#jk this is a jackal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cinnaminyoons · 11 months

Text

( SAINT OF THE SINNERS. )

ミ☆ he was a creature of bloody myth and a man of cruel legend – but he had the tiny, trembling, human desire for love, and the blood he spilt could never quench his thirst.

⤷ PAIRING jjk x m!reader

⤷ WORD COUNT 10.3k

⤷ TAGS cage fighting, blood/injuries/brief mention of gore, murder, use of guns/knives & one (1) grenade, cursing, references to sex/innuendos, (former) assassin!jk/mercenary!reader, reader is described as generally bigger than jk (& older: “hyung”), i gave the reader a codename (jackal), jk has a rather eccentric personality (i.e. no morals <3) and is WHIPPED for reader

⤷ REQUESTED

Hey! Could I request a Jungkook fic where Jungkook is the owner of a fight place like in Shangchi - the legend of the ten rings (if you've watched that) and the reader is like a well known but anonymous fighter who defeats Jungkook but Jungkook questions himself because he's falling in love or whatever.

Feel free to ignore this as it was a weird 2 in the morning thought but you're an awesome writer and I love you

at the beginning of every day, jeon jungkook reads job adverts in his salt bath.

"boring, boring, bo-ring," he announces, sliding the barrel of his pistol across the newspaper in place of his finger; his voice echoes off the tiles. he rolls it up with a long sigh and tosses it over his shoulder, hauling himself up out of the bath and setting aside the gun for the fluffy white towel. "'kill my cheating husband', 'get rid of my business rival', 'clean up the shit i caused and wipe my ass while you're at it'. once upon a time, this was a glamourous job that was an actual challenge..."

he folds it around his waist, fingertips gliding over delicate tattoos and knotted pink scar tissue. they litter his body, slashes and punctures and burns, and on cold wet days his clicking left wrist aches like a jackhammer against glass.

his bare feet leave imprints on the steamy white tiles and he waltzes through his bedroom into his large walk-in wardrobe, pulling out racks of clothes sorted by garment type and colour. on instinct, he reaches for his choice of blazers, a white t-shirt draped over a tattooed arm.

he pauses. does he want to look like a guy who invests in crypto, or a guy who owns a yacht and won't shut up about it?

carefully, he slides the rack away. he'll forgo the blazers today.

as he laces up a pair of chunky black boots, his phone rings on top of a corner shelf. he sticks out a hand; it falls into his palm.

"where the fuck are you? you have a meeting in ten seconds."

"it's called being fashionably late," jungkook corrects, framing his dark hair around a pair of tinted purple shades. "and hello to you, too, jimin. i slept very well and dreamt of you."

"i hope dream-me was minced to death in a woodchipper before he had to speak to you. that would be a kinder fate than having to deal with your lazy ass." jimin pauses on the other side. "you're now officially late. good luck trying to salvage another relationship with the clientele, because i'm certainly not doing it for you. see you in five."

he hangs up. jungkook drops his phone into the pocket of his brightly-coloured silk bomber jacket, which looks as if he'd slapped it against a still-wet graffiti mural a few times. he accessorises with a few choice rings before taking his leave.

he checks his appearance one last time in the elevator's dirty mirrored walls. the low rumble of bass-heavy music and cheering vibrates through the walls and he feels a proud smile spread across his features as the elevator dings and slides open. he spins on his heels and pushes the old elevator grill open, stepping out into a dark, neon-lit cesspool of sin.

the crowds heat up the narrow basement room the size of a warehouse. lined up against the walls are large plexiglass boxes, each containing two fighters mauling each other for cash and repute. killing their opponent, however, is illegal, and results in a life ban and no prize.

it's not particularly equal in terms of justice, but most fear it the same way they fear death: terribly. jungkook's fights are legendary; a single win here can be all one needs to catapult themselves into a life of luxury.

he greets a few familiar faces with a lopsided grin and a wave and heads up the side of the room, ascending a set of metal stairs.

he bumps the door at the top open with his hip, digging around in his pockets and popping a stick of pink bubblegum into his mouth.

"hey, jimin," he greets cheerfully. "you wouldn't believe the traffic this morning! someone's chevvy slammed into a harley and the mess they made on the asphalt looked like someone got crayon-ed across the street – just this massive smear of plain fuckin' red. poor dude had half the road cordoned off for two-hundred metres. it’s days like these that i wonder why i ever lost my motivation for life."

"you're very late," replies jimin with barely-hidden annoyance. he steps aside, gesturing to his chair behind the sleek black desk. "take a seat. you will stay in this seat until the meeting is over."

he shrugs and drops into it, kicking his boots up onto the desk. finally, he raises his eyes behind purple-tinted lenses, and blows a bubble.

on the other side of the desk are three men. two stand behind the centre one, who is tall and thin in a burton-esque manner. the pair are nearly identical, both large-bodied and close-shaven with slicked-back hair. the middle one frowns disapprovingly down his nose at him.

jungkook grins and waves as his bubble pops. "alright, gentlemen. remind me – what are you here for, again?"

after a beat, the middle one tilts his head in jimin's direction. he doesn't even look at him – jungkook rolls his eyes. jimin may be dressed like a billionaire's secretary, but he is second to none with a well-oiled hand cannon. "you promised me a killer. this is a..." he waves a hand with a sneer. "a child."

jungkook leans back in his chair with a cheerful set of finger guns. "a child with an m-one garand and really good aim."

leaning down beside his ear, jimin reminds him discreetly: "that rifle is non-functional, bossman."

"false. one of them is non-functional." his legs swing down and he laces his fingers together on top of the desk, eyeing the chrome ceo-type desk toy on the corner. it swings back and forth rhythmically, never stopping. it's never stopped since jimin put it there two days ago, and it pokes holes in his attention. he pauses it with his thumb and index finger, opening his mouth to speak again: "ah, right! you want bodyguards. sir – as much as i'd love to, i cannot help you. my people aren't cannon fodder for your parties. jimin, if you'd please point them towards the door."

jimin moves to stand next to it, leaning against the buffet table with two chinese dao blades propped up under a wall light shaped like a long bar. he folds his arms across his chest.

"i was told you were the best of the best," says the thin man drily. "i figured money would be quite the incentive for one such as yourself, high on the food chain as you are."

"oh, it is. i like money. yours, though?" he shrugs. "hard pass. you realise that i don't have a factory rolling out fully-trained assassins and spies like iphones, yeah? these people offer to work for me. hell hath no fury than a hundred thousand killers scorned."

the man rises to his feet, towering over jungkook. his features are cold. hard. he presses his pale knuckles into the desk.

"listen carefully, boy," he begins quietly. "you do not want to make an enemy out of me. i have influence even in your filthy circles, and it would take me not a snap of my fingers to have you gutted to rot at the bottom of the sea."

"of course not, sir. you have more than enough enemies for me. in particular, you are the enemy of some good friends of mine, and that makes you a very dangerous guy to protect. it's like sleeping with a woman – only to have your father walk in, all betrayed-like, and say, 'babe?'. it's no good for all parties involved."

his eyes flicker down to the desk toy. it's restarted its eternal pendulum swinging. he leans over and knocks it down.

leaning back in his seat, jungkook adjusts his tinted sunglasses on his nose and smiles politely. "careful on your way out. i know a couple of girls who'd like to get their hands on you and believe me, you don't wanna know what they can do with those hands. you really pissed off the wrong people. i wonder if it was worth it."

in a split second, the man pulls a gun out of his jacket, and a bottomless dark hole leaks between his eyes.

the life leaves him before his muscles remember how corpses work. he crumples to the ground like a sack of potatoes, the classic black glock clattering to the floor. jungkook watches him fall with pursed lips – gently, he sets his two-toned m1911 down on the desk.

by the door, jimin pinches his brow.

"that went about as expected," jungkook comments. he stands, pressing his palms against his desk. he glances between the two large bodyguards, who stare at the body of their former employer with unrecognisable expressions. "i'd hope you gents are better with your fists. what say you to a quick go in the cages?"

—

"i want a raise. or a deagle."

wordlessly, jungkook passes him the gold desert eagle he had been inspecting. the price tag twists from the trigger guard like a pale wind charm. he moves onto a classic rhino, eyeing it with interest as he pulls it off of the rack and smooths his thumb along the pretty barrel.

jimin sighs, tossing the solid gun onto the shady gun shop's scratched counter to purchase later. after so many years of babysitting the potentially-mad former assassin, he knows just how long the younger man can spend in a shop without buying anything. he pops a hip and glares, unimpressed, at the side of jungkook's face, lit up with a boyish glee as he pops the revolver back and retrieves the nearest handgun.

"you know," he begins, "i'm getting sick of this."

"sick of what?" he palms the slide, humming at the satisfying clack. he aims down the sights, a few soft 'pew, pew's falling from his lips as he destroys three automatic rifles across the room with phantom bullets.

"you." at jungkook's side glance, jimin elaborates, "your pretence. as if you don't need anyone else. you're not even thirty yet and you've already decided you're too good for dating – and friendships. i'm the only one you have."

"i pay you for your proficiency with big guns," jungkook retorts, returning the handgun to the rack and dancing his fingers across the next few. behind the counter, something big and black catches his eye – he reaches up for it, giving a little hop to provide the necessary few inches to wrap his fingers around it. "i don't pay you for your conversation. otherwise, you'd be called an escort."

"ouch." jimin's lips twitch upwards with amusement. "i'm still older than you, jungkook. you should treat me with respect."

"i don't need a partner," he states, flipping the large gun over in his hands and testing the grip. the dark shine of its barrel reflects in his eyes. "they'd just die, anyway."

"then find someone who won't," jimin replies, as if it's obvious. "you run the largest and, dare i say, most influential fight ring in the country. if my acquaintances aren't up to your standards, surely one of your fighters is good-looking enough to warm your bed."

jungkook's nose scrunches. he turns around to face jimin. "yuck. all of those people would kill me in my sleep for a fraction of what i have. they'd make a power vacuum and nobody will oblige by my will, which may or may not state that everything i legally own goes to you. most of them are illegally alive."

"that's so sweet of you. but, really – you need to stop whinging to me over the phone that you're lonely and cold and would love to have someone offer you their large, warm clothes to nap in. i can't keep waking up at three in the morning to listen to your complaints about attractive social media boyfriends."

"but they're so pretty," he whines. "i want one."

jimin lifts a finger, reaching into the pocket of his slim lilac trousers and retrieving a small notepad and pen. he flips it open, clicking the pen and scribbling something down with a tiny frown. "okay. here's how this will go. boss' ideal partner: strong enough to withstand... several... assassination... attempts. potentially per night. 'pretty'. is that all?"

"why are you making a checklist?" jungkook asks curiously, peeking over the top of the notepad.

jimin gestures with the pen. "what do you think? i'm practically your p.a., which means i need to help you. i can’t be bothered to remember your dating preferences, so notepads and pens are what you pay me for. obviously, my anybody-and-everybody strategy wasn't working; now, i'm finding a boyfriend for you."

