figure it out later. He and Jungkook would handle the situation somehow. All that was important now were you and Jimin.
And that you were safe.
“Shit.”
You zipped up the bag on your bed before looking at Jimin, who hadn't done much the last twenty minutes except for watching you pack and commenting on your offensive lack of non-cotton underwear. Now he was standing at the window, and all thoughts about your lingerie seemed forgotten.
“What is it?”
“Are those your father's men?”
You leaped to the window, almost pushing Jimin out of the way. Downstairs, three suits were loading Namjoon and Jungkook into a Bentley that looked very familiar. You knew all of them, their faces triggering years and years of memories. But if there had ever been any fondness, it disappeared when one of them smashed Jungkook's head against the enforced cabin of the car before throwing his limp body onto the backseat and closing the door.
“Let's go.” You ran past your bed to grab the bag and then sprinted out of the room and down the stairs, Jimin close on your heels. After a brief stop at one of the old, oak dressers in the hallway, you grabbed Jimin's sleeve and pulled him towards the back door.
“Where are we going?”
“They can't see us,” you explained, your breath shallow from running. “Plus, this is a shortcut.”
Jimin didn't ask anymore questions until you had crossed the small patch of grass between the main house and the garage, and you smashed your fist against the button that opened one of the doors. Impatiently, you ducked under the gate that was moving way too slowly for your liking, and Jimin did the same, only to find himself in front of a vintage Porsche.
“Can you drive?” you asked, and Jimin nodded.
“Of course.”
“Here,” you tossed him the keys and hurriedly climbed into the passenger seat, hurling your bag onto the bench in the back Jimin didn't lose any time getting behind the wheel and starting the engine. He pulled the door close, his right hand searched the center console – and his face lost all color.
“I- I can't drive stick.”
“What?” You stared at him in disbelief. “Get the fuck out!”
Practically pushing Jimin out of the car, you climbed over the console and into the driver's seat. You were already stepping on the gas before Jimin had even closed the passenger door.
“Put on your seatbelt,” you barked, and then the Porsche shot out of the garage.
NamjoonxReader; 6541 words; A little fluff, a little smut, a lot of ridiculousness.
Happy Birthday, Namjoon. This is my ode to you.
“Another!”
The curt call made you blink and almost drop the glass you were drying with a ratty towel. You stifled a yawn and looked around for the source of the unnecessarily loud order. It had come from a regular customer you had taken to call Red Fuzz, because of his bright red tuft and pretty pathetic facial hair.
“Coming up,” you mumbled and turned to take a clean beer glass from the shelf. Pils from the keg, the foam of which would get stuck in what Red Fuzz optimistically called a mustache. It was a Tuesday evening, and the quiet idle chatter had started to make you sleepy. The bar was always dark, and the wooden tiles on the walls swallowed most of the sounds, but on weekdays the low voices and timid giggles turned into a lullaby that seemed to draw you in, and draw out your shift.
“Thank you,” Red Fuzz said when you placed the beer in front of him, the unspoken sexist nickname implied in his disgustingly sweet smile. You forced the corners of your mouth up before disappearing behind the bar again. After having worked here for two years, you had seen a lot and learned even more, and one of those lessons had been that you felt safest with at least one foot of antique walnut between you and every guest.
When the door opened, you barely looked up. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the wait staff serving drinks and talking to other patrons, but the newcomer didn’t seem to be in a hurry to order. He walked over to a small table in a quiet corner of the place, sat down, and put his big bag in his lap. You had almost gone back to washing glasses when he pulled out a laptop and placed it in front of him on the table. He discarded his bag onto the chair across from him and looked around for a waiter while waiting for his computer to boot. You put down the glass, wiped your hands on your apron, and marched over to him, cutting off the waitress who was on her way to his table in the process.
“Hi.” He gave you a big smile. “Can I have a gin and tonic and your wifi password?”
You crossed your arms in front of your chest and glared. “This isn’t Starbucks.”
“True.” His smile was unwavering. “But I need to get drunk and play some World of Warcraft, so this made sense.”
The operation system finished loading, and immediately a text file appeared on the screen, as if he had only folded the computer shut before taking it here.
“I hope you are a better gamer than liar,” you commented and squinted at the open document, quickly finding the author’s name on the page. “Kim Namjoon.”
His smile turned into a shy, apologetic grin. “Okay, I’m sorry. I just moved in upstairs and I don’t have wifi yet. This paper is due in four days. The library closes at eight. Please?”
You nails were digging into your arms and your mouth was pressed into a thin line. You had seen a lot, but this was new. You had seen sloppy drunks, and people who only ordered one drink and then disappeared into the bathroom for three hours. You had found customers passed out under chairs and benches, and once it had taken you fifteen minutes to convince a man that his pants were not, in fact, on fire and there was no need for him to remove them. But you had never seen anyone walk into a dark, shabby bar to leech free internet off it.
You also had never met anyone who made your palms this sweaty just by staring at you.
“Gin and tonic?” you finally said, avoiding his gaze as you wrote down the wifi password on a piece of paper.
“Yes. Easy on the gin.”
You gave him a dirty look and slammed the paper onto the table, neither of which seemed to faze him much. He took the paper and looked up at you again.
“What’s your name?”
“What?”
“We’ve established mine. I’m Namjoon. What’s your name?”
Wordlessly, you turned around and walked away, eager to get back behind your counter.
