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bonny-kookoo · 1 year ago

Text

Jungkook

𝐇𝐨𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 🔞 | Oneshot

"Does he even pay you?"

Tags/Warnings: Idol!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, friends with benefits situation, major angst, mentions of sex work, smoking, smut, god so much filth, Dom!Jungkook, big dick JK but what's new, did I mention angst?, protected sex, multiple rounds, multiple positions, a brief thighjob, so many feelings

Length: 7k+ words

There is no taglist for this fic. This is a Oneshot.

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"How does it feel to be a celebrity and ending up with me?" You wonder at him over the music, making him frown before he shakes his head, pulling you in by your hands he's holding.

"What're you talking about babe?" He argues softly, letting go of your hands to hold your waist now. "I've got the prettiest girl at my side, in my opinion. Can't complain whatsoever." He tells you into your ear, voice raised a bit and slightly raspy from his last smoking break.

You just shrug, enjoying the music when some people approach you, talking to Jungkook about something you don't listen in on, even though he's still holding you close. It's none of your business, you really don't want to get too involved with his work and everything around it, but it's clear that he likes to do exactly that.

Jungkook wants you around all the time. Doesn't matter if it fits the scene and situation, if he can invite you or bring you along, he will.

Fans don't know your connection to him. They constantly battle it out in comment sections that you're just a translator, nothing else, that you're staff so of course you have to travel alongside him. And just how they can seem to connect everything to dating if it fits their 'ship' they've got inside their minds, they're also talented in finding thousands of (sometimes frankly ridiculous) reasons as to why it cannot possibly be true either.

While before, someone wearing the same jewelry as Jungkook was a confirmation of a relationship, with you its just pure coincidence. You're an adult woman, you can choose whatever necklace or ring you want, that doesn't mean you're dating him. You're wearing the same t-shirt he wore just a day ago? Maybe you just own the same, or he was nice enough to lend it to you for one reason or the other. Seen near his hotel room? Well of course, you're staff!

The truth is, that you're not even staff at all- but you're also not dating him.

Jungkook has become awfully… comfortable in his trust that fans will brush off every rumor floating around. It's why he's shamelessly grabbing your tits from behind right now just for the fun of it, lips kissing your neck as you slap them off to hold your waist instead. "They'll call it AI-generated or something." He laughs, but you can't shake off the feeling of doubt about that. "And there's no one here filming anyways. It's a private VIP zone, so relax baby." He chuckles, swaying you with him to the beat.

He's right that this is a secluded zone- but that's never stopped anything ever before, did it. One random Instagram live where you're both seen in the background and it's over. For both of you.

"Let's go back to the hotel though. I'm horny as fuck." He laughs, making you roll your eyes with red cheeks to go with.

Jungkook is a shameless person- he doesn't see anything wrong with the things he says or does if they're not hurting anybody. He's got his own opinions and he stands by them, only ever shifting his stance if there's undeniable evidence of him being wrong shown to him. And he also enjoys the more physical aspects of love.

Jungkook enjoys sex to its fullest.

He used to sleep around quite often, his charm and also wealth and status enough to make the act of finding someone willing fairly easy. Most wouldn't be believed anyways if they openly said he'd slept with them- he made sure they never took pictures or god forbid videos, and he also never stayed the night, most of the time preferred the security of his own home where he could politely tell them to leave after the deed was done, his reasoning always having to do something with his work.

'I'm sorry, I got called up to the studio.'

'Fuck I forgot I had a flight early morning tomorrow.'

'I'm really sorry, ah this is awkward, but my manager just told me to a live now, and I can't have you being seen.'

You knew he did this. You were staff at some point, after all, even if not hired by his company but rather outsourced during a particularly demanding schedule and many other employees sick due to a viral infection going around in the office building.

You'd been just another victim of his. But somehow, he ended up biting down too hard- making him taste blood, Primal hunger awakened at the mind-blowing experience he'd had, an odd need to keep you just for himself having blossomed from it all. You were a keeper, you still are- and while it's not really love, it's good enough for him. Close enough.

He reminds you, regularly, that it's not love, with how he never claims to love you, avoids the topic altogether, always tells others you're just very close even when it's obvious just like tonight that you're a little too close to just be something casual. But he enjoys your presence nonetheless. Like a dear friend, just with some deeper layers to it.

Some staff call you his personal prostitute. And in a way, you do sometimes feel like that.

Jungkook is that kind of man who could have sex first thing in the morning. Doesn't even have to wake up fully- if you touch him just a bit, he'll come to life in an instant, if he's not sporting a boner already. He enjoys the exhaustion he feels afterwards, always pushes you past your first and second O, keeps his own saved up for the very last stretch all the time. He draws it out to high heavens, has trouble calling it quits.

Shower sex he's mastered, knows exactly where to step and what position to get into to make it as safe as possible. He loves having you on his large sofa, leather easy to clean after you're both done. Sixty-nine is his favorite dinner for two, though he has to admit that lately, he's been enjoying the more closer positions a lot more. Spooning from behind, lotus, you name it- you've become more than just an outlet for him.

He doesn't know what they call you behind his back. What your unofficial status is. They'd never admit that to him, because why would they? No one wants to get on his bad side if they don't have to.

He's on his phone, free hand on your thigh as you both sit in the back of the car that's driving him back to his hotel. He's gonna get out first, make his way inside, while you'll get in later from the back entrance to not raise any suspicion. It's normal. Routine. You've mastered it by now.

"I'll see you in ten." He winks before he makes his way out the car, rushing past some fans who've found out his location, bodyguards already there to guide him inside the lobby.

"Does he pay you?" The driver chuckles, and you shake your head. "Damn." The elderly man clicks his tongue. "Go find yourself an actual man, dear." He tells you as he parks behind the hotel, watching you move, your phone vibrating in your pocket, before it stops suddenly. "You know what they call you, right?"

"I know." You admit quietly.

"And you're okay with that? You're too sweet to let yourself be used like that. Have some self-worth." The man tells you with a kind tone. "I've seen you around long enough to know that you're kind, and a nice person. Trust me, you can and will find a proper man to love you right. But this?" He shakes his head. "You know he just wants you because you've become routine."

"I know." You repeat again, sighing a little.

"You're not what they say you are. You're just a little soft at heart, hm?" The old guy smiles over his shoulder, watching you unbundled your seatbelt. "Trust me, he won't be sad if you call it quits. I've worked for guys like this for more than thirty years- they'll just jump to the next." He explains, and you smile to yourself, before you nod towards the man. "Never mess with entertainers, sweetheart. They'll always break your heart." he offers.

"I know." You say once more, before you exit the car, and get on your way to Jungkook's hotel room.

You don't officially share one, but he still keeps you around for most of the night. You leave whenever he has to do a livestream or if he wants to go to bed, and you come back if he wants you to- but most nights you sleep alone, because he deems it too intimate for you to stay.

Apparently, sleeping in the same bed is more intimate than spitting on your cunt. Interesting.

When you knock on the door, Jungkook opens. Something's off, you notice it right away, but you don't dwell on it, don't answer. It's none of your business, and he won't tell you anyways, so what's the point in just further inducing his bad mood.

It's quiet as he moves around, since he doesn't talk to you, and you don't know what to say. You wait for him to make his move, and when he doesn't, you get up to grab your sweater you forgot in his room earlier, just to have him stand behind you, hands on your hips. "I didn't forget about you." He chuckles, and you let the fabric slip out of your fingers and back onto the floor as he kisses the crook of your neck.

Maybe jungkook is indeed using you. But you've started to use him just as much, if only to even out the odds, and make yourself feel more than just cheap company.

He slips out of his shirt. You raise your arms to help him take off yours, your naked skin at this point almost a requirement for him every time he takes you. He used to be satisfied with just fucking you somewhere quiet quick and simple to quench his thirst, but over the course of time now nearing an entire year, he's become more and more hungry. Like he wants to crawl underneath your skin at some point, the Idol constantly pushes himself more and more inside your body, not just in a sexual sense. He buys you clothes he thinks will look good on you, has a playlist just for when you're at his place filled with somber lovesongs more about heartbreak than anything else. He claims he didn't look up the lyrics, but you know he's lying. He knows a lot more english than he admits, just so he can pull the 'I don't understand' card whenever he's asked a question he doesn't want to answer.

He lets you wear his clothes without much comment by now, has gifted you jewelry he's worn and liked, laughs any mention of that being 'such a sweet gesture' off if anyone around him mentions it. He's not your boyfriend, but he surely is starting to act like it- maybe the lines are blurring for him just as much as they do for you?

People around you have started betting. On when he's gonna have another one, when you'll be 'swapped out' for something else, or at what point he's gonna make it official that you're indeed more than just nightly company. You don't await that day. It's never gonna come anyways.

"Turn around." He commands, and you do, because that's the easiest way to get where you want to be down the line. Head empty, no thoughts left, fucked stupid by a man who keeps you around for just your body and the familiarity you provide. You don't really mind any longer, long having stopped caring about emotions that are fruitless, bound to rot and die because Jungkook won't ever nurture anything you'd try and plant in his heart. He doesn't want it, and doesn't need it either- if he wants to feel loved, he just has to show his face to his millions of fans always on edge for more content. That's where he gets his love from. Maybe you're just there to feed other desires he can't have fulfilled like that.

He licks his lips as he gazes over your naked upper body, bra long undone by his hands on your back, fingers trained in the routine by now. You remember the surprise he'd shown you when you'd worn one with the clasp up front, face so soft and round for just a second that it felt like you'd just slipped into a dream- but his hunger had quickly returned, because Jungkook is a beast never satisfied. He craves more and more, constantly aims for absolute euphoria, never soft, never gentle.

Jungkook bites. He claims, grips, holds and pushes- he's aware over the physical strength he holds over you, and plays around with the fact almost every night. From tugging on your leg to pushing your head down whenever you decide to please him with your mouth instead for once. Something about the way you swallow around him and swirl your tongue always makes him feral, thighs trembling as the muscles spasm beneath the skin from the force of his orgasm. Maybe that's why he keeps you around. Because you can keep up.

His own shirt is shed, and his hands make quick work of his belt before he helps you out of your pants as well. He'd told you he didn't want to use the bed tonight, because asking for new sheets is always awkward, but he does it anyways- picks you up just to let you fall onto the bed, crawling over you. "What do you want?" You ask out of breath, but he just tilts his head in familiar habit, until it shakes no.

"Don't know yet." He answers. This is new.

Usually he always has a fixed scene set out, knows how he wants to take you right away, but this time he visibly seems unsure where to start. Almost like the first time.

He spits in his hand, doesn't bother taking off the rings, fingers working you up like it's second nature. He knows where to place them, how to move and what patterns to choose- and you don't bother thinking about the possible reason for it. Probably to get you wet and ready quick so he can get to the actual act itself, or maybe he just finds some sort of personal satisfaction from it. You're not sure- and neither do you really want to ask.

You're a little cold, but he'll warm you up soon. Hopefully you won't get sick like last time. Will he find someone else to fuck if you're unavailable?

Who knows. He surely has a lot to choose from, if he so much as asked.

He's got a question on his mind, but visibly contemplates on asking it. His teeth clamp down on his bottom lip, tongue playing with the twin piercings placed there for a second, before he leans in, kisses you. This is one of those things he does that are just outright cruel to you. His kisses full of fever and want feel so burning hot that you're sure you're marked by them for life. Like a signature he's inked underneath your skin almost he claims you again and again like this, with his tongue teasing yours, mouths open and ready to steal each other's breath.

He surely takes yours hostage, every time- and that's probably the smallest crime he commits.

"Have you eaten today?" He asks, and it catches you off guard, eyes opening again, painfully tugged back into reality where he lets his sticky hand run over your abdomen, just to settle on your hipbone. "Your stomach keeps growling." He teases, and you come crashing down. Of course. He'd never actually remember to ask that out of the blue if it wasn't for something reminding him about it.

"Not really." You respond, adjusting your position a little bit, legs trying to pull him closer. "Doesn't matter." You say, and he hums, leaning down again to mouth at your neck- probably marking his territory again, a joke made on a constant whenever you turn up with the blooming bruises on your skin, their origin more than obvious.

"Hm." He hums, almost dissatisfied, but you don't bother to think about it. He moves to lean off the side of the bed, pulling his suitcase closer to get himself a condom, opening the package easily before he rolls it over his length. He seems oddly soft tonight, in more ways than one. Is he still exhausted from the shooting? Could be. He never wants to admit himself that he has to take breaks, thinks that his body can just magically manifest strength from nothing but pure thought, and it used to irritate you, because you felt responsible, in a way. But that was when you still saw more in this than there actually was- nowadays, it's his business, not yours. He's got nutritionists and personal trainers who get paid for taking care of him. It's not your job.

What is your job, really?

Well, you're most certainly not working under his company any longer, and neither have you returned to your original agency either- simply because Jungkook's management deemed you too much of a danger in your position, after the idol had let it slip that you two were having sex on a regular basis. So you just signed an NDA, got paid for your silence, now earning a living by writing books. Modern fantasy novels, where the daydreams you once had can actually become reality, and your hopes and wishes can be dreamed of by other people who have the same.

It's good money. A hobby you cherish.

Jungkook has never asked you what you work as nowadays. He doesn't even visit your apartment, has never seen it before, and he doesn't know if you have family either. He just takes you as his, lets you live alongside him and entertains you whenever he's in the mood for it. And you let him, because these days, he's all you've got. There's not much else you can do than write all day at home or accompany him on his overseas schedules.

You're not sure why he always drags you along, when back home, he won't even call you for days. Maybe he doesn't have to? Maybe his bed at home is always warm. But if that's the case, why not take them on a trip once in a while? Does he have designated women for specific occasions?

Then who will the woman be he chooses to show to the public one day? Number three in his harem?

You can't even truly blame him. As someone he grew up in this industry, his view on the world is warped, shifted, not the same colors as yours. He doesn't feel the same worth in a simple banknote that you do, he can't understand the struggle of missing the bus or having to face an empty fridge.

"Sit up, baby." He tells you, chuckles when you struggle a little to do so- compared to him, flying around all the time actually does take a toll on you. And the petname doesn't make it any better in this moment, as his hands reach out to hold you steady, helping your legs over his thighs, before he guides the head of his cock into you. He wants you close tonight it seems like. Hopefully he keeps holding you, because you're not very energetic this time. "I've got you." He says, and you nod, resting your arms around his neck, hands faintly touching the skin of his back. "Are you cold?" He wonders.

"A bit." You respond. He's probably noticed your icy fingertips.

"I'll warm you up." He purrs, and you nod. You know he will. He always does- always hot hearted in everything he does, even in this. He holds you close, hands on your behind helping you move, your hips rolling a bit too slow for his liking, but he overlooks it for once. You're not sure what's up with him tonight. This isn't him. "You tired, baby?" He wonders, and you nod.

"Sorry." You tell him, but he shakes his head, moves to lay you down, knees pressed into the soft hotel bed mattress as he thrusts his hips forwards.

"It's alright." He brushes it off. "Flight was long as hell." He muses, lazily moving himself. You're enjoying this, even if it's odd for him to behave this way. "Wanna come over for breakfast tomorrow morning?" He asks, and you shake your head.

"Can't." You sigh, arms now moving to lay above your head, eyes closed in bliss. "I fly out back home at 8 tomorrow." You remind him, and you can't see the way his brows lower, face darkening as he realizes he didn't know that. You usually fly back after him. Why are you going home sooner this time?

"Why?" He huffs out, hands grabbing your legs as he pulls your thighs over his, pushing himself deeper now. "You always fly after me." He almost growls.

"I dunno.." You slur. "Management said." You just respond. Why does he seem so irritated by this? It's not a huge deal at all if you fly back sooner or later. He's not gonna call you up back home anyways, so why does it bother him so much.

"Management can go fuck themselves." He argues. "You fly after me. I'll book the flight myself if I have to." he demands practically, slight irritation causing him to have his energy boil up, position adjusted as he becomes more restless, balls smacking loudly against you cunt, pace a lot more ruthless now.

You're finally reaching it. Your head becomes fuzzy.

You don't notice Jungkook becoming almost.. satisfied from that sight of your tension finally leaving. You're nothing but whimpers of pleasure as he slips out of you, hands tugging and pushing your legs and body to have you on your side, the taller Idol now laying down on his side behind you to spoon you, dragging the head of his length through your soaked and slicked up folds. one hand holds up your thigh, helps in opening you up, though you're pretty much gaping from his girth stretching you out moments prior. His lips find your shoulder, your neck, as he pushes himself back inside with the help of your hands-

who suddenly do something new as well, tugging the condom from his cock, making him gasp out in sensitivity. "What're you doing?" He grows.

"IUD." You tell him. "Please-" You beg, and yet again he moves as if awakened from slumber, pushing you halfway on your stomach as he pushes the now bare head of his cock back inside you. This is most certainly new, and he knows for a fact, that he's never going back again.

"Fuck.." He almost laughs, leaning over you now, body covering yours as he just pushes himself in for a good moment, humming a sound of pleasure into your neck as he lets himself relish in the new sensation. "Ah-" He sighs out, before he clenches his jaw, thrusting hard as if to make sure your body will remember him for days to come.

It will. Sadly.

"God, fuck-!" He groans out, holding onto your body now, having turned you onto your side, hand reaching out adjust your arm so he can see your face. Your lips are parted, eyes closed in bliss, and he can't help but have his hand smack down onto your behind that's moving in a way that's way too inviting. He does it a second time, slap clearly heard as he smirks at the way you clench around his cock currently rearranging your insides. He moves your leg to rest over his shoulder, reaching even deeper, hand underneath your belly button pressing where he can faintly feel himself move.

No one can blame him for being absolutely obsessed with your body.

He can feel the way you begin to tighten, thighs shaking a little as you come undone, his hands moving your legs again to close them once more, holding them up, slipping out of your clenching cunt to push his cock right between your soft and wet thighs. it's enough for a moment, though you reach out to touch the tip poking through almost teasingly, making him laugh as he suddenly sighs out, groaning as he spills over your stomach and up your chest. You're breathing heavily, and don't notice you start to shiver, as he parts from you to turn on the light in the bathroom to clean up.

Aftercare is not really his thing- and you've come to accept that.

When you sit up, you stretch your arms in front of you, muscles slowly regaining strength as you wait for Jungkook to finish up, toilet flushing before he emerges again, shamelessly walking without underwear, gaze following you as you walk past him to use the bathroom yourself.

The moment you re-emerge to grab your clothes, he's sitting on the edge of the bed with his boxers back on, phone in his hand. "I booked the flight for you. Tomorrow at 12:30." He tells you as you slip back into your underwear, not bothering with the bra as you search for where he'd thrown your shirt. "Here." He offers- and you slip the garment on with a thanks, only noticing afterwards that that's not yours at all, oversized fabric reaching almost to your knees. "Cute." He comments way too quiet to be meant to be heard, so you don't mention it at all.

"Why is the flight-thing so important?" You wonder, slipping into your socks as he moves around to find the hotel room service menu.

"Because you always fly back after me." He repeats again, clearing his throat.

"…you already said that." You mumble to yourself, but he clearly hears you.

"Fuck alright, god damnit!" He whines in complaint, rolling his eyes. "If you were to fly back earlier, you'll run right into all the paparazzi and shit waiting for me. That's why you're meant to fly back later- so they're gone by the time you arrive." He explains, and you're stunned in the spot you're standing, watching him a bit confused.

So that's the reason?

"It's not like they know." You say, unsure why he's so adamant about it.

"Doesn't matter." He shakes his head. "I'm not having them jump you for whatever reason they might have." He denies, before he sits down in the seat near the window which blinds are shut. "Now what do you wanna eat?" He asks, and you shake your head.

"I'll eat something tomorrow morning." You deny, and he slumps back in his seat, eyes closed and tongue pushed against his cheek.

"What do you want to fucking eat, babe." He repeats, making sure to pronounce the petname before he looks at you with frustration.

"Nothing." You respond. "Are we done?" You ask him, and he shakes his head, setting the menu down before he crosses his arms.

"No." He denies. "What to they call you?" He asks, and you're not sure what he's getting at, shaking your head with brows furrowed in confusion.

"What're you talking about?" You ask, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"What do they call you?" He repeats. "I heard what you talked about in the car when I left."

"How?" You ask baffled.

"Telepathy." He jokes without humor, before he scoffs to himself. "I called you to actually ask you if you wanted to eat something- but you must've accidentally accepted the call without looking, because I clearly listened in on a convo I wasn't supposed to hear." He explains. "Either way, I want an answer. What. Do. They. Call. You." He demands, and you sigh.

"Why does it matter?" You argue, searching for your leggings in the room- finding them over the armrest of the chair he's currently sitting in. "I'm your personal prostitute, just without the pay." You tell him, and it takes him a second to realize that that's your answer.

Suddenly, he wants you out the room.

Not because he doesn't want you here any longer, but because the guilt is eating him alive with ever second he has to look at you. Because the more he think about it, the more it becomes obvious to him that this really must look like just that to everyone. After all, he's just taking you with him apparently for sex, and he's become so comfortable in it that he didn't think about it any longer. It's what you want too, right?