"you can do that?"

he smirks. "i do have friends, jungkook."

"oh. i'm surprised you haven't ‘taken care’ of them, given how tetchy you can be." jungkook glances up as an old man emerges from the back room, sweeping aside a doorway of coloured beads. he places the black gun on the rack. "well, good luck, jimin. you'll need it. will you make a line-up for me?"

"you'll see." he taps the side of his nose, playful and devious. "i already have someone in mind."

—

"no."

jimin sighs and shoves his arm in the doorway before it shuts, prying it open. "please – wait. can i come in, at least? you only have to listen."

the face in the gap of the door gazes back at him, expression hidden by a cut of shadow. only those eyes remain visible – eyes like damascus steel, eyes like a shark's.

they flicker away. the door presses gently against jimin's palm and he lets go, stepping back onto the steps leading up to the dark front door. clack, snap, tchunk. the door opens.

the first thing jimin notices is the narrowness of the rooms beyond the entrance hall. the walls are aged, thin cracks threaded into the corners of the paint, but everything is meticulously clean and there is a subtle scent of lemon permeating the air.

"thank you." jimin toes off his chelsea boots next to the door, sitting by a rack of larger boots and sneakers. "really, hyung. you’re a hard man to find."

you grunt dismissively, heading to the small kitchen. it seems even smaller with you in it. "'s the point. what are you here for, jimin?"

he licks his lips, taking a seat on the loveseat in the living room. the tv is set on a narrow black cabinet, and the shelves contain two worn photo albums. one is blue; the other is peachy orange. next to the tv is a small bamboo plant in a glazed blue pot.

"what, i can't simply come to see a friend? not everything is a ploy."

"with you? it is. you've got a mind as lethal as that deagle in your belt."

jimin nearly smiles. he'd almost forgotten the way you talk, all blunt edges and dry humour. after spending the last few years in glitzy and glamourous cities where lies propagate like flies, the open truth of your voice rings free and comforting. he's glad to see that even the sideways slant of your gaze still retains that careless glint.

"so," you begin, leaning over to check the fridge. "will you tell me what's up with the sudden visit?"

"alright, alright. i'm working with someone who owns a sort of... fight ring," he decides. "he's looking for new contenders. serious ones – not just street thugs and muggers."

"yeah?" you stand, shutting the fridge door. in your hand are two bottles of beer. you pop both open with a black tactical knife and pass one to jimin as you join him in the living room. he sips on it gratefully. "and why'd you come all this way to tell me this? if i was interested, i would've gone without such a formal invite."

he runs his finger over the lip of the bottle, drawing shapes down the neck and along the body through the sparkling condensation. it catches the late afternoon light streaming in through the blinds.

he chooses his next words carefully. "you're the best fighter i know," he says. "and i... i miss you. i miss working with you. i never know if you're alive and well or if you're rotting in a roman sewage pipe."

you raise your bottle in a gesture of cheers, resting against the edge of the dining table. technically, it's an outdoor table, made of frosted glass with a round hole in the centre for an umbrella, but nothing else would fit in the room. you chuckle as you lift the rim to your lips. "as you can see, i'm quite alive. 'ppreciate the concern, but i'm not dying any time soon. haven't yet crossed off my entire bucket list."

jimin watches you, spinning the bottle absently in his hands. "hyung," he says. "come to seoul. come fight. it must be better than doing the same jobs for douchebag politicians – plus, it pays well. there are cash prizes in it for you if you win."

you shake your head. your lips quirk up, almost apologetic. "those lips are hard to say no to, jimin. but i can't. that bounty on my head doesn't simply fade with time."

bounty. jimin's mind begins to work. "and... if you didn't have to worry about being hunted down? would you come see me then?"

"depends. i might have a job or two active when your little beyblade battles are happening."

"they're nightly. we're always open to new fighters. all you have to do is sign your name down for when and where."

"i haven't visited seoul in a long, long time. i doubt i could find much work there."

"you have me – the entire city comes to me when they want a job to be done well. yours will be the first number i call."

you gaze down at him for a while. you huff a laugh, the corners of your lips ticking up, and take a swig from the bottle. "you really have all your bases covered, don't you? you miss me that much?"

"of course, and i do. i'd be dead if you didn't bring me back to yours and, quite literally, nurse me back to health." he falls quiet, pensive, for a moment. "i never properly thanked you for it, and then i ran when you needed me most. i left you behind and you took all the heat for my mistakes. please... come visit me. i want to make amends – maybe start with dinner and drinks?"

your lips tighten as he smiles hopefully at you. your bottom lip slides between your teeth and at last, you click your tongue, eyes lowering to stare into the bottle. you swirl it slightly. those sweet eyes were the reason you hefted him over your shoulder in the first place, and once again, you were letting yourself be pulled along with his plans.

"fine," you agree, and his shoulders sag in relief. "but only after you ensure that the whole city's not gonna come down on me the moment i step inside its boundaries."

it won't be easy. he'd already tried sticking his fingers into all the strings he knows, and that went nowhere.

he'll try again. now he knows more people, more places. "give me two days," he promises, "two days and i'll wipe it clean. how about it? i'll drop by and pick you up in time for dinner and a couple beers. what do you say?"

your smile is crooked but gentle, and jimin is certain that a certain long-haired man will adore it.

"alright, jimin," you hum. "it's a date."

—

jungkook is going to kill someone.

jungkook is going to slip his knife between someone's ribs and twist the blade, leaning in with a hand cradling their nape to watch their pupils dilate as they both sink to the ground in a musty hallway buzzing with cheap artificial lights.

he has killed someone and he realises, pulling the smooth blade out with a wet sound, that he doesn't like it all that much.

he doesn't like the way they twist his sleeve in a white-knuckled grip. he doesn't like the way their lips part in shock and blood comes trickling out the corner of their mouth. he doesn't like the way their face relaxes before their body and how their eyes dim to darkness before their fingers slacken.

he stands back and the body flops forward like a dead fish on the deck of a pristine white yacht. he flips the knife and slides it into his belt, upping the pace as he hurries towards the exit at the end of the hall, straining to crunch open the rusted red 'employees only' door. he vaults over the fire escape, descending the metal steps and hopping off the platform when his trust in the ill-maintained architecture diminishes significantly.

he lands on both feet and glances both ways down the alleyway, which bloom into bright and loud night-time activity at either end. he flicks up his jacket's hood and slips the loops of a black face mask over his ears, stuffing his bloodstained hands into the pockets. a quick game of eeny-meeny-miny-moe finds him in the middle of a busy night market. a pretty young woman with a thick accent calls out for him to consider her merchandise with a saccharine smile – he wonders if she means the glittering jewellery laid out on her stall table, or the merchandise barely hidden by a strip of pink cloth over her chest.

he spies a lovely set of gem-studded drop earrings. a tiny astronaut sitting on a rocket dangles at the end of a silver chain.

he glances around, making sure he wasn't followed, and pulls his hands out of his pockets to pay in cash. that's the only thing they accept around there. her eyes flicker down to the still-wet blood smeared over his knuckles and joints and holds out a hand for the money – which could have been extortion, given the incredible price he paid – with a wink. when he leans over to pay, he spies a bedazzled ar-15 rifle propped up against the leg of the stall, hidden from the casual observer by the black cloth over the table.

right. back on task.

he weaves his way through the crowd with a growing sense of off-putting doubt.

he wonders if murdering political rivals and government spies for cash was really the best route his life could've taken. gangsters in blockbuster movies always mention the crushing weight of their past actions, and he purses his lips. maybe he's coming up to that part of his life – the equivalent of a mid-life crisis for criminals of his calibre, since so many of them never even reach their forties.

he realises he could've been a careers consultant or realtor. in comparison, shanking embezzlers and rude diplomats doesn't seem so bad.

"jimin!" he announces half an hour later, waltzing into his office. "do you have my vanilla coke?"

"buy it yourself, asshole," jimin replies, sipping on a cup of bubble tea. he texts someone with furious fingers. "i'm on break."

jungkook falls onto the sofa next to him with a pout. after a pause, he leans closer. "who is it?"

"a friend," he mutters distractedly. "he's fighting for you but isn't taking the damn prize money. nobody dares to pair up with him anymore so he's asking to fight the boss of this place. i keep saying how much of a bad idea that is, but he's not accepting it."

"why don't you just go down and tell him this in person?"

"i'm on break," he says, as if it's obvious.

jungkook grins, jumping up and shaking out his fists. "alright – i'll fuck up this douchebag friend of yours. doesn't take the prize money, nobody wants to fight him, and he only wants me? i'd say he's here on a mission." he says thoughtfully, rolling his neck, "i wonder how much they're promising him."

"it's not like that," jimin protests, standing as well. "he won't kill you. he isn't paid to, either. he's just... lacking stimulation."

"you say that as if he's a dog trapped in a bare-bones apartment," jungkook huffs.

"he wants a challenge, and none of your champions are available tonight. that's why he wants you. now."

"demanding fucker." jungkook clicks his tongue, shrugging off his jacket and stripping himself of the weapons he'd strapped to his thighs, belt, and chest. "at least i've got a heads-up for what he's like in bed."

jimin scoffs, slipping his phone into his pocket as fiddles with the holsters, unbuckling them from his belt. "gross. hey, leave that one on."

his hands pause near the black chest harness. he frowns and jimin only shrugs, smirking as if it was some inside joke he was supposed to remember.

"don't worry so much about what you look like," jimin continues, reaching out to grab jungkook by the shoulders and frog-marching him out the door. "you've got that natural beauty. he'll fall for you in no time."

