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itsbeeble · 15 hours ago

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HEY SO LIKE...WHAT JUST HAPPENED

im fully caught up now this is so crazy BEAM THIS IS CRAZY

BIRDS OF PREY — seventeen

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

living in gray areas of your city, out of the way of gangs and mafia territories, could only keep you safe for so long. it was only a matter of time before you began running into problems, or rather, problems began running into you.

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst; swearing, violence, mentions of bombs and explosions, mentions of death and dead bodies, dislocated shoulder, concussion, allusions to torture methods, allusions to murder, mentions of blood, pretty much kidnapping, mentions of breaking and entering, there's a thing where hj alludes to scooping out someone's eyeball (no descriptions of this whatsoever), losing consciousness (x2), bloody nose smoke inhalation; PLEASE lmk if i missed anything

▷ HEY, READ ME: there are two scenes that could particularly be shocking to readers, and they involve choking to the point of passing out and a brief torture scene where a bone is shattered. the scene itself doesn't describe things in too much detail and it 'fades to black', implying something worse and letting the reader fill in the blank themselves; but please be warned if u get squeamish w these types of things!! you are responsible for what you consume here.

▷ word count. 7.3k (i indulged a bit)

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a/n: the things i would do if i could turn this into a tv show... i have a vision, guys

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER

IF YOU WERE DEAD, this was definitely Hell.

When you came to, all you felt was the heat—in your thick, winter coat, it swarmed you like a bird being roasted alive, stifling, suffocating. Every inch of your skin felt damp, or mildly burned; you couldn't tell. Then came the ringing, drilling into your head through the soft tissue of your ears, the sharp sound intensifying as you tried to lift your head and clock your immediate surroundings.

You winced as your eyes fluttered open, attempting to squint through the smoky haze. The sting of ash clung to your tear ducts, making you weep. Fire was the only source of light for you to see the amount of destruction around you. There were limp bodies about, some moving, others stiff as the dead.

Where were you, you wondered, your brain stuffed with cotton and the ringing incessant. You couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't—

“Oh—my god,” you swore under your breath, body crumpling back to the floor.

Pain seared through your right arm, crashing through as a tsunami wave born out of the depths of the ocean. You lost your breath for an entire moment as you fell onto your back, left hand grabbing your right with a delicate hold.

You couldn't move your right shoulder, but you could feel everything.

Out of its socket? Yeah, out of its socket.

You were no longer in the train car, you realized, as you stared straight up. Instead of steel and broken LED panels, you were met with a dark, cavernous tunnel.

Everything was slowly coming back to you. It seemed that when the last bomb exploded, it must have flung you out of the train car—right? Those were bombs, right? How long had you been unconscious for, anyway?

Carefully, you rolled onto your good side. Your breathing became ragged as you exerted the rest of your energy to push yourself into an upright position, knees digging into the hard stone beneath the train tracks. You let out a groan as your right arm dangled precariously at your side, the pain pulsing like a beating heart.

Did anyone know where you were? Blood rushed to your head too fast for you to think through. You couldn't find your phone, your bag, your—

Amongst the roaring crackle of fire, you could've sworn you heard the crunching of gravel beneath shoes. A low murmur—a voice—pushed through and you braced your left hand against the ground in an attempt to focus on it.

Muttering still… you couldn't hear them clearly.

“Help!” you decided to scream, your voice a measly scratching sound, rough from the amount of smoke in this tunnel. “We're over here!”

The sounds of movement grew louder, closer.

Your eyes scanned your immediate surroundings, snagging on a familiar bag just several feet in front of you. With a slow crawl, you made your way over to the bag and hovered over it to dig around in its innards.

Without a phone, there was one last way to notify someone aboveground.

“There you are.”

Your head bolted upward and blood thundered through your head. Why was that voice familiar? A wave of nausea nearly knocked you over and the goddamn ringing made you seize up. Too fast, ouch.

Vision darkening at the edges, you saw the dark shine of boots moving toward you. A man. Someone you could not identify at the moment, and he was coming right for you.

Panic suffocated you like the acrid smoke in this room, and not even adrenaline could clear your head.

Runrunrun—you needed to run.

You didn't know his intentions, but he knew you somehow, and every alarm bell in your head was going off. (Or was that your ears ringing again?) Something bad was going to happen if he reached you, and you couldn't find this fucking lipstick—

He was closer now, close enough that you could see his face. He did seem oddly familiar, so remarkably unremarkable; his walk, his stature… it didn't matter if he was lean rather than built, he could still crush your throat beneath his boot like you were a fly.

You fell back onto your side with a grimace, wriggling backwards—you needed to run. But you couldn't get up. Why did everything hurt so goddamn badly?

Your teeth bit into your bottom lip hard enough to taste iron. Keep moving, you screamed inwardly, despite the pain in your right shoulder screaming at you. You had to keep moving.

“Don't,” you croaked uselessly to the man. “Please don't.” Whatever you do…

Something viscous seeped out of your nose, and when it dribbled onto your lip, it tasted like metal. Black dots danced in your vision; you wouldn't have much time left conscious.

He kept coming closer, each step painstakingly slow as if taunting you. You can't get away—step. But it's fun to see you try.

Your fingers enclosed around the slim tube of lipstick just as all the fight flew out of you. Your back landed against the hard floor of the tunnel, breathing haggard. Something wet streamed down the side of your cheek, and your eyes began to flutter closed.

The throbbing in your shoulder beat in time with the blood pounding in your eardrums. As your last dregs of consciousness bled out, your sight filled with the blurred face of the man.

What Hell would you wake up in next?

