if I can never give you peace — seven || Jungkook
[Moodboard by @jeonlovescoffee]
Pairing: Jungkook x reader // Word count (chapter): 7.1k // Genre: Mafia AU, Hybrid AU, enemies to lovers
↳ It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed.
Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fights and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.
Until he comes back.
Warnings and tags (chapter): phyiscal violence, threats, mentions of choking.
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The shot rings loud in the room, but you barely blink. Your eyes are focused on your target, and you don’t let anything break your concentration until you’ve emptied the magazine. You take no pleasure in it, lips drawn into a tight line, and mostly focus on not flinching back at the recoil. You back is straight, your hands firm, your arms extended, your feet well anchored in the ground. You don’t have room for any hesitation whatsoever.
Once you’re done, you lower your arms slowly, removing your finger from the trigger. It wasn’t long ago when you would finish your sessions shaking from the adrenaline. You’re glad that’s not happening anymore, but you still feel the need to clench and unclench your fingers a few times, trying to get the muscles in your arms to relax. You remove your noise-cancelling headphones with careful movements, letting out a long sigh. You don’t need to look at the sheet of paper to know how you did. You’re a consistent shooter, if not a particularly talented one. All your shots towards the chest got the target, and, of the three shots you attempted at the head, one hit. Not a bad run, all things considered.
That brings some satisfaction, but that is truly the only joy you get from that session — or any session, for that matter. You’ve learned a long time ago that shooting things doesn’t help you blow off steam. The idea that you’re somewhat good at it provides some relief, because it means you know that you’ll have something in your sleeve, if — when — a part of your life catches up with you.
You hear Hector finishing up in the next booth. He’s the one who taught you the basics at first, since he’d learned them during his military service, but it’s no secret that he favors his fists over weapons. He still carries one, because there isn’t much choice considering the people you have among your enemies.
Just one more thing that makes you wonder why he hasn’t turned in his resignation yet. Maybe you’re the one who should fire him.
Except you can’t even consider that idea, because now would be the worst time for you to be defenseless.
You haven’t exchanged a word with Jungkook in close to two weeks now. You keep sending him his schedule in the morning, as well as various recommandations and memos, but that only serves to make him easier to avoid. You haven’t heard of him going out of his way to try and meet you, either. If anything, he’s been a little too quiet for your tastes, but you’re choosing not to worry about that.
“I apologize for making you wait, Ma’am,” Hector says, politely, stepping out of his booth. “Has there been any update?”
Right. Because that’s what’s been happening recently — what you’ve been doing, more accurately. You’ve grown tired of waiting, or at least that’s what you like to tell yourself, because the truth might just be that you wanted to set the whole world ablaze.
And as a result, people have been disappearing left and right lately.
You’re used to choosing your targets well. People whose disappearance will disrupt the other side’s work without causing too much uproar. No one ever realizes how many problems the sudden loss of an accountant or a good cleaner could cause until it happens, and that’s what you like to stick with.
Except you’ve been upping the stakes recently. They wanted to remain hidden? Fine. You’d just have to follow the breadcrumbs, taking everyone down one by one, slowly climbing the ladder until you get to some of the big shots.
No more mercy.
The morals of your decisions are something you stopped embarrassing yourselves with a long time ago. Sure, there are some lines you don’t cross — but everything else is fair game.
“Suga seems to be getting closer and closer to the higher levels,” you answer, starting to make your way towards the door. Hector easily gets in front of you, making sure he’d be able to shield you, should anyone try to approach. “And my men had the warehouse burned down last night. We’re applying tolerance zero.”
For someone who’s distanced yourself from guilt so much, it’s surprising that you feel its painful pinch at the way Hector frowns. You should have known better than to answer that, you berate yourself. He, unlike you, still has scruples. A conscience. Despite working for you he’s, in many ways, only at the surface level of the organization.
A distant thought about how that used to be true about Jungkook flies through your mind, and you shoot it down immediately. You refuse to think about Jungkook in those terms. You can’t let yourself soften up when he’s proved how far he’s willing to go to mess with you.
But the underlying worry, that you won’t be able to protect Hector either, remains.
“Good,” Hector still answers, opening the door for you. “That way, things will come to an end faster.”
That’s certainly what you hope for.
One way or another.
Suga drops the information on you in the middle of a conversation.
The two of you are meeting in your office in the company building, at a time when you’re certain Jungkook is away. You also have people who should be able to warn you if he moves before the time you’ve estimated. It’s one less thing to worry about, and that means you can focus on the contract killer who’s sitting nonchalantly in a cheap chair across from you. His hands are in his pockets, his frame relaxed, but you know from the attentive way the split pupils in the middle of his golden eyes follow you that it’s all an illusion.
You’ve been working with — answering to — him, recently. It’s not like you really had a choice. There’s no way Jungkook would let you run the business unsupervised. In fact, you had never expected that he would let this go on for so long, and you don’t know what to make of it. There’s a little voice in the back of your mind that keeps wondering how much time you still have before he pulls on the leash again.