By the time five am rolled around, Namjoon was asleep in his chair, his hands still resting on the keyboard and strands of his bleached hair falling into his eyes. Most patrons had long since left, but even though you would never admit to it, you had kept an an eye on Namjoon’s computer and bag to make sure that nobody gave into the temptation. Finally, his head lulled back, and he started snoring so loudly, the only waitress who was still on shift giggled into her apple juice.
“Lock the back door,” you ordered and swung the towel you had been using to wipe off tables over your shoulder. You waited until the girl had disappeared in the back before leaning over Namjoon and pinching his nose with two fingers.
Namjoon coughed and flailed, gasping for air and looking around as if he had woken up in the wrong century.
“Hmsuhuht.”
“Excuse me?”
He rubbed his eyes hard with the balls of his hands. “What time is it?”
“Five in the morning.” You took the empty glass on Namjoon’s table and walked back to the bar. Namjoon glanced around, just in time to see the last two guests leave through the front door. He groaned in annoyance and stretched, revealing a little bit of skin where his shirt rode up. You bit your bottom lip and filled a glass with water.
“Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” Namjoon whined, and you refrained from reminding him that you were not his mother.
“You looked so peaceful,” you retorted, the sarcasm in your voice making him smirk.
“So you were looking at me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said and walked back over to him. “I watch all suspicious guests.”
“Ouch.” Namjoon folded his laptop shut and raised his eyebrows when you placed the glass of water in front of him. “Thanks.”
“It’s on the house,” you joked. Namjoon chuckled, and it made you want to brush his hair out of his face.
You didn’t like the feeling.
Namjoon emptied the glass, put the laptop back into his bag, and shouldered it before getting up from his chair. He was taller than you had thought, and he was standing so close that you had to tilt your head back to look at him.
“So,” he said and yawned. “What is your name?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Fine, don’t tell me.” Namjoon shrugged. “I guess I’ll just call you Flapdoodle.”
“What?” You meant to sound offended, but it came out as an incredulous laugh.
“Flapdoodle. It means nonsense. Because that’s what this is. Why won’t you tell me your name?”
You didn’t respond, because you didn’t have an answer for him. You wanted to think that you were protecting your privacy, but the truth was that you enjoyed unnerving him. Smiling, you patted his shoulder and grabbed the towel off your shoulder.
“Good night, Namjoon.”
He sighed and adjusted the strap of his bag.
“See you tomorrow, Flapdoodle.”
You weren’t sure why, but you didn’t expect Namjoon to come back. Writing at a bar couldn’t be very productive, especially not between ten pm and five am, and you figured a sensible person wouldn’t pull that kind of all-nighter two days in a row. He had the library – whichever library that was – to use during the day, and there were other kinds of resources than those on the internet. There were a million reasons why he wouldn’t come back, and you had used them all to argue yourself in believing that he wouldn’t.
But he did.
Namjoon swept into the bar at ten minutes after eleven with a smile and a paper cup in his hand, and knocked over two chairs with the backpack he was holding in one hand on the way to the bar. His hair was disheveled, his eyes had dark circles, and his clothes were too mismatched to be considered fashion. You raised an eyebrow when he flopped onto a stool at the counter and started fumbling with the zipper of his bag.
“Are you wearing sweatpants to a bar?”
“Good evening to you, too, Flapdoodle.”
You almost grinned at the stupid nickname. Almost. “You can’t wear sweatpants to a bar, Namjoon.”
“Why not?” He stopped his hands to look at you. “I’m not here to impress anyone.”
“I see,” you said flatly, ignoring the way the words stung in your chest.
“I mean, I clearly already left an impression on you yesterday, so-” He let his sentence trails off and you offered a dry laugh.
“You sure did.”
“See. And I’m going to deal with that later. But right now, I have a report to write. Can I have a beer, please?”
“No need to deal with anything,” you mumbled and reached for one of the thick glass mugs on the shelf behind you. When you turned back around to work the keg, you found Namjoon frowning at you.
“You wouldn’t even tell me your name.”
“What if I don’t have a name.”
“Flapdoodle, please.”
You couldn’t stop the laugh this time, and you had to stop filling the glass with beer to catch your breath. When you saw Namjoon’s pleased face, you bit your lip and strained your face muscles to regain a straight expression. Shaking your head, you finished pouring his drink and put it in front of him.
“Maybe I should give you a nickname instead,” you suggested, mentally kicking yourself for sounding borderline flirtatious. You couldn’t help it – Namjoon was the first guy who had walked in here in a long time who was not only not creepy or visibly desperate, but outright cute. Some friendly banter was probably harmless.
And you still had the counter between you and him.
“That is actually not a bad idea.” Namjoon placed his laptop on the bar but didn’t open it. “Most of my friends call me ‘incredibly handsome stud’.”
“That seems unnecessarily long.”
“This is true. Also I consider us very close friends, so you can just call me ‘stud’.”
“Is this you trying to redeem yourself?”
Namjoon grinned sheepishly. “This is me trying not to sound like an idiot, and failing.”
When you didn’t say anything, Namjoon finally brought his attention to his laptop to start working. You watched him silently for a while before grabbing a bag of nuts from a low cabinet, pouring some into a bowl, and putting them next to his glass. Namjoon looked up, his face a little more tired and distressed than before, so you offered him a smile.
“Let me know if you need anything, stud.”
“Thank you, Flapdoodle.”