Shin Ryujin had seen the news on social media. Footage and clips taken by bystanders who were mainly above ground flooded the web: the streets crumbling, telephone poles toppling over, the ear-shattering sounds of explosions. She immediately got off the train after seeing those few clips, opting to take the remainder of her commute home on the bus.

For a moment, her mind flickered to you. You worked near that area, but—

“Right, day off,” she murmured to herself, relief making her shoulders droop. Maybe it was selfish to feel so much better knowing that her closest friend was alright. You were probably at home working on your assignments or napping.

Still, she grabbed the link for one of the news articles and took it to her text messages with you. Her eyes flitted from her phone screen to the bus line, as she filed onto the vehicle. But when she opened up the text channel, she paused.

There were two messages recently exchanged between her phone and yours:

ryujin's phone: heyyy would u happen to be home or on ur way home? i just realized i forgot my keys and the landlord isn't picking up 😅 ynie 💖: i'm omw!! just sit tight

She had never sent that first text to you, nor had she received or seen the text you sent her afterward. The timestamp marked the exchange from about thirty minutes ago, and Ryujin rummaged through her purse to check that she did have her keys with her.

When she fished her apartment key out, she squinted down at the texts for longer. What in the world was going on? She didn't recall sending or seeing either of these, but why would someone hack into her phone to send that message?

And where were you returning home from?

She shot you a quick text: Idk who sent you that message from before, but are you home? Call me when you get this.

“Next stop: 14th Street.”

Ryujin gripped the handle above her head, her free hand reaching over to pull the cord near the window. She resisted the urge to begin tapping her foot against the floor like a rabbit—how much longer? This had to be the most drawn-out five minutes of her life.

When the bus pulled up along the curb at 14th Street, Ryujin hopped off with a hasty goodbye wave to the bus driver. With little time to lose and a lot of anxiety left to burn, she made her way down the couple blocks toward the apartment.

You still hadn't called her back or read her message by the time she arrived on the third floor.

Ryujin had her eyes practically glued to her phone screen as she approached the apartment door. She extended her hand forward to insert the key into the lock, only for the door to give way and drift open. Voices inside suddenly came to an abrupt stop—she froze.

There were people in her apartment, people she both recognized and didn’t recognize.

“Ryujin, it’s not what it looks like,” said Chan with his palms up in front of him. Beside him stood Yeji, and on the other side of the kitchen counter were three other men, whom Ryujin had never seen before. Around the five of them, her and your apartment laid in absolute ruin. The couch and tables had been overturned, the doors to both of your rooms were thrown open, lamps and mugs were shattered on the floor.

“What it looks like, Chan, is that you broke into my apartment!” Her hand switched to her phone dial, raising it up with a tremble in her fingers as if it were her own weapon. She was digging in her bag for her pepper spray. “What the fuck are you doing here? I—I’m gonna call the police if you don’t get out—”

Yeji stepped forward with her hands outstretched. “Hon,” she said softly, “we just got here, swear to God. We swung by to make sure you were okay, but when we got here, the door was unlocked and the place looked like this.”

“And you three?” Ryujin aimed her pepper spray nozzle in the direction of the other three, all of whom took a generous step back when they found themselves on the other end of her wrath. “Did you trash my apartment?”

“No, ma’am,” one of them was quick to say. He was hugging the screen of his laptop to his chest like a comfort item, his wide eyes taking in the amount of crazed alarm radiating off her. “We got here just after they did.”

“Why are you here then? Who are you?”

“We’re looking for Yn,” said the one with red hair, narrowed eyes glancing between Ryujin and the apartment key dangling from her pinky finger. There was a deadly gleam in his expression, a tightness in his jaw; Ryujin couldn’t decide if her increased heart rate was out of fear or frustration. “You have your apartment key.” It was less of a question and more of a statement, a fact he was confirming.

She curled her lip back. “Of course I have my apartment key. Why wouldn’t—” The realization snapped into place. “The text…”

The red-haired man nodded with his lips pressed together. “Yn was with me when she received a text from you that you had lost your apartment key. That’s why she left to come here.”

Ryujin stepped backward, nearly tripping over her own shoes as she leaned back against the door jamb. Yeji scurried forward to offer her an elbow to hold onto, and Ryujin pressed the back of her hand against her temple where a headache was slowly coming on. There were too many questions running through her mind to sort through, and… she was so fucking confused.

“Where’s Yn? You said she was coming here to meet me.” Did you run into whoever hacked into her phone? Was this partly her fault? Where were you?

Yeji placed a warm hand on Ryujin’s shoulder, her brows creased together in an ill-concealed wince. “We don’t know, but” —her gaze lifted up to the others in the room— “she might have been on the train.”

Ryujin slapped a hand over her mouth as her fingers went numb. Nonononono—

“You didn’t send her that text then?” the same man asked.

She shook her head. “Definitely not. I saw it on my way home and asked her to call me when she could, but she hasn’t read my message or replied.” All of that relief and false hope from earlier, where was it now? This couldn’t be real; things like this didn’t happen to people in the gray area. Not you, not her, not anyone either of you knew.

Ryujin lifted her eyes back up to the three men whose identities had yet to be disclosed. “You didn't answer my question earlier: who are you?”

“My name is Kim Hongjoong,” he said, “and this is Wooyoung and Seonghwa. We work with Yn.”

“Like—coworkers?”

Yeji's hand wrapped around Ryujin's arm to nudge her to the outer hallway. “Let's talk out here, okay? There are some things I need to explain.”

