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Oh my gosh, thank you so much! It makes me so happy that you connected to this story enough for it to move you to tears 🥺 I hope you get/got a good night's sleep after reading! 💕

Covert Affairs | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: smut, angst, enemies to lovers, Spies!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: drinking, bantering, a little dirty dancing - tango style, a very charming Jungkook in a tux, kissing, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up), fighting (hand to hand), weapons - guns, mentions of blood and bruises, allusions to torture (interrogation), mentions of war

Word Count: 4.3k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: The five times you cross paths with legendary spy Jeon Jungkook.

A/N: This is for the anon who sent me a request for Spy!JK vs Spy!Reader - I tried to keep this to a drabble, but, well, it had a mind of its own. 🤷‍♀️ I hope you enjoy!

Thank you to @minttangerines @herecomesjoon and @reliablemitten for helping me with this one! 💜

The vibe here was inspired in part by "The Bagman's Gambit" by the Decemberists. This ending is unlike most that I've written before. I would love to hear what you think about it! 🥺👉👈 Please don't be shy, my inbox is always open. 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

The first time you meet him, it’s by accident.

You’re late to arrive at the dead drop. It’s not your fault - there’s a crash on the Tower Bridge and your taxi is trapped behind it. By the time traffic starts moving again and you make it to the library, locating the flash drive your handler left behind, you learn that your target is likely already on the move, and you rush back to your hotel room to change.

It’s another honeypot scenario. The woman you need to seduce is a scientist who holds a lot of secrets, state and otherwise, that your country desperately desires. She tends to frequent a pub a few blocks from your hotel at the same time every week. She never leaves alone. You pour yourself into a tight little dress, tuck your handgun into your clutch, and make your way downtown, heels clacking on the pavement at a determined pace.

You’ve done a dozen of these missions. It’s rote by now. Locate the target. Hook them with your attention, your flirtatious words, a few light touches. Convince them to leave with you. Back in your hotel room, offer them a drink laced with a special ingredient, one meant to loosen their lips, and get them talking. And once you’ve obtained the info you need, leave them there, to wake up alone, confused and with one hell of a hangover.

Couldn’t be easier.

Except tonight, thanks to the accident, you discover that your mission might be a little more difficult, because your target is deep in conversation with the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

He’s tall, dark, and handsome, that classic trifecta. Brown eyes shimmer brightly as he gazes at your target, brushing a swoop of jet-black hair off his forehead. His pretty pink lips part as he smiles, revealing slightly large front teeth. One hand clutches a tumbler of some amber liquor while the other is slowly skimming the scientist’s forearm where it rests on the bar. From the flush that graces her cheeks, you know she’s enjoying the man’s company.

That’s fine. You like a challenge.

Sidling up to the bar, you position yourself across from the two of them, with the man’s back to you. The bartender greets you and you strike up a conversation. You’re sure to laugh a little louder than you typically would, to gesture a little more freely, to do anything you can to catch the target’s eye. Thankfully, the bartender is into you, returning to chat between serving others, and it’s not long before your laughter turns her head.

Using your peripheral vision, you see the target glance your way a few times before you finally look at her. Tilting your head, you hold her gaze for a moment, then lift your whiskey in her direction before taking a sip. A drop of liquid beads down your chin, and you wipe it away with your thumb before bringing it to your mouth and sucking it into your parted lips, all while never breaking eye contact.

Overkill, perhaps, but it works.

The target leans over to the handsome man and says something in his ear, then slides off her barstool. She’s already tipsy, bumping into another patron as she makes her way over to you. You gesture to an empty seat beside you and fall easily into a mindless back-and-forth with her. A little banter, a few brushes of your fingertips against her skin, and a couple more cocktails seal the deal. She’s yours.

The handsome man has been watching the two of you since she left his side. You’re accustomed to the gaze of others when you’re working a honeypot. Usually, it’s a look of jealousy. Often tinged with lust. Tonight, you see both in his intense stare, but there’s something else there. Something that feels different about the way he observes you. It’s not until you’re guiding the target out of the bar and you pass by the man, getting a closer look at his face, that you realize why.