Jungkook has never really learned how to convey his emotions properly. He doesn't know what it's like to fall in love, has no idea what to look out for. He likes spending time with you, and enjoys the sex to the point that he's been monogamous with only you for the past year or so. It's nice to be in a relationship, even though he knows this one isn't normal. It's still okay, because down the line, you understand each other. He likes you, he just doesn't want people to use that against him or you at some point- so he keeps your status to himself. No one needs to know you're a couple. Only you and him. Because.. you know that, right?

"You know that's not what you are to me, right?" He asks, and you shrug.

"Does it matter?" You ask. "It's none of my business who I am to you, or whoever you screw apart from me." You say.

"What?" He asks, crossed arms unraveling. "I'm not fucking anyone but you." He says.

"Cool." You say.

"Cool? That's it?" He argues. "How can you be so calm about everyone else telling you I'm apparently cheating on you?" He worries, and you're yet again confused.

"What're you talking about?" You ask. "That's got nothing to do with cheating." You say.

"No no no no whoa there. Stop for a second." He holds his hands out as if to soothe a raging crowd of people, looking at the carpet. "You- you do know we're in a relationship, right?" He asks you, and your face tells him everything he needs to know. "Oh my fucking god are you kidding me…" He complains into his hands, covering his face in frustration.

"How the hell was I supposed to know?" You say, now with your own arms crossed. "Jungkook, you rarely even talk to me when we're back home. You only take me with you when you've got something up overseas, you constantly tell people we're just friends, you've never even asked me out in the first place!" You argue.

"We've been fucking each other for almost a year, I thought it was obvious I liked you?!" He whines, looking at you with what you realize are tears brimming on his waterline. Why is he so emotional now? "Have you- did you see anyone other than me?" He asks quietly, and you shake your head.

"No." You deny.

"Okay. Fuck- okay." He takes a deep breath, swallows down his panic. "I like you. I don't- I've got no clue if it's love or not because I don't know, alright? But I like you, a lot, to the point where I want us to be something permanent." He tries to explain. "Just us. You and me." He underlines, and you shrug.

"Jungkook, it's not that easy." You sigh. "If this has been what you think a relationship is like, then we won't work out."

"Alright, then what do you need me to do?" He argues, not letting go. "God- fuck, tell me what do I have to do to make you stay?" He asks, voice cracking.

"Jungkook, calm down-" You start, but he shakes his head, swallows thickly, bottom lip quivering for just a second before he licks over it, pulls it in between his teeth.

"I can't-! Not when it sounds like you're gonna leave me-" He worries.

"I'm not, don't worry. I'll stay. Just.. breathe for a second, alright?" You ask, getting up to walk closer, pushing his shoulders back to force him out of his slumped over position. "Hey- okay?" You ask, and he instead pulls you closer, sits you onto his lap, before he clings onto you, resting his forehead in your shoulder. "Why do you never reach out to me when we're home? You're confusing me." You gently tell him, and he shrugs.

"I'm scared they'll see you." He sniffles. "If they do- they'll tear you apart." He sighs. "When we're out here, like this- I can just.. claim you're staff, whatever. But at home- I can't.. I don't know how to protect you." He shakes his head.

"You should've told me." You sigh, leaning into him. "I was hurt, you know?" You tell him.

"I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm so sorry." He apologizes, pulls you just a bit closer. "I don't know what to do." He whines.

"What if you just visit me instead?" You offer. "They don't know where I live. And my windows are all mirrored so no one can look inside." You tell him.

"…since when?" he asks, leaning away from you a little so that you can finally see his face again, eyes red, a stray tear escaping him that you wipe off.

"Since a few months ago? Jungkook you don't even know my apartment in the first place. You've never visited me at all, ever!" You laugh, and he sighs.

"I know, and I.. always wanted to, you know, visit you.. spend time with you but.." He runs a hand over his face.

"You're okay. We talked about it now." You nod, an action he copies. "I'll come back tomorrow morning and we can have breakfast together, okay?" You ask, but he shakes his head.

"No, you gotta stay." He denies. "I don't care if you don't like that, but I need you close tonight." He says.

"Never said I don't." You say. "You just seemed uncomfortable with it." You wonder.

"Because I snore!" He whines, throwing his head back. "I snore, I move a lot, I might cling to you at night or I sweat, or whatever the fuck- I'm not as perfect as I'm made out to be." He complains.

"Jungkook sorry, but what the fuck." You laugh, and he can't help but smile at the sight and sound of you happy. "You can fart and burp like whatever, and I'd still stay. You're human, I'm not perfect either!" You explain, but he shakes his head, leaning forwards to kiss your already blossoming bruises on your neck.

"No, you are." He says. "You're absolutely perfect." He argues.

"Not really." You deny.

"Stop arguing." He complains, squeezes your waist a bit.

"What're you gonna do about it?" You tease, and he looks up at you with a heated gaze.

"Get me nice n' hard and I'll show you." He responds, making you giggle with eyes rolling, as you lean back to tug him out of his underwear, a hiss leaving him. "Fuck, baby your hands are icy!" He laughs, leaning back to hold your legs so you don't slip off of his thighs.

"That's cause it's cold in here!" You joke back, warming your hands up on his already heated length, skin already flushed and swelling as the blood rushes back. His hands travel beneath the shirt you wear, softly grabbing at the flesh of your chest, making you get up to shed your underwear and get back onto his lap.

"Think you can ride me on this thing?" He asks, talking about the seat he's sitting in. "Kinda tired right now, won't lie."

"Huh, making me do all the work now?" You raise your brows. "And here I thought you wanted to take us seriously.." You sigh, attempting to joke- but he clearly doesn't take it as such, face becoming serious again.

"Lift your hips a little." He demands, and you do so- unsure what he's trying to do, before he spits into his hand once more, feeling you up between your legs to check if you're ready. You are- quickly slicking up at the thought of him, and he guides his length inside of you again, stretching you out once more, but this time, it's not just sex.

He refuses to move. He just helps you settle on his lap, but holds onto your hips, keeping you from moving. "Jungkook-" You whine, but he shakes his head, and pulls your face closer to kiss you.

"No, I wanna stay like this for a bit." He denies.

"But I thought we wanted to eat something later?" You ask, making him roll his eyes.

"I'm trying to be romantic here." He complains.

"By putting your dick inside me?" You ask.

"Well I don't know what else to do!" He whines. "I.. I don't really know how else to properly express.." He falls deep into thought for a second or two, before he finally says it. "I don't know how else to make sure you can.."

"..feel how much I love you."

You're quiet for a good while, watching how he rather looks at your neck than at you in particular, avoiding eye contact as he continues to move his hands back to your sides underneath your shirt. "Jungkook…" You mumble, and he cringes.

"Don't-" He sighs, clicks his tongue in irritation. "-don't pity me or something-" He begins.

"No no no I'm not pitying you I just-" You cut him off, now your hands holding his cheeks to force him to look at you. Because you just realized something in the things he's said earlier. "Remember how you said.. you want me to fly back after you?" You ask, and he nods.

"Yeah." He answers, his way warmer palms now taking yours from his face, holding them in his. "Of course."

"That's.. something that also shows that you care about me." You say. "Because, you didn't say that you were worried about someone spotting me and putting your career on the line- but that you were worried about me being in danger." You remind him, and he nods. "Or how you noticed my stomach growling, and wondered if I ate today." You giggle.

"I already wondered if you didn't- cause I didn't see you eat anything." He shrugs.

"See?" You hum towards him, running your hand through his hair. "That shows you care, too." You say.

"But I want you to feel it." He complains stubbornly. "I want you to.. feel the same as I do when I'm around you." He offers.

"Horny?" You ask, and he rolls his eyes, throwing his head back.

"That too-" He laughs. "But mostly.. just, I don't know." He takes a deep breath. "It's hard to explain. It's like chest constricts when I'm not around you. Whenever I'm home, I miss you so bad that I sometimes go to sleep early just to avoid giving in and calling you. I have to distract myself just to not think about you- and yet I still do, almost all the time." He sighs, tucking your hair behind your ears. "When I wake up.." He hums, hands moving to your shoulders. "When I do my morning routine.." He explains, letting his fingers travel over the length of your arms. "When I work out.." He continues. "When I go to bed. It doesn't matter at all." He shakes his head.

"You know you don't have to make up something just to make me stay, right?" You ask him, and at that, his eyes immediately snap back up to you, panic returning.

"I'm not." He denies instantly. "I'm really not-" he urges. "-how can I prove it?" He worries.

"You.. listen, it's not something that you can just clear up in a moment." You sigh. "It's gonna take time. We're basically starting from scratch here." You explain, and he nods.

"Do you.. should we stop then?" He asks, glancing between your bodies for a second. "Until you believe me?" He wonders, and you shrug, before you shake your head.

"No." You deny. "I'd miss you too much-" You tell him, before you adjust your legs, arms around his neck. "-And you'd probably go insane without sex." You tease.

"Not without sex." He denies, watching how you begin to move your hips, letting him slip out until just the very tip remains inside you. "But without you." He clarifies. "It's not sex I want- that's a… I don't know. It's the closeness I feel, you know?" He sighs when you sink back down. "I just like touching you.. being inside you.." He hums, eyes fluttering closed as he leans back into the seat while your hands settle on his shoulders to keep you balanced, pace slow but fast enough to intensify the pleasure you both feel. "Just like that.." He sighs out in bliss.

"I have a really nice couch, you know?" You hum towards him, making him smile while his hands find your waist. "My bed is really big too.." You tell him, and he opens his eyes a little at that.

"Big enough for two?" He wonders, and you shrug.

"Guess we have to find out." You tease, and he nods, hands moving from your waist to your hips before one of them finds your heat between your legs where he can see his cock disappearing inside you.

"Is the couch sturdy?" He wonders, fingers playing with your clit now, making the muscles in your thighs twitch.

"Ah- yes!" You whine, picking up your pace.

"Hm, gonna fuck you on it then." He chuckles. "Stress-test it." He jokes, and you whimper as you come undone, your slick now coating his own legs, strings of the sticky fluid keeping you both connected, wet sounds echoing off the walls of the hotel room. "Break it." He growls, heels on the ground helping him in shifting his hips upwards into you, catching you off guard, your orgasm washing over you in a wave threatening to drown you.

You're shaking, but you still move, needing to feel him reach his high as well, and he does find his own release, spilling whatever he's got left to give, holding you close, kissing whatever skin he can reach from how you're hugging him now, breathing slowly easing again.

And he keeps you like this, uncaring of the food since it's by now too late to order any roomservice anyways.

And for the first time, he actually sleeps next to you, in the same bed-

promising himself to do everything he can to keep you this close, for now and as long as you'll have him.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts smut #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines

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onlyangel4 · 3 months ago

Note

Ooo what about Got Me Started by Troye sivan with Charles??

got me started. cl16. writen + smau.

charles leclerc x model!reader

you thought attending the eras tour would be the most exciting part of the night. you never imagined you would meet the man of your dreams while there

author's note: guys this might be one of my favourite things i have ever written.

warnings: cursing.

y/ninsta posted a story

written: hanging with bestie begging her to tell me what surprise songs she is gonna play tonight

y/ninsta

liked by taylorswift, maisiepeters, sabrinacarpenter and 1,002,283

y/ninsta: gold rush

view all 14,852 comments

taylorswift: is this your hundredth attempt to convince me to play gold rush tonight

y/ninsta: yes, yes it is

user1: y/n is so real for the gold rush love

user2: come on taylor listen to your friend

sabrinacarpenter: pretty girl

y/ninsta: means a lot coming from the prettiest girl

celebsaterastour posted two stories

story one written: model y/n y/ln arriving to the stadium in milan in her gold rush inspired outfit

story two written: f1 driver charles leclerc spotted in the vip tent ahead of paramore's opening set

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"just follow me down here y/n", a security guard spoke trying to navigate you through the see of fans that swarmed you as soon as you got into the stadium. security had been awaiting your arrival but your driver had accidentally dropped you off at the general admission entrance and that meant the second fans saw you leaving your car you were swarmed by fans, they had good intentions but they also made it so you could not get to where you needed to go. so in a panic you had called over one of the stadium security guards and he managed to get through to taylor's security, the people that had been waiting for you to arrive. it was all a little bit of a mess but the big burly man in front of you effortlessly made the crowd part allowing you down onto the floor of the stadium. "taylor made a note to put you in the left vip tent, she said there ws someone there that she wanted you to meet", he spoke and you quirked an eyebrow. what was your best friend planning?. you just nodded your head with a smile and soon enough you were there in the tent, protected from the fans.

"thank god for that", you spoke as you picked up a bottle of water that had been set on the side. "are you alright?", a masculine voice spoke from your side and you looked up to be met with a man that you had never met before but you gave him a smile, "i'm okay there was a little bit of a mix up when getting into the stadium, so fans came running, for a moment there i thought i was going to get trampled", you ranted to this stranger before shaking your head, "sorry you probably don't want to listen to me yap on"

"on the contrary i quite like a yapper", he spoke and you laughed, finding this man's charm rather endearing. "i'm charles by the way", he introduced himself, "i'm y/n"

"so y/n what are you doing in milan? you don't sound like you are from around here"

"very perceptive", you teased, "i'm a model i kind of live whereever the jobs are but i have been working on a promotional campaign here. taylor is a very close friend of mine and i was gutted that i was not in the states when she was there so she arranged for me to come here", you explained and he listened, that was nice.

"i understand, i'm an f1 driver so i am all over the place most of the time, i usually miss out on big events like this and end up with fomo so i felt lucky that this show is on my week off", he spoke.

"well i hope you enjoy the show, taylor is an insane performer, she doesn't half know how to put on a show"

and with that the eras tour intro began to play signifying that your best friend was about to come on stage, you cheered for her, showing the man next to you that you truly were taylor's number one fan. the first few songs of the set flew by with you smiling from ear to ear the entire time. when lover began to play your body began to sway side to side in time with the music and charles found his body doing the same next to yours. charles would not call himself a massive taylor swift fan but he had heard that she put on a brilliant show and that was why he had arranged to attend the concert. but right now stealing glances at your happy swaying form next to him made him very grateful that he had come to the concert.

during the fearless section of the show the endorphins got to your brain and any ounce of shyness left your body so you turned to charles and began singing the lyrics with him bouncing a little on your heels just having the best time. charles even took your hands during love story just having the most fun ever. your happiness truly was infectious, he did not care that their were thoursands of people with cell phones surrounding the pair of you. honestly he hoped some of them were filming so he could have videos of this night forever.

as the concert went through you spent time just dancing and singing with charles but when taylor started singing delicate, it became apparent that there was tension their between you both, charles had moved to stand behind you and you leant you body back against his, your head resting against his stong chest, "is this okay?", he asked as his hands moved torest around your waist

"yes", you exhaled softly, you were still singing the songs but you definetly got a few lyrics wrong thanks to the intoxicating presence of the man behind you. if you were paying attention you would have noticed the way taylor seemed to be singing directly in the direction of the vip tent that you were in, her blue eyes watching you and charles a smug grin on her lips. but you did not notice that you were too busy trying to not get caught up in this moment you were sharing with a stranger.

when delicate finished charles moved back to your side rather than beside you, you grabbed a few drinks from the cooler that was in the vip tent asking if you wnated anything and you accepted one of the canned cocktails that you had asked taylor to get you and charles had a beer.

you and charles remained close for the rest of the show, gentle touches between both of you, charles gently moving your hair out of your face or resting an arm around your shoulders. it was nice, yes you knew nothing about this man but it just felt right.

when taylor got to the surprise song section of the concert you turned to charles, "I am going to kill her if she doesn't play my song" and that made charles laugh

"what is your song?", he asked

"oh you will know if she plays it"

and he knew straight away as taylor began to introduce the song.

"so many of you know that i do take requests for the surprise song section and well there is one person here who has gone above and beyond to request this song. this past week she has text me every single day about this one song. she even wore an outfit inspired by this song. safe to say this y/n y/ln's favourite song", taylor spoke and the fans that knew you cheered knowing exactly what taylor was about to sing and you were beaming, you pulled your phone out to film it but charles turned to you, "you enjoy this, i will film it", he spoke and and you handed him your phone. he filmed the song even getting some footage of you singing your heart out. once the song was done you smiled taking your phone back from charles kissing his cheek thank you.

as taylor finished singing karma you turned to charles, "are you going to the after party?", you questioned.

"i haven't been told about an after party", he spoke, obviously not wanting to leave your side but not wanting to go to a party that he had not been invited to.

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erastourupdates posted a story

written: charles leclerc and y/n y/ln were photographed arriving at a club in milan where taylor is holding her post show after party

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once inside of the club your eyes found taylor quickly, she was stood with travis smiling ear to ear at the sight of you and charles holding hands. you ran over to her pulling her into a hug, "you are insane", you laughed softly. charles had left you alone and headed to the bar to grab you both drinks.

"he is something else", you confided in your best friend, "we just have this chemistry, i can't even describe it"

"i watched you two during gold rush, he looked at you like a man stunned", taylor spoke and you blushed softly.

"i know i told you not to meddle in my love life but you cooked here", you spoke making her laugh out loud just as charles got to your side, "i thought you might like this, it is like those cans you were drinking earlier"

"thank you charles", you spoke taking it from him taking a sip, "shit this is good", you smiled. taylor then took travis' hand and pulled him onto the dance floor and charles gave you a questioning look making you giggle, "is this you asking me to dance". he didn't answer instead he took your free hand and pulled you onto the dancefloor finding a space in between all the moving bodies. you both still had drinks inyour hands but you made it work, your body effortlessly moving against his in time with the music playing on the speakers. charles finished his beer and set the cup down and you did the same with yours. this allowed you both to get as close to each other as you wanted.

charles rested his hands on your hips his eyes looking down at you, "pretty girl", he whispered softly and your eyes looked up at him, "can i kiss you?", he questioned and you wordlessly nodded. his lips moved down to meet yours in a sensual kiss and the rest of the room melted away around you. his hand travelled down to the small of your back pulling you against him.

"fuck", you whispered once you pulled away making him chuckle.

"y/n i think we should get out of here"

"you are not getting lucky on the first night" you warned playfully

"i know but i want to actually get to know you, i want to actually spend time with you and i don't think we can do that in this club, let me take you back to my hotel room, no funny business"

charles kept to his promise. you guys went straight back to his hotel and you just spoke for hours before falling asleep cuddled up to one another. and that is what started a relationship with the love of your life.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

y/ninsta

liked by taylorswift, charlesleclerc, iamrebeccad and 1,248,734

tagged: charlesleclerc

y/ninsta: tbt to the very first night

view all 56,873 comments

user3: i still can't believe taylor swift is the one that introduced charles and y/n

charlesleclerc: the best night of my life

y/ninsta: i love you so much

taylorswift: i knew you guys would get on, i didn't know you would get on this week

y/ninsta: well it has been six months and he isn't sick of me yet so you did pretty well

iamrebeccad: i am so grateful for miss swift because she is the reason i met you

y/ninsta: aw i love you becca

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kombuuuu · 1 year ago

Note

Miles (42) “that’s my baby” Morales.

You weren’t sure what happened.

One second you were running through the field, weaving through opposing team members, watching the ball at your feet and the goal ahead of you. Crowds of people cheering for your team, for your number.

And the next second, a sharp pain was kicked into your foot, and suddenly it could no longer hold your weight. Chin smashing harshly into the ground below you, only thing keeping your teeth from shattering being the mouth guard protecting them. And the crowds no longer cheering — a collective harsh breath being settled into eerie murmuring.

You pushed up by your hands, turning to sit, and the ringing in your ears made way, like an amp being pitched too loud and screaming in protest.

There was blood on you, from where — you couldn’t tell. And the dulled hum of far shouting could be made out through the fog. Cotton stuffed ears straining to understand.

The lights of the stadium were harsh against your eyes, and you tracked the movement of a flashlight the best you could.

A medic was above you, shining brightness over your view to check for concussion. She said something, hurriedly gesturing to your foot. And the pain that came from another medic touching it made you cry out.

You saw the flash of a red card, and a stretcher being pulled towards you.

But most importantly, you saw your boy. Your lover making his way over with a stressed look over his pretty features. Only to be stopped by security. You watched him shove his stadium issued VIP ID card towards them and rush passed the moment allowed to do so.

You were on the stretcher now, being carried toward an ambulance. Your hearing was coming back, the ringing not gone but quietened.

“Stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

You mumbled back, a splutter coming from the blood coating your throat and the mouth guard was gently taken from you.

Please don’t ruin this.

—

“You ever do that shit again, I’m beatin’ your ass.”

You snorted, punching your dads arm lightly in jest.

“Oh yeah? You gonna hurt me cause i’m hurt?”

“I’m gonna make that bastar—“

“She didn’t mean it!”

“It was a red card! Totally purposeful!”

“Nuh uh!”

He laughed, a throaty chuckle infectious to you.

“Don’t you ‘Nuh uh’ me, young lady.”

“Dad!”

A knock played at the door, bringing your attention to the shadow just outside. Your dad beckoned them in, calling to the door with a “Come in.”

Miles stepped inside, bowing his head respectfully to your dad before he made eye contact with you. And the worried shine in his eye was an immediate tell for your dad.

“I’ll give you two space.” He smiled at you softly, patting your shoulder and nodding at Miles as he rounded the door.

It was silent for a moment. Miles staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite make out.

“Miles?”

As if your voice was the beckoning of a siren to the nearest fisherman, he was striding over to you in an instant. Calloused hands guiding your face left and right, examining your injuries and the bruises that coated your soft skin.