"damn right he will," he boasts. "the sooner he's on the ground, the better. i've got better things to do than remind asshats like this of where they belong."

jimin chews on his devious smile, swallowing it down. his paycheck just came in, and he's amassed a small fortune as pocket money. he'll never watch another match where he's so sure of the victor.

a swift announcement over the speakers sees a rapid crowd forming around the largest cage in the centre of the first floor, suspended several metres above the ground by thick steel wires and framed with thick steel chains. jimin's voice means a good fight that no one wants to miss; even if someone doesn't know a lick of korean, it's obvious what the sound of his voice means by the abrupt attention of everyone else around them. fighters limp out of their plexiglass cages early, without regard to losing the prize. obnoxiously loud people quieten to murmurs as they watch jungkook's lean figure step into the cage, smoothing down his clothes methodically as if readying himself for a date.

the hot lights beam down on him, illuminating the curves and dips of his muscles beneath his tight shirt as he rolls his shoulders and bobs down into a stretch. his knees pop and he groans quietly, scrunching his nose. "getting too old for this... how does yoongi-hyung do it?"

jimin gazes down into the ring with a microphone hooked over his ear. his plain white shirt and dark pants contrast with the luxurious eye-sore of the rich teens-and-twenties around him, those mink fur coats and gucci sunglasses so lauded by peers marking them as fruitful targets for even the worst pickpockets.

he smiles down at jungkook, giving him a thumbs-up. his voice carries well over the anticipatory hubbub. "it’s seoul's most fearsome killer, who took down a national trafficking ring with a pencil, fertiliser, and sugar. he’s the man whose pockets you love to line to bursting – dokkaebi!"

before he can continue with his introduction, a woman draped in money stands from her boyfriend's lap and tosses a red rose over the barrier. jungkook catches it reflexively, shielding his eyes as he searches the crowd. the woman flutters her fingers and jungkook plays up the act, sweeping into a grand bow and passing the rose to a black-suited man on the other side of the chains. the crowd roars.

jimin continues, gesturing smoothly to the other side of the cage. the lights follow. "and who dares to challenge our own? an international ghost with a reputation so bloody and merciless that just the mention of his name has the toughest of you quaking in their boots. coming all the way up from cairo to entertain you air-headed bastards – jackal!"

on the other side of the ring amongst hollers of his name, an imposing figure emerges from the darkness. dark cargo pants are tucked into heavy black boots, and jungkook's eyes zero in on the intimidating size of his delts. his sleeveless boxing hoodie only emphasises his arms, and the large hood shadows his eyes over a black baseball cap. between the face mask and the cap, the only thing that jungkook can discern is the shape of his eyes, trained on him like a bloodhound.

jungkook's head cocks and he bounces on his toes, exhaling softly. "what's with the mask, big guy? got an ugly mug?"

he half-expects him to take it off and prove otherwise. if a man was proud enough to demand that jungkook fight him personally, ignoring the equally likely chance that he might simply shoot him in the head instead for even suggesting such a ridiculous thing, he'd probably want his face plastered over the live streams, too.

jackal only tilts his head, and jungkook can see how he got his name. there's something savage boiling beneath his skin, a calculated wildness running through his veins and humming in taut muscles. he stands perfectly still and proud, feet shoulder-width apart.

ex-military, jungkook would guess. he doesn't know how old he is, but jungkook knows he can't be caught. a single twitch would snap him in half like a dry twig and there would be nothing anyone could do to stop him before jungkook is toast.

he should've refused this fight – he's out of practice. but his ego is far bigger than it has any right to be.

as soon as the words fall from jimin's lips, jungkook launches himself at you. the thunderous cheers buzz in his eardrums as you catch his shoulder and throw him into the chains, following his momentum.

he grunts at the impact, the chains rattling. you could've slammed him on his back and winded him – you're toying with him. great. now he has to outmanoeuvre you instead.

you circle each other. he doesn't taunt as much as he usually would – those eyes are cold, almost robotic. he wouldn't get a rise out of you if he had a tank of helium in his hands.

"come on, big guy," he mutters, far too quiet for anyone else to hear. "i'm wide open. heart's right here. you've got a job to do – finish it."

then, the tiniest shift in your stance: one step back, twisting slightly on the ball of your foot. the next second, you're up close and personal, your knuckles flying towards his face – he blocks every hit, keeping his fists up. he dodges once and his knuckles meet your jaw in a solid punch.

he ducks under your arm, wrapping his arms around your middle and twisting your legs together to leverage you to the ground. he twists around you, his arm around your neck in an attempt to choke you out. his mind brings to his attention the exact feeling of your stomach tensing under his grip, and it's so busy conjuring a mental image of what it'd look like without cloth in the way that he doesn't notice your hand on his shoulder.

his breath is punched out of his lungs as you arch your weight off of him and throw him down in front of you, jumping to your feet as jungkook rolls to stand. he bites down on his wide grin and makes no excuses about the heat travelling up his neck. it's not from the floodlights. being thrown around like a ragdoll isn’t something he'd experienced since he was a teenager, and now it feels like less of an immediate threat to his life and more of an immediate reaction in his lower half.

"alright," he pants, voice loud enough for you to hear over the roar of the crowd. "what are you playing at? weren't you here to kill me?"

before you can respond, he darts in, his fist meeting your tensed stomach in a hefty gut punch that has you reeling. he's stronger than he looks – and he's not a dainty wisp of a man, either – and you grunt behind the mask. he slams you into his knee and shoves you to the ground on your front, spinning over your shoulders and wrapping his arm around your neck again – the black cap knocks off into a corner. his legs pin you to the ground, and he can feel your heart thudding through your back and the heat of your skin under the glittering sheen of sweat.

you twist onto your back and jungkook lets out a punched groan as your whole weight falls on him, but his grip only tightens. you struggle to part yourself from him in a manner where you can elbow him in the crotch – jungkook's seen it all before, and he wraps his thick thighs around your hips.

"'s kinda hot, isn't it?" he whispers in your ear. "go on, jackal. kill me."

with a low growl, you throw your head back, contacting his nose with a meaty smack. he gasps and his grip loosens – not by a lot, but enough for you to shift your weight and throw yourself at the weak point of his clasped hands.

you step back as he clutches his nose, blood streaming over his knuckles. he looks more stunned than anything, and only stares up at you with almost-vacant eyes, his other hand hovering above his chest in a loose curl.

you reach up, hooking your fingers around the loops of your mask. the bright ceiling floodlights haze his vision. your mouth twitches as you brush the growing bruise forming on your cheek.

your eyes flick down to meet his stunned gaze. your lips part. "i wasn't going to kill you," you murmur, and he blinks in confusion.

your boot swings swiftly down onto his face, and with a crunch and a searing pain, everything goes black.

—

jimin's brows furrow deeper as he stares at you from across the room, his arms crossed. you pick out a slice of carrot from your takeaway bowl of fried noodles and pop it into your mouth, determinedly avoiding his glare.

"you promised you would abide by the rules."

"i did," you counter immediately, twirling the noodles around your chopsticks. you pause to put it in your mouth, swallowing before attempting to talk. "you said everything was legal except for killing—"

"he was already on the ground," jimin snaps, placing his hands on his hips. "points are gained on downs and yields. he was down. that last knockout wasn't at all necessary – you were just being an asshole."

you shrug. you're still wearing your hand wraps. "he's too arrogant. he needed to be knocked a notch down and remember that even he is mortal."

"so are you," he replies pointedly. "you just did something really dickish to a guy with a lot of friends. and you practically violated our neutrality! it's a miracle that rival gangs aren't yet stabbing each other downstairs."

you make a dismissive gesture: a careless 'what can you do' in body language. "sorry. i won't do it again."

"you better not."

against one wall, laid out across the couch, jungkook groans sluggishly. jimin darts over and flits over him like a worried mother hen, passing him a glass of water and some painkillers while speaking softly to him. you can't quite tell what he's saying, but jungkook's eyes gradually sharpen. they flicker to you.

you lift a hand in a lazy wave.

he sets aside the glass and painkillers with a blank expression as he sits up. a small dark bruise forms on the bridge of his nose, a shallow cut splitting it in half. he leans forward.

jimin slides the gun on the coffee table further away. he worries the inside of his cheek between his teeth.

jungkook lets out a soft, airy giggle, a flirtatious smile spreading across his lips. "hi, big guy," he coos. he props his elbow on the armrest, eyes roaming your figure against his desk. he hums appreciatively. "how far do you think you could throw me?"

you glance briefly in jiimn's direction, who looks quite scandalised. you return your attention to jungkook, and his grin widens. "pretty far. depends on whether i get a wind-up."

"oh," he breathes, brushing his fingers over his lips. jimin frowns in confusion – out of all the people he's tried to set jungkook up with, why is he so interested in the one who literally stepped on him?

"your reputation precedes you, dokkaebi," you say, putting down your empty bowl of noodles. jungkook watches the movement rapturously. "former assassin with a taste for the bloody and brutal. from the whispers, you've got an impressive resume, too."

"that's nothing compared to what i've heard about you, jackal," jungkook purrs, crossing his legs. "they say you're quite the lover. if you're truly not here to kill me, why don't you show me what else that body of yours can do?"

"all right," jimin says loudly, stepping between you and jungkook. "that's enough. jackal, apologise."

jungkook leans around jimin, placing his index finger between his straight white teeth as he smiles, propped up by an elbow on the couch. "there's no need for that. i'm sure he did what he thought was right."

jimin stares incredulously down at him. "he broke your nose."

flapping a dismissive hand, jungkook says, "potato, po-tah-to. so, handsome, are you seeing anybody at the moment? if that's a yes, would they mind an additional face in the relationship?"

"for fuck's sake," jimin mutters.

amusement coats your voice when you speak next. "no, i'm not seeing anyone. i don't even know how old you are – i'm surprised someone like you wasn't murked on your first day on the job."

"this pretty face has some benefits," he hums. "and i'm legal, if that's what you're asking."

"he's twenty-five," jimin deadpans. "i wish he'd act like it."

"come off it, jimin," you say. "i think it's cute."

you can see jungkook's infatuation deepen. a tiny, dreamy smile graces his soft pink lips. "mm, you're perfect... ah, jimin-hyung, can we keep him? i don't care what i have to do – i'll personally hunt down every bounty hunter in the city if i must. i don't want him to leave."

jimin doesn't bother asking how he knows that you were wanted. he sighs, shaking jungkook's hands off of his arm. "i don't know. can you keep him?"

"yes."

"no, you can't. you can't keep a person. did he kick out your brains in that cage?" this is going awfully. how is he ever going to get a full eight-hour night of rest if he can't find jungkook a damn boyfriend? "lay down and take your meds. jackal and i will be back in an hour – i want a drink."

"drink? i want to come."

"he can drink harder than you can."

jungkook pouts fiercely, sinking back into the sofa. "rude."

"no; it's just the truth. come on – my driver's waiting."

"yeah, i'll have to take a raincheck... i think i'll stay here."

he turns around, disbelief on the tip of his tongue. he notices your eyes first – softer, almost, at the edges, as if you're watching someone you care deeply for from across the room.

"are you serious?" he glances at jungkook, who looks far too cognisant and coquettish to have so recently woken from a knockout. "you're serious. frankly, i'm not even surprised."

your gaze flickers to jimin's, a questioning lift to your brow. jungkook huffs quietly, upset when your attention diverts from him. "you invited me here for this, didn't you?"

"i did, but not for you to challenge him to a fight! you were supposed to go up against smoke and jungkook would watch because he would have nothing better to do, because i rearranged his schedule so that he was completely empty for two hours—"

he shakes his head, muttering fiercely under his breath as he spins on his heel and exits the room in a flurry of vexation. heavy music and a chorus of cheers seeps through the gap in the door as he steps out. he shuts it with a pointed slam, not forgetting to set the lock before it closes. it clicks, and total silence envelops the room.

when you glance back at jungkook, you find him already gazing at you, his hand a little too high on his thigh to be innocent. a sly grin tugs at his mouth as he notices the direction of your eyes – he slides his tattooed hand over the front of his belt, thumb hooking into it loosely.

"when people spoke of dokkaebi," you say, "i pictured someone older."

"i'm sorry to disappoint," he hums. he doesn't seem too bothered by the fact that you broke his nose – completely unnecessarily, too. "does it bother you?"