“What are you writing about, anyway?” You took a swig of your coke and put the glass down before peeking over Namjoon’s shoulder. The bar was completely empty except for the two of you – you had sent the hall staff home about half an hour ago – so you were sitting on a stool next to him, your feet dangling and your apron neatly folded on the chair on your other side. The two of you had sat in silence for a while as Namjoon’s long fingers glided over the keyboard and you checked your texts and emails with less than mild interest. But about ten minutes ago, his steady breathing had started to be interrupted by frustrated groans and drawn-out yawns, until you hadn’t been able to stand it anymore and put down your phone.
“Literary analysis,” Namjoon sighed and eyed your beverage, probably wishing he had switched to non-alcoholic drinks a few hours ago. Instead, he emptied his third whiskey on the rocks and exhaled loudly.
“Of what?”
Namjoon’s eyebrows knitted together. “Of nothing. Just that. Literary theory.”
“Fun,” you commented sarcastically.
“You’re fun,” Namjoon snapped, realizing too late that the comeback had backfired. You chuckled.
“Alright, cowboy, time to call it a night.” You slid down from the bar stool and reached for your apron.
“Can I have one more drink?”
“No. I’m cutting you off.”
“You’re so mean, Flapdoodle,” he whined, his words slightly slurred and his eyes swimming from exhaustion and intoxication. Still, he let you reach between himself and the screen to save the document and shut down the laptop. You helped him stow it away in his backpack which he clumsily slung over one shoulder as he struggled to stand.
“Are you okay to go home?” you asked, before remembering he lived right upstairs.
“I don’t know.” His grin was too wide, causing his eyes to almost disappear. “Maybe you should come with me.”
“I’m just going to blame this on the alcohol,” you retorted and walked back behind the bar counter. “I need to clean up. You can settle your bill tomorrow.”
Namjoon stared at you for a few seconds before his eyes turned strangely clear again, and he buried his face in his hands with another groan.
“Fuck.” He gripped the edge of the counter with both hands and looked at you pleadingly. “I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t mean it. I mean, I did, but I didn’t, you know.”
You gave him a puzzled glance. “I don’t think I do.”
“Flapdoodle,” he started, and you almost laughed again. “I would gladly take you upstairs and do anything, or everything, or nothing, for that matter, but I didn’t mean it like it sounded and I really think I should go now.”
“Good night, Namjoon.” You almost regretted the hardness in your tone when you saw Namjoon’s crestfallen expression as he let go of the wood and sighed.
“See you tomorrow, Flapdoodle.”
The bathwater had cooled down enough to make you shiver, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the tub. You brought your cell phone screen on the floor to life with a touch of your finger and looked at the time. Two am. Then you went back to watching your toes wiggle on the tiled wall. You hadn’t washed your hair yet, or any other part of your body. All you had been doing was staring at the wall – with or without toes – and wondering if Namjoon was at the bar right now. If his report was coming along well. If he wondered where you were. Maybe even asked about you. If you were sick or just at home. If you would work the next day.
If he thought about you at all.
You hadn’t been mad at him the day before. He had made a dumb, drunken joke. You were a bartender, and had heard much worse from much worse people. You didn’t believe that Namjoon was like them. And yet you had automatically resorted to your go-to reaction – stone-cold rejection.
The first and last time you had hooked up with a guy you had met at work at a bar, it had resulted in sixteen of the worst months of your life. He had promised you heaven and put you through hell, and while the scars on your heart were old and faded, whenever you found yourself in a similar situation, they would start itching again, itching and searing to remind you to never make that mistake again. The mistake of falling for high-proof sweet talk and promises that went down like good scotch, and burned just as much. The mistake of falling for drunken dreams that turned into sober nightmares.
The mistake of falling for an intoxicating smile, smooth golden skin, and long fingers tangling the threads of your sanity.
You turned on the faucet, letting hot water pour into the bathtub, almost scalding your skin. But, you figured, better your skin than your heart.
Business was slow for a Friday night. You had started your shift at three pm, but even now, at nine in the evening, not many people were seated at the tables and the bar that stretched along the back wall. It felt like you had already dried dozens of glasses and cleaned your work space just as many times. There wasn’t a smudge on the kegs and faucets, and you had organized all the glasses on the shelves neatly by purpose and size.
Clearly, you were going insane.
“So how was your day off?” The waitress leaned across the bar to put two neon-colored cocktails you had made onto her tray.
“It was relaxing,” you lied.
“That’s good.” She smiled politely and took off. The glasses had left two wet circles on the walnut counter and you absently started wiping at them with your towel. You were bored. You were tired. You were annoyed at yourself. You couldn’t focus.
And then you almost shrieked when Namjoon walked through the door.
Two boys his age trailed behind him and followed him to a table close to the bar. The shorter one was scrawny and looked perpetually underwhelmed by the world, whereas the other boy was tall, lean, and he reminded you of a child in a toy store as he chattered away with a bright smile on his face until they had finally sat down.
You heard your name being called and your heart stopped in your chest until you realized it had been your coworker’s voice.
“Can you get their order, please?” she asked, cocking her head towards Namjoon and his friends. “I gotta go to table twelve.”
Hell no, you thought, but then you pulled yourself together and nodded.
Hesitantly, you walked over to the table where Namjoon had already set up his laptop again. As you got closer, you couldn’t help but overhear their conversation, which the small, dark-haired boy decorated with the most colorful of words.
“What the fuck, Namjoon?”
“I’m sorry, hyung, I gotta get this done today. Deadline’s at midnight.”
“What do you think you can do now?”
“I’m just going to proofread it one last time. I have been a bit – distracted.”
“Can we at least order drinks first? I had the worst fucking day and I need a drink more than I need you to get your head out of your – hey!” He made eye-contact with you and you flinched. You took a deep breath and walked the last five feet to the table, stopping behind Namjoon.