You stuttered a quick laugh, watching him fret over you quietly. “It’s not that bad, baby.”

“She did that on purpose.”

The sigh that left you was a fond exasperation. “Miles, she slid.”

“Into you.”

“The ground was wet!”

“Her fault..”

“Wha—!?”

He leant down. Kissing you sweetly, a quick thing — more to shut you up than anything. His love for kissing you was just a bonus.

He spoke against your lips, closed eyes and lovey smile.

“Ya’ tough though.”

You smiled back, a huff of a laugh leaving you, and Miles felt your cheeks warm under his touch.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“That’s my baby.”

#໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა #across the spiderverse #miles morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales #spiderverse x reader #miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles my beloved #miles molares #miles x you #miles morales headcanons #miles morales prowler #miles morales x you #miles g

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gloomwitchwrites · 9 months ago

Text

Captain John Price x Female Reader Dark Romance

Chapter Specific Warnings: graphic violence, canon-typical swearing, time jump

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Part Six of Dangerous Pursuit (for @glitterypirateduck)

Community Label Warning: This chapter involves violent content that some readers might find upsetting (see above warning). You can skip to the bolded time jump and still retain the plot.

Dimitri's capture causes deadly consequences. An uprooted life comes to a grinding halt when a familiar face makes an unexpected appearance.

Chapter Five // Chapter Seven

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dangerous pursuit masterlist

The text stares back at you like an angry, red wound.

Really? They want you to come in for a mandatory meeting on a weekday? At the last minute?

Sighing loudly, you send a reply to your boss at Thirst. You’ll be there, but because it’s outside of your contracted hours, you’ll be late. It’s frustrating because they know this, and yet they’re expecting it from you anyway. The whole reason you took the job at Thirst is because it never bleeds into your regular life. They are separate. Complete fractured. Untouching.

That is not the case at the moment. And it’s frustrating.

This “mandatory” meeting is supposed to start when you get off work from your day job. You won’t arrive at Thirst in time for the start of the meeting, but hopefully they’ll begin without you. That way, you can sneak in for the last bit and not have to stay long. The only silver-lining to this ridiculous request.

Checking the time, you frown.

Your boss sent out the message two hours ago which is not nearly enough notice. The wording of it is odd too. Beginning with an apology about the last second meeting, he then emphasizes the urgency of everyone attending. From your two years of working at Thirst you’ve never been asked to come to any staff meeting. If information needs to be distributed, it always occurs when you walk through the door for your shift.

On top of that, Steve, one of the two owners who sent the text out, is never urgent about anything. He is incredibly relaxed, sometimes almost too calm for your liking, and he rarely—if ever—contacts you outside working hours unless it’s to ask for you to come in a bit early for a scheduled shift.

“Whatever,” you mutter, locking your phone and stowing it in your purse. You’ll deal with it when you arrive. Right now, you need to fucking focus.

But the urgency and anxiousness of the text’s wording stays with you through the rest of your shift. Like an unsuspecting water-filled pothole, you’re waiting for the drop, for the squealing crunching bounce, and the eventual check engine light to come on.

Something isn’t right, but you have no idea what it might be.

It is plaguing, insisting feeling that pushes down on your shoulders and rests it’s chin on the top of your head like an acquaintance that is much too close for comfort.

After you left the VIP room, Dimitri didn’t call on you again, and you didn’t dare return to the room until you were sure it was empty. Price didn’t ask for you either. He did not reach out, or even attempt to contact you. One part of you brain tells you to not care while the other says that you should be irate. That if Price cared at all, even a little, he’d slip something your way.

Megan, Olivia, and Addie returned solemn and slightly distant. At first, you thought they might have been upset about Dimitri pushing you on Price, but the idea swiftly left your head when Megan winced as she sat.

You have no idea what happened in that room afterward. And you didn’t notice any physical marks or bruises on any of the three women. But their demeanors were melancholic, their gazes not focused on anything in particular, and they never spoke to you or anyone else who tried to make conversation with them.

Maybe that’s what the meeting is about? Maybe it has something to do with security and ways to protect the staff who are put in vulnerable and precarious situations? There are panic buttons in all of the VIP rooms for a reason. Sure, clients pay good money for privacy, but they are also expected to hold themselves to certain expectations and standards. Not physically harming members of staff is number one on that list. Steve, and his co-owner Tom, are very particular about this rule.

When the hour arrives and you leave, you’re a boiling mess, a creature skulking in the shadows, anxious that a predator is awaiting out in the open dark. The restlessness only intensifies when you arrive at Thirst. The employee parking lot is full. Everyone appears to be here but it’s also possible a few will be missing or running late like you.

Slipping out of your car, you rummage around in your purse for a piece of gum. Just as you find one and pop it into your mouth, you reach for the large metal keypad to punch in your unique employee code but freeze when you notice something wet dripping from it.

Frowning, you peer closer at the dark liquid.

Is Greg eating quarter pounders again? The man has a knack for getting ketchup all over his hands and accidentally spreading it to the oddest places around the building.

But ketchup is bright red and glossy. This is dark and deep like velvet, not nearly as thick as a sauce but not fluid like water. Whatever it is, it’s smeared on the door handle and pools between the buttons.

Your stomach drops to your toes.

You don’t like this. It’s…strange. Odd.

Instead of touching the keypad or handle, you open your purse and retrieve a little package of tissues. Taking several out, you use them as a shield between your skin and the contaminated keypad, punching your code in.

The door lock beeps. The red light turns green.

Using the same tissues, you push down on the handle and then outward, the door swinging in easily. You step into the main employee hallway. The floors, wall, and ceiling are completely concrete. To your immediate right is a door to office where the owners, management, and the CCTV room are. There are two doors for bathrooms, and an opening in the wall that leads to the changing room and employee lockers.

The weirdest thing is that the overhead light isn’t on, and it doesn’t turn on when you enter. The only light comes from the opening in the wall where the dancers do their makeup and fix their dresses.

Again, strange. You’re so used to the sharp, almost sterile overhead light in this tiny space that its absence is ominous.

“What the fuck,” you murmur.

Maybe the light is out and just needs replacing. Maybe the sensor is bad. There are a number of reasons why the light doesn’t come on. Why is it all bothering you so much? It’s probably nothing, and the primitive part of your brain is simply conjuring up the fear of the unknown.

You head down the short hall and step through the opening. Even here, the light is dim. To your right is a wide hall. The massive walk-in closet with employee uniforms, props, and costumes along with changing rooms is that way. Employee lockers line the entire length of the hall. It’s also the same hall that connects to the wine cellar, dry storage, and the beverage cooler. Shoved in that back area is also a tiny kitchen for those guests who order food.

In front of you are rows of vanities, mirrors, shelving with wigs, hats, and all sorts of miscellaneous items. This room is typically bright and welcoming. It always smells of perfume, cleaning solution, and whatever flowers have been delivered that day. But again, the only light comes from four vanities where the bulbs around the mirrors are on.

And it’s so…quiet. You expect to see a shadow lingering in a corner, or the dark outline of a phantom silhouette. Glancing down at the slightly crushed tissues in your hand, you notice the flecks of red. But you’re in the dark, and so you step up to one of the vanities, tipping the tissue into the light.

Crimson. Almost wine-like in color.

Not ketchup. Not food. Not—

Your head snaps up at the sound of a raised voice. Distantly, through the interior door that leads into Thirst’s main room, you hear it again. Whoever is speaking is muffled, and you are unable to make out what it is that is being said.

Dropping the tissues into the trash can, you pad softly across the concrete floor and to the door. You do not open it. Instead, you press your ear to it, listening. There is quiet for some seconds, and then the voice starts up again. You are still in the dark, still incapable of deciphering who the speaker is and what is coming out of their mouth.

But you also don’t want to go out there. Taking great care not to make any noise, you open the door just enough to peer through a small crack.

As your eyes take in the sight before, and relay those signals to your brain, your heartrate increasing, becoming a storm, thudding so loudly your ears vibrate.

Out on the main floor, standing before the seated employees of Thirst are armed men.

There are seven in total. Six of them are in all black tactical gear with balaclavas covering everything but their eyes. The guns they carry are large, easily high capacity. They are unmoving, a small wall standing in a formal line behind their leader.

It is not Dimitri. Nor is it Nikola. It is also not any of the other men you’ve seen with Dimitri whenever he’s been in the VIP room. And it’s not Price.

This is someone else, and like Dimitri, you sense the quiet violence within him. But this is sharper, a slice of venom that can boil you from the inside out. Dimitri is a demon with a forked tongue and sharp claws. This man is so much greater, so much more malevolent.

His presence is striking and you expect smoke to roll out from his nostrils or for him to grow horns. His face is marked with scars that crisscross over each other, and his dark hair is pulled up into a bun on the back of his head. The man easily has to be closing in on seven feet tall.

No. This is not Dimitri.

And it is not Price or his team.

With shaking fingers, you withdraw your phone from your pocket, skimming through your contacts. You pass Price’s name twice before you can control your fingers enough to tap on his name. The message you send to him is hasty, and likely gibberish, the phone screen itself more of a blur because—water drops onto the glass.

You bring one shaking hand up to your face and find your cheeks wet.

You choke back a sob as the text becomes a lone blurb on your screen.

Price said to contact him if anything happens. But will he answer? It’s been almost two weeks since that night when you and Price got the tension out of your systems. Two weeks. No contact. So why is it that you text him and not the police?

The answer is quite clear. What will they do anyway? They stay away from places like this. They look down on it. If anything, they’d likely wait outside the entire time and never actually come inside to rescue anyone.

You’re doing the right thing by contacting Price. You are.

Returning your phone to your pocket, your gaze falls on the men at the center of the room. The leader isn’t in nearly as much tactical gear as his friends. He wears a suit with a bulletproof vest over it, clearly not entirely concerned with his safety.

“I’ve been waiting long enough.” His Russian accent is thick like syrup. Dimitri’s is subdued, and now you question whether or not he was simply hiding it.

At the sound of his voice, several people flinch like they’ve received a physical blow.

“She’s on her way. I promise. You read the text, Damien.” That’s one of the owners, but you can’t see him. It sounds like Steve but you can’t be sure. Opening the door a bit more, you shift your head and located him near the front of the group.

She. She is on her way.

“I have three. I need all four.”

Damien grabs the owner by the back of the throat and lifts him into the air without breaking a sweat. There is a pause as Damien’s lip curls in disgust.

“Where is she!” roars Damien, tossing the man to the ground.

He is talking about you. You.

No one speaks. No one utters a word. Damien strides back and forth before the front row, his gaze deliberately landing on every person.

“My guns are gone. My men are dead. Another missing.” He comes to a stop, chest heaving with anger. “Money taken. No leads except this place.” His arms outstretch slightly and he glances around the large room.

Dimitri. He’s talking about Dimitri. All this time, Price kept mentioning that he was after a larger target, someone much higher on the scale. Is he talking about Damien? Or is there someone even higher than him that Price is after?

You distinctly remember Price and Dimitri talking about an exchange. That must be the missing guns and money. Damien’s men are dead and if Dimitri isn’t among them, then it has to be everyone else Dimitri has ever brought with him, possibly even more than that.

Price also mentioned that Dimitri and the people Price is after, are not simple petty criminals. Price is military which means these men and their actions have international consequences.

Damien’s arms fall to his sides. “And now you can’t tell me where the fourth whore is.” He points off to the side. “I have three.” You tip your head noticing Megan, Olivia, and Addie.

“She’s works elsewhere during the day. She’ll be here.”

Damien glances downward. His face is blank. Cold. One of the armed men behind Damien steps forward.

“No. No! Damien!”

“You’re annoying me, Steve,” says Damien, voice monotone.

The armed man drags Steve by his hair toward the dancefloor. Steve kicks out, legs flailing and useless. He reaches up to claw at the armed man’s hands, but his fingers cannot penetrate the gloves.

“If I am missing one,” says Damien calmly. Steve is dropped. He glances up. But the gun is already pointed at his face. And there is no pause between the rising of the arm and the pulling of the trigger. “Then the rest of you are at risk,” finishes Damien, shrugging his shoulders apathetically.

Several Thirst employees scream, and Damien immediately rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, shaking his head. Then, louder, “Don’t FUCKING SCREAM!” He strides forward and grabs someone by their hair, twisting sharply. He bends at the waist, getting down to their level. “I will rip out your vocal cords and fuck the hole I leave behind. Understand?”

Whoever he’s speaking to must respond because Damien lets go, standing tall again, pulling on his bullet-proof vest to adjust it. He breathes deep, and then exhales loudly as if this is his meditation.

Panic clogs your throat. Fuck it. You’re calling the police. Usually, you wouldn’t even fuck with them, but relying only on Price isn’t going to help you or anyone in that room. It certainly didn’t help Steve.

Your hands are shaking harder now, so much in fact that you can barely hold onto your phone. It keeps jumping around in your palms. The sweat isn’t helping either, and getting the lock screen to recognize your face and jump to the home screen is agony.

“Maybe we don’t need her,” shrugs Damien, glancing over at Megan, Olivia, and Addie. “We have the other three.”

Two of the stoic, tactical-clad men move, head in the women’s direction. You hear their pleas and soft cried of protest. Megan, Olivia, and Addie are dragged up front to where Damien stands. He towers over them.

You open the keypad, punching in the emergency number. But every time you hit the round, green circle with the phone in the middle, nothing happens.

“Please,” you whimper, smashing your finger down on it. “Please.”

Damien brushes one of Megan’s blonde locks behind her ear. “I need to know who you talked to. That’s all.”

Of the three, only Olivia stares the man down, fury in her face even as tears stain her cheeks. “None of us said anything to anyone,” she says through clenched teeth.

Using his gloved thumb, Damien gentle wipes away the tears on Megan’s face. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, but you don’t know if he’s giving her a compliment or simply speaking out loud.

Your finger comes down on the little green button again and this time it connects. Sighing with relief, you bring the shaking phone up to your ear only to be met with a busy signal.

“Fuck.”

Olivia’s gaze darts from Megan to Damien and back again. “Our job isn’t to care and it isn’t to listen.”

Damien drops his hand from Megan’s face. “To care? No. To listen?” He shakes a pointed finger in Olivia’s direction. “You always listen.” He taps the side of his head. “You have ears. Working, clearly, because Dimitri isn’t here. Neither are my guns.”

He moves like a viper, his hand grabbing the bottom of Olivia’s face to pull her in. “Which means someone talked.”

She tries to shake her head but his grip is iron-clad. “We didn’t. Not to anyone.”

“Are you speaking for yourself? Or for the three of you?” When Olivia doesn’t reply, his fingers squeeze and she gasps audibly. “Take accountability.”

“We didn’t say anything.”

“Then you’re not of any use to me.” The words are cold and dead. Using his grip on the bottom half of her face, Damien throws Olivia to the side. “Shoot her.”

“Oliva!” screeches Megan, trying to go to her.

The silence after the shot is deafening, and the resounding screams that come afterward are a wave, attempting to drown.

You begin to back away, the door softly closing. With phone still in hand, your try the emergency number again. Busy. Fucking busy.

Wasn’t there just something in the news about there not being enough phone operators for emergency calls? That the city was facing a massive hiring problem?

Before the door clicks, another shot rings out. This one makes you jump. Every muscle in your stomach and back tenses violently.

The flinch hurts, and you bend forward in pain.

A third shot cracks in the air. Something heavy slams into the door, shaking the frame.

You stumble backward, the phone starting to slip from your grip.

Another pop followed by silence followed by—tat tat. A raging ringing of rattling sound that goes on and on.

Endless. Endless. Endless.

You scream, dropping to the floor as pieces of the door blow inward, painting the air with pulverized wood.

Covering your face with your hands, you curl in on yourself, waiting for the silence. It comes, and you peek out from between your fingers at the door.

Dark red seeps in from underneath, creating little bloody rivers across the concrete, stretching and reaching like gnarled fingers or willowy tree branches.

You’re on your knees. Shaking. Searching. Head spinning.

Door. You need the door. The door to the outside. You need—

Another barrage starts up, and the door groans, bending inward from whatever weight is pushing on it from the other side.

Everything is going blurry. The tears that spill from your eyes blind you, distorting your vision as you try to lift yourself off the floor.

Where is your phone? Where is your fucking phone?

You drag yourself in a direction, seeking, seeking, finding only cold concrete. Desperation eases in, seizes your lungs, inflating and deflating the organ until you’re audibly gasping for air.

Finding purchase near one of the vanities, you pull yourself up to your feet, leaning all your weight on it. Fuck the phone. Leave. Leave. Run to your fucking car or across the street. Go anywhere.

Get help.

The rapidly repeating rattling ceases, and in its place is dead, stagnant silence.

Your feet are lead but they move, determined to ferry you to safety, to deliver you to the back door and out in open air. As you push off from the vanity, the worst possible thing happens. The backdoor opens. And with it comes voices. Not friendly ones.

The hall to your left is the only place for you to go.

Survival kicks in, adrenaline surging through your limbs as you hurl yourself down the hall. Loud footsteps close in, and you throw yourself into the first available hiding spot. It’s the massive storage room where all the uniforms, outfits, and changing stalls are. The stalls are too open, too vulnerable.

But there is plenty of storage in here for all the various clothes and odd knickknacks. Ducking behind a rack of clothes, you shimmy along the wall until you come to the standing shelves. There is just enough room for you to lay on your side between it and the wall.

Breathing is all you're capable of, all that you're able to focus on. Time is of no significance. Minutes or seconds pass, and perhaps they keep on going stretching into hours. You don’t count. You don’t blink. You simply exist as you attempt to calm your racing heart.

Distantly, you hear a loud groan followed by a massive thud. Maybe that’s the interior door finally falling off its hinges. And these two sounds are what snap you back to reality. You shift, and sharp pain shoots down your shoulder.

You blink, surprised, and then notice the red smeared across the wall where you touched it. There are more droplets on the ground out in the room, and a tiny trail that lead out into the hall.

There is silence again. Then a few quick shouts. A brief pop accompanied by another soon after. Quiet once again. The air conditioning kicks in, bringing with it a low hum. Your breathing seems overly loud, but you also know you’re tightly crammed into a small space.

Black boots appear, pausing right inside the doorway. You didn’t even hear their approach. Between their feet are bloody droplets. Your blood.

The boots shift, take two steps forward in the direction of your hiding spot. Cold creeps in. Becomes dark. The boots scrunch slightly as whoever it is bends down next to where your blood trail abruptly ends before disappearing behind the clothes racks.

A gloved hand hovers just above those final droplets but do not make contact. Whoever it is promptly stands, facing the racks of clothes that hide your smeared blood on the wall. They start moving the clothes, ripping them from hooks to fall to the floor.

Another pair of boots appears in the doorway. A brief few seconds pass before they head in the direction of the other pair. There is a muffled sound, and what might be a struggle. Your answer comes quick.

One of Damien’s men collapses onto his back, vacant eyes staring up at nothing, the handle of knife sticking out from his throat.

There is a collective silence before hands are on you, dragging you from your hiding spot. You screech like a terrified animal. Kicking out with feet, clawing whoever this is with nails, teeth snaping in preparation to sink into flesh.

“It's me.” The back of your hand connects with something hard. “Stop. It's me. It's me.”

You cease your thrashing, staring into eyes that you know so well.

“John,” you breathe.

Price has both hands on your upper arms. He’s in full tactical gear. While he appears calm of the surface, you can see the slight panic in his eyes as his gaze darts across your face and over your body.

“I've got you,” he murmurs, one hand releasing your arm to grasp the side of your face, cradling your cheek. “You're fine.”

Ignoring the pain in your shoulder that screams its frustration, you wrap your arms around Price’s neck as the tears come fast and heavy and hard.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “When he bagged Dimitri, I should have known—I’m sorry.”

You cling harder, fingers digging into the collar of his uniform. Price gentle squeezes your waist, his face slightly turned into your neck.

With a softness that soothes, Price slowly draws you away from him, but only enough so that he can look at your face. A gloved thumb runs along your cheekbone, drying some of the tears.

“You came,” you whisper.

“For you. I came for you.” Price smiles tenderly, but it falters as he tips is head like he’s listening to something. The middle of his brow creases as he reaches up to press what must be a communication device. “Dressing room,” he says.

He releases the button and grasps the side of your face, gaze sad and intense. Price’s frown deepens. “You’re injured.”

Before you can answer, Ghost appears in the doorway, saying nothing. Price twists to glance at the behemoth of a man.

“Petrova ran,” states Ghost blandly.

“Fuck,” mutters Price. “We have eyes on him?”

“No.”

“Likely going to ground to lick his wounds before facing Makarov.”

“He’ll want his money,” replies Ghost.

“And his weapons,” adds Price. He turns back to you and smiles sadly. “Is it ready, Simon?” he asks over his shoulder.

Frowning, you pull back, glancing first at Price and then at Ghost who—like his namesake—has moved closer to Price’s side without making a sound.

“I'll get her to Laswell,” answers Ghost.

“I'm sorry," Price says again, just as Ghost holsters his gun and Price steps back, leaving you empty and hollow. Ghost, with a single movement, sweeps you off your feet and into his arms.