Ryujin's head went on a swivel between Yeji and the other men in her apartment, but allowed the former to lead her out. “But we need to find her,” she said, her throat closing up. “What if she's not okay?”

As the door closed, the four men could hear the hushed whispers of Yeji attempting to calm Ryujin down. It was only natural that she would feel overwhelmed, scared, and even panicked at this moment; Hongjoong could certainly relate.

While Kim Hongjoong never admitted to being worried, concerned, or anxious, there were always signs.

The members of Ateez whipped their attention back to the heir to the Gold Village. There was business from before that needed to be resumed. From the back of his waistband, Seonghwa withdrew his pistol and leveled it in Chan's face from across the island.

“Alright,” Hongjoong drawled, leaning back against the stove and folding his arms over his chest, “you were saying?”

Chan lifted his palms again, this time, to placate the Boss who looked about five seconds away from giving the command to blow his head off. “It’s just as Yeji said: we came by to make sure Ryujin was okay.”

“And why would you think she wasn't?” Seonghwa asked as he cocked his head to the side.

Wooyoung set his laptop back onto the kitchen island to continue his work. When the Captain had summoned him and Seonghwa, Wooyoung had already begun to pour over the CCTV footage around the Hala Town train station and the station on 12th. His program was currently zipping through every frame of video in search of you or anyone else of interest. There were moments when Wooyoung was outwardly nervous, but with your life on the line, all he could feel was cool adrenaline powering him forward.

He couldn't imagine what Hongjoong was feeling right now.

“Yeji received a text message claiming to be Yn that asked her if she'd heard from Ryujin,” Chan explained. He pointed a finger in the direction of the door. “I can prove it to you; it's on Yeji's phone. But when Yeji wanted to follow up, Yn only texted to meet at their apartment as soon as possible.”

“And the apartment was like this when you got here?”

Chan nodded. “Yes.”

Hongjoong could feel the fear in his chest building. It was all covered up by cold rage on the surface, his face a mask of blank steel. He wanted to hurt someone—he was going to hurt someone, soon. As long as he could feel anything other than useless… or whatever his heart did when he thought of you and your state of being at this moment.

(What use was power and authority if he couldn't even use it to find you, to help you?)

He inclined his chin to Wooyoung. “Give him Yeji's number and he'll check it out.”

The sounds of hurried clacking filled the room as Wooyoung corroborated Chan's statement. The commander pushed out a weighted breath, shaking his head. “He's telling the truth, Cap'n,” he said, glancing over at Hongjoong.

“Can you track the IP address the texts came from?”

“Already on it, Boss.”

Hongjoong gave a solemn nod, then returned his gaze to the heir. There was a part of him that wanted to pin some sort of blame on Chan, to pin the blame on anyone—anything that could make the hole in his chest dissipate. But he knew that could only be fulfilled when he was sure about you.

Chan swallowed, keeping his head held high. “I never thought to hurt her, Kim, you know that.”

“Didn't you stalk her for 'reconnaissance’?” Seonghwa cut in with a scowl. “Show up at her work place, manipulate her roommate into introducing you, all to get to the Captain?”

Hongjoong didn't have a problem with Seonghwa speaking for him; he feared what he might say if he did speak. It was still so strange to him how at least two others outside the Ateez network knew who you were to him: Bang Chan and the Wings Express assassin, Q. It didn't help him sleep better at night, that was for sure.

A small scoff erupted from where Wooyoung was standing, and the man lifted his gaze momentarily to send Chan a snarl.

“I believe you didn't do this,” Hongjoong said at last, his stare nor his posture easing up. “Because if I did have even an inkling that you were involved, you wouldn't still be standin’ there.”

“And I believe that.”

Wooyoung loosened a swear from his lips. “Shit—you need to see this.”

Seonghwa and Chan maintained their positions, and Hongjoong was the only one to move. He slipped in beside Wooyoung, leaning over to peer down at the computer screen.

This security camera was angled to capture everyone ascending and descending the first set of stairs at Hala Town station. It was a crowded set of stairs, but there was a very familiar figure that slipped into the crowd and strolled out onto the equally busy street. Hongjoong could recognize his copycat anywhere, with his hat, cane, and audacity.

There was the flame of ire in his stomach again. It burned his insides, scalded him. His blood boiled beneath the surface of his skin.

“Where did he go next?” Hongjoong asked, bracing his hands against the counter.

Wooyoung skipped through frame by frame, hopped from camera to camera, but came up empty. After that one glimpse, the imposter Captain seemed to disappear completely. At least this confirmed two things: the imposter is neither Mr. Young nor Jung Joonseo, and he wanted to be seen. It was another goddamn taunt.

Hongjoong folded his arms over his chest again. When he finally met this son of a bitch face to face…

“There was no way he could have gotten here in time to turn Yn's apartment upside down,” Wooyoung muttered, throwing a hand up in frustration. “Were they looking for something?”

“No,” Hongjoong said, shaking his head, “there was nothing here to look for.” He knew it as confidently as he knew his own name—it was all just a fucking game.

Strictland didn't need to steal anything or grab Ryujin to make their point; they orchestrated the phone hacking pandemonium and knew where you and Ryujin lived. They were watching them, all of them, and they knew which pressure points would hurt most, even those that were lesser known.

The sound of a phone ringtone cut through the room. Hongjoong shucked his phone from out of his pocket and pressed it against his ear. He had been expecting a call from Yunho and Jongho; they had gone straight to Hala Town station where their inside men on the police force would let them get past the tape.

“Give me some good news, Yunho.”

From the other side of the phone came the sounds of crunching gravel and echoed voices, then an audible wince. “It's good news and bad news, Captain.”