The risk that he’ll get rid of you if you don’t give him what he wants isn’t zero. You think it’s low, considering what you know about him.
But it isn’t zero.
So you can’t say you’re surprised when Suga says, voice even, almost distant, like he couldn’t give less of a fuck, “Jungkook wants to see you, by the way.”
You’ve prepared yourself for that. The exterior signs of your reaction are discreet, easily missable. Your fists clench. A muscle in your jaw tightens as you grit your teeth silently. But the way Suga looks at you tells you he, unlike the people you used to work with, doesn’t miss some of the other signs. How your heart rate picks up uncontrollably. How there’s something ever so slightly off beat about your breathing, because you have to force yourself to maintain a regular one.
You wonder why you still bother.
For yourself, perhaps. Because as long as you keep acting like you're emotionless, unreachable, you can at least pretend that it’s true.
“You’ve heard about the 110, right?”
It clicks instantly. You know the city like the back of your hand — or its plan, at least. Up until recently, you avoided going out in the field as well as you could. You do know of every street, every establishment of importance, and of who they belong to. The 110 is, based on the informations your brain immediately supplies you with, a boxing club that doubles as a gym, in an area of the city that is mostly populated by hybrids. Undoubtedly, it is territory over which Jungkook has full control.
Dread spreads through you when you put two and two together. You don’t need Suga to spell it out for you. You barely hear him when he says “Jungkook’s expecting you there in the afternoon”. Everything about this, even the way he’s having what is undoubtedly an order delivered to you screams that this is his ground, his conditions, his rules.
So he’s done playing, huh?
“I’ll be there,” you say. Your voice sounds foreign to your ears, like it doesn’t belong to you. Suga just shrugs, as if to say “Obviously”. He gives you a brief salutation, a small movement of his index and middle fingers, and then he’s off, hands in his pockets, and you remain alone with your thoughts.
And the main one, right now, is that the 110 would be the perfect place to make you disappear.
There are other ways, you’re aware of it. You could refuse the invitation, damn the consequences. You could also turn against Jungkook. You’d be lying if you said that idea hadn’t crossed your mind before. It would probably be the smart decision to take, too. One you should have made, or seriously considered a long time ago.
You just can’t bring yourself to do it.
You’re not sure why, exactly, or perhaps you just don’t want to put your finger on it, to admit it, because the reason just seems so— silly.
It’s because you're convinced that Jungkook is a better person than the rest of your options. Sure, that’s not saying much, in this line of work. It’s not even saying enough for you to justify basing a life or death decision on it, not when you haven’t let something so trivial rule any of your important decisions since the first day you started working for Anna Xanders.
And yet it is true. Or, more accurately, you think it is. It’s also possible that, like everybody else who’s been following him, you just fell for the trap of Jungkook’s charisma — or that you like the idea of working for someone who has some degree of regard for life better than knowing you don’t, or even that you think that Jungkook can do as much good to the organization as possible considering the role it plays.
It’s also possible — you hate this, you hate thinking about this, you hate that you’re giving him what he wanted — that you were stupidly shaken by that fucking kiss.
You’ve done your best not to think about it. It still angers you, thinking about his smug look afterwards, thinking that you’re playing right in his hand now.
It also angers you that you have no control over it. No matter what you think, it’s like Jungkook has ignited something within you. You’ve long buried any form of desire, of attraction, of any kind of interest for the people around you. That kiss absolutely threw all of your efforts out of the window.
You hadn’t realized you were this touch-starved. This desperate for some form of— you refuse to call it affection. You doubt there was anything genuine in Jungkook’s actions.
Which is why you force yourself to draw in a deep breath, pushing the memories of the kiss that are already sending tingles through your entire body, out of your way. You stop your hand from moving to trace your lips, you calm your heart that certainly hasn’t forgotten the feeling of Jungkook’s body pressed against yours.
You can’t do this. You can’t. There’s only one question you should be considering now, and that’s whether or not you’ll be betraying him.
After all, you’re not at the point where you would rather die than work for somebody else. Not by a long shot. But sticking around means that you’re considering giving him the benefit of the doubt. Just this once. You’ve been certain he wanted you dead since day one, but this time? This time, you’re not so sure. He could have done it before, had he wanted to, and it just doesn’t look like him to want to get rid of you for— rejecting him, you suppose, though that is a ridiculous way of describing what happened between the two of you.
So there could be something else at play here.
Or he does just want to kill you and you’re being a sentimental fool.
Either way, you call Hector in your office to dismiss him early, after giving a few important phone calls, just in case. You can see in his eyes that your action immediately makes him suspicious, but he doesn’t question it. If you’re so insistant in playing those dangerous games, with no regard for your personal safety, he can’t keep this up. He can’t keep trying to protect you when you keep going against him.
“Thank you for everything, Hector,” you tell him when he leaves, and he pauses a second too long at the door, glancing at you over his shoulder.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, ma’am,” he answers. “Be careful.”