"no." you push off of the desk, meandering across the room to marvel at all of the shiny toys he has on display. you slide your finger over the swords. "but i remember first hearing your name ten years ago. it was this huge spectacle in our world, and no one knew how we knew of this 'dokkaebi' – only that they were new to our world, and ruthless."

he eyes you. "yeah. how do you remember it so well?"

you turn, rolling the sword smoothly with a loose wrist. it cuts silently through the air, perfectly balanced about the tang. you admire the shine of the steel, and jungkook's breath catches when you blink slowly and the glint reflects in your eyes.

"that was my gig," you say eventually. "six million dollars for a clean hit on a corrupt politician. embezzlement, laundering – you know it. you saw the news. i'd done it all: bribed his pilot to delay exactly three hours; called their hotel to cancel his mistress' room; called his wife instead; arranged her immediate flight over; had the cleaners come in at annoying times until they could finally, finally, get it on, uninterrupted; and the wife walks in.

"oh dear – the wife is understandably furious," you continue, placing the swords back. "she tells everyone. the board, the company friends, the wives of puppet ceos – and i had the perfect window of opportunity. a gun in his hand and a bullet in the temple – he was left-handed, of course – and it was perfect. nobody would suspect foul play because the only thing that was more shameful than having an affair was the whole world finding out about it. with no loving friends and no family, no one cared to press an investigation."

"why are you telling me this...?"

"i want you to know how daring i found you to be, dokkaebi." you smile – gentle, genuine. his heart flutters. it turns a little pensive – almost sad. regretful. "but now i know that you were only fifteen, and that man was nothing more than a smear of guts and cartilage littered with shells."

jungkook laughs, and you can't tell if he really doesn't care or if it's some sort of mask. he shrugs, resting his ankle over his knee. "i knocked. he just happened to be right behind the door."

you shake your head, your expression purely curious. "did you have someone to teach you these things? how to properly oil a barrel, how to lose people in a chase?"

playfulness tugs at the corners of his lips as he rocks to his feet, skipping closer to you and clasping his hands neatly behind his back. "no," he laughs quietly, and takes another step forward until your chests almost touch. he trails his fingers over where your collarbone would be, swirling lines over your arms and down to the inside of your elbow.

he hums, lifting his gaze below his lashes. "it was just me. just me, my trusty switchblade, and my good ol' bag of marbles." he taps his temple. "why? impressed?"

"intrigued, more like." you lean in and he giggles, far sweeter and more innocent than someone like him should sound. he presses his forehead against yours, his touch dancing along the side of your neck. "but i can't help but feel you deserve something... more. you have these shiny toys and pretty clothes, but what else? i know your reputation, dokkaebi. slow to trust and slower to befriend."

with a dark smile, he teases, "am i really slow to befriend?" his fingers catch on the edge of your shirt and take their time lifting it. he slides his palm over the heat of your stomach, leaning in with a pleased titter. "i think i'm quite open. plus, i'm not opposed to you teaching me how to... oil my barrel."

your breath catches in your throat as he rakes his nails over your chest. you pull him closer and he laughs, a little flustered, as he slots neatly between your thighs. even like this, with you resting against the table, he's staring straight at your lips.

it's not a bad place to be trapped, he thinks, watching them part with a soft breath as his hands ride up your sides and shoulders.

"i'm sorry," you murmur, "about before. about... that." you gesture to your face. "got carried away."

he smiles and shakes his head. "it's okay. really. it's what i deserved," he laughs, so pretty and so shy despite the mischievous spark in his eyes. "it's nothing i can't handle. i've yet to meet my limits."

"mm? and you want to test those limits, do you?" you mimic him, slipping your hands up the back of his shirt to rest on his waist. he shivers. "you want it now, dokkaebi?"

"jungkook," he whispers. he closes his eyes as your lips brush his earlobe, lazily tracing his jaw and collarbone. "my name is jungkook."

you give him yours, and something ignites deep within him. he feels like a creature of fae folklore, trading names so carefully. it feels like unzipping your spine and stepping inside, curling up with warmth and protection and no memories of severed muscle or clicking wrists – only eternal, sinful peace.

—

your touch sparks over his skin, hot and cold at once. he hums softly, smiling to himself as your warm hands gradually press into the stiff muscles of his back. he hisses as a muscle zings between his shoulder blades, and you press harder on that spot. he winces until it slips loose under your thumb, and he groans in relief.

"fuck, baby, your hands are magic..."

you chuckle, dipping your hands into the hot water of his bath. suds cling to your skin as you draw slow circles into his shoulders, rubbing off the stress of the day. sure, it'll only build up again in the next few hours, but you enjoy treating him like a prince.

"i'm glad they're good for something other than killing." you lean forward, smoothing your palms over his shoulders and chest, and he groans again, head rolling back to rest against your thigh. his eyes are closed and his lips are parted, a picture-perfect scene of serenity. "don't fall asleep on me, jungkook. you still have a client to meet."

he huffs, pulling his knees up. they peek out over the thick layer of bubbles. "i don't wanna."

"you have to. you've got a reputation to keep."

"can't you get someone else to do it for me?" he asks, injecting a pitiful lilt into his words. he looks up at you. "i like this. i don't wanna move."

as if to sweeten the deal, he turns his head and presses a long, gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh, intensely close to something else. he shifts, the water and bubbles rocking against the sides of the bath, and he lifts his arms out of the water to rest them on your knees. he tilts his head, grinning lopsidedly up at you.

"get someone else to do it. jimin. yoongi. oh, oh! namjoon's not doing anything – i know that for a fact."

"just because they're not doing anything for you doesn't mean they don't have other plans. as an aside, they're all older than you, my darling. you need to be more respectful."

he pouts. "they can't be 'hyung'. you're my hyung. you're the only one i need."

"that's sweet, but they do a lot for you. they're your friends. the least you could do is be nicer to them."

"if i do," he says, his voice small, "do i get anything in return?"

he's impossible. "a kiss."

"like, a kiss per 'hyung' title, per person, or just one for the whole thing...?"

you lean in. he watches with wide eyes, taking his lower lip between his teeth. "be respectful or i'll have to do something about it. you don't want that, do you, darling?"

he shivers and nods, the hairs at the back of his neck pricking up. "yes, hyung," he whispers.

you smile and peck his lips. he follows you subconsciously. "very good. now, what are we going to do with this client?"

"we're gonna accept it," he recites, following you first with his eyes and then his body when you stand to move around the bathroom, "and we're gonna be gracious about it. you're gonna be my guns if they try anything funny because jimin's got an anniversary date tonight."

"what else?" you pick up the heated towel.

"i'm not allowed to kiss you or do anything that implies romantic ties," he replies gloomily. "i'm..."

"yes?" you prompt, holding out the towel.

jungkook stands, stepping out of the bath. water streams down the dips and curves of his muscles, and he hums as you drape the towel around the straight lines of his shoulders. you pat him down while he watches with a lovesick glimmer in his eyes, humming softly as you fold the towel around his waist.

"i'm not allowed to sit on your lap."

"that's not quite what we spoke about," you chuckle, "but that's true. it falls under the last rule. you know what it is, jungkook."

he groans in annoyance, following you out of his bathroom. "fine... can't provoke the fuckers. theirs is an important bridge."

"perfect." you pull a simple black turtleneck from his wardrobe and shuffle down the wall, pulling out racks every so often. it still astounds you – how does one man own so many clothes? "it'll only last a little while. after that, we have the rest of the night to do what you want."

"i still feel weird about it," he grumbles. "why are they so insistent that i come unarmed? why is it so bad if i ask the same of them?"

"not asking is a display of trust," you explain. "you trust that they'll do the same."

"but i don't."

"exactly." you toss the shirt and a pair of grey, high-waisted trousers to him. "that's why i'm coming with you."

"still doesn't make sense," he calls, muffled, with his head inside the soft merino wool. his head pops out the neck, his long fluffy curls bouncing as it does. he drops the towel shamelessly over the low cushioned seat down the middle of his wardrobe, which you settle down on while he changes. "but you're the expert – like the cabinet for a president, i guess. you're my cabinet. and the secret service."

"for this kind of thing, i'm a mercenary first and your partner second," you remind him. "i'm not doing this so i can feel important or so you are forced to rely on me like a damsel in distress. i know how these people think."

he huffs, threading a black belt through his waistband. the buckle clinks as he turns to face you. "i know that you know... i just feel like i should have something. a knife, maybe. i'm quite handy with knives."

"and if they test you and you bring out that little stick? no dice. you'd lose all potential with them in an instant. i'm going to be right there, my darling." you slide your hands up the sides of his thighs and press a lingering kiss to his stomach. he strokes your hair, his palm coming to rest on the back of your neck. "i'm very good at my job. you've got nothing to worry about from these lowlifes – i promise."

"i better not," he grumbles. "so, how do i look? good enough for you?"

"good enough to eat," you growl playfully, pulling him onto your lap. he laughs as you pepper kisses up along his jaw and lips, pressing a final kiss to the tip of his nose. he scrunches it up, playing with the baby hairs at your nape. "utterly delectable, sweet stuff. now c'mon – wheels up in five. join me in the garage when you're done, alright? i need to make a call."

"can i drive?"

"no. you drive like a maniac."

"who're you calling, then? your side chicks?"

you roll your eyes and gently lift jungkook off your lap, but not before one last kiss. he smiles into it. "yes, all six of them. i want the heart-shaped bed ready with pink cupcakes and scattered rose petals by the time i get to denmark."

"damn, six? i guess i have to up my game, don't i?" he darts in, landing a sweet kiss against your lips. he can't help it – not when you mean the world to him. "you won't even be able to think of them when i'm done with you, baby."

"mm, i can't wait. but client first – then you can have your fun."

"bummer," he grouches. he brightens. "will you give me a kiss if i obey all of your rules?"

"yeah, alright. but only if you follow all of them."

it's a fairly innocent request. of course you acquiesce. there's no one on earth who wouldn't.

besides... what could go wrong?

—

"everything is going fucking wrong!"

"no shit!" you retort gruffly, jerking back under the cover of a marble pillar. stone, dusted by a spray of bullets, settles white against the black of your suit. you twist the black handgun close to your chest, firing off two shots at a man racing up to jungkook behind the receptionist's table. he collapses, skidding slightly on the damp, polished floor.

jungkook hastily drags him in by the shoulder, patting him down for anything he can use. the glock's empty, but he has a knife. he twirls it between his fingers and whips around, arm thrown over his eyes against the spray of splintered wood.

"be chill, be chill, be chill," he repeats like a mantra, wincing as you grapple with a dark-clothed figure as tall as you are. you throw him down in a suplex and force his gun towards his own head, pulling the trigger twice in quick succession.

"i'm so chill," he grunts, aggravatingly helpless. he peeks around the edge of the desk, only to throw himself back as a spray of bullets comes dangerously close to hitting their mark. "oi, that bastard—! hyung, i'm a sitting duck right now!"