Hongjoong braced his hand back against the countertop. “Well?”

“The bad news” —an exhale, more steps— “is that we found Yn's phone, but not Yn.”

The Captain pinched the place between his eyes, inwardly trying to keep the tidal wave at bay. “There's good news?”

“Her bag's missing along with her. It has to be a sign that she's still alive, otherwise, what's the point of lugging around… y'know…”

A dead body and its cargo. Right. “Thanks, both of you. Rendezvous at headquarters.”

“Aye, aye.”

Hongjoong caught the hesitation in Yunho's breath, the beat before he pressed the button to end the call. “Is there something else?”

“Noth—nothing on your end?” The question was almost whispered with how low he spoke. There was an unmistakable softness, a sympathy to it. Though Hongjoong was his leader and boss, they were still friends, brothers.

Hongjoong stared past Bang Chan, past Seonghwa with a gun, and at your apartment in ruins. There was no sign of you anywhere in these rooms, and no word from you since you left the Shipwreck.

He wanted to hit something. “No,” he said, then hung up.

Headquarters was suffocating. The top brass of the Ateez mafia family was stressed about something, to say the least. It only made all the rest on-edge. When the bombs went off beneath Hala Town station, it was clear that this would be another day with all hands on deck.

The Captain stormed in through the front door in coat and hat, not even bothering to let his cane touch the ground between steps. Like nature, the sound of “Captain on deck,” followed by spines snapping straight and boots stomping into place, resounded throughout the building. His second in command and his other commanders followed after him, one by one breaking off to disperse orders to their respective men.

Only Hongjoong and Seonghwa remained attached and the two of them took the elevator at the far end of the warehouse not up to the Crow's Nest, but down into the brig.

Seonghwa stood with his hands clasped in front of him. “Do you want me in there?”

“No.”

The second released a breath from his lips. Good luck, Jung.

As the elevator touched down into the depths of the Ateez's operations, Hongjoong stepped out of the carriage alone. The hallway leading to the holding cells down here was shadowed and dim, boasting only a limited amount of lighting because, well, prisoners didn't need to see shit.

Hongjoong was only a few steps away when he called out to his right-hand. “Find out who's been selling C4 in the city. I need names.”

“Consider it done,” Seonghwa replied as the elevator doors closed.

And then there was one.

The door at the end of the hallway was made of rusted iron. It locked from the outside, opened with a key, and kept in sound incredibly well.

Just outside the door were several hooks attached to the wall. Hongjoong slowly began disassembling his uniform, lifting the hat off his head, slipping the coat from his shoulders. He tugged the bandana from around the lower half of his face, but kept the gloves on and tightened his grip around the neck of his cane.

His heart hadn't been this steady, this calm in hours—before he feared you were gone, before he heard about the explosions, before he thought about kissing you, and your lips seared against his cheek.

If he stopped for even a moment too long, that was all he thought about.

Hongjoong hauled the cell door open and was greeted by the stench of human fear and pain. This room in particular was used for the special methods employed by members of the family to coax information out of prisoners. It had been several months since he had visited these chambers, only because there had been other things occupying him. Yunho and Seonghwa, as well as the others, frequented the brig more, though.

While Hongjoong would like to sit in during interrogations when he could, rarely did he ever get his own hands dirty. It was partly because there was no need to when his commanders could do it themselves; but also, he only got involved when there was something he really wanted.

He had surefire ways to get things out of people.

The lightbulb in the room shuttered on with a dull clink sound. A body was strapped to a chair in the middle of the room, clean and dry from the last time he was transferred here from his individual cell. Between sessions, prisoners were attended to just enough to keep them alive.

Hongjoong heard Joonseo's breath hitch at the sound of the lightbulb, and the corner of his mouth curved upward.

As he nudged the door shut, he began slowly rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, taking his time. It'd be a shame to get blood on the white fabric.

“It's a Pavlovian response,” he voiced into the quiet. “The sound of the lightbulb turning on—it means we're about to begin.”

Hongjoong passed his prisoner a cursory glance as he inspected the tools hanging on the far wall, the array of serums and toxins sitting idly on the shelf. He never needed to use these; he had two hands and a cane. But they were always nice to look at.

“Your body knows exactly what's about to happen. The bulb elicits a physical response: sweating, increased heart rate, the like.” He stepped back in the direction of Joonseo, marking the bandages wrapped around each of his fingers, the nails undoubtedly torn from their beds beneath. “You know where we learned that tactic from? Your good friend, Lee Yunseok.”

When he was stationed before Joonseo, he leaned over his cane to be eye-level with him. There was light bruising on his face, likely because most of the injuries he endured were below the collar.

Hongjoong's eyes dragged over the man's features with a clinical coldness, noting the way his mouth wobbled and his breath shook. He wondered if you were in a similar state, wherever they had taken you. “Do you know why you're still alive right now?”

“I've given you everything I know.”

“And we're checking all of it,” he replied with raised brows. He straightened up from the cane, taking a step back. “But you know, for a shrewd, scheming con man, I would have thought you would be a better liar.”

Hongjoong slid his hands to the bottom of his cane, cranked it back, and swung.

When the metal crow's head of the cane met the hard bone of Jung Joonseo's shin, it released a sound so loud from Joonseo's throat that Hongjoong couldn't even hear the bone shatter.

Oh, the sweet sound of suffering. Hongjoong didn't do this often, but there was a reason why.

Joonseo keeled over, his chest rising and falling in rapid pants. A whimper crawled out of his throat as something damp trickled down his cheeks and onto the cement floor below.