You’re alone when you step in the taxi, and alone when the driver leaves you in a hurry, in front of a heavily tagged building. He doesn’t want to linger in this part of town, and you can’t blame him for that. He probably only agreed to take you there in the first place because he had realized you were part of the Organization.
You glance up at the building. There’s concrete under the paint, broken windows here and there, but it mostly looks inconspicuous. What is strangest to you, though, is that the street is completely empty. You wonder if that’s Jungkook’s doing. You’re certain there are eyes on you, and you don’t hesitate long, refusing to show anything that could be perceived as weakness. Soon enough, you’re pushing the door open. The inside is a wide, surprisingly well-lit room.
In the middle, there’s a boxing ring, and that’s where your boss is. For once, he’s wearing gloves and protection for his head, and he’s sparing with another man — hybrid, too, probably a wolf, judging by the tail. Your eyes follow Jungkook, and you feel something akin to curiosity inside you.
You’ve never seen this. You’ve never seen him train, you’ve never seen him fight for something other than to win. For once, there’s nothing superfluous about his attitude. He’s simply focused, instead of trying to please an audience, and that sight is interesting to you.
So is the way his muscles ripple with his every move, and you are reminded, for a second, of how they felt against you when he—
You make your way down a flight of stairs, heels clicking on the floor. Jungkook hasn’t acknowledged your presence at all yet, but you doubt he isn’t aware of it. The other people in the room — all hybrids, most of them men — are glaring at you, and you feel the atmosphere shifting as silence starts to fill the room. Defiance hangs heavy in the air, and though the whispers are too low for you to catch them, you really don’t need to to know what’s happening, what they’re saying. You’re obviously not welcome here. It could make you feel uneasy, but the truth is, that’s true of most places, and you have no trouble ignoring it.
You focus on the fight instead. You’ve always hated seeing Jungkook fight, but this is different, and you find yourself surprisingly— fascinated by it. He’s precise, focused, every movement necessary. There seems to be what you interpret as genuine respect between him and his adversary. He’s not trying to crush the other man, and you’d even go as far as to say that they’re both trying to learn from each other.
You watch him move around, light on his feet, throwing jabs that look like they hurt, but aren’t intended to make too much damage. He’s not doing that for an audience, he’s not trying to impress anyone, and he’s definitely not fighting for his life. He’s doing it all for himself. The tattoos move on his arm, on his shoulder, intricate designs part of him, and for the first time, they catch your attention more than the scars that mark his body.
“You’re that bitch who worked from Mr. X,” a voice growls, not too far from you.
Instinctive fear kicks in your throat immediately, but no one could tell from the slow, almost bored way that you turn around to face the man who just spoke. The gym has gone dead silent, save for the sound of Jungkook fighting, and you know everyone is waiting to see your reaction.
The man’s a shark-hybrid you’ve seen a few times before. He’s been handpicked by Jungkook as a leader of one branch of the group; if you’re not mistaken — you never are —, he handles mostly the deliveries of drugs. That makes him a powerful man, and therefore a dangerous one. That, to you, is much more threatening than the fact that he easily towers over you. He’s likely taller than Jungkook, and probably weighs twice as much as him, all muscles, all brute strength, all intimidation.
You have a gun in your purse, you remind yourself as he walks closer to you, digging your nails into your palm to keep yourself impassive. Everything about the man, how he moves, how he looks at you, screams threat. You barely even blink, merely tilt your head back a little so you can look at him. He has small, beady eyes, something about his skin looks strange, though you can’t put your finger on what, and even from a distance, there had been no way you could miss his sharp teeth when he had opened his mouth. Jungkook might have had his canines altered based on him, you think.
When he stands in front of you, he blocks the view of the ring completely. He leans forward, obviously trying to scare you, and it takes everything you have not to roll your eyes.
It’s not like you’re not scared, but this is also very much— known territory. Some asshole from the Organization trying to scare the shit out of you? If you folded for that much, you would have been dead within two weeks, when you first started.
“We don’t really like how you’ve been trying to boss us around since you’ve started working for Jungkook,” he snarls at you.
That’s not a surprise either. Men like him just want to stand on top, so no one can tell them what to do.
They also never have the basic fucking ability to delegate, and they never last very long.
You think they’re the ones you dislike the most. All violence, no skill. Fred Lucas is at least smart. He gives you something to work with. Outside, he is far more dangerous than that man. But face to face? Face to face, Fred Lucas would be unlikely to do anything to you.
This guy might kill you.
What a stupid way to go that would be.
“I’m just doing my job,” you answer flatly, and from the way the man’s lips curl in disgust, you know that was the wrong thing to say. This is probably when you should deescalate, apologize, beg for your life maybe. You’re not sure why you don’t.
Maybe Jungkook was right. Maybe you do have a death wish.
Your hand tightens a little on your purse, though you know it’s unlikely you’d have time to get your gun and fire, if he decided to kill you.
Fuck. You thought Jungkook would at least do that himself.