Price follows the two of you out and into the main room you were in earlier. There are more tactical gear-clad people here, loitering around. Ghost turns into that small hallway where the backdoor stands propped open. Over his shoulder, you glimpse the downed interior door, the smears of red, and the pile of unmoving limbs.

"I'm sorry," Price repeats. "You know too much."

It’s a goodbye. A final farewell. Your lips form a soft o as you try to form a coherent response.

"Keep her safe, Simon. I'm counting on you."

Three Years Later

A rush of autumn air slips underneath your coat. The wind brings a shiver to your skin, and you wrap your coat tightly around your middle. The taxi behind you pulls back into traffic, and you are left alone on the curb.

So much has changed, and yet you feel no different.

Ghost brought you to a woman named Laswell. She was kind but direct, and explained that you’d need to be relocated elsewhere. Mostly for your personal safety, but also so that the government could keep an eye on you. You weren’t in trouble, that’s what Laswell said, but it still felt like it.

The only silver-lining in them uprooting your life is the care taken to make sure you could start over. Your mother’s unpaid medical bills disappeared. All the debt melted away. The master’s degree you pursued was discreetly changed so that you retained your education but the last name was different. They even went so far as to help you gain employment.

Laswell was thorough. And you appreciated the effort, knowing that Price likely had a hand in making sure you were taken care of.

But it’s been three years. Three long years and so much has changed.

You’re not working for the same place. You’re not in the same apartment. You’re not even in the same city anymore. Life went on, and you moved with it. Laswell has never reached out. Price certainly hasn’t.

Everything that happened, everything that occurred, is in the past. Haunting you still but so far removed at this point you rarely glance back at it. A small piece still lingers on a specific person, but that too is becoming a solitary, dull ache.

You push through the door in front of you, retreating from the cold. Inside, the restaurant is warm and inviting. All hardwood and gold trim. Lingering near the hostess stand, chatting on the phone, is your boyfriend, Alex.

He glances up and smiles, his perfect white teeth on display. “Have to go. Yes. Tomorrow at one.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and ends the call.

“Didn’t want to wait for me at the table?” you tease, sliding up next to him.

He bends forward for a chaste kiss. “Wanted to walk with you.”

Alex extends his hand, indicating ladies first. Smiling at him, you follow the hostess to the table. Alex is quick to pull out your chair and help you slide into place. He takes the chair across the table.

This restaurant is your usual spot. Typically, you and Alex come for dinner, but he’s working late, and he made himself available at lunch to see you.

“Would you like menus today, Mr. Obolensky?”

An older gentleman with a receding hairline approaches the table. Ivan has waited on you and Alex for every meal. The man has to sleep somewhere in the back.

“Only for food.”

Ivan nods. “Would you like your usual wine for lunch?”

Alex inclines his head and Ivan promptly disappears.

Your relationship with Alex started rocky. When he first introduced himself, giving you is full name, your nervous system fell into a trauma response.

Alexandr Obolensky, or as his close friends call him, Alexi.

Maybe that notorious afternoon was still too ingrained in your system, because you closed up like a clam, awkward and nearly unresponsive. But over time, as he kept popping up in your life, you began to warm to him, and quickly realized that his interest was more than friendly.

Now, you’re staring at his smiling face across the table, wondering how you got so lucky.

He rests his arm on the table, presenting his hand, palm upward. You take it, fingers intertwining. His thumb rubs slow strokes over your knuckles.

Alex’s phone buzzes on the table but he ignores it. It buzzes again. Still, Alex ignores it.

“Popular.”

He shrugs. “They can wait.”

It starts up again, and Alex frowns down at it.

“Answer it,” you sigh. He’s an incredibly busy individual working at his father’s PR firm. There have been numerous late nights and countless overseas traveling.

Alex shakes his head. “I’m at lunch. With you. That is more important.”

When his phone starts buzzing again, you laugh and Alex groans.

“Just answer it,” you laugh. “Must be important.”

“I want it noted that you are insisting,” he jokes, snatching the phone off the table. He slides his thumb across the screen and brings it up to his ear, answering with an irritated, “What?”

The annoyance on his face starts to slip, replaced with concern. “When?” A pause. “Fuck,” mutters Alex, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. I’ll handle it.” He ends the call and glances up from the screen.

“Go,” you murmur, nodding toward the restaurant’s front door. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” he replies. “I promised you lunch.”

You shrug. “It’s just lunch.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you laugh. “Go.”

Alex stands just Ivan reappears with the wine. “Apologies, Ivan. I have to leave.”

“Certainly Mr. Obolensky.”

He turns to you. “Order whatever you want.” He looks back at Ivan. “Put it all on my account.”

“Of course, Mr. Obolensky.”

“Madam.” Ivan presents the food menu, and then proceeds to open the bottle of wine. He fills your glass, and places the bottle next it. “Would you like a tour of the menu?”

“No. Thank you, Ivan. I just need a few minutes.”

He nods and disappears.

You and Alex have eaten here on so many occasions that you already know most of the dishes, but you like to look anyway, pretending that you’ll choose something different this time.

A shadow of a body moves into view above the menu. You don’t glance up, knowing that it’s likely Alex returning, probably forgetting something like his coat.

You glance up from the menu. “Forget some—”

Your words leave you like air escaping from a popped balloon.

It’s not Alex sitting across from you at the table.

“Hello, love. Been a while.”

It’s John.

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syoddeye · 6 months ago

Text

kate proposes the job as a personal favor. an old friend needs extra security.

come to DC. wear plainclothes and earpieces. wander around. pretend to understand art.

and it is an easy gig, vip protection. there are no real threats against the big wigs attending the hoity-toity gallery opening, but their paranoia is profitable. all the men need to do is keep their eyes and ears open.

however, it’s difficult to ignore the attractive curator. she flits about, checking in with artists and collectors, protecting the art, and keeping the whole thing running smoothly. even checks on the four suited men patrolling the space. she’s diligent and polite, sweet as pie. poor thing could use a break.

but jobs like this get boring quick. they could protect these moneybags with their arms tied behind their backs. people watching is only entertaining for so long.

soap is the first to suggest the bet. whoever gets the curator's number first gets favors from the rest of the men. it’s childish, but a harmless diversion.

“watch and learn, mactavish.” gaz taunts as he passes his fellow sergeant. he finds the assistant in the crowd, and employs his usual moves.

it’s a surprise when he comes back empty-handed and sheepish. that doesn’t happen often. gaz could charm the skin off a snake. soap nearly howls.

“i’ll show you how it’s done.” soap oozes confidence, flashing a big grin as he takes his turn. tracks her down like a heat-seeking missile.

but he’s quickly rebuffed. when he returns, he doesn’t say a word; he just acts like it never happened.

price, certain of his experience, gets further with the curator. he bullshits half the conversation but makes her laugh. he doesn’t get her number, though. he takes it in stride. knows how to handle rejection.

ghost mocks the three of them, despite not bothering to try it for himself.

the men commiserate over comms, comparing notes and wondering where they went wrong with their respective approaches.

ghost’s voice crackles into their ears a short time later. clearly amused.

“think i found your problem.”

kate, in attendance as a guest and friend of the gallery owner, stands close to the curator. the younger woman leans toward her naturally, with a big smile, practically beaming at the station chief. kate grabs two glasses of wine from a passing server, lets her choose red or white, and then does the same with the canapes.

the curator's such a doll, profusely thanking kate.

"no one's checked in on me like this all night."

"that so? suppose i'll have to keep an eye on you."

it doesn't take much longer for kate to get her number, or a date on the calendar.

toward the end of the evening, kate finds the men. she doesn't bother debriefing them as she collects their earpieces. the guests file out, the gallery closes, and the curator pops into her office to fetch her things.

kate dismisses the men with a grin.

"i'll take it from here, boys."

#written on mobile during my break so apologies for typos #i don't care how unrealistic this is i just needed to see it #tf 141 #ghost #soap #gaz #price #kate laswell

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lyrenminth · 1 year ago

Text

Dad Joe being protective.

Cameramen and paparazzi were rude most of the times. Since Lily was born, Joe became more private and protective over his child, he always asked not to take pictures of her, and did not publish her little face anywhere. Both agreed to keep her face and life the most private possible, and you were always in the VIP zone for security reasons.

When Joe announced he had become the father of a girl, the media went crazy because you hide so well your pregnancy. It was a very peaceful and shocking pregnancy, it was your first after all. Hide your baby was uncommon for the NFL practices, since players used to bring their children to practices or games, many people complain and called you pretentious, but you were adamant about the matter.

So, when the video of Joe telling a fan to fuck off was released little background was given and people thought he was being rude and a diva. Two weeks after the incident, Joe made an interview for Colin where he explained better the situation.

"Yeah, that was crazy, people got out context the video, and that guy didn't even published the full video, but yeah"

"There's a full video? What happened?"

"Well, I was with my family and this guy approached me to take a picture, and told him no because I'm with my family, but he was insisting so much and at one point he started recording" he explained, as calm and composed as he was "You know, the media knows that I have a daughter but her mom and I decided to keep her privacy, I don't care about me being recorded but she...we want to give her the option. At some point my daughter got scared because the dude was really intense and..." He shrugged casually "I have to take care of the family"

"Oh, this guy was harassing you?"

"Yeah, basically"

"So your reaction is reasonable, I'm a father myself and I would do the same"

"Yeah, my wife says it was a little to much, but I was annoyed"

You were right behind Joe, Lily in yours arms when everything happened. The man was a weirdo and started to shove his phone to close to Joe, and then to your face. You knew Joe was getting real mad when Lily started crying, so you asked him to comeback to the car instead. He would have grabbed the man's phone otherwise. He followed you to the parking lot, not before yelling at the man to "fuck off". To be fair, Joe warned him. "Not now, friend. I'm with my family" he said mutiple times. "No pictures please"

Lily stopped crying when Joe carried her. She was scared and worried about his dad, and Joe let her know he was fine, and he would never yell at her. Lily nodded, and Joe hugged her tight against his chest. He was swoon for her. In the car, he looked at you.

"Are you ok?" he asked, reading your face.

"Yes" you smiled warmly "Thank you for protecting us"

"You are my world, I must protect what I love"

#joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #fanfiction #nfl

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wanderingaldecaldo · 11 months ago

Text

I've been posting Ros and Val without any context or backstory because my brain has been going brrrrrrrr too much to write anything proper besides drabbles, and a couple of unrelated oneshots. I'm still figuring out their story but I've discovered some of the major beats and wanted to get it down for my future self, as well as anyone who's following along at home.

Their story follows PL fairly closely with a few places where I took some creative license. Val and Ros hook up at the safe house, and it takes Reed a little longer to get everything organized, giving them a few days together in Dogtown before Ros is spirited back to D.C.

Lemme just wipe off your cheek real quick...

Val needs family. She doesn't know it, but that's why she gravitated to Jackie and Lupe. It's why she calls Panam for help in her canon. Rosalind represents family in a different way. She's the mother who knows what's best, who cares about "her" people, and Val doesn't realize how much she needs that attachment. Several times during the rescue, Ros displays affection and concern for her—when the building collapses before the Chimera fight, during the Relic malfunction—and combined with the mission to keep her safe, it triggers something deep inside V, a loyalty that she doesn't understand.

Rosalind, on the other hand, just lost a lot of crucial advisors. While we don't know who was on board aside from So Mi, we can guess that there were high ranking staffers, such as communications, security, and campaign, plus her own personal assistant and Secret Service agent. She has no one. She is vulnerable with V, admitting that she doesn't know what to do, that she has no one; and V's response is to remind her that she's there, and she's determined to get her out of the situation. Loyalty is something Ros values highly, and here is this merc tasked with saving her, but who sees the situation as more than just another gig; who has become personally invested in protecting her. It's intoxicating to have someone who's unflinchingly loyal to you, and who has seen the real you.

Once they reach the safe house, things escalate because of the mix of all those emotions, plus all the adrenaline and endorphins from the escape. It becomes more than just a hookup, but because of their situations (Ros's, let's be real), they both know it's an untenable relationship. Their time is bittersweet because of that knowledge.

Just squint a little and the Dogtown apartment isn't that bad!

Continued after the cut...

Later after the events of PL, they stay in touch, and there is affection between them still. Ros reaches out by text for fashion advice on the magazine shoot. They both agree that V isn't the right person for the job, but Ros knows she'll at least be honest. Later the acting campaign manager thinks having Ros take photos with the merc who saved her life in Dogtown would be good ad material, so Ros recruits V to the photo shoot.

Note: add at least one eagle for the "real" patriots

V uses the photo shoot to her advantage and successfully lobbies for the dinner date Rosalind promised. They have it that evening at Embers, as it's easy to secure for VIPs. Ros wants to know what V expects, because surely she can't think there is hope for a real relationship; but V wants whatever she can have. At this point, she knows she's crazy about Rosalind, while Ros is in denial herself over how much she cares about V.

“Where do you think this will go, V?” Rosalind's voice is soft and melodic. She doesn’t know, doesn’t care. She needs something, will take anything. “Hopin’ the first stop is my bedroom,” V says and gives her cockiest grin, but it quickly fades. “After that? Kinda up to you, yeah?”

They spend the night together and Ros decides to give it a try. They officially start seeing each other, but in secret and only when Ros has reason to visit NC. The new mayor provides a good excuse, so Ros visits under cover of extending diplomatic ties, and providing an opportunity for date night with her merc.

It's good to have powerful friends, like the new mayor of Night City.

After a few months of this, they slip up and the media catch wind that the President is spending time with the merc who saved her life in Dogtown. The campaign manager wants to use the media frenzy by spinning it as Rosalind recruiting V as her personal bodyguard, while still encouraging theories about their secret romantic relationship so the screamsheets will go crazy over it.

Eventually people are gonna notice when AF1 keeps showing up in NC airspace.

At that point V is ready to upend her life for Ros. She agrees to the plan and moves to D.C. The media eats it all up, and suddenly the only thing the NUS cares about is whether the President and her merc are fucking (they are). Eventually they transition to openly dating, and the President's approval rating shoots up by having a partner who humanizes her and makes her more likeable.

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soapybutt17 · 11 months ago

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Won't Go Home Without You I

Summary: When the cracks begin to show. Character: Soft Dark! Vladimir Makarox x Price!Female Reader. Word Count: 1,159 Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Civilian Deaths.

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Chapter I: Eye Spy

The club pulsated with blinding lights that seemed to slight through the darkness, creating a chaotic dance of shadows and vibrant colors. It was a headache to you, knowing you weren’t much for the bright lights of clubs like this. You stood at the entrance, heart hammering against your ribcage. You were dressed to blend in, a light black dress that hugged your body in all the best way possible, but the blinding lights brought a surge of panic that threatened to betray your composure.

Each flickering hue intensified your nerves, amplifying the weight of your mission. The bass reverberated through the walls, resonating within your chest as you steeled yourself to move forward. The throng of bodies surged around you, lost in the trance of the music, their laughter and chatter drowning in the cacophony.

You navigated through the maze of dancers, your steps calculated and deliberate, avoiding the probing gazed that seemed to linger too long. The air hummed with an electric charge, an atmosphere of hedonistic revelry concealing the danger lurking in the surface.

As you approached the VIP section where Makarov was rumored to hold course, the light intensified, casting erratic patterns across your face. Your pulse quickened, the nerves coiling within you as you fought to maintain your façade. You could feel the weight of your mission pressing down, the urgency clawing at your chest.

Your eyes met with the man. From across the divider that separated you from the man, amidst the pulsating light, Vladimir Makarov’s eyes stood out like a twin orbs of darkness. His gaze was magnetic, drawing your attention even amidst the chaos of the cub. The lights seemed to bend around him, as if reluctant to touch the intensity of his dark, penetrating stare.

His eyes held a depth that defied the surrounding frenzy, an abyss of mysteries and dangerous allure. They were pools of shadow, framed by the sharp angles of his face, seemingly unaffected by the vibrant colors that danced around him.

As you continued to lock eyes with him, you felt a shiver course through you, a mix of apprehension and a strange, inexplicable fascination. It was as if his eyes held a secret, ones that you simultaneously dread and longed to uncover. In that moment, amidst the chaos of the club, Makarov’s eyes seemed to hold you in their grasp, setting off a silent warning that there was much more to this man than meets the eyes—more than all the warnings and information you’ve already read about him.

All it took was one nod towards his security before a bulky man had come to approach you. A smirk played on your lips shaking your head and slipping deep into the chaos of the bodies in the dance floor. You wanted him to come to you, not the other way around. It was a long and slow process, dreadful for you, but the reward was too great for you to truly ignore.

It brought you back to the very moment you were placed in such a predicament and more and more you’ve come to realize the true danger you have come to place upon yourself for the sake of the people that need your protection.

You were brimming with rage. Another failed mission that ended with Makarov escaping—unscathed of all things. He was so close, you were so close to pulling the trigger and ending the man’s reign of terror, but your brother ordered you not to fire. Because of his decision, the man had escaped and an onslaught of dead bodied were left on your feet because of it.

The head of one man should not justify the hundreds of casualties it had brought along in the aftermath.

Ripping off the balaclava you wore, you had ignored everyone’s insistent calls for your name as soon as the plane had landed. You made a beeline to your room, wanting to wash away the grime and regret that came with today’s mission.

You had no one you could truly blame for the unnecessary death than your brother. Stripped away from the grime and regret of the mission you changed into a black shirt and cargo pants you had laying around.

You could care less about formalities now for the debriefing, you could truly care less about what they want to happen at this point after the mess you were now placed under because of their decision.

The all too familiar knock on the door had you finally relent knowing you still have to face everyone. Opening the door, the sight of Soap was not a welcome sight but it was enough to placate your temper even for just a moment.

“Let’s go, Medusa.” Soap urged and it left you to just nod and follow him along.

You sit in the debriefing room, the heaviness of the recent mission's outcome settling like a shroud over the team. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost exchange worried glances as the tension between you and John reaches a crescendo.

"Medusa, you had the shot," John's voice cuts through the room, firm and unyielding. "But you hesitated. We needed Makarov alive for interrogation."

Your frustration surges to the surface as you meet John's gaze, an inferno of emotions raging within. "You ordered me not to shoot," you fire back, your voice edged with a mix of anger and disappointment. "You put those civilians at risk!"

Soap leans forward, attempting to defuse the escalating conflict. "We lost innocent lives, John. What went wrong out there?"

John's jaw tightens, his resolve unwavering. "Makarov had hostages. We couldn't risk their safety."

"You should've let me take the shot," you insist, your voice trembling with the weight of the casualties. "I could've stopped it."

Ghost interjects calmly, his voice a beacon of reason amidst the growing turmoil. "We need to find a way forward."

The room crackles with unresolved tension. Gaz watches the confrontation, a mix of concern and frustration etched on his face.

"I gave an order for a reason, Medusa," John asserts, his tone unwavering. "We don't sacrifice potential intel, no matter the cost."

The accusation hangs heavy in the air as you lock eyes with your brother, the blame evident in your gaze. The burden of the civilian casualties weighs heavily upon you, and in a moment of heated accusation, you voice your frustration.

"Those people died because of you," you accuse, your voice cracking with emotion.

Before the tension erupts into something more, Ghost swiftly rises from his seat, stepping between you and John, a calming presence.

"Let's focus on what's next," Ghost says firmly, diffusing the rising hostility.

Soap and Gaz move in, gently guiding you and John away from each other, creating a physical divide.

"We'll find another way," Soap reassures, his voice carrying a sense of unity amid the discord.

“If another way means another death because of our Captain’s orders, we’re no different from the bastard himself.”

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #mw2 #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #makarov x reader #vladimir makarov x reader #cod makarov #vladimir makarov #vladimir makarov angst #vladimir makarov smut #makarov smut #makarov angst #dubcon #dead dove do not eat

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sopejinsunflower · 2 years ago

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a/n: ok so this started out with a completely different idea but when idk, somewhere along the way the plot kinda left the chat and it just screams horny horny brain is horny so yeah…but I had this idea ever since Arson came out lol I hope you guys enjoy it anyway. It has been sitting in my WIP since December and I honestly didn't do much editing or proofreading >.<

Title: Was actually originally called Devil May Care

Warning: 18+, violence implied, gun use, minor DNI

Summary: You are a very highly respectable business woman but your scene is less than…ideal. You need a new head of security but with a tight schedule, you have to hire someone with just the basic qualification. It’s all fine until you realise your new head of security is someone you’ve been masturbating to for most of your adult life. And to make things worse (or better), he knows you know.

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x you, Park Jimin

Tags: Employer-employee AU! Penetrative sex, masturbation implied, violence mentioned, slight Hoseok dom because no way I’m NOT putting that in.

Word count: 19k

You slam your bag onto the surface of your desk hard enough for the sound to jerk everyone upright, standing rigidly waiting for you to unleash your anger.

You raise your gaze, glaring daggers at the man standing across from you with his eyes downcast, hands clasped together in front of him. “Explain yourself,” you growl out in between gritted teeth.

He only purses his lips, unable to come up with anything. He fucked up, he knows, and as your head of security, he knows he’s about to get the axe. You don’t repeat yourself, knowing full well what happened and how it had happened but you just wanted him to admit it and he can’t even do that. Your instructions had been simple, and yet it had seemed to be a tall order for someone with twenty-five years under the belt as a security guard to high risk VIPs such as yourself; working in the diamond industry comes with its perks.