It’s him. The Mole.

So named not because he’s a sleeper agent, but because of the identifying mark on his face, nestled right below his lower lip. He’s a legend in the world of espionage, known for his supposedly astonishing abilities. Practically a myth, said to be able to dodge any enemies, infiltrate any organization, and capture any target.

Well. Not this time. You lead the scientist down a labyrinthine route to your hotel, ducking down alleys and doubling back a few times. She’s too drunk to notice you’re walking in circles. A quick glance at your reflection in a storefront window shows you that he’s just a step behind, so you take the target by the hand and dash across the street, ignoring the swearing of the drivers as they slam on their brakes.

On and on, he tails the two of you until you’re finally able to lose him by ducking into a restaurant. The scientist merely laughs at an irate chef as he hustles the two of you out of his kitchen and through the back door. You’re glad she’s enjoying herself. It’s not until you’re locking your hotel room door that you relax your grip on the handle of your gun.

In the early hours of the morning, just as the sun breaks over the city, you’re on your way to the airport. The information you obtained is already on its way to those in charge, already helping your country to assert its power. The taxi comes to a stop at an intersection, and when you glance at the traffic passing by, you think you catch a swoop of hair blowing in the breeze as a motorcyclist zips by, but you blink and he vanishes.

The second time you meet him, it’s a trap.

The museum gala is in full swing as you enter. The gown your handler sent you for the occasion fits like a dream, hugging your every curve, a daringly long slit up one leg giving all the other attendees a glimpse at the silky skin underneath. Grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing server, you stand at the top of the stairs and survey the room.

Tonight’s mission is to intercept an official who is planning to defect. The informant who tipped you off doesn’t know who they’ve been in contact with, only that they’re very disgruntled with your government and ready to blow. You are to stop them before they meet with their liaison and spill any of your government’s precious secrets, and get them to reveal their connection so the rest of your team can apprehend them. Your handler’s voice crackles in your earpiece, alerting you that the target is currently spinning around the makeshift dance floor, so you quickly toss back your drink and descend.

The night sky shines through the glass ceiling in the atrium as the couples on the dance floor sway. There’s a string quartet providing the music tonight, and as you weave your way around, the band strikes up a tango. The voice in your ear commands you to look to your left, and you spot the target with his arms wrapped around some poor young thing whom you vaguely recognize from social media. A hotel heiress, perhaps? Doesn’t matter who they are, you just need to cut in, but as you step towards them, your path is suddenly blocked by a handsome man in a tuxedo.

“There you are, darling! I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” his smooth voice purrs. It’s been a few years, but you recognize him immediately, glancing at the tiny mole beneath his mouth as he grins. His dark hair is slicked back, but there’s that swoop again, cascading into his warm eyes. “Come on, let’s give everyone a show.” His right arm is around your waist before you can react, left hand taking yours. And he steers you away from the target as he leads you into the tango.

“I’m sorry, I think you must have me confused with someone else,” you declare, trying to pull away, but he swiftly tugs on your arm, spinning you back into his embrace.

“Oh, now, don’t play shy! I know it’s been a while since London, but I remember you. Probably better than our mutual friend does,” he smirks.

“London? Now I know you have me mistaken.”

He doesn’t respond, placing a hand on the back of your neck and guiding you down into a low dip. You move instinctually, following his lead without hesitation. He’s light on his feet, dancing like he breathes, naturally, an innate rhythm flowing through him.

You’re practically horizontal at this point as he eases you down, then he snaps you back into his arms. You let out a tiny huff of surprise as his mouth connects with your ear. “I couldn’t be more sure. You’re unforgettable.” His hand cradles your back as he pushes you forward, stepping in time to the lively beat.

The voice in your ear goes haywire. Your dance partner is obviously the target’s contact. And he’s trying to distract you. But as your handler insists that you make a hasty retreat, it occurs to you that as long as he’s distracting you, he can’t abscond with the target himself.

So you tango.