The man puts one of his hands on your shoulder, and his big, large palm engulfs it completely. He grips it tightly enough that you bite the inside of your cheek to hold back a grunt. He moves it slightly so that his thumb is resting against your throat, and that finally makes you tense, a small whimper that you can’t hold back no matter how hard you try escaping you. It’s instinctive; you can’t hold it back, and it makes him grin wildly.
That’s just cruel, you think. If Jungkook wanted to kill you, he could have chosen something more painless, something that wouldn’t be as scary to you.
And just as you’re thinking that, just as the man starts to apply pressure, a voice booms from behind him.
“If you lay a finger on her, I’ll rip your entire fucking arm.”
The pleased grin vanishes, and he lets go of you instantly. He doesn’t even pretend to try to challenge Jungkook’s order.
You glance up at your boss, who’s wiping sweat off his face with a towel. He’s leaning against the ropes, and you meet his dark eyes. Something about the way he looks at you almost sends a shiver down your spine. He’s quick to glance away though, to glare at the shark. In a quick, easy move, he jumps out of the ring, and lands near you. He stands in front of you, and the large shark-hybrid takes a step back. Even him, with all his muscles and all that power, doesn’t seem to want to risk to take on Jungkook.
“That stands for any of you,” Jungkook adds loudly, though the other people here probably don’t need him to raise his voice. “She’s not the enemy here.”
Then he looks at you. You note that he didn’t say that you were with them, didn’t call you an ally, but you suppose that this is still a new development. A welcome one too, if you’re being honest. He glances at you, and his eyes linger on your throat, and you almost raise a hand to cover it. You instinctively want to protect yourself — but going against your instincts is second nature, at this point.
“Junho, you heard me?” Jungkook asks, focusing back on the shark-hybrid. His voice is low, threatening. “You touch her again, and we’ll see if all that training’s done you any good.”
You notice the man’s jaw tensing for a second. Despite his earlier, almost subservient attitude, he doesn’t seem happy with the way Jungkook is speaking to him right now. Ultimately, though, he nods, and in the strained atmosphere, manages to give Jungkook an easy-going smile.
“Sure,” he says with a shrug. “Sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t think you’d have a problem with it.”
Jungkook raises an eyebrow, then grins back at him. That’s another side of him you haven’t seen before, and you watch in interest the impact it has on everyone in the room. They seem to relax as well, and when Jungkook smacks Junho on the shoulder, playfully, there are a few laughs.
It’s obvious that here, he belongs. He’s not just a leader, though he obviously fulfills that role as well. He’s one of them.
And you’re very much exterior to that whole thing.
You notice a silent exchange between Jungkook and Junho, after which the shark hybrid nods wordlessly — and sends you a glare that would have you frozen in place if Jungkook hadn’t gotten you used to it.
“Let’s clear the place,” Junho calls out. There are some annoyed groans, but everyone obediently follow his lead, grabbing their belongings and making their way towards the door.
Ah. So Jungkook wants to see you alone.
You’re not sure whether or not that’s a good sign, but when Jungkook tilts his head towards the back of the gym, a silent indication — order — for you to follow him, you just swallow and start walking behind him.
It’s not long before you’re all alone. The sound of the door closing behind the group echoes particularly loud in the wide, empty room and in your brain.
Kind of like closing a tomb.
When Jungkook turns around to look at you, you freeze, and though you resist the urge to take a step back, you find yourself slightly leaning back.
“Don’t—” He stops himself to let out an annoyed growl. “Don’t do that.” Then he averts his eyes. “Please.”
All you can do is stare at him as he clearly avoids your eyes, staring at a point in the distance, jaw tight. This is unexpected, and you’re not— not sure how to deal with that, actually.
“What happened—” he keeps going, still not looking at you, “It won’t happen again. So don’t—” He pauses again, obviously struggling to find the right words to express himself, and runs a nervous hand through his hair before sighing. You’re not sure what’s going on in his mind. At least, not until he finally says “I’m not Anna”.
It’s like a gut punch.
You hadn’t expected him to react like that, if you’re being honest. You hadn’t thought that your reaction would have any impact, and even if it did, you certainly wouldn’t have thought that he would to have a problem with it, but everyone, even in the organization, has their own moral compass, their own lines they refuse to cross. And you suppose that, for Jungkook, that line is pressuring you into—
Some of your anger melts away immediately, right as your heart sinks, thinking about how he must have felt back then. You had always thought that, at least, he couldn’t see what was happening to him at the time, and that he hadn’t looked back on it enough to be too impacted by it.
Obviously, you’d been wrong.
“I appreciate you saying that, Mr. Jeon,” you say, and you mean it. You’re thankful your voice doesn’t crack.
Jungkook stares at you for a second, before an annoyed grimace twists his lips. Not knowing what you’ve done wrong is starting to become habitual. He folds his arms against his chest, and you notice that his tongue pokes against the inside of his cheek as he stares at you.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he finally says, actually taking you by surprise.
