IV. King [M]
NamjoonxReader, 4508 words, smut
I. Ace | II. Joker | III. Queen
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.
The Ace. The Joker. The Queen.
And Namjoon – The King.
You were holding all the cards.
You were The Dealer.