“Hi.”
“Flapdoodle!” Namjoon exclaimed and you bit your lip to keep a neutral expression. The other two were less successful. The excited boy looked back and forth between you and Namjoon in confusion, while the other one’s face split into a knowing smile that made you clutch your towel.
“Flapdoodle,” he said lowly, and this time there was no smile to suppress. “Nice to finally meet you. I have heard so much about you.”
“Hyung!” Namjoon hissed and stared at his friend, hiding his expression from you.
“I’m Yoongi,” the skinny one continued. “This is Hoseok. We go to school with Namjoonie.”
“Nice to meet you.” You looked at them both, and Hoseok offered you an innocent smile.
“You too! Flapdoodle – is that French?”
“We’ll have three from the keg,” Yoongi interrupted him and you were happy to exit the situation – or so you thought.
“Hey,” Namjoon said, turning around in his chair. “Were you off yesterday?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He grinned nervously. “I wanted to ask the other bartender about you, but then I realized I don’t know your real name.”
“Oh. Right.” You nodded, your lips in a tight line, and you could have sworn you heard Hoseok mumble Oh thank god under his breath.
“Anyway, yeah. Hi.” Namjoon forced a smile, his eyes darting back and forth to gauge any kind of reaction visible on your face. But you simply cleared your throat and pointed at the computer screen.
“You have a mistake right there. It’s ‘fallacy’, not ‘felony’.”
“What?” Namjoon spun around to search the open page in front of him. “Shit! Thank you.”
“What’s a fallacy?” Hoseok asked, obviously trying to change the mood of the conversation. Before Namjoon could answer, Yoongi, who was leaning back in his chair with a vicious grin, jumped in.
“It’s basically a misconception or a wrong deduction based on faulty arguments or assumptions.”
“Ah,” said Hoseok.
“I’ll give you an example,” Yoongi offered, his eyes fixed on Namjoon who was glaring back helplessly. “Let’s say the argument is 'If Namjoon asked a girl on a date, he likes her’. Now, we know that Namjoon likes this girl. The fallacy here would be to assume that that also means that he will definitely ask her on a date.”
Even from your position, you could see Namjoon’s entire body tense as he continued to stare, willing Yoongi to stop talking.
“Because,” Yoongi said, his grin ever-growing, “he’s a little chicken shit.”
“What else is he gonna do?”
“I don’t know. Stalk her at work and stare at her from afar?”
Hoseok blinked a few times. Then his head shot up and he once again looked from Namjoon to you and then back to Namjoon. His knowing grin matched Yoongi’s.
“Now that,” he finally said, “sounds like a felony.”
Your hands were still shaking when you clocked out at eleven. You had managed to avoid Namjoon’s table for the rest of your shift, and now you were sitting in the back room of the bar, trying to organize your thoughts, but none of them seemed to have purpose, and all of them were overwhelming in size.
You knew his friends had been messing with both Namjoon and you. Nobody liked someone after just two days. Fine, he had talked to his friends about you, but that was what boys did, right? Talk about conquests, achievements, prospects. He didn’t like you; he didn’t know you. Maybe he liked your looks. Maybe he liked the idea of you. But just like every other man, he would get bored with you, grow tired of you, decide you weren’t worth it after all.
Even you were pretty tired of yourself.
You got up from the chair and kicked it angrily. Who did those guys think they were? Did they think they could get to you with their lewd comments and stupid games? Did Namjoon bring them here to show you off? To present his next object of interest to them, his next fuck, his next story?
And if he was, why were you so delicate, so careful with his feelings, and yours? Especially if there were no real feelings to begin with?
Who said you couldn’t have a little fun with him, if that was all he wanted, anyway?
Stomping back into the bar, you looked around to find the three of them still sitting at their table – Namjoon crouched over his laptop, and the other two quietly talking over beer and chips. You marched over to them and dropped into the seat next to Namjoon, your bag falling to the floor with a thump that made all three of them jump.
“How’s it going?” you asked, your tone cold enough to make Namjoon look up and Hoseok raise his eyebrows.
“Almost done,” Namjoon replied solemnly, training his gaze back onto the words on the screen.
“Flapdoodle, are you okay?” Yoongi eyed you suspiciously, his face giving away the fact that he knew that your shift in attitude was bad news – he just didn’t know for whom.
“Yeah, I just got off work. Everything’s peachy.” You shrugged and sat back in your chair. Wordlessly, Namjoon pushed his glass over to you to offer you some of his drink.
“I’ll be right with you guys,” he added.
Five minutes of tense silence passed, in which Yoongi kept throwing you wary glances and Hoseok held onto his glass for dear life. Namjoon seemed to notice none of this as he clacked away on his keyboard until he finally raised his arms in triumph.
“Done!” he announced. “I just mailed the son of a bitch.” He looked around in confusion when nobody replied, and frowned when he noticed the glum atmosphere.
“We should go,” said Yoongi, and elbowed Hoseok in the side before getting up. “We live pretty far away so – yeah. Bye.” He dragged Hoseok out of the bar with him, ignoring Namjoon’s incredulous face.
“What the fuck?” Namjoon turned around to look at you. “What was that all about?”
“How would I know?” you replied. With a sweet smile, you put a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder and let it wander until your fingers were buried in the hair falling down his neck. “Hey, Namjoon? Take me upstairs?”
Namjoon gaped at you, his arms falling limply down his sides.