He glances around, fingers tapping against his bicep, and for half a second, you’re just staring at him, messy black hair falling in loose curls around his face, sharp jaw, thin lips in a thoughtful pout, and you think you find yourself admiring him.
What the fuck is wrong with you.
“You know what this place is?” he asks after a while.
“I know the basics,” you answer slowly. You have no idea where he’s going with that, what brought it up, how he got to that conclusion. It’s impossible for you not to be suspicious, and yet— Jungkook seems sincere, not trying to lure you into a trap. It’s the first conversation you have with him that isn’t a constant arm wrestle, a struggle where you fear any wrong answer could cause your death. It’s throwing you off completely. “It’s a gym for hybrids. A lot of fighters from the Circle come from here.”
Jungkook answers with a simple nod.
“You remember who used to run it?”
“A former fighter from the Circle,” you reply instantly, your brain supplying the information as easily as it had supplied the location earlier. You would expand if it was Mr. X asking, but Jungkook is clearly going somewhere with that, even if you can’t follow.
“Yeah. The one who trained me.” He studies your reaction, but all you give him is a blank stare. “The one you hired.”
You still don’t know where he’s going. Of course you hired him. You were Jungkook’s— handler, basically. You remember, vaguely, that you’d heard the man’s technique was about minimizing damages, even for untrained fighters. That had been a deciding feature, because you had wanted to make sure Jungkook wouldn’t get too severely injured before he’d had the time to learn.
“He was a good man,” Jungkook says. His voice is melancholic, his eyes far away. He’s looking at the gym, but you have the feeling that that’s not what he’s seeing right now, the place filled with memories that you have no access to. “He taught me everything I needed, and he let me stay around here, once I escaped.”
“Here?” you repeat, unable to control your voice this time. “You stayed in the city?”
Just thinking about it, about what would have happened to him if he’d gotten caught is enough for you to feel your legs weakening under you and your heart to start beating faster in fear.
“You have no fucking say in what I—” A groan, and he rubs his forehead in annoyance. It’s obvious that he’s trying his best to hold himself back. “Yeah,” he continues through gritted teeth. “It wasn’t that risky as long as I laid low. People here weren’t going to betray me, and it’s not like I had anywhere else to go.”
You want to argue that he had everywhere else to go to, that it’s no wonder he got pulled back in, since he never left. You feel yourself vibrating with a mix of emotions — anger, fear for something that didn’t happen — but you manage not to say anything. Because you don’t want to piss him off again, but mostly, because you would feel like too much of a hypocrite if you did. There’s no way out of this for you. You shouldn’t be so surprised there wasn’t one for him either.
“And then your people killed him,” Jungkook says in a low, angry snarl. You frown. That sounds like something you should have been aware of.
“I had no involvement in that,” you mumble, more for yourself than for him.
“If you’d had anything to do with it, you’d be dead,” Jungkook says flatly. He’s not trying to scare you; it’s just an evidence. “I would have killed you with Xanders.”
Conflicting emotions run through you. On the one hand, you can feel the pain emanating from him. It’s strange, in your world, to see someone be so open with their emotions, and you wish there was something you could say. On the other, you’re all too aware of the fact that you would have had that man killed, without a second thought, if Mr. X had asked you to. You think he knows. You not being involved was just circumstantial, and it clearly didn’t make him that much more sympathetic towards you.
“You’d have had a revolution on your hands after that, even without me,” Jungkook tells you. “Difference is, I made sure we would come up on top.”
You know that there’s a lot left unsaid here. A lot that you can almost picture — him gathering people, organizing everything, leading the charge against Mr X. And you know, you’re certain that he did that because he cared for the people around him and wanted to protect them.
There’s a long silence. Jungkook doesn’t look at you, mind so far away that you don’t think you could reach him if you tried. Someone else might put a comforting hand on his shoulder. You don’t.
“Why’d you pick him?” he asks, finally, his eyes firmly focused on the ring.
When he looks at you again, there’s something that isn’t as harsh in his face. It’s not soft either, and you would never mistake it for affection, but it’s— open, you’d say. Like he hasn’t quite made his decision when it comes to you, for once. He’s always looked at you like you were something to crush at some point. Now, he’s giving you the benefit of the doubt, you’d say.
“You could have chosen anyone. Why’d you pick that one?”
His tone isn’t accusatory. In fact, there’s an almost desperate edge to his tone, like he needs to hear your answer. You’re not sure why, but that terrifies you. It’s an answer you can’t give him. You fold your arms over your chest defensively.
“I just picked a good trainer, Mr. Jeon.”
Normally, you think that would be enough. He’d growl at you, call you an emotionless bitch or something, and drop it. This time, he keeps pushing.
“I was under orders to make sure you brought money back to the Xanders family.”