"working on it," you hiss, ducking into the hook of the changing rooms. a man rounds the corner and his head jerks back as you drill a neat hole in the centre of his forehead. you dive for cover, eyeing the line of bullets that chased your heels. you won't be able to catch him at this angle. swiftly, you empty the chamber and expel the magazine, snapping a new one in place. you skid it across the floor and jungkook grabs it as if it's a lifeline. in this building, it is.

"thank god for bullets," he whispers. the suppressing gunfire bearing down on you comes from the mezzanine above and he lines up the man's head in his sights – pop. he manages to pop a few more before they shout out and realise he's armed.

he ducks behind the desk a semi-auto hammers his position. he twists around the other way, eyes flitting over the scene. he can't move without getting hit, and you're too far away and struggling with your own personal horde. he slams his head against the desk and curses colourfully.

it's all his fault. he asked you to check out the gear in the other room. you'd been hesitant, lingering behind him longer than necessary, and only left once he gave the order a second time.

"peek your pretty little head out, dokkaebi," calls the man pimped out in a gold tuxedo and bleached blond hair. the familiar sound of a suppressed assault rifle pocks holes in his cover from left to right. he laughs, piercing over the sound of gunfire. "i've been meanin' to give these girls a test run! let's see if you're as immortal as your namesake..."

it's always the rich ones. nobody else has the balls to have dokkaebi hunting them down.

jungkook does what he can. he has fourteen bullets left and eight people to kill. with luck, you'll take out a few, and he can afford some body shots – especially in a room as big as this, and with just a pistol. adrenaline pounds in his ears, zinging along his nerves.

"left stairs!" your voice is sharp and precise.

he whips over and nails the man mid-step. he tumbles to the ground like a ragdoll. he turns back to the gunfight, taking aim down the sights and placing heads between the small green dots.

before he knows it, the room falls into uncanny silence. he stays behind cover until your voice rings out in the bathhouse:

"clear."

he stands slowly, taking the time to survey the damage. the hot water is threaded with pools of red and a few bodies slump in the water, guns a few inches from their hands.

he sighs as you jog down the stairs, stepping closer to lay his head on your chest. his heart still races. "and here i thought you were the expert."

you shrug, unbothered. "expert on how criminals think, evidently. boys with too much money and not enough brains are another breed entirely. his ugly tie could feed a hundred families."

he watches you for a while. he grins, and it widens as you move away to check over the bodies for stragglers. "you're annoyed."

"no, i'm not."

"yes, you are," he insists. "you're upset that you didn't predict this."

"if i didn't predict it, we'd both be dead."

"technicalities." he waves a hand, leaning against what remains of a marble pillar. a large chunk has fallen into the bath at his feet. "what was it you said? mercenary first and partner second? you got distracted by the number of zeroes he was waving in our faces." he laughs good-naturedly. "acted like a true merc, baby. no need to admit it – i already know."

you push down a man's sleeve. two ace cards are tattooed on his wrist. "men were hired. some old faction that still likes identifying features like this. nothing's more stupid when you're a mercenary. we won't have to worry about retribution, but we'll have to do something about the mess in the building."

"you're deflecting," he coos. "aw, baby, don't get butthurt. it’s so adorable."

you arch a brow. "adorable that i almost got us killed?"

"'almost' being the key word. but hey – everyone has their flaws. i'm pretty proud, and so are you. we both got our comeuppance." he nudges your shoulder cheekily as you fall into step beside him. he swings your hands together between your bodies, and the night air curls around you tightly. "i admit, i still have dreams about our first meeting. sometimes you win. sometimes i win. sometimes i never see the end. but all the time, i think you're beautiful."

your face heats up and you turn away, hearing jungkook giggle next to you. "don't say that..."

"aw, you're blushing! you're totally blushing." he stops you, spinning in front of you and reaching up to cup your cheeks. his hands are rough, callused across the bottoms of his fingers, but warm and gentle.

he smiles, those dark doe eyes of his so soft and peaceful. "you're my beautiful, handsome boyfriend. i never used to, but i dream of the future – and in all of them, you're in it: right there, next to me. i never see our faces but i know that in some of them we're old and grey in a little country cottage, and in others, it's tomorrow, and we're both so soaked in blood we can't tell whose it is. what i can see is that i love you – very, very much, even if i don't say it, and i know i'll love you forever, whatever happens. with all that said and done..."

he reaches into his pocket, withdrawing a single grenade. he pulls the pin, his fingers keeping the striker lever in place, and goes down on one knee.

he lifts the ring with a crooked grin, his eyes shining with mischief. "will you marry me, my one true love?"

you're still holding your handgun. it clatters to the pavement, and jungkook's smile is as radiant as the sun as you extend your left hand. he settles the ring over your knuckle and stands slowly, tossing the grenade into the open doors of the bathhouse without tearing his gaze off of yours.

"i always imagined you'd be more verbal at this point," he whispers through his beaming smile, clutching your hands to his chest. "maybe even a 'you're not so bad yourself'?"

instead, you twist your fingers in his dark curls and smash your lips to his. it says a million things you could never put into words, and he curls his arms around your shoulders, holding on for dear life as his lips move hungrily against yours. in the darkness, sparks fly, and the golden glow of purity expands and bursts: a booming, echoing roar that tumbles through the sky like a comet unchained.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x male reader #jeon jungkook x male reader #jungkook x reader #bts x male reader #kpop x male reader #x male reader #male reader #m!reader

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jellifysh · 2 years

Text

Ride with you (part 9)

Or, Jungkook’s Ex-Fiancés Can Really Hold A Grudge

OT7 x reader (mafia au, Jungkook x reader focus, exes to lovers, eventual polyamory, this one has a LOT OF EXPLAINING and backstory, mission stuff, gun shots, blood, death but it’s none of the main characters, can you tell that Jimin and and Namjoon are my bias/bias wrecker bc I’m starting to notice a pattern in my writing, Yoongi waxes lyrical abt jk and I think it’s cute but you can totally skip over it I get a little self indulgent, no fr like Yoongi is just inner monologuing for his whole bit but I think it’s worth paying attention to the difference between what Yoongi thinks and what he actually says out loud)

The organizations.

Two infamous institutions unknown by most, the lucky people whose lives didn’t revolve around sowing trouble in the shadows.

You, however, had always been part of the unlucky few. The people who lived in violence and chaos. Murderers, thieves, mafias, they were all violent means to an end. Normal people think of them as evil, unnecessary, and something that needed to be ended forever. But life wasn’t so simple. People needed power, and when politicians wanted governments toppled, the organizations were there. When local gangs wanted drugs to fund their business, when thieves needed jobs, when normal people whose lives spiraled out of control needed help to get back on their feet, the organizations were there.

There were always two, as long as you could remember, at war with each other for supremacy. Jungkook’s was more well versed in trafficking— weapons, humans, drugs, the general type of illegal contraband that no one ever seemed to know the source of. Their agents infiltrated small gangs, built them up bigger and stronger and made them into their puppets. Anywhere there were figurehead regimes, or money being traded behind the scenes, it was the work of Chessman’s pawns. They trained their agents to be manipulative and sly, and never caught at the scene of the crime. They were a dog-eat-dog organization. If you wanted a higher position, you fought for it, your status was always in flux, and people were always being overthrown by the next most ambitious person.

Jungkook had been eighth in line for the Head out of 1,268 agents, a constant routine of clawing at every advantage and using every underhanded tactic he could get to get closer to the top, and he was almost there. But then he met you.

Your organization was versed in espionage and political affairs. Each and every person in the company was trained to be a human weapon. You all knew dozens of different fighting styles, hundreds of different languages, thousands of different types of poisons and when to use them. Your organization was rigid in structure and discipline, unlike Jungkook’s. The top stayed at the top and the agents were taught to kneel at their feet, punished if they ever bent out of line. You were nothing but tools, and were reminded of that constantly, made to think of yourselves as worthless disposable weapons, even though a single one of you could render a nation’s government to pieces. Your organization worked closely with officials who wanted more power, and framed and killed people who were in their way without leaving a trace, making the most brutal murders seem like accidents. You were one of Jackal’s top shadow puppets, and you liked it that way.

Until you met Jungkook. After the organizations realized how much of a threat they were to each other, they talked their agents with getting rid of other at every opportunity. You and Jungkook were specially assigned to each other, you skills making you an equal match, and the best equipped to handle each other. You often ran into each other on missions where your organizations fought over the same target. But something about him kept you from killing him. You don’t know why, but when you looked into his eyes the first time, you couldn’t complete your extra objective. You had never failed an order, you usually completed them in record time. You would call ordinarily call failing to complete an order a defect, but now, years later, you were sure it was a blessing. You and Jungkook danced around each other on missions, fighting but not hurting, teasing but never threatening. You quickly grew fond of each other, and even bonded over your shared struggles.

Jimin hummed to himself as he thumbed through your file, eyes scanning the papers. He idly swiveled in place while sitting in Namjoon’s fancy desk chair, one foot propped up on the desk.

Normally he wouldn’t go through the effort of reading a file. It wasn’t usually any of his business. Files were raw information, data gathered by Yoongi that Namjoon used to craft a mission. Whatever they needed to know, Namjoon would tell them.

But Jimin was curious. It was a weird feeling honestly, almost new with how long it had been. For so long he had been bored. Content, but bored. Bangtan was successful and feared and money had been flowing in almost nonstop. They owned half of downtown, and basically controlled the rest due to their surrounding allies following their every order. They had a monopoly on trade, and had squads full of adoring henchman to take care of any opponents. Everything was perfect, and it was boring.

In the years after Jungkook left, they’d had nothing but luck, and Jimin hated every second of it. Jungkook was a breath of fresh air, he brought light and laughter to the house and fun to their lives that they didn’t have before him. And when he left, he took all of that with him as well, and it was worse knowing how much happier they could be— how much happier they had been— with him there.

For a long while, they tried to pretend they were fine with him being gone. They were fine with an empty seat at the table instead of him pouting for them to feed him from their plates, they were fine without him running around and laughing and bumping things over, they were fine with some peace and quiet while they worked instead of him talking their ear off. Really, he was annoying, he was needy, he was clingy— he was far more work than than he was worth. He was definitely the most demanding pet they had ever had to entertain. And yet, their lives had never been so miserable without him.

Finding him again after he left was easy. But you were an unforeseen variable. Jimin could still feel the way his blood boiled when he saw you. A part of him thought Jungkook would be a wreck without them, he was always clinging to them in the manor, how could he ever live away from them after needing their attention for so long? But instead, he was off in the woods, happily playing house with you. How could he be happy when they were suffering?

But Jimin remembered, under all the rose tinted memories of the happiest days with Jungkook, there were bad days. Days where he would mope around, days where no one would spare him attention, days where they would snap at him out of irritation, days where he would get jealous. Before, Jimin never understood his jealousy. Of course they loved him, he was the one they kept around most, even if they paid attention to others. They proposed to him even, of course they wanted him around forever.

But, seeing the closeness between you and him, Jimin now understands just what that kind of jealousy feels like.