Lifting your leg, you hook it around his, and slide down his tall frame, dragging your hand slowly down his chest. His eyes lock on yours as you sink lower, and there’s a brief flash of something in his expression that sparks a heat inside you. As you rise, he clutches your thigh tightly, rough hand gripping the soft skin exposed there, and shuffles backwards, taking you with him.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he says, as you lean against his chest, letting him carry you across the dance floor.

“Is that so?” With a coy smile, you slide around him, running your hand across his shoulders. “I guess you’ve got me all figured out.”

“I do.” His gaze is earnest, eyes so wide you could almost believe none of this is an act.

The target still has that young socialite in his clutches. You catch a glimpse of him over the handsome man’s shoulder before he spins you around, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you flush to his chest. He nudges your arm up and runs his hands down the silk of your bodice as you close your eyes, only for the briefest of moments.

“Then tell me. Tell me about myself.”

He twists, bringing you chest to chest again. The two of you part the crush of revelers easily, drunken donors happily ceding command of the dance floor.

“You’re someone who is clearly devoted to their cause, which is why you’re here tonight.”

“Yes, supporting the arts is very important to me.”

“Mmm. I’m sure.” He pauses, lost in thought. “You enjoy a challenge.”

You nod. “Never back down from one.”

“God, I hope not.” His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he studies your face. “I’d say you’re pretty used to getting your way.”

“Am I that obvious?” He tries to steer you to the left, but you simply throw your weight to the right and he is forced to go along with your momentum or topple over. He lets you take the lead with a loud laugh.

“Just a little, darling.” You wonder how many targets he’s seduced with that smile. It’s very charming. Undoubtedly effective.

“And just how do you know all of these things are true?”

He shrugs. “I can just tell. I have good instincts, and I trust them.” He cocks his head. “Don’t you?”

You merely hum.

“You really impressed me in London, you know. No one’s ever given me the slip like that.”

“That’s rather surprising, given how easy it was,” you inform him, lips curling into an arrogant smile. If he’s not going to pretend, neither are you.

He laughs again, and your smile broadens at the high-pitched giggle that tumbles from his lips. “I see. Well, wear that badge with honor anyway, because it will never happen again. I’ve got my eyes on you now.” His gaze roams over your body, the mirth on his face replaced by a hunger so intense your breath stutters.

This time, when he spins you away, he releases his grip on your hand, and the voice in your ear yells that now is your chance to slip away, that the two of you are being watched by unknowns, and they’re closing in. The handsome man’s team, most likely. The trap has been sprung.

Instead, you return to his waiting arms.

“You can watch all you want, darling,” you whisper, nose nearly touching his as he holds you close. “I don’t mind. I’ll still win in the end.”

“And why is that?” he murmurs, peering at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Because,” you lift your chin, lips brushing his ear as you raise your hand behind his back, throwing a signal towards the camera on the ceiling, “it doesn’t matter if you find me, you’ll still have to catch me first.”

The klaxons of the fire alarm suddenly blare to life, bright lights flashing as frightened screams erupt. His head snaps up in shock, and you immediately twist away, slipping behind him and kicking the side of his knee hard. He goes down, only for a moment, but it's long enough for you to dash away. Finding the target, you shout a lie about the contact sending you to meet him instead, and lead him away from the crowds surging towards the exits, heading instead for the backup plan rendezvous point.

You try to fight the temptation to turn around, but as you reach the edge of the atrium, you glance over your shoulder. The swoop of hair bobs in the crush of bodies swarming to escape to safety. And then it’s pulled under.

The third time you meet him, it’s a close call.

“Attrape-la!”

The shouting of the bodyguards behind you startles you into action. You smash through the crowds of ravers letting loose under the flashing strobe lights, leaving a wave of bruised bodies and cursing clubbers in your wake.

Of course you’d been made. You should’ve expected that to happen, given that everything else tonight had gone so smoothly. Too smoothly. The painstaking lengths your country went through to orchestrate tonight’s little agent provocateur scheme paid off. Honestly, it hadn’t taken much to tempt the Prime Minister’s black sheep scion down into the catacombs below the city, promising him all the lurid delights his wicked little heart could desire.