Jungkook’s shoulders tense at your words, almost violently, and the murderous rage comes back in his eyes. He takes a threatening step towards you, balls up his fists, and his lips curl to reveal his teeth. He looks at you, clearly trying to hold himself back, searching for a reason to do that in your eyes, and his anger is mixed with what you think is hurt. Normally, you would just brace yourself and endure whatever was coming your way. Today, at the last second, you give in. You’re not sure why. Maybe you don’t want him to try and murder you again too soon. Maybe you want him to understand a little better.
“Jung—” You catch yourself, biting your tongue as if to punish yourself for your slip-up. “Mr Jeon, if I hadn’t done that, you’d be dead.”
You raise a hand, half-defensively, half trying to calm him down. It hovers above his bare skin, and it's hard for you to think about the circumstances of the kiss, but his expression tells you that that’s the furthest thing from his mind right now, just trying to understand where the fuck you’re going with that.
“We could have just bet against you,” you say. Your voice is barely a whisper. “There’s certainly a— market for that kind of things.” A market for people who like seeing untrained fighters getting absolutely wrecked. The thought makes you sick to your stomach now, the same way it did then.
“So then why didn’t you do that?” Jungkook asks, one more time.
“It was a better investment on the long term,” you answer, and guilt overwhelms you immediately. Not because of what you’re saying, but because you’re saying it. You’re choosing to lie to him — because this is a lie, you can’t even pretend otherwise — so that you don’t have to admit the truth to him. “If it paid off, there would be more money for Mr X.”
There’s a moment of silence. Jungkook just looks lost now. He wants to just shake his head and be done with you, throw the hopes he had for you out of the window. It would certainly be simpler. But he’s learned the hard way that what he really needs is to get the truth from you.
“D’you mean that?” he finally croaks out.
“It’s— factually true,” you say. “It’s what I told Mr X.” You keep your eyes on the floor. “The only way to keep you alive was to make sure you were profitable for him.” Reliefs floods through him. He was right. Fuck. And when you scoff in disgust, adding, “And even that didn’t work out in the end”, a strange, kinder emotion fills him.
You remember wondering, after a few years in the circuit, if it wouldn’t have been better to just arrange for a quick death for Jungkook. More merciful. But you had been far too soft in the early days to even consider that.
“You were trying to keep me alive,” Jungkook says, snapping you out of the unpleasant thoughts.
“It doesn’t matter why I did it.” Motives, reasons, they’re all excuses. All that matters is the outcome. And there isn’t a day that goes by without you asking yourself if the outcome you’re working for is really worth it.
There is a long silence after that. Tension leaves Jungkook’s shoulders, and he stops glaring at you. He still isn’t quite sure what to do with you, and it doesn’t help that you’re trying to hide yourself from him every step of the way, but he isn’t as angry anymore. He doesn’t think you’re lying, and if you’re telling the truth… That means he did have someone by his side all these years. He knows it won’t be long until the thought that you cared for him more than someone who supposedly loved him will be devastating, but now he just feels… calm.
The silence drags long enough that it becomes unpleasant, and you clear your throat awkwardly.
You clear your throat.
“If that is all, Mr Jeon—”
“Right,” Jungkook says, shaking his head, as if trying to bring himself back to the physical world. “We’re also moving the headquarters.”
You blink. That’s something you’ve been asking of him for weeks now. You don’t know if your opinion was the decisive one, if that’s another way of asking for forgiveness — if it is, you certainly would never have expected that he would feel this guilty.
“You’ll have shit to do to make it happen,” he adds, shifting uncomfortably under your eyes. “You should get to that, actually.”
For what you think is the first time, you have to control your face, not so you don’t grimace or shake in fear, but so you don’t smile. Because the news and his attitude makes you want to smile.
The idea is so ridiculous that you almost want to scoff at yourself.
“That is great news, Mr Jeon,” you say instead, and you see him nod, looking somewhat relieved. He hasn’t said ‘sorry’, and you haven’t said ‘Apologies accepted’, but the message has been received either way.
“I know. And I’ll start picking you up again tomorrow morning.”
He definitely notices the surprise look you give him, but he doesn’t bother justifying himself, and it doesn’t seem open to debate. Then again, you suppose you’re not too upset about that.
Who knows, things might actually be fine, from now on.
“Good morning, Mr Jeon.”
Your voice is flat and even when you get into the car, your appearance perfectly tailored, and Jungkook just rolls his eyes at you in annoyance. You’re not sure when he made the change, or why, but he’s not in the limousine this time. Instead, you’re in the back of sleek Mercedes, which is still a little too flashy for standards, but still much better.
“I’ve heard you’ve been starting shit,” he says, not returning your greeting.
You’re not sure how to take that. Something about his tone is different from usual. He doesn’t sound pissed, and he probably would have told you the day before if he had an issue with the stuff you’ve been doing. Still, it’s not a particularly pleasant way of starting the day.
“Is that a problem, sir?”
His eyes meet yours, as if starting to read you. The eye contact lasts a little too long, and you feel a strange warmth starting to spread through you, before he gives up and shrugs.