“Wha- why? I mean – okay!” He scrambled to pack up his belongings, took your bag from you, and led the way out of the bar. He held open the door for you before walking to a second door around the corner of the building. His apartment was at the top of a narrow staircase, and when you walked into his living room, you noticed the pleasant smell of detergent and a subtle cologne, and you wondered if Namjoon’s skin smelled just as good.
Namjoon put the two bags on the ground and gestured towards the couch.
“Sit down. Do you want a drink? Something to eat?” He looked around the room. “A face mask?”
“No.” You stared at him blankly and skillfully pulled off your panties from under your skirt, discarding them to the floor unceremoniously. Namjoon’s breath hitched audibly.
“What are you doing?”
You gave a detached shrug. “We’re gonna have sex, right?”
“Yes! No! I mean – I don’t know, I just – what are you doing?”
“I’m sorry, did you want to take those off?”
“Flap- okay, this is ridiculous. What is your name?”
Namjoon barely touched you as he led you to the couch and pressed you into the soft cushions. He didn’t sit down himself, instead he paced in front of you, gesturing wildly as he spoke.
“I don’t get it? What happened? Why are you like this? Is it because of Yoongi hyung? His humor is a bit – eccentric, but he didn’t mean to be rude, okay? I told him about you and how nice you were to me, and that I thought you were cute, and I guess he just tried to – I don’t even know, but – why are you even here? You got mad at me for suggesting this two days ago, remember?”
You wished Namjoon would stop moving so you could look at him. Look at his face and see if any of that was true. His choice of words infuriated you – nice and cute – the gall, the nerve, the innocence.
“What do you want from me, Namjoon?” you finally said, exhausted, exasperated. Namjoon stopped, and sighed. He bent down just far enough to meet your face that was directed upwards at him. Softly, he pressed his lips to yours, tracing the skin of your neck with his fingertips.
“I want this,” he whispered. “But not like this.”
Your heart was beating in your chest, heat was rushing through your cheeks and your stomach, and before you knew it, the word fell from your lips, sweetly, drunkenly; your name like a promise, like a dream, and Namjoon smiled and sat down next to you.
“That’s a beautiful name,” he said and kissed you again, deeply and truly, and you felt an unfamiliar feeling of intoxication, a feeling you had forgotten about like a bad hangover.
Your hands found the hem of Namjoon’s shirt and impatiently pulled it over his head, only to run hungrily over the smooth, golden skin that felt like velvet and eagerly leaned into your touch. Namjoon pulled you into his lap and ran his hands down your sides, slipping his hands under your shirt and gripping your waist to still you.
“I don’t want to just fuck you. Just for the record.”
You looked down at him mockingly. “Yeah, sure. You’re all the same, Namjoon.”
He grinned widely, winningly, his eyes almost disappearing again. “That is a fallacy.”
“Shut up,” you laughed and reached down to undo the button and zipper of his pants. Pushing yourself up, you slid them down along with his underwear and let them pool around his ankles. Namjoon sighed when you wrapped one hand around his half-hard cock and started stroking him slowly.
“God,” he moaned. “Did you learn that at bartender school?”
“Do you really think it’s wise to sass me when I have your penis in my hand?”
Namjoon laughed and brought his hands up to cup your face. He pulled you down to kiss you sweetly, and then hissed when you tightened your grip around him and started to pump him harder. You smirked against his mouth and pulled his bottom lip between your teeth.
His breathing quickened, along with his hands that were now urgently removing your shirt and bra. One arm wrapped firmly around your waist, and he started massaging one of your breasts while playfully sucking on the nipple of the other. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter in his lap, your core aching for his touch.
“Namjoon,” you whined into his ear, and without removing his teasing mouth from your chest, he snaked one arm between your bodies. He stroked your aching core a few times before dipping two fingers into you. Instinctively, your body tried to jerk back, but his strong arm around your waist held you in place, forcing you to just give into his deep, languid motions. Your head fell onto his shoulder, your breathing too fast, too unsteady, as you tried to focus on jerking him off to the rhythm his fingers dictated.
Namoon’s body tensed when a drop of precum formed on his cock, and you swiped your thumb over his head to spread the liquid. His voice was hoarse when he whispered your name, and you lifted your head to kiss him again.
“Condom?”
“Bedroom.”
You got up and shimmied out of your skirt, and Namjoon followed, taking your hand as he basically sprinted towards an open door in the back of the apartment. You giggled and slapped his butt, almost tripping over a pile of clothes on the way. Namjoon caught you and pressed you against the wall of the hallway to kiss you passionately.
“Say my name, stud,” you grinned when he broke the kiss, and Namjoon looked at you questioningly for a second, before rolling his eyes at you.
“I am not calling you 'Flapdoodle’ when I’m about to be inside you.”
“Why not? What are you afraid of?” you taunted him and bit your lip when Namjoon dragged a lazy finger over your slit.
“Oh, nothing,” he said and pressed a wet kiss to your jaw. “I’m gonna rock your world.”
You laughed, even when he started running again, even when he pulled you into his room and closed the door, but then he wrapped you in his arms and started kissing you again, and trapped the laughter in your chest, from where it bloomed like a flower spreading through your body, making you giddy and lightheaded.
Namjoon found a condom and pulled it over his cock, giving it a few more pumps before crawling on top of you and gently brushing some strands of hair out of your face. You put one arm around his neck to pull him into another kiss, and Namjoon settled between your legs, gently guiding himself into your heat. Your hands gripped his biceps as you moaned against his mouth, the feeling of him inside you warmer and more mind-numbing than any drink.