And how he indulged in all of those delights, as you watched, the golden heart-shaped pendant dangling around your neck capturing every image. You were too far underground to transmit the photos via satellite; once you returned to the safe house, you would upload everything from the tiny chip safely ensconced within the necklace.

So the scion basked in his decadence and you snapped every second and it was all going perfectly to plan, until one of the young man’s bodyguards recognized you from a previous encounter, from back when he was in the army and not in the employ of the world’s most spoiled libertine, and you ran. Through the partygoers, down the antechamber, back into the tunnels.

The catacombs are a complex maze beneath the sprawling capital. You hadn’t had long to prepare for this mission, meaning you’d given the map your handler provided only a quick glance. You now regret this lack of foresight.

Voices echo off the walls around you. You dart down another tunnel, barely gaining some distance from your pursuers, and that’s when you realize you’re lost. For all you know, you’ve already been down this passage before - they all look the same in the dim light of the electric torches. There’s no time to think, you have to keep moving -

An arm shoots out of the darkness and grabs you.

“No!” you shout, reeling back to punch your attacker, when he drags you into the light of another tunnel, and you stop in surprise.

“Caught you,” the handsome man whispers, and then he presses you into the cool stone wall behind you, his body against yours, and tips your head up with a finger under your chin. “I win.”

And then he kisses you.

He inhales your gasp, fingers stroking your cheek. Your mind goes blank for a moment, only registering the taste of his lips. The warmth of his skin. Then your training kicks back in, and you open your eyes, watching him closely as he licks into your mouth. His eyes are shut, lashes fluttering as he moans when you curl your fingers into his leather jacket, urging him closer.

The tunnel rings with shouting and heavy footsteps as your pursuers approach. He slides his hands around your back, holding you tightly, and you close your eyes as his kisses grow more heated. The clamor of your would-be captors fades into the background until it vanishes completely.

His nails rake the back of your neck as his other hand slips around your thigh. You wrap your leg around him, and the movement reminds you of your tango, and the way his eyes shone brighter than the starry sky.

“I think they’re gone,” you whisper as his lips trail down your throat.

“Who’s gone?” he murmurs, taking a tiny nibble.

You push him away, maybe too gently, and he grins.

“Thank you,” you mutter, and start to run, but he grabs you by the wrist.

“Not that way!” He tugs you down another tunnel behind him.

You dig your heels in, bringing him to a halt. “Why should I trust you?”

His smile is all you can see as he disappears into the shadows, pulling you in. “Why would I let someone else have the pleasure of catching you?”

It’s not until you make it back to the safe house, lips swollen, skin covered in marks, that you realize your necklace is gone.

The fourth time you meet him, it’s the beginning of the end.

The turbulent rivalry between your countries is a tsunami now, threatening to drown you in the tides of war. You’ve been racing through the city, chasing rumors and hunting red herrings as the fighting makes its way to your shores. Finally, after nearly twenty-four straight hours of running, an informant reveals the location you’ve been trying frantically to find.

From the outside, in the reddish light of the emerging dawn, the building looks like nothing more than a rundown old gas station, pumps out front long overgrown with weeds. But the door hidden beneath the counter is rather unusual, as is the long corridor below that leads you to a single room. The men standing guard outside it are no station attendants. These men have been specially trained to keep people like you out of places like this.

They must need more training, given how easily they go down. It won’t be long before the next shift change, so you’ll need to be fast. But you still take a moment to compose yourself before turning the doorknob. Bracing yourself. You’re not sure what you’ve been looking for will be inside or not.

As the door swings open, your heart sinks. The informant was right. This is the place. And there he is, slumped over on his knees, head hanging low, chained to a metal post. A dark bruise stains his left cheekbone, and there’s a cut dripping blood from his chin, but you’d recognize that swoop of hair in your sleep.

He doesn’t move as you close the door quietly behind you. But he startles when you suddenly dash across the room and drop to your knees beside him, eyes widening when you rip off the balaclava you wear. “You!”

“Me!” you confirm, flashing him a weak smile. Your fellow agents clearly didn’t hold back, if the wounds on his face are anything to go by. Maybe you should’ve kept the mask on, if only to hide your reaction from him. There’s no other need to hide your face with the guards unconscious. There are no cameras down here, in this room that officially does not exist.