He had one job: protect you. When you are closing in on deals, most times the merchandise is already with you, hidden in secretly-sewn pockets to be retrieved once everything is signed and the payment method is handed over and checked. Payment method, because people don’t usually pay with cash, especially those black organisations that insist on meeting in dark dingy rooms or empty parking lots. And you can never trust them fully to not fuck you over during those meetings so his job was to make sure that there are no unpleasant surprises beforehand and if it does happen, get you out of there safely.

But here you are, standing in your office, half the guards smelling like gunsmokes, three of them currently being tended to by your private doctor for bullet wounds and there’s a thin, light scratch over your forehead and your shoulders are starting to ache from having to fire your own Glock while running. The situation had been far from safe and it all fell onto his shoulders. You check your reflection in the cabinet glass, huff and turn around. “Get the fuck out of my face. You’re fired.”

He gives you one last bow and walks out of the room, hands clenched in fists. You’re not an easy employer, even you know that, but you are fair and pay people five times the market rate, more than fair for the kind of environment they have to work in. But those high wages don’t come easy; you have strict criterias and requirements for both the roles and the responsibilities they carry. You’re not irrational but you have to maintain the highest vigilance not just for your sake, but for everyone involved. When you need job A to be done in a certain way, it must be followed to the T. Or things like this happen.

You heave a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Without looking, you wave your hand to dismiss the other guards and plop yourself in your reclining leather chair, feeling a thousand pounds heavier than you did in the morning. To be completely honest, you had been having the same nagging feeling for a week now, leading to that meeting with the Ryuukai, the Dragon Organisation, but, then again, you always feel weird during the days prior to a black market deal. If only you’d listened more to your gut feeling, but hindsight is always fifty-fifty.

First thing’s first: you need a new head of security.

You rub at your face, sigh again, and call for your executive secretary. Park Jimin swishes in through the door not three seconds later and you look up in surprise. He’s holding a glass of water and an ibuprofen for the headache that’s starting up, his usual notebook clamped in his armpit. “How long were you waiting outside the door?” you ask, taking the glass and painkiller gratefully.

“Just right after Hank walked out,” he answers airily, sitting down in one of the velvet chairs across from you, crossing his legs and taking out his pen and notebook.

Jimin is in a three-piece suit but without the jacket and his sleeves rolled up. Honestly, he dresses like a boss himself instead of a secretary but working with you means he’s technically in charge of the whole office. His nickname is God’s Messenger because when he delivers your orders or instructions, the others obey without a word. He’s more of a right-hand-man, too, by how much you rely on him when you’re not in.

You place the pill at the back of your tongue and take huge gulps of the water to swallow it, almost finishing the whole tall glass. You sigh, sitting back, eyes still closed. “Why does it seem like you’re the only one who knows to do your job well? It’s so hard to find reliable employees these days.”

Jimin preens in his chair, sitting up straighter. “Well, first, I don’t seem to do my job well, I do my job well. Second, stop sighing like an old woman. Third, I don’t have any response regarding reliable employees but I’m assuming we’ll need to hire a new one?”

You nod, sitting up and letting out another long, heavy sigh much to Jimin’s annoyance. “Do you think you can find someone in two weeks?”

“You’re getting more and more demanding,” he says nonchalantly, writing down something in his notebook. “Two weeks, got it. Shall I put ‘psychic’ as the requirement?” At the confused look from you, he adds, waving the pen around, “Oh, you know, so he’s able to tell if a situation could go bad. Like Hank couldn’t.”

Your face immediately turns sour. “A thorough investigation would have been enough to avoid that whole mess,” you hiss, clenching the edge of the desk. “I almost lost men out there!”

Jimin suppresses from rolling his eyes. “Right, right. So someone thorough, got it. Two weeks won’t be enough time to find someone of your high standards. Are you sure you don’t want to postpone that deal with the Sumiyoshi?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “This meeting has been scheduled for months now. I can’t mess this up. They’re already pissed about the last botched merch from last time. And I’m still pissed about that.”

Jimin scoffs in between his writing. “Don’t worry. The guy is still paying for his mistakes until today in some basement out there. You made sure of that. I don’t know if we can find quality and reliable candidates in this short time but I’ll dig around. No promises, though.”

“Update me again in a week,” you tell him as he’s leaving your office.

He pauses in the doorway, leaning back to look at you. A genuine look of concern is clear on his face. “Go home and rest. You look like shit. I’ll handle things here.”

You give him an appreciative smile and pack up your things, wanting nothing more than a long warm bath and pulling your fluffy duvet over you so you can curl up and sleep in your empty king bed. You get home, get undressed and strut around naked in your apartment. You start to fill up the bath and while the water is going, you head for a glass of white wine in the kitchen, something to calm your nerves. It didn’t help much.

The bath beeps and you head to the bathroom, throw in your favourite bath bomb and watch it fizzle as you take a quick shower to rinse off; you hate the idea of sitting in your own filth. Then you step in and have about a fifteen-minute soak. The warm water helps soothe your aching muscles and your left hand, the one you use to shoot your gun, finally stops shaking. You add another bath bomb to the water but when you step out, you can still smell the gunpowder. You take a second shower and spend extra time rubbing your body with a loofah and washing your hair.

Satisfied that there’s no more smell, you pull on a comfortable satin slip, dry your hair and dive into bed. The thick, black-out curtains have been pulled shut and you’re hoping to take a nap but no matter how long you lie there, you keep blinking up at the ceiling, replaying today’s shitshow over and over again.

It’s not your first shoot-out, of course, but it doesn’t make it any less scary each time. The Ryuukai is known to be difficult but you’ve done deals with them in the past before and they have all gone smoothly enough. This time though, you learnt that there had been a shift in the organisation and there were new faces, even the middleman was someone you’ve never met before and not the person you talked to a month prior to setting up the meeting. Everything had felt fishy and shadier than usual and you wish you had followed your gut.

Your entourage had been ambushed. The Ryuukai had attempted to get their hands on the diamonds by force and your whole team had walked straight into a trap. When it was obvious they couldn’t find where the merchandise was, they chose violence. To be fair, Jimin was right; Hank couldn’t have known how that would turn out but there’s a reason one of his main responsibilities is to stake out and investigate every little detail ahead of the meeting. It’s to avoid things like this from happening because it has happened in the past. These measures aren’t put there for fun; they’re implemented so that every one of your men gets to go home to their families at the end of the day.

And three of them almost didn’t. Lawyers have been dispatched to deal with the families regarding the situation but you can’t help but feel it was avoidable. Hank had been with you for five years with no problems but lately his head has been out of the game. You’re not privy to his personal lives, literally not your concern, but the one thing you ask of your employees is that they don’t bring home matters to work. If Hank had been going through some tough shit outside of work, then he never communicated it. You’re not a monster; you would’ve taken him off of work without him losing his job or income if he had needed time to sort things out first.

You sigh and hear your secretary's voice in your ear about being an old woman. You roll your eyes to the ceiling. Your phone pings and you check the message.

Jimin: The families have signed the NDAs. It’s on your desk.

PING!

Jimin: Stop staring at the ceiling and sleep.

What the fuck?! Does he have a spy camera or something? You sit up in bed, paranoid, looking around the room.

PING!

Jimin: No, there’s no camera. I just know you too well (rolling eyes emoji)

You slap the phone face down on the bedside table after putting it on silent mode and pull the duvet back over your head. Nothing’s more frustrating than someone who is always right and knows it, too. One of these days you’ll find a nicer more submissive PA but you doubt it. He’s too damn good at his job for you to find any good reason to get rid of him.

BUZZ!

You groan out loud but grab the phone anyway.

Jimin: I had a food delivery schedule for around 7PM. I don’t think cooking will be on your to-do list today.

Too damn good, you think with a snort, putting away the phone for the last time because by hook or by crook, you’ll force that nap to come. Fifteen minutes later, after much tossing and turning, sleep still eludes you like a fish flitting through water. You’re still somehow high-strung, your brain refusing to forget today’s botched deal as it replays each scene for you to do a play-by-play; from the moment you notice the shiftiness of the Ryuukai’s men, the fact that you don’t recognise any of them, right down to the last moment of the shoot-out, you running, gunshots ringing in your ears until you’re safely in the car and Hank slammed the door behind you.

Then you remember something; your little emergency stash under the bed made especially for times like this. You crawl over to the edge, lean halfway off the bed and rummage around under there trying to pull out the little box. It feels a little childish to be hiding stuff in that old tin box, something you’ve had with you for a very long time, even now when you’re one of the most powerful figures of the underworld living in one of the luxurious penthouses in the middle of the city.

You pry open the lid and sift through the stuff in there. If anyone found that box, one would think it belongs to a teenage girl by the content: an old bookmark handmade from a laminated maple leaf, 16th and 21st birthday cards from old friends and families, a beaded bracelet, a few foreign coins, a few loose buttons, a few Polaroid photos faded with time. You ignore all the rest and pull out from the bottom an old and very well-used folded up poster. You put everything away and lay back on your pillow, carefully unfolding the piece of A3 paper.

Immediately you can feel the tension slip off of your shoulders at the sight of your favourite man in the world: Hoya, in all of his glorious nakedness besides the silver necklaces around his neck, the black masquerade mask that hides half of his face, and the little detective hat that he’s tipping over with that petulant smirk on his handsome face that screams, “Bet you wish you can have me, don’t you?”

Yes, yes I do, you think, this time with a wistful sigh, your eyes roaming his body, imagining you can put your hands all over those biceps and rock-hard abs and kiss that Celtic hope tattoo on his chest, suck on his fingers and suckle on his nipples before…your eyes move downwards, saving that view for last even if you’ve seen it a thousand times. It works every time like a charm.

You lie back onto your pillow, the poster in hand. This is from one of his earlier issues from a few years back and by far your favourite, thus why it’s stored in your mental emergency box. You know a few things about this man; his age (three years younger than you), his favourite food (Korean), his favourite alcohol (soju and he drinks it only once a week), his favourite book (Living, Loving, Learning), his favourite song (it changes every three months), what he wanted to be as a child, what he wants now as an adult, his preferred type of woman (demure, sweet and kind but loves it spicy in the bedroom), and his hobby.

You know his favourite position in bed, his kinks (D&M, bondage), his favourite subject in school (maths, surprisingly) and even the name of his first pet (Mickey). You know why he has that scar on his left eyebrow (at a judo tournament in high school when the opponent split his head but he won the competition anyway), the neighbourhood he grew up in and that he has an older sister who he’s close with. You know that he visits his parents every other weekend to have dinner with them because he prioritises family time. You know that he hates sleeping in the dark because of that one time a friend played a prank by locking him up in the closet and forgot about him, so he sleeps with a nightlight the shape of a crescent moon. You also know his birth zodiac but that he doesn’t believe in fate.

You know all this information about this man that graces the monthly adult magazine you subscribe to since university and yet you don’t know his real name nor what he actually looks like. All of his posters and photos were masked. Someone in your position could easily have attained his real name at least but you decide not to. The mystery of it all kind of enhances his charm, you think, but fuck, if only you could, at least once in your life, to be able to wrap your mouth around that perfect cock of his.

“You think you deserve this, baby?” the Hoya in your head asks as he looms over you, one hand leaning against the headboard above your head. He swings his hips close to your face, teasing you with his giant cock inches from your lips.

“Yesss,” you mewl back, batting your eyelashes prettily for him. “Please.”

“Please what, sugar?”

You writhe under your blanket, your fingers quickly finding the wet spot in between your legs, eyes closed as you imagine the scene. “Please, daddy. I want it.”

And in your fantasies, Hoya always does. He always satisfies you, prioritising your needs as he winds you up and up and up and letting you come crashing down on your highs. He teases and taunts you, worships you like the goddess that you are and you’d scream his name over and over again as he rams into you until you’re all spent and blissful and he’d love you up more softly this time, rocking you both gently until he comes. Those scenes were enough ammo for your fingers to work furiously underneath the thick duvet, arching your back against your pillow, murmuring words you pretend the adult model can hear until you come, toes curling and sighing out his stage name.

Then the guilt comes creeping in and you jump out of bed to clean yourself, chastising yourself that it’s just distasteful for someone like you to get so lost in your own head when your team was almost annihilated today. You bury yourself back in bed and this time, sleep comes much easier.

***

“So…about the new head of security…”

Jimin follows you into your office and watches you straighten out your desk before you finally look up at him. “I don’t think we’ll find anyone in two weeks. I’m serious about postponing it because at this rate we’ll-”

“No.” You cut him short, plopping down into your seat and powering on the iMac. “The meeting with the Sumiyoshi is too important, Jimin, you know this. I can’t risk losing another business because we are not dealing with the Ryuukais anymore after last night.”

Jimin clicks his fingers. “Oh, right! I’ve sent a team as you requested to their headquarters. You’ll hear about it at around…” he checks his watch casually, “noon, perhaps.”

You nod but the look on your face was clear to Jimin that you barely listened, clicking away on your computer, eyebrows furrowing. Jimin sighs. “Hey, look at me.”

You stop what you were doing and shift your gaze to him without turning your head. He scowls but says, “I’m serious about recruiting a head of security this willy-nilly. We’re talking about the head here, not some disposable goons. He’ll be responsible for your safety. You know, keeping you alive in situations similar to last night?”

You roll your eyes, throwing your head back. “Get to the point, Jimin.”

“I refuse to hire just anyone,” he says with a serious look on his face. “I won’t do it and risk you getting shot dead. It took us months to hire and train Hank and you want me to find someone to fill the role in two weeks? That’s not just crazy; that’s stupid.”

You grit your teeth, fingers flexing and unflexing. Anyone else who would speak to you like that would not still be standing as sturdily as Jimin is in that moment, holding his own almost like he’s the boss reprimanding you. But to your credit, you sit there in silence; one of Jimin’s many skills is to make you listen and you trust him enough to do so without protest.

“Fine, then,” you concede, although your tone of voice is still very forceful. “We’ll hire a temporary one, then, if that makes you feel better. Someone good enough for the meeting in two weeks. Someone who won’t need much training but has enough experience to handle something like that.”

“Something like what? A meeting between two underground groups to exchange illegal material for cases of cash?” Jimin writes something in his notebook, arching an eyebrow as he speaks. “Noted. I have doubts but I’ll keep my eyes peeled and in the meantime find someone long term.”

He gives you a condescending smirk and waltzes right out. Just as you thought you were finished dealing with him, he pops his head back in. “Gang things may not sound appealing. Shall I fish them with a higher salary?”

“Do whatever you need to, Jimin,” you reply impatiently, waving your hand at him. “Just go away.”

“Neatto,” he chimes, disappearing again.

Around noon, as Jimin predicted, the front page of most major online newspapers are covering the same story: “Mass murder, arson; the dragon has fallen”. Fancy news title to report on the demise of a mafia group but it is what it is. The shootout at the parking garage, however, wasn’t even mentioned anywhere. You don’t even bother reading the rest of it, clicking away to focus on other more important things, like the arrival of the goods for the Sumiyoshi next week. Customs a bitch to deal with but you have your strings to pull.

You don’t hear from Jimin the rest of the day and that’s fine. It means that work is progressing smoothly and your only hope is for him to find candidates for the open position. You consider rehiring Hank but that would bruise your ego so you squash the idea. For now. If the Ryuukais were bad, the Sumiyoshi would be even worse and a head of security would give the peace of mind you’d need and also a sort of deterrent as well for any fuckery they planned.

You can’t trust those men and the moment they think they see an opening, they’d take it. They can’t stand having to bow to a woman but you rule the diamond business in this part of the world and they have no other reasonable choices. You are known to be fair and trustworthy, an empire you took years to build, carving in your name after you took over from your grandfather. You’re more of a businesswoman than a gang leader but taking over the business meant you had to take over every aspect of it; the good, the bad and the shady illegal shit that you only discovered after signing the handover agreement.

You rub your eyes with your fingertips. You rarely feel sorry for yourself. Why should you? You live in a luxurious apartment that has 24-hour heavy security, you have a driver most times, your status gives you a free pass almost always, money is just a means of transaction that you’ve never hesitated to blow off if you needed to, and power over all the right people. Your business is as clean as you can keep it, you don’t have blood on your hands. Some deals are a little under the table, yes, but nowhere near the same category as the groups and gangs you deal with. You are, technically, legitimate. So why do you feel so shackled?

People your age are married with kids these days, happy as they lived their lives like any normal person would. See, you want kids. Someday. But your life doesn’t have any space for even a lover. They are a hindrance, a bargaining chip that can easily be used against you. And they’re rarely ever loyal, not when to die for love’ could be literal in your world. No one actually means it when they say it.

Then, like always when you think about the topic, Hoya’s face floats in front of your eyes; that cheeky glint in his eyes behind the mask, the parted lips with his tongue just slightly sticking out, enough for you to imagine things with it and the long, slender fingers that you’ve fantasise about doing more than just sticking them in your mouth. You shake your head to clear away the dirty thoughts creeping in. No, I’m at work! You slap your cheeks a few times and return back to the computer screen.

It’s not until the end of the week when Jimin informs you, with an unamused look on his face, that so far there were only three applicants and one of them is totally a reject because the guy is fresh out of college looking for a lucrative part time job before he leaves for Australia.

“So that leaves us with two,” Jimin is saying, the iPad completely hiding his face from where you sit. “I’ve talked to them both. One has a military background. A captain in Iraq. Came back and currently working as a mall night security guard. Has PTSD so can’t commit to a nine to five. Looks promising but he has teenage kids and a dead wife.”

“And the other one?”

Jimin shakes his head. “I don’t really like this one.”

“Why not?” You frown, curious.

Jimin sighs. “Well, for one, the only good thing going for him is that he has multiple martial arts skills - judo, taekwondo, karate. This guy needs a new hobby.”

“So what’s wrong about him? Those are useful in this industry,” you say, sitting back in your chair and swinging it from side to side.

“What’s wrong about him is that he’s in his mid-twenties but no full time job to account for,” Jimin answers as he scrolls through the man’s resume. “He graduated in economics, worked part time at a bar for a few months and then nothing. Said he does small freelance gigs here and there but won’t say what. I don’t like him.”

You laugh. “Pretty sure you can run a background check on him easily.”

“I know but it’s suspicious. I don’t like someone who I can’t read,” Jimin retorts. “I say go with the vet and then after the meeting we’ll reassess if we’d want to keep him. I’ll keep the job posting up in case we’d get better candidates.”

You mull over the information Jimin has provided you. The military vet does seem to be the obvious choice; he has experience and skills a head security needs but the fact that he’s the only thing standing in between whether his kids will grow up with one parent or end up in foster care makes everything a tad bit harder. That, or the fact that his kids could also be used as leverage by the enemies. Not a pretty thought but, again, it has happened.

On the other hand, Jimin is correct about the martial arts guy. A person who has something to hide could be detrimental to you and the company. He has a good education but no job worth of note. Now, in the normal world, it would be understandable that not everyone is lucky enough but in your life, it’s a red flag. Your enemies are always finding ways to get close to you and you can’t risk being negligent now.

But you’re running out of time.

You nod your head and turn to your secretary. “Alright, then. Give it to the vet. Have him report in on Monday morning.”

Jimin beams. “Consider it done.”

On Monday morning, you walk into the office and are met with a sour-faced Jimin talking heatedly on the phone in the corner of the pantry area. When he sees you, he ends the call and strides over. “He’s not coming,” he huffs.

“Who’s not coming?”

“The vet guy,” he explains bitterly. “Apparently his friend got him a job on the weekend and he felt better to go with the other option.”

“And you told him off on the phone?” You arched an eyebrow at him, incredulous.

Jimin looks confused. “What? No, that wasn’t him. That was the recruiter.” He rolls his eyes and you have the urge to call him an old man but don’t. “Anyway,” he sighs, “I’ve asked the other candidate to come in at ten for a “final” interview.” Jimin makes air quotes with his fingers. “Figured we can talk to him and then see how it goes.”

You stare at the clock. “That’s in thirty minutes.”

Jimin curses, checking his watch. “Fuck!”

“Are you okay? You seem out of sorts today,” you ask, walking over to the coffee machine.

“Are you serious right now?”

You look at him, the coffee machine whirring in the background. “What?”

“Didn’t you see the email I sent you last night?”

“No. Why?”

Jimin looks a little pale. “It’s on your desk,” he says dryly, raising his phone to his ears. “I’ll just go and make sure the guy comes in today.” He walks out of the pantry talking on the phone, his voice harsh and cold to whoever he’s speaking to. You carry your coffee mug into your office and make a straight beeline to the single sheet of paper placed in the middle of it. You pick it up and read through Jimin’s cursive handwriting.

“Sonofabitch!”

***

Jung Hoseok walks into the huge office feeling only slightly intimidated by the large windows and the fact that he was literally three hundred metres above ground. He involuntarily shivers.

“Hi,” he says as he approaches the man dressed in a three-piece suit. The man looks up and smiles and Hoseok is immediately taken aback by how pretty he looks. He clears his throat and continues, “I’m here for the interview.”

“Jung Hoseok?” Jimin asks, though already knowing the answer. He looks the tall man up and down, dressed in a full suit minus a tie; a little odd considering this is an interview.

Hoseok nods. He notices the other man staring at his bare collar and consciously tug at it. “I forgot it. Hope it won’t affect the interview,” Hoseok mumbles, not meaning any word of it. He hates ties, plain and simple.