He tapped his fingers on the desk thoughtfully, staring down at the polished mahogany surface. Knowing you though, seeing you interact with Jungkook and the rest of the boys in the time you’ve been here, Jimin can’t help but think. You had skill, plenty of it. In the time you’ve been here, you’ve done nothing but prove it. While you irritated him, something else in him flared back to life seeing you in action. The way you moved and fought was so precise, so calculated, so deadly and yet beautiful he couldn’t help but be enraptured by it. He had never encountered so much power in anybody besides him and his loves. Even some of Bangtan couldn’t compare to your ability.

Maybe they had been thinking about all wrong.

Jimin blinked, coming out of his thoughts from an approaching sound. He could hear the footsteps and smiled to himself, sitting up straight in the chair as he waited for the person to enter. Namjoon pushed the door open, stepping into the room and stopping in the doorway in slight shock at the sight of Jimin. “What are you doing in here?” He asked, suspiciously eying the file ahead in front of him.

“Aw, c’mon Joonie. I can’t pay you a visit?” He faux pouted, but Namjoon only narrowed his eyes, more suspicious. “Okay, okay, fine. I was looking over our new pet’s file.” Jimin sighed dramatically, standing from the chair and picking up the file, moving to slip it back into the file cabinet.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow at Jimin’s sudden interest. “Why? What were you looking for?” He asked, moving to sit down in his chair.

Jimin walked back to him, perching on the arm of his chair, slumping against Namjoon. “Well, for one, I was looking for details on her abilities. And, for leverage.” He sent Namjoon a sly smile.

“Leverage?” Namjoon tilted his head, not really following.

“I’ve been noticing some things about her. Like, the fact that she’s much more cooperative than someone’s whose been kidnapped ought to be.” Jimin trailed his fingers along Namjoon’s collar, feeling the fine thread of his suit as he spoke.

“Of course she’s being cooperative. We aren’t giving them a choice.” Namjoon replied, pulling out a notebook and pen, arranging his desk back to the way he liked it since Jimin had pushed his stuff out of the way.

“That’s different. It’s not like she’s doing the bare minimum. She’s interested, maybe even invested, in helping us.” Jimin responded, sitting up, gesturing with his hands to emphasize his point.

“She wants to see the organizations crumble as much as we do.” Namjoon reasoned.

“So does Jungkook, but he’s not giving us input on mission or helping us torture hostages.” Jimin retorted.

Namjoon sighed, resigned, looking straight at Jimin as he asked for an explanation. “What are you saying?”

Jimin rolled his eyes like it was obvious. “I’m saying that our new pet might have a bit of a perfectionist streak. She wants to help us because a part of her, albeit small, wants to impress us. She puts up a cute fight, but she always listens to us in the end.”

Namjoon looked at him intently, thinking on what he said for a moment, then turned back to fixing his desk, shaking his head. “I think you’re reading too much into it.”

“Think about it, Joon. No one told her to get Taehyung’s flashdrive. No one told her to save me, but she rushed to my side when I got shot. When we were splitting up roles for the mission, she insisted on joining and said that she was skilled enough to handle it.” Jimin rattled off, counting the instances on his fingers. “She could’ve sat back this whole time if she didn’t want to help us, but she does.”

Namjoon listened as Jimin spoke, tapping a pen in his hand against the table. “Alright. So, you think she’s eager to please. So what?”

Jimin smiled, a wicked curve to his lips. “So, I’m saying we use this to our advantage. We give her some rewards for helping us, a couple gentle pushes in the right direction, and not only will we have her as a little puppet, but Jungkook won’t have any reason to resist us either. He’s holding back because of her, I can sense it.”

Namjoon was still giving him a dubious look, so he continued, huffing. “Listen, I’m never wrong about these things. We just need to start small, and soon she’ll be putty in our hands.” Jimin eyes cut into teasing slits, smiling again. “And stop acting like you don’t like the idea. It’s so obvious that you’re fond of her already. Don’t you like the thought of a cute little baby doll around the house?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m being completely professional about this.” Namjoon denied, turning back to the desk and starting to write nonsense in the notebook.

“Right. And that’s why you let her sass Jin and give input on missions.”

“She has a lot of good ideas, it’d be inefficient to ignore them.”

“Sure,” Jimin teased, pinching his cheek. Namjoon chuckled, raising a hand to bat it away, when the door creaked again, you peeking in. Jimin didn’t hear any footsteps this time, a fact that surprised him. He knew the walking patterns of everyone in this house, but as he thought about it, he couldn’t recall if he’d ever even heard yours. You just get more and more interesting, he thought to himself.

“Joon?” You called into the room, peeking through the crack of the door. You moved to step in, then stopped after noticing Jimin inside as well. “Oh, if you’re busy I’ll go.”

“You’re fine, pet. Come in.” Jimin cooed encouragingly, before you could run out, and you timidly stepped inside, eyeing him like he’d jump at you.

“What is it?” Namjoon asked patiently, with none of the usual bite he’d have when he was talking to one of their underlings who barged into his office. Jimin struggled to hold back a smile, he was always right about these things.

You stood tall, demanding, “I need a new suit for the up coming mission. I tore mine in the last one, and it was too tight anyways.”

“We’ll find you another one.” Namjoon agreed, and you nodded, but stood there a second longer as if there was something else you wanted to say, fidgeting in place.

Jimin smirked. He could guess what this was about. You had been eyeing his and Hoseok‘s customized suits last time, and a professional like yourself was probably used to more high quality material. “You know, pet, if you do extra good for us on this next mission, you might even get a special custom suit like the ones we have.” He purred.

Your eyes sparkled at that, even if the rest of your face didn’t betray your excitement. Bingo. You nodded with the type of forced calm people had when trying not to outwardly celebrate. “Okay.” You said simply, turning and leaving, Jimin glimpsing a hint of a smile as you face away from them.

“Huh.” Namjoon said, staring at the door after she left. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m always right.” Jimin replied smugly. “She has a big ego. But we can use that to our advantage.”

Maybe the only issue with Jungkook being their pet before was that they needed another one to keep him company.

—

Yoongi wasn’t the fighting type.

Well, not exactly. While he wasn’t the type to throw a punch, he was absolutely the type to be sniping from the rooftop, steady and almost clinical in his aim. He was the type to be cynical even in the most positive of situations, the type to throw your words back in your face when arguing, the type to hang back and watch you make a fool of yourself and then laugh. He was the annoying, high and mighty, holier-than-thou type, and he had always been that way. It was funny to watch people fail, and even funnier that he had never failed at anything himself. His whole life he had been a genius, and always did everything better than the next guy. He was perfect and calculating.

He had never been tripped up by anything, until he met Jeon Jungkook.

When they found him, Jungkook was a skinny little shrimp, scared of his own shadow. He was scared of them for a long while, until he realized they weren’t trying to hurt him and then he clung to their backs every second of the day, using them like a personal shield for his anxieties. They knew he had potential, everyone does, it just takes a certain mindset to drag it out of them. They taught Jungkook how to defend himself by throwing him into the deep end and he came out better and stronger for it, rising above his fears and becoming more confident each day they spent with him.

Jungkook was full of surprises. While they had had pets and guests before, Jungkook was the most permanent, and Yoongi can still remember the way it threw him for a loop when he realized— when they all realized— they actually had developed a— somewhat twisted— form of love for the boy they had taken in. He was more than entertainment, he was cute bunny smiles and uncontrollable laughter. He thrived under the attention they gave him and begged for more with no shame. He quickly became comfortable and sassy and when he came out of his shell, he spent every moment making them happy.

Yoongi can still remember the first time Jungkook made him laugh because it was the first he had laughed at all in a long while. That was what tripped Yoongi up. The feelings Jungkook could pull out of him. All his life he had perfected the art of emotion. He knew how to control it, how to keep his cool in situations, and suddenly this kid came along and made him laugh with every stupid question, letting out snorts and chuckles that Jungkook insisted were cute, with that same wide bunny smile on his face. Cute. He’d never been called that before.

And it made it even worse when Jungkook had left. No one smiled for a long time after that. Everything felt off kilter, askew, like gun with a sticky trigger. The sudden loss of joy in their life was sticking to their every thought, and they had to push past the emotions to function even semi-normally.

Yoongi knew that Jungkook hated the parties. Honestly, if the others guys weren’t so dense when it came to other people’s emotions, maybe they’d have noticed too. He hated the parties himself. They were always too loud, with too many people with too much skin showing trying to get close to him. The only reason he ever came out of his room for them instead of locking himself inside was the way Jungkook would glue himself to his side. The younger man probably thought he was being subtle, they way he would casually lay himself across their laps, talk louder, flirt harder, and generally try to compete for their attention even more than he usually did, trying to be more interesting than the other people in the room. It almost hurt seeing the way the look on his face would desperate and pained when the other boys would push him away, hardly sparing him a glance. But then he cuddle up into Yoongi’s side, small and shy again and Yoongi would play with his hair, and they’d be in their own world again, ignoring everyone outside of their little bubble.

Yoongi could see the signs before he left. The other boys just saw it as cute rebellion, but Yoongi could see the way he would withdraw with every argument, emotionally, physically, mentally, not coming out of his room at all sometimes. And he couldn’t blame him. When he escaped, Yoongi knew. He saw him through the security cameras, jumping down from his bedroom window and running. He was supposed to report that sort of thing to Namjoon or Jin, but he made the excuse that he was hungry and went to the kitchen for some tangerines, “accidentally” turning off the cameras and alarms outside Jungkook’s bedroom.

The boys were furious naturally, in the way that people are when they don’t see how their own mistakes lead to their own misfortune. They tracked him down quickly but didn’t go after him, wanting to wait until he crawled back. They continued on with life as normal, but it wasn’t.

Jimin quickly grew tired of parties, grew tired of everything. He snapped at everyone who spoke to him, and eventually people stopped coming over for parties, and he stopped inviting them, moping around the house and whispering about how Jungkook would’ve loved the color of the sky or whatever random thing reminded him of the younger man that day. Namjoon grew quieter, he was always a quiet man, but he became distrustful of others around him, taking on more and more of the duties he usually relegated to others until they were essentially doing everything themselves. Jin was always on the phone calling people and asking about him, always tracking Jungkook’s every movement. When Jungkook was on a mission and off the grid, it was obvious in the way Jin’s shoulders would bunch tight and tense, and he would pace around the house anxiously. Hoseok was constantly training, but it only frustrated him more since Jungkook was his favorite training partner. Yoongi could always hear the thud of him beating the punching bags, hitting hard enough to almost knock them off the chains. Taehyung had always been introspective but now he was far more withdrawn, he and Jungkook were incredibly close and part of Yoongi thinks he probably blames himself for Jungkook’s leaving in a way. He wasn’t always into technology, but after Jungkook left, Taehyung asked Yoongi more about hacking and tracking, likely to try and pinpoint Jungkook’s location for himself.