You bucked your hips, and Namjoon took the cue to start moving. His pace was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every stroke, every moment, every breath. Your lips hung slightly open and you dragged your nails over his back, making him break his rhythm every now and again. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and his chest, and Namjoon almost lost it when you leaned up to lick and kiss the salty skin of his pecs before grazing one of his nipples with your teeth.
“Shit,” he cursed when you looked up at him, licking your own lips with hooded eyes. He adjusted his position, and without warning started pounding into you, low growls and moans accompanying his powerful motions that only fueled your own climax.
“Namjoon,” you warned when his voice in your ear and his dick hitting just the right spot inside of you became too much, and you felt yourself come undone around him. He just smiled at you and started fucking you impossibly harder and deeper, and by the time you came with a long, loud moan of his name, there was no more breath left in your lungs and no more bones left in your body. Namjoon’s hips stuttered until he released into the condom; a few more arbitrary strokes before he collapsed onto you, his arms pressing you against his warm, heavy body.
“Hey,” you whispered and ran a hand through his hair when you realized your inability to breathe was no longer caused by the aftermath of your orgasm.
In one motion, Namjoon rolled off of you, onto his back, and pulled you against his side to kiss your temple.
“So, Flapdoodle. Has your world been rocked?”
You giggled and buried your face in his chest.
“Of course, stud.”
Namjoon hummed, and you lay for a few minutes catching your breath and smiling every time his lips brushed against your hair, or your forehead, or your cheek, or whatever part of you they could reach. After a while, Namjoon shifted to look at you.
“I’m going to take a shower now, but before that I have a question for you.”
“No, you can’t have your virginity back, I’m keeping it.”
“What? No, I – I have – before – why are you –“
“I’m just kidding, I’m sorry,” you interrupted his scandalized stuttering. “What is it?”
“Forget it.”
“No, tell me!”
“No. You are mean, Flapdoodle.”
“You already said that.”
“I did,” Namjoon admitted and fell silent again for a few moments. “Fine, here are two things I haven’t said before.”
“Oh?”
“I think I like you. Will you go on a date with me?”
There were a dozen comebacks on your tongue, a dozen lines to shoot Namjoon down, to diffuse the situation, to take out the weight and the seriousness and the sincerity – a dozen ways to protect yourself from Namjoon’s feelings and your own.
You said none of them.
All you said was yes.
The world outside was dark, and the apartment was already covered in a blanket of silence. You moved around the kitchen quietly, not bothering to turn on the lights. Muffled whispers came from the living room and you almost yelled for them to shut the fuck up, but then you heard the exact same words in Yoongi’s voice from the next room and grinned.
You found everything you needed – plates, forks, a big knife, and a pile of napkins you kept on the kitchen table out of necessity. You had lived with Namjoon for half a year now; you had seen a lot and learned even more, and one of the most important and most frustrating lessons had been that if there was something to spill, he would spill it. You had learned many other things, too, beautiful, crazy, unbelievably wonderful lessons you had never thought you’d ever get to learn.
A dream you never thought you’d dare to dream again.
“I swear to god, Jimin, shut up or I will suffocate you with the cake.”
You could picture Jimin’s offended face and Taehyung’s futile attempt to hide his grin; Jin’s sigh and Jungkook’s expression that barely hid the fact that he was mentally giving all of them the finger, but he couldn’t because he was the youngest and he loved them too much, anyway. You could picture Hoseok looking excitedly at the door, waiting for Namjoon to finally wake up, and Yoongi’s face that rarely ever showed how kind and concerned he was, and how happy and proud to be a part of their lives.
But sometimes it did, and sometimes it showed more than he could ever put into words, and that was all they really needed, and more than they would ever ask for.
A loud noise came from the living room, like a person being pushed from a piece of furniture and crashing to the floor, and then Jin’s strict voice Jimin, Taehyung, stop it!
You smiled to yourself and carried the plates and utensils into the living room. You set them down next to the cake and barely even glanced at Taehyung on the hardwood floor, rubbing his butt but still grinning up at Jimin. However, he quickly got to his feet when he heard the footsteps in the hallway, and was the first to yell Surprise! when Namjoon’s sleepy face appeared in the doorframe.
“'ssdis?” he asked and you walked over to him, looping your arms around his neck.
“A surprise party, babe.”
“Hmsuhuht?”
You looked down at your watch. “Exactly midnight.”
“Oh.” Namjoon rubbed his eyes and a grin spread across his face. “Thank you.” He leaned down to kiss you, and you kept one hand on his cheek when you pulled away. “I love you, Flapdoodle,” he added and you laughed quietly.
“Good morning, Namjoon,” you whispered. “And happy birthday.”
Characters: NamjoonxReader
Length: 2570 words
Genre: Mafia AU
Warnings: Violence
Part 33 Part 35
The cloud of smoke and dust still hadn’t settled. The red flashes of police cars and ambulances seemed even brighter against the dark background of the gray ruins and the black cloud emerging from them. You couldn’t take your eyes off of the scene, even when Namjoon let go of you so a lanky EMT could lead you to one of the ambulances. He made you sit down on the edge of the open rear doors, but you couldn’t focus on him. The premises were crawling with people zigzagging through the maze of vehicles that had arrived not even a full minute after Namjoon had picked you up off the ground.
He must have been waiting.