Jimin stands up and offers his hand. “No worries. We’re not that conventional. I’m Park Jimin, the secretary.” He notices how Hoseok’s eyes grow infinitesimally wider at that but continues, “Please have a seat while I let the boss know you’re here. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“No problem. I was in the neighbourhood,” Hoseok replies as he follows Jimin to a lounge chair outside a set of oak double doors. Another lie. He just needed the job and would think about the multiple traffic rules he broke on the way over later. Hoseok watches as the secretary disappears behind the double doors as he sits down. He strains his ear to hear beyond it but no sound comes through.

Hoseok takes this time to compose his thoughts, running through his head the things that he thinks would be good to say. A temporary head of security position and with his lack of experience, he’s very surprised (and very suspicious) that he even got a callback, never mind a final face-to-face interview directly with the boss. Judging by the place and the very vague ad, he has an idea what sort of man he’d have to keep safe; old, filthy rich with probably illegal money, and most possibly a narcissist. All the top dogs are usually one, especially when their office is this fucking high up in the sky. Why can’t it be something more grounded, for fuck’s sake?

Never mind, he just needs the money. All he has to do is smile and agree to everything the old geezer says and tells him to do. It’s temporary anyway. No biggie.

The oak door opens and Jimin steps out. He gestures to the door. “The boss is ready for you. Go on in.”

Hoseok stands up and takes a few deep breaths. Jimin eyes him, not even hiding the fact that he’s watching the taller man with as much interest as a lion has its prey. The small smile on the secretary’s face is starting to grate Hoseok the wrong way but he straightens himself up and walks past him and into the room without another look.

Jimin waltzes back to his desk, whistling. “Whew, I do sure hope he aces the interview,” he whispers to himself.

Inside, Hoseok is looking around the massive room. Everything about it screams old, rich man smoking cigars his whole life; the dark mahogany desk, the shelves of thick books on economics, world history, business, diamonds and a few others that looked to be in Italian and Japanese, the bare mantelpiece with a couple of plagues to certify that the business is legit. No ashtray, though. The office has a warm brown tone, calming but, again, confirms his earlier assumptions. On the bright side, it also means that the money promised on the ad is something he can expect if he gets the job, an amount that would definitely give him the life that he so desperately wants.

The office is empty and it takes him a while to register the water running in a connecting restroom. He stands in front of the desk, hands clasped in front of him, and waits patiently. He has to give a good impression. This job will be his one ticket to freedom.

The restroom door opens and he turns around, expecting an elderly man with an extended stomach to waddle out. At the sight of you, in a light grey suit with an open top white blouse underneath, Hoseok stumbles backward, hitting one of the chairs behind him, making it scrape back noisily.

“Sorry for the wait,” you say, walking to the other side of the desk. “I just needed to freshen up. Hectic morning. Please, have a seat.”

Hoseok looks around the room again, waiting for someone else to come in. You watch him, a small sarcastic smile on your lips. “Are you looking for someone?”

Hoseok looks back at you, eyebrows furrowed. “I thought-”

His eyes fall on the nameplate in front of him with the title Chief Executive Officer above your name. He looks at you then down at the nameplate and then back at you. You sit back in your chair, watching, amused. “You thought a woman can’t be the boss?”

There’s no contrition on Hoseok’s face, no embarrassment of sorts for having had that sexist thought right in front of a prospective employer. He just looked genuinely confused and then he shrugs, sitting down. “I just had a different idea initially,” he finally says, unbuttoning his suit jacket and crossing his legs at the knee. Five seconds later, he uncrosses it and sits up straighter.

“You’re not used to this, are you?” you ask, tilting your head, observing him.

Hoseok doesn’t answer, his face remaining passive.

You lean your elbows on the desk, steepling your fingers together. “Tell me, what sort of jobs have you had before,” you glance at the resume in front of you, “Jung Hoseok?”

“Different things,” he says casually. “A little bit of this and that.”

You eye him. A small part of you is annoyed by his rudeness but a bigger part of you is actually curious, dying to know what a handsome man like him does for a living that he’s not comfortable in this formal setting. You notice his slender, pretty fingers lightly drumming against his knee while the other hand rests against his cheek, looking at you like he’s the one conducting the interview instead. It’s somewhat angering and yet oddly amusing, like you wanted to see more of this devil-may-care behaviour of his.

“I need specifics, Mr Jung,” you say. “I can’t hire someone I don’t know anything about and your resume,” you lift it up, “is pretty much empty. I don’t know what impression you got of our company but I can assure you I have high standards.”

He looks pointedly at you. “Then why did you request me to come in?”

You blink at him, dumbfounded. “Well, touché,” you laugh lightly, sitting back again. “To be honest, I was attracted by your martial art skills and I’m impressed. I think it will be useful for this position.”

Hoseok slides lower in his seat and spreads his legs in the typical way a man sits. He leans an elbow against the arm of the chair, resting his head lightly on three fingers. Suddenly, you lost your train of thoughts. Something about the way he sits, down to the tapping forefinger against the side of his temple, seems familiar. The set jaws, the serious lips and the tinge of iciness in his eyes; all seem to be ringing a bell in the back of your mind. Especially the eyes. Where have you seen it before?

“If it’s only the martial arts, then you won’t need to know my work history,” he says, his tone of voice cool and even with a touch of airiness that makes you think you’re beneath him. “But if you must know, I work part time as a judo instructor at a gym near my place.”

You glance at the piece of paper in your hand. It’s the only information available there and it doesn’t answer your question. You glare at him but he continues to speak. “Other than that I just do a bit of odd jobs here and there. I didn’t think it would be relevant nor make a good impression so I just left them out.”

“What kind of odd jobs?” you push, narrowing your eyes.

He returns your look coolly and takes five whole seconds before answering. “A bit of bartending, a bit of labour work. Different things like that.”

Outside, Jimin is pouring over the short email he had just received. The background check on Jung Hoseok doesn’t yield much information either, only that he was recruited into a hospitality agency and currently still is an employee there. Jimin Googled the agency but all that comes out is that it’s an outsourcing company, supplying workers to a variety of clients ranging from construction companies to restaurants and bars. He guesses the man wasn’t lying after all. He calls up the agency and speaks to an admin, taking out his pen to jot down in his trusty notebook.

In the office, you check Hoseok’s resume again. “It says here you went to college and graduated with a degree in economics. You’ve been part-timing since then?”

*Yes,” he answers curtly.

“Is there any particular reason for that?”

“The economy is shit these days,” he mutters out. “Look,” he sits up straighter, getting honestly tired of this whole thing, “I’m not here to bullshit with you. I need the money. If you think my martial arts skill will be good for the position, then hire me. If not, let me know so I can get to the next interview.”

You sit there, mouth agape at his audacity. “You’re the one who needs the job, you know,” you retort back, getting angry. “Would it kill you to at least pretend to be nice?”

Hoseok sighs, scratching the side of his head. “Would that make it easier for you?”

“Yes!” You give him an incredulous look but also surprised at yourself for actually answering him. What the hell is wrong with him? “What’s your problem, man?”

Now it’s his turn to look a little shocked, raising his eyebrows at you. Collecting himself, he stands up. “Look, this is a temporary position, right? Just until the end of this week? I’ll lay it out for you: I’m good at kicking ass and I know how to handle a firearm.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I served in the military for eighteen months.”

You scan the resume again. “Then why the hell didn’t you put it here?”

He rolls his eyes. “Because I’m Korean and it’s just a mandatory requirement. It wouldn’t have mattered here.”

“What? Of course it matters! Especially in the job position you’re applying for!” You’re standing up, too, absolutely frustrated with him. “Why did you even bother coming in if this is the attitude you’re giving?”

“Because I needed the job,” he shrugs, answering.

“That’s a rhetorical question!”

He frowns at you as if you’re the one not making any sense. He puts a fist against his hip, looking like he’s ready to walk out the door, and asks, “Do you want me or not?”

Un-fucking-believable. Never in your life have you ever met someone so audacious, so frustrating, so full of himself, and you deal with drug lords and gang leaders and mafias and all sorts of the lowest of lows and yet here you are, amazed by this one man’s ability to rile you up. None of those groups of people that you do business with, shady or not, have ever spoken to you the way he did, with no regards of the consequences whatsoever, and they rule the underworld with iron fists. Even they have respect for you!

Hoseok watches you fluster, your face turning red, your eyes glazing over with what looks like tears, your fists clenching and unclenching as your mouth works to form words. Watching you like that, something tweaks at his heart and he feels just a tad bit guilty. He sighs and throws his gaze out the huge window overlooking the city.

Hoseok is not one to feel sorry for anybody because he grew up with no one feeling sorry for him. That part of him never wired right so for him to actually feel a little sympathy for you is new and honestly, he’s not all too sure what to do about it. He shifts his gaze back to you. “Does the position mean I have to answer to you?”

You grit your teeth. “Yes.”

“Do I have a say in any decisions?”

You think before answering through a strained voice, “Yes, if it’s pertaining to my safety. You can make the call.”

Hoseok looks around the room as if looking for some hints of what the job might actually entail. He notices the many books on diamonds and rocks but other than that, there’s nothing. “Do I have to kill people?” he asks.

You hesitate, shuffling from one foot to the other. You square your shoulders and answer, “Only if and when it’s necessary.”

Hoseok nods quietly to himself, looking down to the plush carpet under his feet as if he’s weighing the pros and cons of it all. He looks up again and his face is more determined. “Do I have to wear a stupid suit?”

You almost laugh but stifle it, schooling your face to look impassive. “Haven’t you seen bodyguards before?” When he doesn’t answer but just stares back at you unfazed, you add, “Never mind. I do expect some sort of professionalism and cleanliness, though. What you have on now is fine.”

“I’m not going to wear any damn ties,” he snaps and it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“Whatever. You start tomorrow.”

You call for Jimin to come in with the employment contract and five minutes later, Jung Hoseok is signing the papers without even looking past the salary offered. He doesn’t even ask about the NDA paperworks nor does he even ask about the one-page loyalty pledge that would have him sign away every right he has over his own life, assets and name should he ever risk, betray, or act insubordinate in any way that could cost your life or the company’s. You and Jimin exchange glances a few times, the regret starting to sink in in the pit of your stomach but you remain quiet throughout the ordeal.

When Hoseok finally left, Jimin stormed straight into your office and raised both arms into the air. “What the fuck was that?”

You’re pinching the bridge of your nose. “No idea. Don’t ask. I feel like I’ve just been bullied into hiring someone and I’m already regretting the decision.”

Jimin narrows his eyes at you. “Well, good thing it’s only temporary because girl, you’re honestly losing it.”

“Did you find anything on him?” you ask through a scowl.

Jimin pouts. “Apart from him being a tall glass of water I would definitely slurp empty, nope. Nada. He’s listed on one of those agencies that outsource workers, that’s about it.”

“Explains the odd jobs,” you mumble. “Find me an actual, qualified person with experience this time, Jimin. We’re getting rid of him after the meeting. Fuck!” You let out a loud frustrated sigh. “I can’t fucking believe they move the meeting to this Friday, fucking bastards.”

*~*

Hoseok comes in pretty early the next day, the same time as Jimin walks out of the elevator and sees him in the pantry, a cup of iced coffee in one hand, scowling at something in the direction of the window.

“Morning,” chirps Jimin cheerily, joining the new hire. He’s in a dark pair of jeans, Chelsea boots, and a dark crisp shirt under his unbuttoned suit jacket. Jimin can clearly see the top of Hoseok’s chest by how many buttons he disregarded; not professional but not something Jimin is going to complain about, especially when he can sneak a peek at the hint of a tattoo there on the left side.

Hoseok doesn’t respond to Jimin but only mildly nods his way. He finally turns away from the window but his eyebrows are still furrowed. “When does she usually come in?”

Jimin glances at the clock. “Around this time. She’ll be here soon and it’s My Lady to you, newbie.”

“You call her that?” Hoseok asks, stirring his coffee with his straw.

Jimin snorts. “The others do. I don’t but we have a long history. You, on the other hand, should know your place.”

“Who should know whose place?” you ask, walking into the pantry.

Jimin hands you your steaming cup of coffee and walks out, saying from over his shoulder, “Ask the newbie.”

You raise your eyebrows at Hoseok but the man just shrugs and walks out after the secretary, leaving you standing there completely clueless. Honestly, you might as well just do a whole reorg because what the hell is with this attitude? You’re their boss!

***

Hoseok spent his first day in hours of briefing with you, Jimin and another person simply referred to as ‘The Coordinator’, who talked mostly about the people or businesses they deal with and honestly, Hoseok barely listened.

Once the one-day onboarding process was finished, the only thing Hoseok fully understood was the reason why the salary was so high it was ridiculous. And also why you needed a head of security. He’s basically a personal bodyguard that has his own team of seven to direct and manage. His one and only job is to stick close to you like gum and make sure you remain alive for the length of his contract period, which isn’t all that long considering he’s mainly hired for the big meeting on Friday, three days away. Easy.

Now, Hoseok might not have listened to any of the lectures he was subjected to but he had been highly attuned to you, reading your body language and facial expression, mainly because he was curious as to why a woman like you is in a business like this. Whatever this big meeting is on Friday, it’s so important to you that you barely sat still. He understood the desperation of hiring him for only four days in total just by the way you chew on your lips and shake your knees as Jimin and the The Coordinator explained to him all about what’s supposed to go down with this big, bad group called, the Sumiyoshi.

At the end of the day, while Hoseok retreats to the restroom, you and Jimin convene together to talk about, well, about him.

“I still don’t like him but hot damn he’s a whole meal,” Jimin says as he leans closer to your face to make sure no other ears are listening. “I say we just keep him on as a pseudo bodyguard after the meeting. I’d appreciate eye candy at the office.”

You nudge him with your elbow hard enough he tilts sideways. “First of all, that’ll be sexual harassment of lusting over your coworker. Second of all, I completely agree with you. Although…”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Although what?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head. “Just feel like I’ve seen him from somewhere before. There’s something about those eyes.”

Jimin snorts. “You mean those mean looking eyes that could undress you with one look?”

You swat at his arm and Jimin laughs. “Admit it. You feel it, too. Like he’s judging everybody.” He exaggerates a shiver and then one look at your crimson cheeks he gasps. “Wait a minute, I didn’t mean that kind of undressing, you dirty girl!”

Hoseok walks in with a glum look on his face and frowns at the two of you laughing together. For some reason, it irks him to see Jimin’s hand casually over yours and you leaning into his side. You both straighten up at the sight of him.

“What happened?” you ask, spotting his wet shirt.

“The sink attacked me,” he replies solemnly, heading over to grab some paper towels from the pantry. You and Jimin look at each other before you follow Hoseok out and Jimin goes back to his desk.

“I’m doubting your ability to fill this position,” you say as you walk into the pantry to Hoseok’s futile attempts at dabbing at his shirt.

“Why’s that?” he asks, nonchalant, not even looking up.

“Well,” you start, standing in front of him and removing his hands to see the damage, “you can’t even handle a sink, so…” you give him a wry smile before gesturing to a closet in the corner. “There’s some extra shirts in there. There should be something that could fit you.”

Hoseok walks over to the closet. “You guys have a shirt closet at the office?”

You shrug. “For emergencies,” you answer, thinking about all the times your men came back from an awry meeting having to get rid of their blood-soaked clothes or to not smell of gunsmoke before going home to their families. Most of those times, that shirt closet saved them from a lot of headaches to deal with, especially your team of lawyers.

To your surprise, Hoseok takes off his shirt on the spot, his broad shoulders in full display. “What the hell? You could have gone into the restroom, for fuck’s sake!” you cry out, going over to the pantry door and shutting it.

Hoseok turns around while still unbuttoning the fresh shirt. What’s even more surprising than him stripping half naked in the pantry is the fact that there’s a playful, sarcastic smile on his lips as he looks at you. “You’ve never seen a man’s torso before, My Lady?”

The way he calls you My Lady was in no way respectful. It was teasing, taunting, arrogant. You cross your arms over your chest, standing a little bit taller. “As a matter of fact, I have. And I’m speaking for the rest of the office. No one wants to see you half naked, Jung Hoseok.” But that’s a complete lie. You can count at least two people who would want to, Jimin being the other person.

You can’t help but stare at the very visible abs, the bellybutton peeking just above the belt around his waist, the wide chest, the tattoo on- wait a second. Your eyes zone in on the tattoo symbol on the left side of his chest and your heart starts racing. Hoseok notices where you’re looking and he hurries to pull the shirt over his head instead, turning away towards the huge window to finish buttoning up everything except for the last ones around the collar.

“That tattoo,” he hears you mutter from behind him.

He finally turns back around, feigning nonchalance once again and picks up his own wet shirt from the floor. “What about it?”

You stare at him, not knowing what to say. If you tell him you recognise it, then you’d have to explain where you’ve seen it before and your employee doesn't need to know what kind of magazines you subscribe to. But those eyes, it’s starting to dawn on you why they’re so familiar, having looked at them almost every night before sleep. And it’s not just those eyes that you’ve been looking at, too. Holy fucking shit.

What did you tell Jimin earlier? That it’s sexual harassment to lust over a coworker? You can feel your whole face on fire as you whirl on your heels and walk off, marching past Jimin who gives you a weird look, before slamming your office door behind you.

You lean against the door, heaving. What in the actual fuck? Jung Hoseok is Hoya?!

*~*

You are acting weird, Jimin thinks.

The rest of that Tuesday, you shut yourself in your office and only came out at the end of the day, not a word to anybody, not even Jimin himself. You zoomed past him and quickly left, leaving Hoseok standing there, looking at him as he had all the answers regarding you because Hoseok was supposed to escort you home. That was part of his job scopes. Well, Jimin didn’t have any answers that day and he dismissed Hoseok for the day.

Today, again, you hole up in the office, not even meeting Jimin in the morning in the pantry as usual, only allowing Jimin to come in and out for business purposes only. Jimin chalks it up to you being under stress. The package delivery is on its way and it’s a very high risk time window; anything could go wrong in between the cargo being loaded up into the plane and for it to arrive into your hands. But something else isn’t adding up: you refuse to even acknowledge Hoseok, your head of security, and requested that any communication between them go through Jimin. A pain in the ass because he has other things to deal with but he kept his mouth shut the whole morning.

You, on the other hand, are a complete mess. The package delivery be damned, your whole integrity is about to implode and you have high suspicions that Hoseok knows that you know because you’ve made a fool of yourself by making it obvious. The good thing is, he hasn’t come outright to ask you about it.

Why the hell didn’t that info come up on the background check? Did Jimin fuck up? Or was Hoseok just that good at hiding his side gig? I mean, he does go by a stage name and not listing that job only meant he had wanted to keep things separate but oh my god, how do you keep things separate when the person you’ve been masturbating to is the person on your payroll?! That’s completely unethical! It makes you such a hypocrite, too, if you confide in Jimin about this whole thing and you rather keep to yourself than be laughed at for the rest of your life.

That’s it. That’s what you’ll do. Just keep it to yourself the same way Hoseok is keeping that part of his life a secret. Pretend that everything is fine and dandy. You can do that. You slump in your seat and bury your face in your hands, groaning inwardly. And just like that, an image of your favourite Hoya poster pops in front of your eyes, cock and all, and you scream and stand up.

Jimin opens the door, eyebrows furrowed so deeply they almost merged. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to the delivery?”

The door is pushed open wider and Hoseok peers from behind Jimin’s shoulder, curious, hands in his pockets. Suddenly, his top disappears from your mind and all you can see is the smooth skin of his body and that hope tattoo on his chest. You can even pick out the veins running along his neck, picturing yourself tracing kisses down it, going further south-

“Earth to y/n!” Jimin calls out, coming over to the desk to look at you more closely. The door swings open wider and Hoseok steps in, leaning against the wall of the office, crossing his legs by the ankle. “What is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” you squeak out finally. Clearing your throat, you try again. “Nothing. I’m just- just stressed out. The usual. You know how these times are for me.” You pretend to shuffle around some papers on your desk and Jimin only narrows his eyes.

“The delivery is going as planned,” Hoseok says coolly, his voice even. “My team is monitoring it closely. There shouldn’t be any worry. My Lady.”

You don’t look at him, looking at the spot on the wall next to his head instead and nod. “Right. Good, good.” You swallow, noticing, or probably imagining that strange tone he used to call you ‘my lady’. Most of your men call you that, it’s nothing new, nothing strange. But him? Why does it bother you so much? Maybe because you’ve seen him fucking naked.

“I’m going out to lunch,” you announce, gathering your things.

“Really?” Jimin arches an eyebrow, genuinely perplexed by your behaviour and bordering on worry. “Is it safe to be out and about now? Delivery time is a sensitive one, you usually lay low. I can have your lunch delivered. What would you like?”

“No, no. I need to get some fresh air,” you retort, picking up your bag and rushing for the exit, taking the emergency stairs instead of waiting for the elevator.

Jimin and Hoseok glance at each other. Hoseok pushes off the wall and heads out. “I’ll take care of it,” he says without turning around.

Jimin follows him out to the elevator, still wondering about you. “Bring her back in one piece, Jung.”

The elevator arrives and Hoseok steps in. He gives Jimin a blase two-finger salute before the doors close. As Jimin is about to go back, he notices another odd thing: Hoseok is not going all the way down but only to the level five floors below. Jimin snorts. He guesses the newbie is pretty reliable after all.