“You tell me. From what I’ve heard, the people you’re after aren’t people I give a shit about angering. I’d have wanted them gone at some point. I just want to know what’s going on, and last I heard, you were trying to solve this some other way.”
He’s not wrong, and you cannot picture yourself telling him that the main reason why you did that is because you needed an outlet for your anger. It’s childish, and more importantly it’s not— you. It would tell him far more about you than you’re comfortable with revealing at this point. Just because Jungkook caught a glimpse of what was underneath the mask yesterday doesn’t mean that you can let yourself shatter. Even if you trusted him fully — which you don't, which you can’t —, it would be a question of survival for you to maintain some degree of impossibility.
There is no need for him to be aware of how much the— event has affected you.
“I did, Mr Jeon, but this has been taking too long,” you answer instead — which is technically true as well. “We need to know who our enemies are, even if that means ruffling a few feathers.”
You don’t go into details. You don’t say that feathers have been ruffled and that it’s too late to turn back at this point. You’ll have to handle things as they are from now on.
God. You hope you haven’t made a mistake.
This is exactly why you should never trust your emotions, should never act on a whim, should never go with what you want to do. You simply can’t afford it.
“That means there will be casualties on both sides,” you add.
Jungkook sets his jaw, and you watch him, knowing that he’s thinking about the losses he’s willing to risk. You think it might be the first time in years that the concern isn’t logistic — how many men can be lost to keep the organization running smoothly — but genuinely related to the lives that will be lost. It’s not as surprising to you now, knowing he was actually part of a community and got where he is now with their help, instead of through treacherous backstabbing, as was the story you’d heard for Mr X.
“We’ll do what has to be done,” he finally says, and you think the corner of his lips is falling more than usual. You don’t think it’s with annoyance. Then his eyes meet yours again. “You know what you’re doing, right?”
The question takes you completely by surprise. Not because of the words he uses, exactly, but because of what it means when you read between the lines. You think it has less to do with your actual ability and knowledge, and more with the fact that he is, essentially, taking a leap of faith here, with you. He’s betting on you not turning your back on him, not betraying him.
He’s trusting you.
You can’t remember the last time that’s happened to you. Maybe your mother, when she had talked to you about what you’d have to do for your family, with the knowledge that you’d understand what your duty was here.
You swallow. Right now, you can’t even consider doing anything other than doing what needs to be done for him.
Trust is quite a powerful tool. You had never realized that.
“I do,” you say. “I will do my best to ensure that things go as smoothly as possible.”
I won’t let you down.
Jungkook nods. He still seems a little skeptic — but he’s going with it regardless. With you.
A weight falls off your shoulders, and you’re able to hold yourself a little straighter. You’re no longer a target, an enemy, a nuisance that will need to be dealt with eventually. Again, this could be a trap, but there’s a step you need to take as well.
For half a second, you wonder if you were wrong about your interpretation of that kiss — but that’s a useless thought, one that won’t help and might even hinder you, so you’re quick to dismiss it. You don’t have any room for this kind of nonsense right now.
The clock is ticking. Decisions need to made, orders need to be given.
And, this time, you know you’re not fighting alone.
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MEGUMI + DACRYPHILIA!
tags: mdni, fem!reader, dacryphilia, finger sucking
word count: 1.5k
notes: this is part of my new year event! i'm being self-indulgent on the dash again<3 didn't read over it so apologies for any mistake!
megumi isn't sure that there's anything more beautiful than your glassy eyes when you're crying, the colour of them shining even brighter when you've got tears hovering on your lash line, threatening to spill over.
it's his favourite challenge, seeing how long it takes to fuck those pretty tears out of you, how long it takes for him to have your bottom lip tremble and for your moans to turn to sobs. he never fucks you with the goal of getting himself off. instead, he's determined to see how much he can take from you until you're left sniffling. he wants to see your lips swollen while you gasp for air between the cries he'll from you.
it had to be a new record for him tonight; feels like he's barely pushed inside of your sticky folds and yet you're already turning misty-eyed from the power behind his thrusts.
you're clawing angry red lines down his back that are going to remind him of this moment for days to come while you wrap one of your legs around his waist. he pins your other leg to the mattress with a hand by the back of your knee to keep you spread open, letting him see the way your squelching cunt clings desperately to him. you're looking down too, watching where your puffy lips are fucked open around his length.
"so messy." it comes out breathier than he intends it to, more of a sigh than anything else, but it's enough to have your gaze snap back up to meet his. heat floods your cheeks at how intense the eye contact you make is, and you squirm beneath him before focusing on the curve where his throat meets his shoulder.
the wet sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room and he decides he needs more than just damp eyelashes — he needs to feel you tremble.
his hips are meeting your ass with enough force that you're convinced he'll bruise it, and he hikes your leg a little higher up his waist to let him hit deeper. his cockhead brushes your sweet spot and you forget how to breathe for a minute, nails biting into his shoulders and leaving crescent imprints in their wake.