Hongjoong inspected the head of his cane to ensure it wasn't broken or deformed. When he was satisfied, he grabbed a fistful of hair from the back of Joonseo's head and hauled it up. The man's face was contorted in agony, eyes squinted shut from seeing the gleam in Hongjoong's eyes and the blinding burn of the lightbulb overhead.

“What were you saying about giving us everything?” Hongjoong smiled, saccharine sweet.

He lazily drew the curved beak of the crow's head through Joonseo's tears. The man stiffened beneath the change in position, his neck angled over the back of the chair, Hongjoong leaning over him and forcing him back.

“I don't—I don't know what more you want,” Joonseo rasped, his voice mostly harsh breathing at this point.

An unsatisfied deadpan came to Hongjoong's face. “Who is Kyungmin?”

“I told your man—”

“It led us nowhere, Joonseo-ah.” Hongjoong tapped the beak between the center of Joonseo's eyes, making him flinch. One could see the dread slowly dawning in Joonseo's pupils. Or maybe that was panic. “That IP address? That physical location? Poof! Nothing there.”

If possible, the man beneath him trembled even more. “That—that can't be. He must have changed servers or hidden it somehow.”

Hongjoong tutted. “Uh-huh, I have very good people looking into all of that. But what I'm wondering is how much this Kyungmin means to you if you've gone this far lying for him?”

“I haven't lied!”

“That's cute,” Hongjoong chuckled. “Did Kyungmin shoot Mr. Young in front of you? Is that why you're covering up for him like a loser?”

Joonseo shuddered, but he did not answer further.

Hongjoong released a sigh from his lips and outlined the shape of Joonseo's eye with the point of the crow's beak. “I will get it out of you,” he promised, “it's just a matter of how quickly you break.”

“I swear—there’s nothing else I could tell you about where he might be.”

There—that hitch in Joonseo's voice, the slight wavering. Hongjoong knew a tell when he heard one. It only confirmed for him that he was suspecting correctly, that Joonseo still knew more.

And what he knew could lead Hongjoong to you. Anything was game now.

Hongjoong removed his fist from Joonseo's hair, but swiftly applied force over his face, pinning him down backward, his neck still craned at that painful, awkward angle. With his elbow and forearm being used as an anchor, his gloved fingers pried open Joonseo's left eye.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what plans he had. Joonseo figured it out fast enough and began to thrash as much as he could.

“Did you know that crows are carrion feeders?” Hongjoong mused airily. The beak of the crow's head ghosted over the outline of Joonseo's eye, the organ flicking back and forth wildly, panicked. “They’ll eat the rotting flesh off human bones and pluck the eyes out of their sockets.”

The begging started then. The violent jerking paired with pathetic pleading. Hongjoong almost couldn't hold the man down… almost.

“Tell me where my bird is, and this one won't take your eye.”

“What do you have for me?” Hongjoong pressed his phone between his shoulder and cheek, eyes watching the dark red intertwine with the rush of water, disappearing down the sink. The sink faucet was a small, stainless steel application installed just outside the interrogation room across from the hooks. His cane hung under his arm, the metal crow head perspiring after being washed from thorough use.

The crow had its fill tonight.

Hongjoong grabbed a paper towel to pat his leather gloves dry, absentmindedly rubbing at a reddish-brown stain on his sleeve.

“We've got two names” —Seonghwa’s voice carried through the call as the captain took the phone out to hold with his hand— “Cho Namyoon and Bae Jinki. I'm with Cho now, and Yunho's with Bae.”

He picked up his hat from the wall hook and slid it on, head bowing in the darkness. Those names did sound familiar, but only one of them was more closely associated with this part of town than the other. “Tell Yunho to drop Bae Jinki. Ask Cho Namyoon where he made the C4 drop exchange.”

He heard murmuring from the other side of the call, the exchange audible if he deigned to hear it. One of the voices was low, calm—Seonghwa undoubtedly—while the other was high-pitched and frazzled. Definitely Namyoon.

“He says it was in the parking lot of the shopping center on Paradigm Avenue.”

“Paradigm, huh,” Hongjoong muttered to himself. He straightened out his sleeve, rolling his wrist. None of the places Joonseo mentioned were anywhere near Paradigm, but at this point, Hongjoong was certain Joonseo was never the true mastermind behind all of this. “We'll need to pull the Strictland files again and go through them for any properties near that area.”

He could've sworn he'd seen some mention of Paradigm somewhere…

“Aye, Captain. Did you get what you were looking for?”

Hongjoong didn't spare the cell behind him a glance as he shouldered his coat and made his way toward the elevator, cane tapping against the concrete. The sound was steady and constant, a haunting metronome. “Some,” he hummed. “I’ll catch you up when you all get back. I need to go call down a medic to tend to our guest.”

A low chuckle from the other side. “I'm sure they have their work cut out for them.”

“They certainly do.” As the elevator doors closed in front of him, sealing him away from the bleeding and unconscious body down the hall, Hongjoong ended the call.

He slumped against the back wall of the elevator, leaning his cane against his thigh while he lifted his hat just enough to card his hand through his hair. How monstrous was he to enjoy doing something so sick? He wondered how he got to this point of desperation. Months ago, the only people who could ever coax this kind of response from him was his inner circle.

Well, he supposed that included you now, too. For those couple of hours he was in the room, he didn't have to think about what horrors you were facing—or the fact that he blamed himself. (He should have insisted he drove you home. Why didn't he reach out and stop you? That damn kiss… it still branded his cheek, the place your lips had been. It was so fleeting, just a taste, and he wanted more and more.)