Or rather, they must have been waiting, you realized when you saw Jimin appear at Namjoon’s side. Their expressions were serious and even from a distance you could tell that they were talking in lowered voices. After fifteen seconds, Jimin nodded, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and walked back towards the car they must have come in. It was parked near the gates, next to the one that had been there when you and Yoongi had sneaked through a hole in the fence that had been there since you had been a child. You had left the BMW on a nearby dirt road that nobody ever used, especially not bad boys in waxed black SUVs.
“-ame?”
You blinked when a voice demanded your attention. Orders were yelled, dogs barking, and you thought you could hear the crackling of fire even though there were no flames. You forced yourself to look at the EMT.
“What?”
“Can you tell me your name?”
You opened your mouth, but then the deafening sound of a wall collapsing made you jump to your feet. The orders turned into screams, but settled down when the falling debris did. Like before, you felt yourself being dragged towards the remains of the building. Yoongi and Taehyung were still in there. Why had nobody gotten them out? Where were they? What was everybody doing? Why weren’t they doing something?
“Babe?” Namjoon’s raised voice was thick with worry. You turned your head to stare at him with glazed-over eyes. He had been on the phone; it was still in his left hand as he started walking over to you. He look tired and thin, and he kept his right arm unnaturally still as he moved. His hair had fallen into his eyes and dark roots started to show. He looked worse for wear, but he was here.
Namjoon was alive.
There were too many thoughts in your head, too many questions, too many words that wouldn’t come out. You felt like you were going to explode, and completely empty at once. You didn’t feel happy or sad or worried or relieved.
You didn’t know what to feel, but your heart almost stopped when Namjoon cupped your face and whispered your name.
“Can you hear me?” he asked when you didn’t respond. You nodded.
“Can you talk?” the EMT added, but you didn’t take your eyes off Namjoon. His hands were rough but warm on your skin, and you could feel tears burning in the back of your throat.
“Yoongi,” you breathed, hoping Namjoon would understand. His eyes narrowed.
“What about him?” Namjoon asked. You sobbed. And then you screamed. You dropped to your knees. Your bloodied hands ripped at your own hair as you rocked back and forth. A few policemen turned around, alarmed at the sudden commotion. Your heart hurt. Your head hurt. Your fingers hurt. Everything hurt. You had been sedated for so long, you didn’t know what to do now that all the feelings that had been suppressed washed over you with a vengeance.
Your mother. Your father. Yoongi. Taehyung.
Namjoon.
Slowly, you lifted your head to look at him. There was concern in his eyes, but his face was calm, and he patiently waited for you to sit back up. Hot tears were streaming down your cheeks, and your face was covered in streaks of dirt. Namjoon reached out with his left hand to wipe some of it off your chin.
“It’s okay, darling,” he said softly. “They’re looking for them.”
Them.
He knew.
You choked on your own tears and coughed as you stared at Namjoon in disbelief. How did he know they were there? How had he known you were there?
And then you saw it. The quiver of his lip. The red in his eyes. The stoic expression. This was why he wasn’t nervous. Desperate. Yelling at people to find his friend and do everything they could to save him. This was why you were his sole focus, why he didn’t even bother to look around, look for anyone else.
Because he already knew.
Jungkook looked like he wanted to slap you. You couldn’t blame him. You tried to hide your cut-up hands from his scrutinizing stare, something you yourself rendered futile every time you tried to smooth down your messy, dirty hair. Bruises had formed on you arms and legs; they made you flinch every time you moved. Jungkook had registered it all, every single detail of your weakened state, but his eyes were cold and filled with anger. And it was your own damn fault.
You had left him.
The others weren’t exactly in cheerful moods, either. Jimin, who looked like he hadn’t slept in three days, was leaning against Hoseok’s shoulder, eyes closed and a small river of drool running down his chin. Hoseok himself looked drained from the early meeting with your father in which he had made it abundantly clear that there were no loopholes in the will that he himself had drafted, and that that circumstance was, in fact, by design. Moreover, he seemed vaguely annoyed at the fact that the information regarding Namjoon’s death had been clearly less than accurate. Namjoon’s face betrayed that he was painfully aware of this as he came back into the living room from the third phone call he had received since you had arrived at this hotel. It had seemed wrong and potentially dangerous to return to Taehyung’s apartment. However, Namjoon had offered no explanation for the pompous suite room that, as far as you could tell, he had not been required to check into first.
More secrets. More questions.
You were tired.
Tired and in pain and filthy. Sand and soot was in your hair and clothes. Everything felt sticky and nasty. Your muscles ached and the scratches on your hands were more black than red from the dirt stuck in them.
Wordlessly, you got up from your seat and walked into the bathroom. You could feel four pairs of eyes on you, but you didn’t care. Yoongi and Taehyung were dead. They were dead because of you. You and your petty revenge. Who gave a shit about your father.
Who gave a shit about you.
Yoongi. The answer was Yoongi. He had cared enough to follow you, to be by your side, and go through with your stupid plan with you. He had probably known how risky it was, but he had done it anyway, most likely just so he could spite you later on.
You were almost sad that you would never get to hear him say it.
I told you so, princess.
Letting out a shaky breath, you tried to close the bathroom door behind you, but someone pushed against it from the outside, creating a big enough opening to slip through.
Once in the room, Namjoon locked the door and peered down at you. You stared back at him for a few seconds. Then you shrugged, and started taking off your clothes. You needed a shower, and nothing and nobody was going to stop you.
“Mayor Jeon is Jimin’s father. He and Jungkook are brothers.”
Almost nothing.
You pulled your shirt back down and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. Namjoon had slid down onto the floor, his back leaning against the wooden door.