And now, having him back was weird, because it was almost like old times. If Yoongi let himself zone out, he could almost believe nothing has changed. But there were plenty of changes. Yoongi could hear Jungkook’s voice again, but it was deeper, more experienced. He wasn’t the same cute kid they had all spoiled. He was toughened by life alone, and he was angry.

“Even after all this time, you’re still so similar to before,” Yoongi mused as he turned away from his computer, spinning his chair to face his bedroom door. “So why are you acting like I don’t already know you’re there?” He called out into the hallway and waited.

Jungkook slowly stepped into view, eyes everywhere but Yoongi. He looked around his room, lingering on the things that had changed. “You finally got rid of that ugly vase.” He said by way of greeting, gesturing to the flowers in the corner. They were in a sleek silver vase, rather than the colorful clay one he used to have. He’d gotten rid of most colorful decor after Jungkook had left, his room becoming a monochrome wasteland.

“I vaguely remember you telling me to get it in the first place.” Yoongi raised a brow, and Jungkook scoffed.

“As a joke. Anyone with eyes could tell that thing needed to be destroyed in a fire.” He deadpanned, but Yoongi could hear the slight amusement in his voice.

Yoongi bit his lip to hold back a smile. “What do you want?”

Jungkook shrugged noncommittally, digging throuh drawers and snooping through his shelves. “Y/n’s getting ready for her mission debrief. Jin said I shouldn’t bother her.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “And you listened? I’m surprised you didn’t break the door down.”

“Y/n can handle herself. They won’t hurt if she’s valuable to the mission.” Jungkook said, but Yoongi knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

“So why are you here?” He clarified his question, watching as the muscles in Jungkook’s back just slightly tensed, him freezing in place almost imperceptibly.

Jungkook looked at him over his shoulder, then at the open door. He walked over, closing the door silently then turned back to Yoongi, eyes glinting with determination.

“Uh oh, am I in trouble?” Yoongi joked dryly.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes at him, talking like Yoongi didn’t speak at all. “Why are you guys being so weird?”

“Huh?”

“What are you hiding? Why haven’t you thrown one of your stupid parties? Why are you doing work yourself instead of being lazy and making your expendables do it? Why don’t you have other pets keeping you company?” Jungkook rattled off question after question.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi said. Jungkook almost flinched at the sound of his name, plain and simple. No Jungkookie, no kookie-baby, just Jungkook. “Do you remember when we proposed?”

Yoongi asked the question with so much tenderness that it took them both by surprise, silence settling in the room like dust for a long moment. “I wish I didn’t.” Jungkook grumbled, looking away and kicking an empty water bottle that had been lying on the floor.

“We told you that you were like nothing we had ever seen before,” Yoongi stood from his chair, taking slow steps towards Jungkook as we spoke. “That you had given us new purpose for living, and that nothing had ever been so incredible as it had when you were with us. Did you think we were lying?” Yoongi was almost whispering the last few words, close enough to Jungkook that he had to look up to meet his eyes. The younger man had never been so tall before. Yoongi thought it suited him, him being tall was new, like his bravery, like his fury, like his independence.

Jungkook stared down at him, eyes still steely with the look he had when he was working hard to figure something out. “I don’t know. You guys lied about a lot of things.” He shrugged again, trying to maintain a casual air despite the heavy atmosphere.

“We never lied. We made mistakes, sure, but we never lied. You were more important to us than anything. We just lost sight of that for a while.” Yoongi explained, Jungkook immediately scoffing.

“And you expect me to believe that? How do I know this isn’t you just manipulating me? That you aren’t just saying whatever you can to make up for your past fuck ups?” His eyes narrowed into a fierce glare, with no real heat behind it. Yoongi could tell he wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t muster up the emotion, not right now. He wanted answers more than he wanted to be angry.

You breathed in and out, calm and content just being this close to him again. “Because you know us. You know me. Only you can tell if we’ve truly changed. And if we are lying to cover our ass, you wouldn’t believe us anyways. Not until you see it for yourself. I don’t think you’re the type to be won over with praise anymore.”

Jungkook huffed, “It doesn’t matter. You kidnapped me and my love, and you’re forcing us to help you. And don’t think for a second that I actually believe you’ll just let us go after all this.”

Yoongi shrugged. “I’m sure you’d find a way out anyways. And we’re not making you do anything you didn’t already want to do. Chessman and Jackal have been a thorn in our sides, like Namjoon said, and they’ve been tracking you. If we get rid of them, you could go back to your cute little cottage and not worry about moving every two months.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes, studying Yoongi’s calm countenance for a lie. Yoongi took the opportunity to look over him as well. His hair had grown longer and shaggier in the time they’d been apart, it was always a cropped bowl cut, with a cute fringe that hung over the forehead when he was with them. But now he could see the remnants of blue dye at the ends and wondered about that story, what made him want to dye it, if you encouraged him or if it had been a spur of the moment thing Jungkook surprised you with. He had a small scar on his cheek that Yoongi wanted to run his thumb over but didn’t, and one that cut through his eyebrow that Jungkook probably thought made him look cooler. He was always reckless that way, getting excited over battle scars like they were tattoos, which, Yoongi noticed, he also had trailing over his arms. He had a couple tattoos when he was with them but not so many, not so colorful and detailed. And his shoulders were broad in a way that would make even Jin jealous, and he stood tall in a way that made Yoongi swear that if he squinted he’d look just like Namjoon.

“You’ve barely done anything since we’ve gotten here.” Jungkook eventually said, expression still guarded. “The others have been angry but you’ve been acting like you don’t care at all. Even less than you normally do.”

“Maybe I just don’t.” Yoongi tilted his head.

“No. You’re pretending.” Jungkook called him out easily, batting the excuse away almost as soon as it came out of his mouth. “So, what? Do you hate Y/n too?”

Yoongi quirked an eyebrow. Jungkook posed the question like it was meant be intimidating, like he wanted to make sure Yoongi wouldn’t try anything with you, but it almost seemed curious. Like he was asking for his opinion, or his approval.

“I think Y/n’s just as strong and crazy as you are, maybe more, but she holds back. But as far as the people you could’ve chosen to replace us with goes, I’m glad you found her. She suits you.” Yoongi replied honestly, seemingly more than Jungkook was expecting from the slight widening of his eyes.

Yoongi wouldn’t tell him about how he was the one doing all the research on you when they first started going after you, and that he had dragged up an (almost) complete timeline of your life, all your highs and lows, the ways you dragged yourself out of the mud again and again and the way you watched over Jungkook fiercely ever since you’ve first met him.

He wouldn’t tell him about him about how Yoongi was immensely impressed by the way you fought and his eyes keep drifting your form in the security cameras in the mission when you saved Jimin.

Yoongi wouldn’t tell him about how he thought it was cute when you argued with Jin and Hoseok, and how he could tell Namjoon had a soft spot for you already, or how he could feel one forming for you in himself.

Yoongi wouldn’t tell him that under different circumstances they’d likely all be obsessing over you the same way they were with Jungkook, considering you seemed to be the exact kind of crazy Bangtan usually sought out in their pets.

And Yoongi especially wouldn’t tell him that he had never been angry at Jungkook, and never could be, even with you in the picture.

Jungkook eventually sighed, breaking the silence again, stepping back towards the door. “Well, that’s good enough I guess. One less enemy in this house.” He grumbled, seemingly done with his psuedo interrogation.

Yoongi spoke up again as Jungkook had just put his hand on the door, making him pause. “None of us are your enemies, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook walked out of the room, almost like he hadn’t heard Yoongi at all.

—

Hoseok brushed against you as he walked into the room, shoulder bumping into yours in a definitely purposeful movement. You eyed him as he passed, not letting him intimidate you.

He eyed you in turn, eyes sweeping down your figure. “Your suit fits better this time.” He commented, carelessly settling in a chair in the corner.

“Yup. And I’ll have a custom made that fits even better after this mission.” You smiled proudly. “But I’ll be able to outdo you in this one just fine.”

“You keep telling yourself that, pup.” Hoseok smiled with no warmth. “If you can make it through this mission without making any mistakes, I’ll take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about you.” He responded, seemingly no faith in your abilities at all, though you were quite sure you had proved yourself already. No matter, you reassured yourself inwardly, just do well on this mission and they won’t be able to deny your skill ever again. You weren’t one to be under appreciated, and while you definitely didn’t care about what they thought about you as a person, you would make sure they knew your worth as a fighter.

“Get ready to eat your words then. I never make mistakes.” You replied, eyes cut into slits as you stared him down.

“Everyone slips up sometimes. And you’ve been a little too perfect lately.” He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes right back, the two of you glaring in the tense silence until the door opened.

Hoseok looked to the door, breaking eye contact first— which you counted as a small victory— as Namjoon walked in. “Just you today, Joonie?” Hoseok smiled easily, mood immediately sweeter at the sight of his love. He was always more smiley around the guys, you noticed, making it difficult for you to believe he was the same person sometimes. The same man who would glare at you was also the same man who would give his boyfriends the most tender stares and touches, soft and gentle like they’d break, and not like they were kings of the underground.

Namjoon hummed in response, opening the file. “This mission isn’t as serious. Simple recon, you get Warner in, he does the dirty work, and then you bring him back.”

Warner, still currently in the “dungeon” as Jungkook called it, was going to pose as your puppet. Bangtan would give him a couple crates of valuable supplies that he “stole” and let him barter with the informant he was meeting for information and a possible position in the organization. Since he was able to bargain with them, you assumed it was an agent of Chessman— Jungkook’s old organization— who he was meeting, but you weren’t yet sure, and it was better to prepare for every eventuality anyways. The thought that you might be seeing a familiar face form your organization tonight was both nerve wracking and blood boiling.

“So all we have to do is watch and don’t be detected.” Hoseok nodded after listening to Namjoon explain the objectives, then sent a sidelong glance at you. “Think you can handle that, puppy?”

“I’m a master at stealth. This will be a piece of cake.” You boasted.

“You certainly have a great sense of pride.” Namjoon commented almost thoughtfully.

“Of course it is. I’ve worked hard, and that deserves to be recognized.” You said, glaring at Hoseok as you put an emphasis on the last half of your words.

“Of course,” Namjoon said again, almost to himself. The closed the file in front of him and moved for the door, leading you all out. “Let’s go retrieve our prisoner then.”

—

As Hoseok sat in the backseat of the car next to you and a squirming Warner, he thought about how he’d rather be doing anything else. He hated this. He hated you for suggesting this mission. Honestly, Hoseok hated you for a lot of reasons.

One, you took Jungkook away from them. If it wasn’t for you, Hoseok wouldn’t be down a sparring partner, and their lives wouldn’t have been so miserable. Jungkook would’ve been happy when they found him again and they could’ve made it up to him for all the tough times before and be living happily ever after.

Two, Jungkook was in love with you. Not only had he moved on after leaving them, but he had given his heart to another person. He had laughed and cried and touched you, and you had comforted him and made him feel better and made him fall in love with you. Jungkook chose you, unlike how they were the ones to find him. And now because he was in love with you, he would likely never choose them over you ever again.