The elevator arrived on the ground floor with an anticlimactic thump. As the elevator doors rolled open, Hongjoong fitted his hat over his head to shade his eyes from the blinding lights above.

He caught sight of a familiar man standing nearby speaking to one of the other soldiers. “Doctor Shim, just the man I was looking for.”

The doctor raised his head immediately in acknowledgment.

“Your next patient awaits,” Hongjoong said, gesturing to the elevator.

“Aye, Captain,” he replied promptly. He bowed at the waist and headed straight for the elevator. He knew well enough that he needed to be swift if he wanted the man in the brig to see another session.

Hongjoong glanced at him over his shoulder. “I apologize in advance for all the blood.” If he had time to mop, he would, but there were too many things that needed to be done.

He was just about to make his way across the floor when his phone buzzed in his coat pocket once again. “Talk to me,” he answered, pressing the device up to his ear and striding down the main walkway.

As he went, the customary greeting erupted like falling dominoes, in time with the calls to attention.

“We have a problem,” said Seonghwa.

“Captain! Is the Captain here—”

Hongjoong raised his head to track down the origin of the voice. It was female and familiar, certainly in distress, as well. “Hold that thought, Hwa.”

With all of the soldiers at attention, it wasn't too difficult to spot the outliers. At the opposite end of the warehouse, two figures could be seen barreling in through the door with haste. Wooyoung was on a young woman's tail, both of their faces some shade of grim.

“I don't think this should wait, Joong. Namyoon just said that Strictland bought a fuck ton of C4 recently—”

“Captain, we need to talk,” said Wooyoung as he neared. There was no impish twinkle in his eyes, only a rare sort of storminess.

Hongjoong's head spun as he was caught between two different conversations. He cocked his head at the woman, the name falling from his tongue. “Sakura, right?”

“Aye,” she nodded. Her eyes darted around them, fingers twiddling in front of her. She swallowed, and said, “We need to speak with you. Now… uhm, please.”

He glanced at Wooyoung, who only pressed the corners of his mouth into his cheeks, a firm line. Now.

“Come with me—at ease!” Two fingers curling, beckoning them to follow him to the elevator. “What do you mean they bought a lot, Hwa? Wasn't that what the train explosion proved?”

He jammed his thumb against the elevator button to call the carriage, his pulse gradually increasing as the time ticked onward.

“He said the amount needed to pull that number on the metro line was only about half of the quantity they purchased” —the elevator doors opened; about damn time— “there's more out there.”

“Christ,” Hongjoong muttered under his breath as the elevator doors closed behind him, Sakura, and Wooyoung. A muscle flexed in his jaw. What was the point of even more C4? Was the plan to raze the whole fucking city? “I need to think,” he huffed, dragging a hand down his face.

A cough from beside him: “Uh, hyung.” Wooyoung pointed at the phone in Hongjoong's hand, then made a slicing hand motion across his throat. 'Mute yourself,’ he mouthed.

Hongjoong's brows creased, but he pressed the corresponding button.

“I didn't know if he was with Seonghwa hyung or not,” the commander explained. Just as the elevator landed on the Crow's Nest level, Wooyoung continued, “Did you know we have a mole problem? Sakura came to me an hour ago; she knows who it is.”

Every cell in Hongjoong's body skidded to a halt. “Who?”

Sakura made a hand motion, vigorously waving her two superiors into the privacy of the office. There was a jitteriness about her, but Hongjoong had seen some of her work before, and she already worked with you recently. Jittery or not, he was sure he could put some level of trust in her intel.

As soon as the office door closed, she asked, “Do we know where Yang Jungwon is?”

Your conscience awoke to the sounds of a news broadcast. For one fleeting, delusional moment, you believed that you were home and Ryujin was watching TV again in the next room; everything was just as it should be, and you would head out to the Shipwreck later to see Joong and the rest of the crew.

But then reality, the rip current of our living nightmare, yanked you back. The past twelve hours all came crashing down on you at once.

“‘—will keep you, the viewer, updated as more information comes to light. As always, this has been Lee Seokmin, at your service.’ That was a statement made by Teleparty News anchorman, Lee Seokmin earlier today after the tragic—”

Your body ached against the hard floor you laid on. There was an unbearable throbbing sensation coming from your right arm, and any attempt to even move it was followed by a sharp pain piercing through your shoulder.

What the fuck happened? Where were you?

“Oh, you're awake.”

Your body stilled like the dead.

“No point in trying to pretend.” The voice had gotten closer, and you reluctantly let your eyes flutter open. There wasn't much light in this room, but there was one lamp that emitted a warm amber glow, a far cry from the cold of the floor you were dumped on. Your eyes still blinked rapidly to adjust, and you winced—the throbbing wasn't just in your arm but in your head.

A small chuckle, followed by easy footsteps. Wood… were you on hardwood? One of the floorboards creaked as he continued to step toward you. “You weren't out for as long as I thought you would be, but I guess that's a good thing. I was starting to get bored.”

You wracked your brain for the identity of that voice. It haunted you as you wrestled down a whimper of pain. Dislocated shoulder, wasn't it? And now a goddamn concussion.

Someone leaned over you and filled your entire field of vision.

The name Kyungmin popped into your head as the man smiled. He tilted his head, lifting his hand toward your face.

You jerked away, hissing as that pain erupted violently in two places. “Don't touch me,” you managed to snarl like the wounded animal you were. Helpless, broken, alone.

You didn't even register the sound of clinking metal when you moved so suddenly.

“You had an eyelash on your cheek, but have it your way,” he said airily.

This man… he was so different from the quiet boy at the meeting. Who replaced him with this bastard? Or perhaps, you'd been stupid enough to fall for the charade he put on.