You only go as far as five floors down when you start to get breathless and your thighs ache and storming down the stairs in heels isn’t the best of ideas. You pause, leaning against the handrail for support when the emergency door behind you opens and Hoseok leans against one arm to prop it open. “Get out. We’re taking the elevator,” he orders, gesturing with his head. “Hurry before it leaves.”

You want to say no but the thought of going all the way down via the stairs when you’re this high up isn't appealing, crazy almost, so you oblige. In the elevator, both of you remain quiet. It’s a long ride down and it’s the most uncomfortable elevator moment you’ve ever had, cancelling out that one time you were stuck with the Italian mafia right-hand man who was obviously flirting in a language you couldn’t grasp but that you couldn’t say no outright because the deal hasn’t been made yet. And why is it so hot in here?

Finally they arrive and Hoseok pushes past you to lead the way to the waiting car, speaking through his in-ear walkie-talkie. Up in the office, you’ve only ever seen casual Hoseok, nonchalant and calm and looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But down here, where you’re exposed and Hoseok is in his security mode, he’s a complete one-eighty. His eyes are sharp and narrowed, his jaws set and his pace are brisk. He seems to take the role seriously, for someone hired for four days.

And he’s tall. Very tall, taller than you realise. You knew his height, have memorised the numbers in your head because it's basic information of your fantasy lover, but actually seeing it firsthand and being able to compare yourself to him (you barely come up to his shoulders), is different. You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. Focus, you tell yourself. I’m his motherfucking boss.

Throughout lunch and all the way back to the office, you had hoped that he would bring it up, the fact that he’s Hoya, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even ask you if you knew. He doesn’t speak more than he has to, only replying in curt replies, eyes always looking out and around. He seems to be very aware of his surroundings and you suddenly notice the bulge on his waist side; the company-issued firearm.

“It’s good that you’re taking the job seriously,” you say as you both ride the elevator up to the office, stomachs full and you feeling less out of control.

He gives you a dirty look as if you had offended him. “Of course I am.”

After a few minutes of silence, he adds, “I don’t know what kind of person you take me for, but I take my jobs seriously. You get what you pay for.”

You pull a face, confident you’re out of view standing slightly behind him. “Well, thank you for your service,” you remark, intending to sound sarcastic but Hoseok only shrugs, clearly seeing the face you make through the reflective surface of the elevator door.

Just then, Hoseok receives a message through his walkie-talkie that the package has arrived and passed immigration. He relays the message to you, who slump your shoulders as if the information weighs heavily on them. You lean against the back of the elevator, your face hardening, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Almost there,” he hears you mumble. Again, Hoseok feels the same pang of sympathy he had when they first met. He has so many questions to ask you, mainly how you got involved in this side of business but mostly he’s trying to tell himself not to care. The job is temporary and after Friday, he’ll walk out of this office with enough money to do what he had always dreamt of doing. Easy. Cut and dry. So why does the thought of never returning give him a heavy feeling in his chest?

Hoseok takes another look at you through the reflection. You’re leaning against the back wall, eyes staring at a spot somewhere on the carpet floor of the elevator. You’re thinking of something as your forehead creases over and you start biting on your bottom lip. A sudden urge fills him to whip around and pin you against the wall and kiss you hard enough your lips will bleed. But then your eyes look up to meet his and immediately you smile.

“I hope you’re ready for what’s to come, Jung Hoseok,” you say softly, pushing off the wall as the elevator pings. Gone was the troubled look on your face, replaced with the confidence of a person who knows a lot of things are depending on her ability to lead well. For a brief moment, Hoseok could clearly see the bodies you had stepped on to get here and he’s not sure if he’s disgusted by it or turned on.

He’ll find out soon enough.

*~*

Friday is finally here.

Hoseok has been away since Tuesday night; doing surveillance, putting tabs on the Sumiyoshi to make sure they’re not planning a surprise, investigating every square feet of the meeting location to make sure that nothing is planted and no sniper will camp on any buildings or high places on a thirty-mile radius, just to be safe. He had a whole manual book on what to do for these things and as much as he cursed every step of the way, Hoseok made sure he did everything right to the T.

After all, his head is on the line, too.

But also, he’s actually physically sick worrying about all the possibilities of what could go wrong. Hoseok isn’t one to show emotions; he hides them all behind a solid poker face, one he has been putting on these past couple of days whenever he has to see you or speak to Jimin. His hunch about you knowing about the magazine has been confirmed but he decided that if the issue should be addressed, it wouldn’t come from him and he bet you wouldn’t talk about it, too, because then you have to explain how you even know. It’s a niche market, a type of magazine you don’t just stumble upon by accident, though it does make him crazy curious if you actually subscribe to it. That would be interesting.

Friday morning, Hoseok rides the elevator up to the office and finds the place empty of the other usual employees. Instead, there’s a small group of men (and one woman) standing around speaking in a hush tone. All the desks are empty and there’s a sullen atmosphere in the air. The group looks up when he enters.

Jimin walks in, dressed in all black, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. He’s in dark jeans and not the usual three-piece. “Jung, you’re here. Good,” he says. To the group, he introduces Hoseok. “The new and temporary head of security. You can calm down, Vera.”

That’s when Hoseok sees the woman slide back the knife up her sleeves, nodding at him in acknowledgement. Hoseok joins to stand next to Jimin but he looks around once, searching for you. Jimin must have noticed and says, “She’s in her office, meditating. These are the couriers.”

“Where’s the package?” asks Hoseok.

Jimin gestures to your office doors. “In there.” To the one called Vera, he hands over a navy duffel bag. “Everything’s in there. You can count them if you want.”

Vera passes the bag over to the man on her left and he opens the zipper just an inch before nodding and zipping it back up. Vera offers a hand to Jimin. “Always nice doing business with you, Park,” she says in an accent Hoseok can’t quite place. “Although I have to warn you, the day we arrived we were tailed and it took awhile to shake them off. We didn’t get to identify them.”

Jimin’s face clouds over. “And were you tailed today?”

“No,” Vera snaps. “I made sure of that. But I advise you to keep your eyes open.” She looks pointedly at Hoseok.

They left and Hoseok goes off into the pantry to check in with his team via the radio while Jimin knocks on your door. He peeks in. “Ready when you are, boss.”

“And Hoseok?” you finish buttoning up your blouse over the Kevlar vest and turn around to Jimin.

“In the pantry. Checking in with the team,” replies Jimin. “Everything looks good.” Jimin approaches and helps you put on your jacket, subtly running his fingers over the vest to make sure everything is properly secured. “How do you feel today?”

Jimin’s voice is soft, a voice only reserved for times like this, when tomorrow feels unsure and Jimin will be left for hours at his desk for news on which protocol to follow: the Meredith Grey Protocol, to which he will have all the privately-hired doctors at the ready and set up lawyers to arrange NDAs as well as mobilise the clean up crew, or the Genocide Protocol for worst case scenarios. In the long existence of this company, the latter had been activated only once, the day your grandfather died and it wasn’t even by Jimin.

“Like I want to throw up,” you answer, letting Jimin fuss with the coat because you can feel him checking the vest. “I honestly feel the same way I did that time the lawyer came to my place to let me know I was about to carry on my grandfather’s business.”

Jimin chuckles. “I remember that day. We just graduated.”

You don’t respond.

Hoseok opens the door and his eyes narrow at Jimin. “The car’s here. We should get going.”

Jimin steps away, crossing his arms over his chest to hide how much his hands are shaking. “Good to go.”

“I can see the vest from here,” Hoseok states matter-of-factly. “Don’t you have darker-coloured tops?”

“Watch your tone, temp,” Jimin snarls but he goes into the restroom to rummage through the drawers in there. He comes out with a different blouse in hand and passes it over to you. The phone outside rings and Jimin rushes out to get it, forgetting to drag Hoseok out, too. Hoseok checks his watch; they’re running a minute late and yet you haven’t made any move to change. The vest being seen isn’t a big deal but it might convey the fact that you are expecting something to go bad, which communicates no trust towards the group you’re doing business with. Safety has to be done tactfully to ensure future relationships. Business is business.

Hoseok catches your fingers fumbling with the buttons of your blouse and he’s honestly a little irked. Aren’t you supposed to be some powerful mogul in the diamond business?

Getting impatient, Hoseok steps forward and roughly pulls off the coat from your shoulders, drapes it over his arm and deftly undo the buttons of your blouse. It’s not like you’re completely naked under there and you aren’t even objecting, merely standing there letting him do whatever.

“Get it together,” he hisses as he yanks the top from your arms. “ Is this what you want to show to your business partners, that you’re just a scared little girl?”

Your eyes flashes dangerously at him. You push him away much to his surprise and grab the blouse from him, putting it on over your head by undoing only a couple of the top buttons. You take the coat from him and take a deep breath. You round on him, poking a finger into his chest. “Don’t ever talk to me like that again.”

You walk out just as Jimin finishes the call. “Everybody’s on the move,” Jimin reports. If he notices the stormy look on your face, he leaves it for later, as a promise to himself that you will be back. “Good luck out there.”

You nod at him and force a smile. “Hold down the fort for me, will ya?”

Jimin doesn’t answer but watches you leave. As Hoseok is passing him, he pulls on the other man’s arm, making him stop and turn angrily. “You let anything happen to her, your ass is mine.”

Hoseok sneers at Jimin’s threat but takes it as an offence to his job albeit it being about to end at the end of the day, one way or another. “I’ll bring the princess back, don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he jabs back, turning around and walking out after you.

In the car, you are silent the whole ride. Hoseok sits in front, quietly listening to the reports of his team in his ear, noting bits and pieces of information that are important. So far, everything looks according to plan. He’s aware that the Sumiyoshi also have the same type of team keeping tabs on them the same way he is and that’s fine. As long as both parties play their parts well, neither of them will have anything to complain about and they all can go home safe and sound.

But Hoseok can’t quite get rid of this unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach, growing stronger as they get nearer to the meeting place. He tells himself that it’s just nerves but no matter how much he tries, he can’t completely get rid of it. He’s been pestering his team too much now that he can even hear the annoyance in their voices. In the end, he remains in his seat, fist tightly gripping the handle above his head.

The meeting place is an office space on the thirteenth floor of a building downtown. Bright open space with floor to ceiling windows at a three-sixty degree of the room, with other taller buildings surrounding it. The Sumiyoshi, as bad as they are, have a reputation of doing things in broad daylight, aware of the power they hold. Hoseok remains leading the way for you, making sure that you are always behind him at all times and three of his teammates in a circle around you; one on each side of you and one bringing up the rear.

The other four are off site, in a place where they are able to monitor all entrance and exit points as well as having a clear view of the room they are in. Hoseok has all their specific locations noted, casually glancing at the neighbouring buildings even though he can’t see them. The Sumiyoshi are already there; a total of eight of them, big burly men in suits with golden something on either their necks or their wrists or their fingers. There are only five of us, he thinks.

As you take your seat at the big table, Hoseok and his team remain standing behind you. Hoseok stands right next to your shoulder, close enough to touch but further enough for them to know that he’s only a bodyguard. He doesn’t even bother to hide the firearm on his side but the one under his right armpit is starting to feel uncomfortable.

The meeting starts smoothly; a little back and forth about the weather and the economics, a little bit about this really nice restaurant one of the men went to that they think you should really try, and a bit about home life thrown in, asking you if the behaviour of their wives are all normal or if they were all crazy chicks just after the money.

Through all the topics, Hoseok watches you smile politely, laugh softly at all the right places, agree with their views on how shit the economy is now, tell them that the restaurant sounds lovely and force a laugh at wives issues they are having, telling them you’re not married so you’re not sure if you know what normal is in that situation. All pleasantries and just about what they want to hear without involving yourself too much, just vague answers that sound a lot like agreements than you holding back your tongue. Smart, Hoseok thinks, and you do it so with ease; all signs that you really know how to spin these types of guys easily.

But it’s all just surface-level, both you and the eight men know. A little dance everybody does to keep things light before the real thing starts, and the real thing finally starts when the man sitting in the middle clears his throat and adjusts his sitting position. The atmosphere completely shifts and even Hoseok notices it, sucking in a breath and stiffening his spine, listening to his four men in his ear reporting the all clear, nothing suspicious. But his gut is acting up again and he has to clasp his hands together to keep still.

“Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?” the man in the middle speaks, leaning over the table. “Do you have it?”

A part of Hoseok wonders why buying diamonds has to be so shifty like this. They’re just diamonds, you can walk into any jewellery store and get them. He never really thought about it much before but being in this meeting is starting to make him wonder the origin of the diamonds. Why do these men buy diamonds from you? Are they illegal? Why? And why are you involved in this business?

You lean back in your seat, a soft smile on your lips. “Of course I do, Kenji-san. The question is, do you have the payment method ready?”

The man called Kenji breaks into a wide smile and the man next to him brings up a small briefcase and places it on the table in front of him. He taps it. “All in here, sweetheart.”

“You know I hate pet names,” you say sweetly. “But I’ll let it slide this time.” You gesture to Hoseok to get the briefcase but Kenji stops him.

“The merchandise first, sweetheart,” he drawls, his tone losing the pleasantness just seconds ago.

You return his gaze, unmoving, and Hoseok is on high alert, waiting for any signal from you. Your face is completely blank of any emotions but your eyes are calculative, narrowing ever so slightly that Hoseok would probably not have seen it if he hadn’t been keeping his eyes on you. With his hand behind his back, he signals the others to stay alert, something he didn’t actually have to do because unlike him, they are not new.

You stretch out a palm to Hoseok. “Your knife, please, Hoseok.”

The eight men stiffen up, sitting straight in their seats at the mention of a knife. You giggle quietly. “Relax, guys,” you say, taking the knife Hoseok passes over from his ankle strap and pulling open the right side of your coat. With one swift swipe, you make a slit and pull out a small velvet bag. You dangle it in front of you and Hoseok can hear the small stones inside. His heart is starting to beat a little faster.

One of the Sumiyoshi’s men stands up from his seat and Hoseok glares at him. The man looks coolly back at him with a crooked smile. He reaches for the briefcase and takes a few steps forward just as you stand up. Hoseok follows you as you approach the man and he can feel all the hairs on his neck rise up. He has this tingling feeling creeping down his back and everything in his being is telling him to make a break for it, pull you away and out of this building right this second.

You nod for Hoseok to take the briefcase being handed over and he does, palms sweating. Just as the man wraps his beefy hand around the velvet pouch, he lets go of the briefcase and both you and Hoseok step back almost casually, away from the man’s reach. As if a gun couldn’t do what his hands couldn’t, Hoseok thinks darkly, but relief all the same as he literally pulls you by your coat back to your seat.

Hoseok watches as the pouch trades hands to Kenji who unlaces it and tips the content into the palm of his hand and immediately Hoseok understands. The diamonds are raw diamonds, uncut and untraceable, and mostly, very much illegal. Although the price of raw diamonds is cheap, the fact that it’s unregistered gives the owner an infinite capacity to manipulate them. The business isn’t about money at all; it’s about power. The handle of the briefcase burns that much hotter in Hoseok’s hand and he’s confident he won’t find cash inside. It’s too light anyway.

You lean over and take the briefcase from him, setting it on the table. Opening it, you reveal the content inside for Hoseok to see. A single envelope lays in the middle, thin and white, and you take it and pull out the paper inside. Hoseok glances at it. It’s a list of names, none of which Hoseok recognises. You fold the paper into a tiny square before slipping it into the same opened seam from where the diamond was hidden earlier and one pull at a thread, the pocket closes up nicely.

“It’s nice doing business with you, sweetheart,” Kenji says as he puts away the diamonds.

“Likewise,” you reply with a smile, closing the briefcase and sliding it back across the table. “If there’s nothing else, then I better get going.”

“Did you hear about the Ryuukais?”

You pause and raise your eyes to look at Kenji. “Unfortunate, yes.”

“Mhmm.” Kenji places a cigar in between his lips, sits back, cuts the tip and lights it up. He blows out a puff of smoke before saying, “Didn’t you wrap up a deal with them just the night before?”

You don’t respond, training your face to remain calm. There’s a small smile on your lips bordering on acidic, looking nowhere near as sweet as it did earlier. “Yes, I did, actually.”

“How did it go?”

Hoseok watches your jaw ticks before you answer. “We both know I can’t disclose information about the businesses I deal with. It’s confidential.”

Hoseok doesn’t like the way the men are looking at you; eyes leery with a hint of amusement, like they know something Hoseok doesn’t, like they’re shared a joke earlier and are now recalling it in their heads. He steps closer to you. His men outside must have noticed as there’s a flurry of voices in his ear as they check the surrounding areas. They are trained to read body languages and Hoseok’s body language, through the lens of their snipers, is screaming danger.

“From what I heard it didn’t go very well,” he adds, puffing on the thick cigar. “I must say, should we ever come to a disagreement of sorts, would we be next?”

You smile at him but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I assure you it wasn’t just a disagreement, Kenji-san. As long as we remain cordial and honest, I can see our relationship going beyond into the future.”

Kenji looks at you, blinking lazily as if he’s contemplating on something. At that moment, you remember something; the Ryuukais and the Sumiyoshi are practically brothers. This isn’t going to go well. You had been so focused on the deal that you forgot this little detail and now it makes sense why they moved the meeting up. As much as you had been stressing about the meeting, they had also been eager to see you.

Fuck. How the fuck did you miss this?

Kenji stands up, the cigar in between his fingers. *I don’t know about our relationship going into the future,” he says as softly as if he’s talking about the weather.

Something passes over Hoseok’s eyes that makes him blink and the next thing he knows is looking at the faint red dot in the middle of your chest. He doesn’t even think about it, doesn’t even get to register what he’s doing until it’s done and he’s pinning you to the floor and the window to the side has burst into a million pieces. His men immediately go into cover and retrieve mode; fanning out on your sides, guns blazing, returning bullets with the eight men on the other end, hunkering down and using the table and chairs as shields.

Hoseok doesn’t wait for you to regain your balance, pulling up on your feet and dragging out of the room by the wrist before pulling you under his arm, using his jacket to shield your upper half as you both run across the room. He can hear the shouts of his snipers in his ears, exchanging information about the enemies location and readjusting their positions so they can cover your exit. Hoseok lunges for the emergency stairs and escorts you all the way down. As you both burst out into the lobby, you are met with a group of gunmen, not yours, but the Sumiyoshi’s, with their guns drawn.

Hoseok jumps forward, pushing you behind him and he starts shooting. The sound of guns going on ring in your ears and you see your car pulling up, bullets bouncing off of its bulletproof windows.

“Go, go, go!” Hoseok shouts angrily from over his shoulder and you run like hell, Hoseok close behind you. A bullet zips past you and bounces off the car’s body and you duck. It’s the exact moment when Hoseok comes flying into you, holding his abdomen. “Fuck,” he hisses, sitting up, grimacing, and continuing to shoot to the men now two left.

Panicking, you get the door open and attempt to drag Hoseok in but he’s too preoccupied to cooperate with you. When he realises what you’re trying to do, he pushes off onto his feet and walks backward to enter the car. He manages to half-turn and roughly shoves you in first that you tumble into the backseat. A bullet hits Hoseok on the neck and he screams as he’s flung backward. One final shot of Hoseok’s gun, the last man outside is thrown to the floor and you finally manage to pull the door closed, the car screeching away from the building.

In the silence of the car, with your ears still ringing, you shift to Hoseok, clamping down on the side of his neck, blood seeping from in between his fingers. First, you tore away his suit jacket, remembering that he had been shot in the stomach but there’s no signs of blood, except for the hole in his shirt. Then you see the Kevlar vest and actually sigh with relief. Hoseok groans in pain and you realise he still has a hole in his neck.

“Back to the office! Tell Jimin to have a doctor ready!” you scream at the driver, probably too loudly as you can’t quite hear your own voice, mostly from the panic in your chest, partly from the tinnitus that won’t go away. You help Hoseok clamp down over his hand, praying that they get there in time.

During the whole car ride back to the office, Hoseok’s eyes never left yours and for once since you met him, there was no iciness in them, just pure concern and worry, especially when he reaches over and touches the bleeding scratch on your cheek. “Sorry for that,” he croaks and you swat his hand away.

“Hush,” you chastise him, angry that he had the time to worry about a scratch when he’s bleeding out all over your car.

***

Jimin holds the door open as you help Hoseok into the office, alarmed at the sight of blood all over your hands and Hoseok’s.

“Have you sent in the retrieval team for the others?” you bark at Jimin under the weight of your Head of Security.

“They’re already on the way,” Jimin replies. “The doctor’s inside.” He rushes forward to help open the door to your private office before helping you transfer Hoseok into a chair. Dr. Min Yoongi steps up, gently prying your hand off of the bleeding area so he can take a look at Hoseok. There’s a lot of blood and he gets to work cleaning the wound area so he can see better.

He glances up at you. “I need you to move your ass and sit over there. You’re in the way, sis.”

Begrudgingly, you step back but don’t sit down, watching with eagle eyes as your brother works with a gauge and a pair of forceps to dab away the mess. Jimin turns you around and pats you all over. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You shrug him off, focused only on Hoseok, white as a sheet. “Go and make sure the others get back safely.”