“What?”
“After I- after the accident,” Namjoon said, “it wasn’t hard to find out who his parents had worked for. They took the secret to their graves, but those bastards never stay buried. The hospital he was in is one that my father helped build. Well, I don’t mean with his hands, obviously. You know it very well, too.” A smile flashed over Namjoon’s face as he seemed to remember something, but he didn’t share the thought with you. “I had them erase any proof that Jimin was ever there. Child services were just as easily convinced. I felt so alone for so long, and then suddenly there was Jimin. That was the best decision I ever made.”
You nodded and swallowed back a jealous grunt, but Namjoon knew you better than that. He chuckled.
“Taking you was a stupid and risky thing to do. I should have just told you the truth and let you choose if you wanted to be with me.” His expression turned serious again. “I don’t know why I always keep the truth from you, telling myself it’s the only way to protect you. It never ends well. I’m sorry.”
You nodded again. Your head hurt, and his enigmatic speech didn’t help.
“The hospital helped with keeping Jimin under the radar. His medical records were not kept on file, and they started listing him as Kim Jimin before he even legally changed his name. They make sure that we can walk in there with gunshot wounds and other people’s blood on our hands, and the police will be none the wiser. There are no records, unless we want them to be there.”
“Namjoon,” you groaned, because you had no idea what he was talking about. Instead of answering, Namjoon got up off the floor tiles, pulled a piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans, unfolded it, and held it out for you to read. Your head was still thumping and it took a second for the letters to rearrange before your eyes and form proper sentences.
He was holding his own death certificate.
“This is such a mess, and it’s all my fault. I have made so many mistakes and hurt so many people.” Namjoon lowered his arm and let the paper fall to the ground. “I promise I will try to fix things. I will go out there and I will explain everything, and then I will be Kim Namjoon, the leader.” He knelt down in front of you and placed his hands on your thighs. “But right now, all that matters to me is you. Us. I won’t blame you if you can’t forgive me, but I just – I need to know.”
You looked down at him, but you already knew your answer. He had lied to you. He had kidnapped you. He had made you believe he had been killed. He had caused you more pain than you had ever thought possible. You had never felt more hopeless, desperate, and broken than the moment you had found out about his death.
You had been sure you couldn’t live without him.
And you had been right.
Namjoon caught you with ease when you threw your arms around his neck, crashing into him as you pushed yourself off the edge of the tub. His left arm wrapped around you tightly, while his right arm stayed at his side. You found his lips for a brief kiss before looking him in the eyes to make sure he knew you were absolutely certain about what what you were going to say.
“Kim Namjoon,” you smiled and ran a hand through his hair. “I will always choose you.”
The images flickering over the screen of the hotel TV seemed unorganized and inconclusive. Breathless reporters were giving short, mostly meaningless updates between shots of motionless policemen and the big, quiet house, whose walls were hiding the gruesome details of the number one breaking story this morning. Everyone in Korea seemed to hold their breath while news over the death of the mayor of Busan unfolded – everyone but Jimin, who was still soundly asleep in Hoseok’s arms.
Jungkook was following the story intently, but his face gave nothing of his feelings away. His father was dead, but if he was shocked, he hid it under an impressive facade of complete and utter detachment. When Namjoon turned off the sound and sat down next to you, Jungkook followed his movements with mild interest.
“After a meeting with the mayor three days ago, he had me shot – or rather shot at. The bullet went into my arm and I went into cardiac arrest on the way to the hospital because of a mild heart attack.”
You slowly turned your head to glare at Namjoon.
“A what?”
He cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. “A heart attack.”
“You’re twenty-eight.”
“Everybody reacts differently to being shot, okay? Can we please move on, we don’t have much time.” Namjoon paused as if daring someone to make another comment. “They resuscitated me,” he continued when nobody did, and even he seemed disappointed that Jimin wasn’t awake to make a snide remark regarding him clearly not being as dead as people had thought. “But by then the mayor had already started to make his victory lap. The news spread fast and it gave both him and your father a false sense of security. So I decided to stay dead.” He turned to look at you directly. “And just as we expected, your father approached the mayor about his business in Busan. The negotiations greatly incriminated both parties, and with everything on tape, the Seoul PD now has enough to stage a raid of all your father’s properties. They were also going to arrest the mayor but-” Namjoon glanced at the TV and left the thought unfinished.
“Why did you have Jimin tell me you were dead?” Hoseok asked.
“So you wouldn’t have to lie in case the wrong people asked you about it,” Namjoon explained.
“You know I would have lied for you,” Hoseok insisted, clearly annoyed, but Namjoon just smiled warmly.
“I know, Hoseok. But you’re one of the good ones. I didn’t want you to compromise that.”
Hoseok scoffed, but his arms tightened around Jimin who sighed contently in response. You grinned and reached for Namjoon’s hand. You were glad that he was back, even though you were not quite sure if he had really learned his lesson. He had said it himself – secrets never stayed buried.
They always came back to haunt you.
“Do they know who killed my father?” Jungkook asked, his voice as calm as his expression. You wondered if his own father’s death was one of the things that his new-found range of emotions was not yet able to cover.
“Yes,” Namjoon answered, and suddenly the room felt a lot more tense. “Your father-”
“Hey,” Jungkook interrupted him, and Namjoon seemed surprised at him trying to change the topic. You were not. “Where are Yoongi and Taehyung?”
Namjoon and you exchanged a look, but before either of you could say anything, Hoseok’s brow furrowed when a sudden realization hit him.