“What do you want from me?” you asked, watching as he stood up and wandered back toward the couch he was seated on before. That was when you clocked the big, burly man stationed in the corner of the room, eyes never leaving your form. There was not a trace of sympathy in those eyes; you were merely a prisoner, a charge. At his feet, however… your bag was slumped on the floor. That was where Aurora was.

How could you get to her?

Kyungmin settled himself on the arm of the couch nearest to you as he muted the television. “They keep replaying all the broadcasts that Lee Seokmin guy hosted. He's so… annoying. Like a little fly in your ear. Can't they obsess over someone else?”

What? You gritted your teeth. “Who cares?” And Lee Seokmin was nice, unlike this son of a—

“Just making small talk, I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Do you know why you're here?”

He was messing with you, right? He had to be.

At your silence and the undeniable look on your face, Kyungmin huffed another laugh. “You're right; you did just ask me that, huh?”

This guy had to have grown up a loner, a pathetic loser who perpetually only had himself to talk to. That had to be it.

Kyungmin slid off the furniture and stalked over to where you were again, squatting down to lean over you like you were nothing but a cadaver in the bay: interesting, but not significant enough for him to care about. “You're here because your Captain” —he spat out the word as if it were nothing but the scum under his boot— “killed my father and took my empire. So I'm going to destroy everything he treasures without ever having to touch him.”

Great, you thought, even as fear bullied its way through your veins, making your heart rate kick up. We have a supervillain wannabe on our hands.

Wait, did he just say Hongjoong killed his father and took his empire..? But that would make him... Fuck.

When you remained silent, Kyungmin's expression flattened. “You don't believe me?”

“You're so sure that kidnapping me and holding me here will help you reach your goal—of course, I don't believe you.” You forced the tremor out of your voice, hoping you at least sounded somewhat confident. If you were going to die here, you might as well go down wounding this punk's pride. “You're just as cowardly as your father. I hope Kim Hongjoong delivers you that same fate.”

You nearly missed it. There was a flash of something sinister across his unremarkable face, red in his eyes. A bolt of fear zipped down your spine, but that expression was gone just as fast as it came.

Kyungmin rose back onto his feet. He didn't say anything more to you as he turned back toward the couch, but he began to hum something under his breath.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.

We pillage plunder, we rifle and loot;

Drink up me hearties, yo ho…

Your pulse had only just calmed when Kyungmin raised a hand at the guard in the corner. “Knock her out. Make it hurt.”

Everything in you screamed.

The big man didn't so much as nod before stalking toward you, slow and unhurried. You chanted swears in your head, eyes widened like a doe in headlights, left arm pushing up to scramble backwards—

Ca-schink!

Your eyes darted down at the iron cuff around your left ankle, attached to a link of chain not even a foot long, hooked to a square of metal in the floor. Your heart dropped into your stomach, body falling against the floor in a pathetic sound as your right arm crumpled beneath you.

You could only grimace at the pain, your head shaking vigorously. Pleasepleasepleaseplease. The man stepped over you and wrapped his meaty hands around your throat, and no thought besides RUN blared through your head.

As you scratched and clawed at his hands with your one good arm, he stared at you with dead eyes.

You could feel the heaviness in your limbs as you were slowly, torturously deprived of oxygen. The fight in your legs went first… then your left arm.

Tears sprung from your eyes. You couldn't even blubber out a prayer.

As black spots danced in your vision for the second time, you were dragged into unconsciousness to that accursed tune.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !! :'))

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itsbeeble · 15 hours ago

Text

WHAT.

SO MANY THINGS JUST HAPPENED

BEAM?????? WHAT IS THIS????

BIRDS OF PREY — sixteen

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, drinking, death and murder, mentions of injuries incl. fatal ones, mentions of torture/physical violence (but no descriptions), explosives and explosions, some intimacy, emotional constipation (yk the drill), barely proofread

▷ word count. 6.7k

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a/n: i hope i don't cringe deeply when i read this chapter back later 😭 i hope u guys like it and apologies for the wait!! :'))

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: MAN ON FIRE

HE WAS DEAD, ALRIGHT. There weren't many other things he could be, you decided, as you stared down into the man's lifeless eyes, the pale skin at his forehead puckered where a bullet hole punctured through his skull.

Though he wasn't wearing the thick-rimmed glasses you associated with him, his features were still etched into your memory. You could feel the phantom sensation of his hand on your shoulder, that knowing look in his eyes that made your skin crawl. 'Aren't you forgetting something, Yn?’ The last time you saw Mr. Young was on a Teleparty News broadcast, framing Hongjoong for a crime he didn't commit.

You felt the bile rise up in your throat again and you struggled to swallow. “Yup,” you croaked, “that's him.” A crow never forgot a face so full of danger.

Hongjoong glanced over at you as you continued to stare anywhere but the bullet hole in his head. Something creased his brows, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He turned his gaze back to the body with a clinical sort of coldness. “What did you say his time of death was?”

San coughed from across the body. “Doc Shim estimates that it was probably around two this afternoon.”

There were several of you gathered in an unmarked warehouse further down the docks in Hala Town, including you, Hongjoong, San, Wooyoung, Jongho, and their men. When Wooyoung had come to fetch Hongjoong about the body, he brought you and him to where they'd hauled Mr. Young's cold, dead, and wet body out of the seawater and into a building where no one would see. They'd dumped the corpse into a large tub with ice to prevent the smell of death from making anyone vomit, but sometimes sight alone was wretched enough.