Three, he had to watch Jungkook be in love with you. He had to watch the stupid happy looks on your faces when you held hands, or kissed, or just looked at each other because you were so in love that you just couldn’t see the others face without breaking into a smile. Jungkook used to look at them like that. But now, he was like that with you. It was disgustingly sweet and made him want to punch a wall every time he saw it.

There were plenty of other petty reasons Hoseok couldn’t stand you, but most of all, he hated how much you reminded him of Jungkook. It was impossible to say that you and Jungkook weren’t perfect for each other. You had the same sense of same sense of humor as each other, the same focused look when you would go into a mission, the same mannerisms whether it was loading a gun or dusting off your suit, everything you did had Jungkook sewn into it and he hated it. He hated seeing echoes of someone he loved in someone else. He hated the way you would bicker with Jin, because that’s what Jungkook used to do. He hated the way you would volunteer to help with missions, because that’s what Jungkook used to do. He hated the way you walked, the way you talked, the way you breathed, because all of it was a reminder that you spent time with Jungkook while they were all losing their minds wishing for him to come back.

Warner bumped into his shoulder for the fortieth time in the last ten minutes and Hoseok snapped, grabbing the rope around his neck and pulling as he growled. “How does a man who’s tied up move so goddamn much?”

Warner didn’t answer him, because he had a piece of tape over his mouth, but instead stared up at him frightfully. He was tied up still, because Hoseok didn’t believe he wouldn’t just try to run as soon as they got outside, rope around his wrists, elbows, knees and ankles for good measure. The rope around his neck was just for intimidation factor, for moment like this where Hoseok needed something to grab and pull.

“We’re almost there, just avoid hurting our hostage before we get to the rendezvous point.” You rolled your eyes and Hoseok huffed, shoving Warner into you. You shoved him back more towards the center, ignoring the muffled groan Warner let out as you both irritated his bruises from your previous “discussion” with him in the basement.

Jin was driving the car, quiet for most of the ride as he sensed the tension between you two. He glanced into the rear view, seeing the both of you with arms crossed and looking out the windows like siblings on a road trip they didn’t ask for and sighed in relief as you slowly got closer to the destination. “Just remember to be careful. We don’t have sights on you for this one, so make sure to watch your corners and lead Warner back here as soon as the meeting’s over.”

“We got it, babe.” Hoseok said as the car rolled to a stop outside an abandoned warehouse, dark with overgrown plants creeping up the sides. “I’ll keep the puppy in line.” He said as he climbed out.

“I’m not a puppy! And I don’t need to watched.” You hissed, getting out your side and taking a wooden crate out of the trunk.

“Whatever.” Hoseok snapped back, grabbing Warner from the backseat and slinging him over his shoulders like he was a bag of marshmallows.

Jin did not feel any confidence in your ability to watch each other’s backs, but waved you both off anyways, saying good luck and moving his car to a more hidden spot until the two of you were finished.

You crept up to the side of the building as quietly as possible, the people Warner was here to meet were likely already inside, waiting. They told him to come alone, so you needed to get him and inside and make yourselves scarce. Hoseok propped him up against the wall, undoing the ropes and then ripping the tape off of his mouth, ignoring his squeal at the pain.

You shoved the wooden crate into his arms, not giving him a moment to recover. It was full of random ammunition and weapons, things Wanrer could use to barter with the informant. “Remember: these are the supplies you ‘stole’ from Bangtan during your raid. Try to trade them for information we could use or, most preferably, a position on the inside of the organization. Don’t mess this up.” You threatened, stressing the last sentence with a dire seriousness, watching Warner’s eyes widen at your intensity.

“I— I remember, I swear.” He squeaked and you nodded, stepping back.

“Good. Now go.” Hoseok pushed him towards the direction of the entrance, making him stumble over over his own feet, and the two of you watched him walk inside, making sure he wouldn’t run.

“Now, we just have to get inside.”

“What’re you talking about? There no way we can get in without being noticed, it’s an empty warehouse.” Hoseok eyed you dubiously. “It’s just wide open space, they’ll see us instantly.”

“Places like this usually have a lot of vents and ducts on the ceiling. If we can get up top, we can climb in through one and sit up in the rafters unseen.” You replied, pulling a grappling gun fork your tool belt.

“That’s stupid. What if we make too much noise, or fall?” He critiqued.

“Just don’t.” You said, rolling your eyes. You shot the gun up to the roof, watching it catch on the edge. You gave it a couple test pulls to test the stability. “Look, you can stay out here if you want, but I’m going in.”

“Fine.” Hoseok huffed. “Give me that, I don’t trust you not to drop us.” He held out his hand for the grappling hook and you pulled back.

“And I’m supposed to believe you won’t drop me?”

“Do you want to get in, or just stay out here and argue?”

“Fine.” You acquiesced, handing him the gun, and he wrapped his arm around your back, holding you tight as he let it pull both up to the top of the building.

To Hoseok’s surprise, you both made it in easily, popping open a grate on a vent that came out the top of the building, crawling in and navigating through the vents until you were close enough to hear conversation, coming upon another grate you could see the meeting through. Quietly, you pulled up the grate, and stared down into the room.

As you looked in on the scene, you saw they had already started talking. The informant was dressed in a white suit, crisp and clean. He spoke in a monotone voice, sounding almost bored as he spoke with Warner, who in contrast, was sweating bullets.

Warner’s voice cut into your ear as he spoke, voice lowering so much that you had to strain to hear them. “Listen, I know what we came here for, but I figured, before you get your stuff, you could help me out.” He whispered conspiratorially to the agent.

“What is he saying?” You murmured to yourself, anxiety chilling your body. This didn’t sound like any of the things you outlined for Warner to say. He was going way off script.

“Help you how?” The agent asked, confusion marring their clinical and smooth tone. Clearly whatever Warner was saying was throwing them for a loop as well.

“I was captured by Bangtan, I’ve got two of their agents trailing me right now, they’re osmewhere here, if you help me get rid of them—“

“That dumbass! He’s ratting us out. I told you he wasn’t shit but you just couldn’t help but want to be right all the time!” Hoseok hissed at you, but you were just staring blankly down at the scene below you, as if in disbelief.

“You were compromised?” The rendezvous agent cut Warner off, professional air completely abandoned, replaced with worry and anger that Warner didn’t seem able to sense.

Warner nodded, a smile on his face as he realized the agent understood. He continued speaking more enthusiastically, as he pleaded the other agent for help. “Yeah, exactly! Listen man, you’ve gotta get rid them for me, they’re threatening my life—“

Bang! Warner’s body slumped lifelessly to the floor, and Hoseok felt his heart drop.

The agent had whipped out a small handgun, nailing Warner right between the eyes. He turned to the guards in the room, barking orders frantically. “Search the perimeter, make sure the agents he was talking about aren’t within range. Open fire if you see anyone unfamiliar, and shoot to kill.”

Hoseok sighed, “That idiot. Let’s get out of here before we get shot.”

You crawled forward in the vents silently, maneuvering yoursef over another grate directly above the men grouped in the middle of the room around the informant relaying commands. You pulled up the grate, deathly silent as you pulled out two handguns strapped to your belt, one in each hand. Hoseok did not like the look on your face.

“What are you doing? We should be heading towards the exit.” He repeated.

Your head raised, locking eyes with his. Your face was completely blank, but your eyes screamed with silent fury, so much so that Hoseok almost flinched. “I’m finishing this mission.” You replied, calm like the eye of a hurricane, then dropped down from the rafters like a hawk diving for its prey.

Hoseok watched in awe for a moment. It was clear the guards weren’t expecting you to come to them, and it was doubly clear that they hadn’t thought to look up, two of them going down just from the force of you landing on their necks, another three going down as you swiftly planted bullets in their backs, shooting before they even had the chance to turn around.

From his vantage point, Hoseok could see a squad of guards coming in through an exit on the far side of the room, sneaking up on you. He waited until they were under him to drop on top of them as well, hearing some bones snap as they broke his fall. For good measure, he shot them, then focused on making his way over to you and covering your back.

There weren’t many guards at all in the abandoned safe house, clearly they were only planning on having to subdue Warner and not getting followed by secret agents set on killing them all. You two cleared out the building quickly, you swirling a path of destruction through the guards and Hoseok cleaning up behind you. The room eventually feel silent, no more guards left to stop you, as your eyes searched your surroundings for any remaining threats. You heard shuffling and looked to see the informant, clean white suit now dirty, slowly crawling towards the door on his hands and knees.

Hoseok leveled a gun at him. “Oh no, you don’t—“

“Stop!” Your arm knocked into his, knocking his shot off course and making him hit his shoulder instead of his head. The informant cried out in pain, ignored by Hoseok who instead turned to glare at you.

“Don’t tell me you’re about to say some high and mighty shit about murder being wrong when we just cleared the house.” He rolled his eyes.

“Not at all.” You said, turning towards the agent who was now sniveling on the floor, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows. You walked over to him, stepping on him and pushing him down in place with your foot. “We’re down an informant because he shot Warner. So he’ll be taking his place.”

The informant cried. “You— you won’t get away with this! You— you can’t—!”

You moved your foot over his bullet wound, pressing into it and twisting your foot. He cried out loudly then stopped abruptly, passing out from the pain. Once he stopped squeaking, you turned to Hoseok, cracking a smile that was weirdly innocent with the sprays of blood in your face.

“Carry him for me?”

Hoseok nodded, at a loss for words, stopping to sling the agent over his shoulder. He followed behind you as the two of you calmly walked out of the warehouse, no souls left to stop you. His blood thrummed strangely in his body, energy and adrenaline still pumping through his veins thinking of the ways you fought, alluring and dangerous. He was both impressed and terrified by your calmness, like you didn’t just enact your vengeance on a room of unsuspecting agents. Just thinking about it could still give him chills, seeing the content look on your face while you took them down with ease, like you weren’t affected by it at all. Your breathing had hardly changed after exerting yourself, like you had just taken a nice walk in the park. Hoseok wanted to know just how much of yourself you were hiding from them.

Hoseok thought you would hold them back, that you’d be a stick in the mud, but clearly, you did not like to play around. “No qualms about killing this time?” He asked, keeping his voice casual. “Jimin said you made a big fuss about killing on your last mission.”

“I don’t take kindly to having my operations jeopardized.” You said, in that all too calm voice, and Hoseok realized, oh, you weren’t calm at all actually. Looking closer he could see your hands shook and clenched into fists periodically, like you needed to punch something or scream, and your voice was hard with the effort of keeping venom out of your tone. You were angry. “Warner could’ve cost us everything. But he already got what he deserved.” You turned to look at Hoseok and the body slung over his shoulder, flashing a scary sweet smile over your shoulder. “But I think our new catch is even better.”

Hoseok shook his head in disbelief as you faced forward again. Looking at you now, he took back his earlier statement. What he hated most of all was how much he didn’t know about you.

—

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