“What are you doing?” You’re unchaining him, but that’s not what he’s asking.

Helping him stand, you softly brush some dirt from his unharmed cheek. “Trusting my instincts. Come on.”

Neither of the men have moved from where you left them lying. As quickly as you can, you escape from the nameless room, sprinting down the hallway and up into the gas station and not stopping until you reach a recently abandoned motel on the edge of town. The owners were so anxious to flee the encroaching battle that the linens are still on the bed when the two of you break into a room.

“We should be okay here,” you announce as he stumbles into the bathroom to inspect the damage the agents inflicted. Standing by the door, you triple check the locks before leaning against it. “You can rest for a little bit, but you should leave as soon as dusk hits. It’s safest to cross the border at night.”

He wanders back into the room with a towel in hand, lightly dabbing his chin. “That eager to be rid of me?”

Yes and no. If you stop to think about his question, you might start thinking about what you’ve just done and what your country will do to you if you get caught. You have to keep moving, keep that adrenaline flowing. Keep running.

Like right now. You should run straight out that door and not look back. But you don’t. Instead, you shake your head.

He says nothing as he walks over to you. With a gentle hand, he tilts your head back to meet his gaze. Beams of sunlight streaming between the cracks in the blinds reflect in his wide eyes, make you see stars.

His lips are softer than you remember, belying the urgency in his kiss, the sharpness of it. You grab at his shirt, tugging him into you, and then you’re pushing him across the room and onto the bed, pulling off your clothes as you go, and he simply follows your lead everywhere. You try not to bump his wounded cheek as he slides between your legs, silver tongue laving the wetness he finds there, but when he coaxes your first orgasm from you, your thighs quake hard enough to make him hiss.

Before you can apologize, he’s climbing on top of you, kissing you again. His moan as he finally slides inside you breaks the silence of the room, and then it fills with the sounds of his thrusts and the panting of breath. You add wordless cries, fingers digging into his skin to hold him, wanting him so close, so deep. Even with you clutching him tightly, his hips never stop moving, cock stroking into you again and again.

“Jungkook,” he whispers into your neck, “my name is Jungkook.”

You breathe your own name back. Those are the only words spoken as pleasure washes over the two of you, giving you both something real to anchor yourselves to before you’re completely swept away.

When you wake later, after the sun has set, the bed is cold beside you. Lying on his pillow is the heart-shaped pendant.

The fifth time you meet him, it’s goodbye.

The decade since the war ended hasn’t been easy on you. Once your countries were done destroying each other, you climbed out of the rubble and ran as far as you could, seeking a new home.

The life you’ve built for yourself in this country is a quiet one. Simple. But you’re okay with that. On Saturdays, you venture into town to purchase groceries, often stopping at a café on the corner for coffee and a pastry. It’s there, perched on an iron chair on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, that you see him.

He’s standing on the other side of the street. That swoop of hair rises above the busy pedestrians trudging along with their hunched over shoulders, the crowd swiftly flowing around him like he's a towering rock in the stream. Your eyes meet, and you delicately place your coffee cup back on its saucer before you drop it.

The years appear to have been kinder to him, but are visible nonetheless in his countenance as you peer at him. Strands of grey shimmer in his raven hair. His smile hasn’t faded, eyes still sparkle in the light of the morning sun, but there are more lines on his face now. Scars, yes, but also laugh lines crinkling around his eyes, deep and true.

Maybe you should invite him to join you. Talk about what happened that night before the world burnt down. Regale each other with stories about your lives since.

At the very least, you could tell him you understand.

He smiles at you, and before you can raise your arm to beckon him over, someone else takes his hand. Someone who looks at him with nothing but adoration in their gaze. He turns to them and his smile grows, and your heart expands in your chest, an oddly full feeling that overwhelms and calms you at once. The other person tugs on his arm, urging him forward, into the crowd.

He lifts his hand in a silent wave. You do the same. Then the passers-by swell, and he’s gone.

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