Jimin looks reluctant to move but at least he’s made sure you’re fine. Finally, he walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. You go to sit in the chair next to Hoseok, who’s turned the other way to let Yoongi access the wound area. He hisses with every dab and once the place is clear enough, Yoongi releases a sigh.

“What? How bad is it?” you ask, sitting on the edge of your seat.

“It’s just a graze,” Yoongi explains with a scoff. “But it must have hit close to the main artery. I just need to close it off and he’ll be fine.”

Relief washes over you and you feel your limbs go weak. Thankfully, you’re in a chair already and slump backward, throwing your head back. Yoongi watches you carefully as he fixes up the other man, amused at the fact you care this much.

“Still hurts like a motherfucker,” Hoseok groans through gritted teeth.

Yoongi chuckles. “I’ve seen worse wounds. You’ll live.”

“Try and get shot at and let me know if you feel the same,” mumbles Hoseok and Yoongi only laughs. “Stay still, punk,” Yoongi tells him.

It doesn’t take long. Once the wound is patched up, the blood immediately stops and Yoongi administered him a shot for the pain because now that the adrenaline is gone, Hoseok is starting to ache everywhere. The spot where his bulletproof vest had been shot at is starting to bloom a nasty-looking bruise. All the while, you stayed by his side.

When Yoongi finishes and Hoseok has shuffled into your powder room to change into a fresh T-shirt, Yoongi pulls you aside as he packs up. “So, what’s up with the new guy?” At the surprised look on your face, he adds, “Jimin told me while we were waiting.”

“Oh.”

“Well?”

You give him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“You’re hovering over him,” says Yoongi with an eye-roll. “You never hover, never mind an employee.”

You frown at him. “He almost died protecting me.”

“First, he didn’t. It’s just a graze,” Yoongi corrects, counting on a finger, then adding another. “Second, that’s his job. Plus, I never see you fawn over Hank the same way.”

“I wasn’t fawning!” you retort, scowling as you watch Yoongi stuff his bags. “Was I?”

“Sis,” Yoongi laughs, zipping up his bag and going for the door. “Seriously, figure that out yourself. I’m going to wait outside for words about the others. From the sound of things, it’s not looking good and I might have to call in Jin for help. Wait, you’re not going to hover over the other men, right?”

You pull a face at him. “Get out.”

“You’re very welcome, sis,” he says sarcastically as he leaves.

“What was that about?”

You jump, whirling around to see Hoseok standing there, neck bandaged, touching the gauze gingerly. You approach him, eyeing the bandage to make sure Yoongi did a good job. Of course he did. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he answers, sitting down. Under the light of your office directly above him, you notice that you can see the hope tattoo through the T-shirt. Hoseok notices you looking at the spot on his chest. To redirect your attention, he asks, “You still have the vest on?”

You look down at yourself. “Oh, yeah.” You start to paw at the velcro of the vest but without taking off your own blouse, you wouldn’t be able to take the Kevlar off and for some reason, you keep struggling with it. Hoseok watches you silently for a few minutes, noting the faraway look in your eyes, the way your lower lip quivers and realises that you’re just coming down from the adrenaline now.

He stands up and walks over to you, as quietly as he can as you continue to struggle. Once he’s standing in front of you, just a foot apart, you finally look up and something squeezes Hoseok’s heart like a vice at the sight of your Bambi eyes. A sneak attack, he thinks, right after I’ve been shot. So unfair.

Without a word, Hoseok hooks his fingers around the hem of your blouse and pulls it off; he does it in slow motion, waiting every second for you to protest, to tell him to fuck off. But you don’t, standing there almost listlessly, letting him undress you. Then, he works on the Kevlar, strapping it off of you and throwing it into the chair where it lands heavily. Now, you’re both standing there, motionless; him with his wrapped neck, you in your bra.

Your eyes are glued to the spot where the tattoo on his chest is and this time you don’t bother to pretend ignorance. With tentative fingers, you reach out to touch it over the T-shirt and Hoseok lets you, watching you curiously. On a whim, he takes off the shirt and watches you stare, a little wide-eyed at the tattoo. There’s recognition in the way you’re looking at it and Hoseok’s confirmed on what he already knows.

You touch the tattoo, your finger hot on his skin. Again, call it a whim or call it immaturity because Hoseok is suddenly angry for whatever reason - probably from what just went down earlier, because as much as he has had experience with shooting a gun, he had never had to shoot at someone before and having it shot back in his direction, because target practice in the military don’t shoot back and he’s starting to feel that he wasn’t fully prepared for the whole shitshow - he presses your palm over the tattoo.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say something,” he hisses into your face. “I know you know.” You try to pull away but Hoseok holds you in place, taking one step forward and pinning you against the desk, anger surging. “I know you know who I am and I bet you’ve fantasised about me, too, in bed. Haven’t you?”

The anger swells up though he can’t quite pinpoint what the cause is. He’s angry that no one told him that he could die on the job? He’s angry at himself for being so lackadaisical about it when signing the damn employee contract? He’s angry at you for not saying anything and treating him for a fool, the same way you didn’t warn him that a meeting could go south in a blink of an eye? None of the reasons, if Hoseok was thinking clearly, made any sense because he’s not a child. But he’s angry all the same and he needs to direct it somewhere. He nearly fucking die, damn it!

You’re quiet, not saying anything, only looking back at him, breathing heavily. That only makes him angrier. “You have, haven’t you? When you realised who I was, did you fantasise about this, too? Hoya taking you on this desk, in this office?”

He’s squeezing the flesh on your side. “Answer me, goddammit!”

“I don’t,” you finally whisper.

“Liar!” he growls, face inches from yours. “Admit that you’ve been fantasising about him in your bed and how much you want him to fuck you right here!” He slams his fist into the desk. “Admit it!”

You meet his gaze. “I don’t. I don’t fantasise about Hoya.” In a lower voice as you look away, you add, “Not anymore.”

It feels like having to admit your deepest, darkest secret in public and you’ve never felt so humiliated. Forget about bruised egos, you wish the floor would just open up and swallow you whole. Your fantasy lover, your sweet, sexy Hoya has been slowly disintegrating in your mind the day you realised who Hoseok was, slowly, slowly replacing with images of the real person, Hoseok himself. Lusting for a coworker is sexual harassment, your own voice echoes in your head.

You hook a finger through a belt loop in his pants and pull him closer, crotch to crotch and immediately you can feel him, hard and poking against your pubic bone. Looking him in the eye, you say, “I don’t fantasise about Hoya.”

For a moment, Hoseok can’t comprehend what you’re saying; the fact that his cock is pressing up against you could be the main reason why his brains are scrambled. There’s a petulance in the look in your eyes and the way you’re looking at him challengingly, daring him to take the hint and act on it. Why are you doing this to him? Why do you make him so angry? Why is he so angry?

The fact that you did, in the past, had fantasised about the adult model leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth at the unfairness. Why does Hoya get everything? Even you, for a moment. “Why not?” he asks, genuinely curious. “Why not anymore?”

You lean on your tiptoes, pressing your palms against his chest, the spot where his cock is digging in searing hot. “Because,” you say, your breath falling on his lips. “I’ve been fantasising about you, Jung Hoseok. I don’t want Hoya anymore when I have the real thing right here.” You lean in closer. “But, I won’t do anything. I’m your boss.”

You push him away, catching him by surprise that he stumbles backward a few steps. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I-”

Hoseok grabs your wrist and wrenches you backward. “Actually,” he says, purring into your ear, “you’re not my boss anymore. As of five o’clock just now, my contract ended.”

You scowl at the clock on the wall: 5.01. You glance back at Hoseok, arching an eyebrow. “And?”

“Fuck, you make my blood boil,” he hisses, eyes glaring at you angrily, mouth connecting with yours without a warning, teeth gnashing together that you taste blood on your tongue the same way you can taste Hoseok’s overflowing emotions. You recognise it well, have gone through it in the past too many times too much after every gunfight. It’s not anger that he’s feeling but he probably hasn’t figured that out yet, confusing it with anger because that’s the emotion he knows and can place.

He’s still running on adrenaline, never switching off his fight-or-flight response and since he had been on fight mode to get you out of the situation earlier, he’s still there, but since there’s nothing to fight, he’s channelling it differently. To be honest, you’re still in that same haze, too, probably why you never fight him off when he kisses you, probably also why you pull him in closer, pressing your front up against him and letting him lift you up and plops you on the edge of the desk. He needs this as much as you do.

“Tell me,” he says in between kisses, “what do you want me to do, my lady?”

The words my lady makes a shiver run down your spine, even more when he says it like that; spitefully, sarcastically. The fire burning in Hoseok’s eyes is somehow turning you on even more than the icy cold look that Hoya always has. You want that fire to burn you, too, and maybe it could clean away all the parts you hate and free you of the burden you’ve felt since taking over the company. You want Hoseok to incinerate you if it means liberation.

Hoseok peppers your neck with kisses so rough little red spots dot your skin. As he sucks on your earlobe, you let out a whine that only fuels him on. “FYI, I’m better than him,” he growls and only for a second, you wonder why he refers to Hoya in the third person but the thought completely wipes out from your mind the moment he pulls your bra down and wraps his mouth around your already perky nipple.

You lean back on your hands, giving him free access, clamping your mouth shut from making any noise but the way he rolls your nipple in between his teeth and tongue almost makes you lose it. There’s a soft knock on the door but you ignore it, your eyes closed and focused on Hoseok’s mouth. It’s not long until he’s shimmying off your pants and underwear together, kneeling by the desk, fingers digging into your thighs as he keeps your legs from closing around his head.

You’re already so wet that when Hoseok’s mouth lands on your soaked cunt, he makes this loud slurping sound as he sucks on your throbbing clit. This time, you bite onto your arm to keep from screaming out. That long tongue you’ve seen on posters, that you’ve dreamed of having on you, is now actually teasing and prodding your entrance, tongue-fucking you so well you’re starting not to care that they are people outside the door, one of them your own older brother.

Hoseok stands up and the strain in his pants is very much evident. He doesn’t even bother to take it off fully, pushing it down to his knees, enough to spring his length free for you to finally gaze at its glory. It’s exactly like the poster but much larger, sticking up erect against his stomach. Without wasting time, you widen your legs as an invite and Hoseok lines himself up. He glides it over your clit a few times, gathering your juice before slowly, painfully slowly, sinks in, letting your warmth cover him tip to base, feeling every ridge of your wall swallow him whole. You pulsate around him, adjusting to his size as he leans his forehead against yours.

Something inside you screams that this isn’t the time or place for this type of debauchery but the way Hoseok’s eyes set you on fire, you can barely think clearly. You can hear familiar voices outside your door and can tell that Yoongi must have called Jin over. There’s a soft knock on the door and Hoseok growls, “Fuck off,” and whoever is on the other side must have heard the fury in his voice and doesn’t bother to knock again.

“Your team needs medical attention when they get back,” you say breathlessly, fully aware of the parts of you and Hoseok that are connected. “We should-”

Hoseok pulls out and rams in, knocking the breath out of you in a loud gasp as your toes curl at the delicious feeling. “Finally found a way to shut you up, My Lady,” he comments with a smirk. “See if you can keep quiet for me.”

The desk rattles underneath you but you’re stubborn in your own ways, clamping your mouth shut, whimpering in your throat as you brace your knuckles against the surface of the desk. Hoseok pounds into you until your eyes roll back into your head, him grunting softly, you a whining mess. Unsatisfied and annoyed, Hoseok pulls you off the desk and readjust you, hitting you from the back while holding one of your legs up by the knee, an angle that lets him reach in deep, leaving your mouth hanging open, not even a squeak uttered as it feels like you can barely breathe. The sound of wet skin slapping against skin is resounding in your ears.

“Look at you, taking orders so well,” Hoseok hisses in my ear. “Is this what you fantasise about happening between you and Hoya?”

“Just get it over and done with,” you snap back, leaning against the desk for support. You can hear a slight commotion outside the door as the team left behind is back. You can hear the scraping of furniture as things are being moved around to create space.

Again Hoseok wrenches your wrist over to your office chair, guiding you to straddle him. Once you slide back onto his length, sighing softly, Hoseok roughly cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “Look at me so you can see it’s not Hoya,” he orders. “I want you to remember that it’s me making you feel this way, me stuffing you full. Not him.”

You nod weakly, wanting nothing than to appease the fire in his eyes, the same fire that seems to be burning stronger in the pit of your stomach with every plunge as you move on top of him. You can feel that familiar twist, the coiling of pleasure as it winds tighter and tighter. Hoseok gets the signal from the way you fist his shirt and the way your pussy clenches harder around his cock. You’re close and so is he.

You’re losing momentum, growing tired from having to move on tiptoes to have as much control on your movements so Hoseok places both hands over your ass and lifts you up, transporting you onto the desk once again, your back flat on it. Then he gets to work; his strokes are relentless yet even, assisted by how overflowing your cunt is, making everything that much more pleasurable.

“I’m close,” you manage to squeak out.

“Keep your eyes open,” Hoseok warns but this time his voice is softer. “Keep your eyes on me, princess. Say my name.”

You’re a little confused but obliged, his name coming out in a whisper at first. The orgasm is close now. “Louder,” urges Hoseok, chasing it.

“Hoseok,” you mumble, spreading your legs wider, letting him hit exactly in that sweet spot. You’re oh so close your back is arching off the desk. “Hoseok.” Your voice is growing louder and the desk makes a loud sound as it’s suddenly pushed back slightly.

Not a minute later, you’re pulling Hoseok in by the neck, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the scream spilling from your lips as you orgasm hard enough for Hoseok to have a few last strokes before pulling out and spilling all over your stomach, covering your skin with hot milky liquid that you barely pay attention to as you come down from your high. When you finally let go of Hoseok, a crimson set of teeth marks bloom on the shoulder of his shirt.

Hoseok glances at the spot, frowning. “You bit me.”

“You told me to be quiet,” you retort sweetly.

***

Your office door finally opens and Jimin sighs, “Finally, thank God! You finally decide to-”

He stops, looking at you from head to toe, noticing that you’re in a pair of jeans and a loose T-shirt, not what you were wearing earlier. Hoseok is also in a fresh dark T. You fake nonchalance, typing up your hair into a ponytail to manage the mess and walk over to Yoongi tending to one of your men. He doesn’t seem to have any serious wounds. Hoseok goes over to the others, crouching on the floor to talk to one of them.

Yoongi doesn’t even bother looking up but there’s a smug look on his face. “Finished debriefing your Head of Security?”

You catch Yoongi looking at you in the reflection in the window and glare at him. “Yes. It was satisfactory.” He snorts a laugh but doesn’t say anything more.

The team came back mostly intact, suffering from light wounds that can easily be taken care of. After the doctors finished looking at them, Hoseok takes them to another room to have a post mortem regarding the situation and you help Yoongi and Jin pack up. Jimin is already on the phone with the clean-up crew, occasionally flicking his eyes over at you like he’s got something to say and is antsy to say it.

Honestly, you’re not up to dealing with him right now, so you pack up your things and head home. Jimin will take care of things, that much you know, and you’ll deal with the Sumiyoshi another day. Right now, all you can think about is your bed and how warm and safe it would feel under the thick blankets because now that the adrenaline is gone, you feel bone tired, dragging your feet as you arrive home and climb into bed.

You must have dozed off because when you open your eyes again, the room is dark and someone is ringing your doorbell incessantly. You get up and squint at the intercom through your sleepy eyes and see Hoseok standing in the lobby area, waiting to be let in with one hand against his hip.

“What is it?” you croak through the speaker, hoping he'll just go away.

Hoseok looks up directly into the camera. “Let me in already.”

“Just go away.”

You watch as he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He holds up a paper bag to the camera. “I suppose you’re not hungry then.”

Your stomach lets out a loud rumble.

***

You eat in silence, Hoseok sitting across from you as he pushes his food around with his fork, watching your plate to make sure your food is eaten.

“How’d you know my favourite shop?” you ask, trying to alleviate the awkwardness.

“Jimin,” he grunts out.

Suddenly, the memories of earlier in the office come rushing in and your fork pauses just inches from your lips. “Oh,” you say quietly. “Did he, um…did he say anything to you?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “Why? Should he?”

You shrug, feeling a little relieved. “Just wondering.”

Hoseok puts down his fork and crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you two in a weird situationship or something? Because I’m not going to waste my time getting in the middle of that.”

You almost choke on your food as you laugh, shaking your head and coughing, fingers wiping your eyes. “Where the hell did you get that idea from?”

“You guys look really close.” You look up and can’t believe to see the pout on his face as he looks down to the floor, scowling. Something about the way he looks at that moment makes you feel weirdly protective of him.

“We are,” you say, continuing to eat. “We practically grew up together. He had been there since the beginning and I guess we bonded over shared trauma.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow.

You chuckle. “It’s just something we say. When my grandfather died, we were both only seventeen, fresh out of high school. He was the grandson of my grandfather’s right-hand man who died the same day my grandfather did. Well, you can imagine how.”

Hoseok gives a small nod.

“Yeah, well, after that, it was a whole shitshow of finding a successor and because I’m a girl, the company wasn’t confident. But my grandfather’s will was ironclad so they sent me off to college and groomed me to be the next head. Jimin, too. He would have been a professional dancer by now, you know? If they had let him be.”

Hoseok watches you stare into your plate, barely eating now. There’s a melancholy in your voice and a bittersweet smile lingering on your lips. “Jimin tells me that he agreed to the role so he can keep an eye on me,” you laugh, “but I’m certain that he was subjected to more pressure than I was and not with words.” You give him a knowing look. “So when I finally stepped into the position, I swore I was going to do things differently.”

Hoseok scoffs. “Is it really any different now?”

You smile at him. “My grandfather led the top underground organisation of his time. This company is built on the bones of his enemies. Literally.”

“You still deal with the same type of people,” Hoseok points out.

You sigh. “Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can never wash off the bloodstains. Not completely.” You stand up and collect the plates, bringing them over to the sink. “Enough about me. What about you?”

“What about me?”

You lean against the sink, looking at him. “Look, I know you know that I know you’re Hoya, let’s get that out in the open now. Yes, I buy those stupid magazines, kill me.”

He smirks but his eyes clouded over. “I thought lusting over a coworker is wrong.”

You roll your eyes. “We’re not coworkers, I’m your boss.”

“Which makes it even worse.”

You let out a groan. “Seriously, stop trying to distract me!”

“From what?”

“From demanding that you just admit it.”

“Admit what?”

That you’re Hoya! That you work as an adult model on the side!” You’re so frustrated now you’re actually screaming at Hoseok who only looks mildly amused.

“I’m not,” he says simply.

“Ugh, fine. Whatever, I don’t care,” you snap, proceeding to start doing the dishes. “You can go now. I’m just going back to bed after this.”

Hoseok stands up and walks over to stand next to you. He leans over slightly so you’re forced to look at him. “I’m not Hoya,” he repeats.

“I saw the tattoo on your chest,” you retort. “You don’t have to lie.”

Hoseok touches the spot over his T-shirt. “Yeah, we got matching tattoos.”

You give him an incredulous look. “What the hell? Do you have some kind of multiple personality thing or something?”

“No, I don’t. I’m not Hoya, and Hoya isn’t me.”

You stare at him, the water running in the background. “I don’t get it.”

Hoseok leans back against the kitchen cabinet. “He’s my twin.”

“What kind of bullshit is that?”

“I have a twin brother. It’s not bullshit,” Hoseok reiterates, frowning. He fishes out his phone from his pocket, scrolls around on it and produces a photo to show you. “See? Twins.”

You stare, open-mouthed, at the picture of two identical men; one clearly Hoseok with his serious face, barely a smile, the other one the complete opposite with a bright smile and a peace sign over his eyes, his other arm thrown over Hoseok’s shoulders.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out. “You’re twins!”

“Like I was telling you,” Hoseok replies, rolling his eyes and putting the phone away.

“Wow,” you say again. “That’s…that’s…”

Hoseok crosses his arms again, the smirk on his face growing into a grin. “Yeah, you lusted over your employee’s family member. Should I report to HR?”

Flustered, you tell him, “Actually your contract ended so you’re not my employee anymore.” You turn back around to do the dishes, hiding the fact that your face is burning red.

Hoseok nods. “Right.”

You feel his arms snake around your middle, pulling you up against him as he places his lips to your ear. “Since I’m not an employee anymore,” he whispers, “how about we continue where we left off earlier? Hmm? I heard you have a king bed.”

Against your better judgement, you melted into him. “Let me guess; Jimin told you about that too?”

Hoseok purrs. “He implied, yes.”

While Jimin prepares for battle at the office, making a few phone calls and arranging a few meetings here and there for you, you and Hoseok retreat to the bedroom and for the first time since the bed was bought, you’re about to see if the quality is as good as the brand company promised; sturdy and quiet.

You left your phone in the kitchen so you missed the text from Jimin: I hope the tall glass of water I sent your way is rejuvenating

a/n2: so I wrote this before news of jhope's enlistment came up and kinda hate myself for writing it into existance :') cmon be honest, what did you think? lol give it to me in the comments or ask IM READEHHH lmaoooo

Check out my other works → :MASTERLIST:

#bts jhope #bts hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok x you #bts jhope x you #bts one shot #jhope one shot #hoseok one shot #bts smut #hoseok fic #jhope smut #fanfic #bts fanfic #bts jhs #jhope fanfic #hoseok fanfic

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