"'gumi," you whimpered, rolling your hips up to meet him. "feels so— 's good, feels so good!"
your glassy stare meets his own when he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, grinding his pelvis against your clit and sending sparks of pleasure through your core. the leg he's pinning to the mattress is quivering in time with your shaky breaths.
he leans in to kiss you and you meet him eagerly, opening your mouth for him when he runs his tongue along your bottom lip. he can admit that it's probably more than a little messed up, how much he enjoys the salty tinge to the kiss from where your tears had run down your face to smear against his own.
he can tell that the pleasure is as intense for you as it is for him when you tense around him, heel digging into his lower back to try and encourage him to start to move again.
"greedy," he pulls back to chide you, moving to nibble lightly along your jaw. he sucks a mark into the spot that has you shuddering; a strangled whine falls from your lips. he moves as if he didn't just chastise you, rocking into you like he's trying to reshape you around his cock.
he squeezes where his hand rests on the leg he's holding against the bed, nails digging into the skin lightly and making you shiver around him at the bite of pain mixing with the pleasure of him hitting the spongey bundle of nerves inside you.
he rises to his knees between your legs now and your arms fall heavily from his shoulders, landing either side of your head on the pillow. he grabs one of your wrists in his hand, pressing gently where his fingers rest on your pulse.
you look up at him through your clumped lashes and frown in confusion when he moves his thumb up your wrist, skimming up your palm to nudge your fingertips to get you to uncurl the loose fist that your hand had formed.
he smiles at you, entirely too soft when combined with the way his cock twitches inside you in anticipation. the mattress squeaks in protest when he ruts into you heavily one more time; you blink and a fat teardrop falls, beginning to run down the side of your temple. he moves your hand using his hold on your wrist, bringing it up until you catch the tear on your now-outstretched pointer finger.
your breath catches in your throat when he moves without missing a beat, holding steady eye contact with you and bringing the same finger to his mouth.
he parts his lips so that you can slip it inside, and his eyes fall shut when the salty taste lands on his tongue once again. he groans deeply, bucking forward into you subconsciously as he sucks on your finger before letting pulling it from his mouth with a too-loud pop!
you can't breathe, the whole room dead quiet as your walls ripple around him. the tension has risen ten-fold, intoxicating, and you're almost afraid to move in case it breaks the spell that's been cast.
his voice is husky when he speaks, rumbling in his chest. "you always taste so good for me, angel."
you're still staring up at him in shock at what he's just done, but your pussy says the words that are failing to leave your lips, clamping down around him like you were just daring him to pull something like that again.
he shifts while the taste of you fades from his tongue, pulling back slowly before slamming home inside you. his thrusts are so forceful that he has to hold on tight to your waist to keep you in place, tits bouncing while he wrings more sobs from you.
you try and speak, to beg for more or for him to slow down, not sure what you need at the moment — but he's clinical, going harder every time it looks like your mouth is opening to let out more than just a choked cry.
you're left at his disposal, cumming before you even feel ready to. it's like you have no choice in the matter, your body and its actions completely at his will — really, they have been since the moment you met him, even if neither of you had realised back then.
you squirm on the bed, thighs trying to clamp shut out of impulse but his narrow waist is there to keep them forced open. he can't look away from your abused cunt when it pulses around him, squeezing every ridge and vein of his cock while you cream on him.
the sounds you're making are sinful, filling his ears and then his brain, leaving him with no room left to think. all he can focus on is you trying to milk him dry and the feeling of his heavy balls aching to give you what you need.
he lasts a few more thrusts before he's cumming with a deep groan, head tossed back to give you a view of his adam's apple bob in his throat while he swallows heavily.
his fingers have a chokehold on your waist and he pulls you up, following his instincts that are screaming at him to plunge as deep inside of your pussy as he can. it leaves you with your hips up off the mattress and your ass resting on his lap while pulses inside of you, cum painting you in thin ropes.
his thighs are shaking from the force of his orgasm, you can feel them quake as he kneels beneath you. you plant your feet on the mattress to give yourself leverage, moving on his cock the best you can while you're as worn out as you are.
you work him through his orgasm until he's done filling you up, pulling out of you with a hiss between clenched teeth at the slight overstimulation on his softening cock.
your thighs ache from being pinned open for him for so long and he moves to your side, watching you struggle for a second to shut them.
he smiles fondly, the air thinning between you as the tension dissipates and turns to something more akin to adoration. he brings his calloused hands to your outer thighs, gently helping you bring them back together and kneading the doughy flesh lightly.
"you with me, yn?"
you nod hazily, stretching your arms above your head before rubbing your face, itchy where your tears had dried. you held your arms out to him and made grabby motions. "i will literally pay you to run me a bath," your voice is raspy when you speak, batting your eyes at him.
he rolls his eyes but gets up all the same. "y'know you don't have to bribe me to take care of you, right?" you grin cheesily up at him. "don't move, okay?"
you snort. "trust me, megs, i don't think there's any fear of me moving for the foreseeable future."
he scoffs, but the tips of his ears are red when he turns to leave the room.
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