“That makes sense,” you chimed in. “He wasn't at the meeting tonight and I was wondering why Jung Joonseo had come with somebody else.”

Everybody's heads whipped toward you. It was almost like guns being pointed your way. Whoops.

“Jung Joonseo's actually alive?” San asked with great incredulity.

Wooyoung whistled lowly under his breath, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Damn, I knew that was what we were thinking, but I thought he would have run away or died at some point, to be honest. How did I not pick up on him anywhere?”

“He was probably hiding with all that money he stole from Yunseok,” Jongho postulated. His mouth was pressed into a hard line, eyebrows furrowed.

Hongjoong inclined his chin toward you. “Was this what you wanted to discuss with me?”

You tilted your head side to side with a small wince. “Part of it,” you replied. “There’s… more.”

For a beat, the two of you exchanged a look. As if he knew where this was going, Hongjoong raised his hand in a wide gesture. “All of you: out,” he ordered the lower-ranking soldiers present. He flicked a hand toward the corpse on ice. “Take the body with you and burn it.”

An “Aye, Captain” rippled amongst the men and they swiftly carried out their boss's orders.

Once the warehouse door closed with a slam, it was only you, the Captain, and the few members of his inner circle left.

You shook your head as if to clear it from the mental smoke and debris left from tonight's happenings. You could mentally rewind to the most important parts of the night, but you should probably start with: “Jung Joonseo brought along a guy named Kyungmin. I didn't get a last name, but he was real young, like, younger than I am and definitely younger than anyone at that table.”

“Kyungmin,” Hongjoong muttered.

“D'you know anyone with that name?”

“I don't think it's familiar to any of us,” Jongho said, gesturing to himself, San, and Wooyoung. “Captain?”

The Captain rubbed his jaw in thought. “It's on the tip of my tongue; I'll look into it. What else, Yn?”

“Well, they said they have C4—”

“Like the bomb?” San cut in with wide eyes.

You nodded. “Kyungmin was saying something about Strictland planting a bomb somewhere, but he was interrupted when the DDC came in.” You stole a glance at Hongjoong, who was staring pensively at the cement floor. Your eyes returned to the other three. “There was also this guy who was referred to as Park there; I'm assuming he's head of Lioncrest?”

Wooyoung nodded. “Salt and pepper hair, angry little man face?” At your confirmation he gave another bob of his head. “That would be Park Seungwon, leader of the Lioncrest Society, yes.”

You pushed out a breath from your lips. “Yeah, so he basically confirmed that what he's after is Ateez real estate. Probably the rest of Hala Town.”

“Wouldn't Strictland want that, though?”

“That’s if Joonseo planned to bring Strictland back to its full and former glory.” This was Jongho.

San nodded along with him, wagging his finger. “Hm… This could just be an elaborate and petty revenge plot to bring us down. If the GV wanted the ports, or at least access to the ports, then they would have to share it with Lioncrest.”

“And we all know how good those two are at sharing,” Hongjoong muttered.

You paused. You didn't know, but you could probably guess. It didn't make much sense to you either—what was Joonseo's ultimate goal here? Who was Kyungmin? And who killed Mr. Young?

The thought of the latter made you recall that Hongjoong had something else to talk to you about, as well. You cleared your throat, drawing his attention. “You said earlier that there was…”

He lifted his brows in acknowledgment. “Yes, right. I—don’t make decisions to perform stunts like tonight's easily,” he said to you. “But we have Joonseo in our possession and that was the risk I was willing to take.” He folded his arms over his chest, the steel of his eyes searing into yours. “Now that the meeting's over and Dionysus is practically as good as closed, you're out of hot water. I'm pulling you out of the east corner.”

Your eyes widened. “That means I can come back to the Shipwreck?”

Something warmed in his expression. “If that's what you'd like to do, I won't stop you.”

Wooyoung let out a holler from across the way before Hongjoong could respond. He yipped, throwing a fist in the air. “Hell yeah! Welcome back aboard, matey!”

“That's a relief,” you mused, “being able to come back, I mean.” With all of the bullshit from tonight and the amount of stress from being undercover for the past few weeks, you could already feel the tension in your body deflate.

In that same vein, man, were you exhausted as Hell. You could feel your knees beginning to buckle under the strain of your heels and the night's events.

You grabbed onto Hongjoong's shoulder just as he hooked an arm around your waist.

“Okay,” he said softly, “it's time for you to get some sleep. Wooyoung.”

“On it, Cap'n!” the spry commander leapt to his boss's command, skipping over to loop your other arm with his to lead you out to his car.

You glanced over your shoulder and you couldn't deny the sad sinking feeling in your chest. “You won't be driving me?” You didn't mean to sound so pathetically disappointed, but being tired didn't exactly make hiding your true feelings easy.

Everyone paused, as if time itself had stopped.

A beat passed, and you suddenly felt foolish. You shook your head. “Sorry, that's the drowsiness talking,” you said and waved your hand. “I'll see you all later.”

Goodbyes were murmured in response, and the three men remaining watched as you and Wooyoung disappeared out of the building.

Hongjoong stood staring after you with a tightness in his jaw—not anger toward you in any way, but frustration at, perhaps, himself. It was taking every ounce of his self control not to order Wooyoung back in here, to bring you back, so he could finish what he couldn't even start before. Maybe to even keep you from ever leaving his side again.

That look in your eyes as you left… oh, it was over.

But no matter the strong pull he felt—the hook ensnaring him in the chest with you at the other end of the line—he needed you at a distance right now. He needed you some place you could rest without putting yourself in any more danger. You'd done enough good work up to this point.

A hand clapped onto his shoulder. “You could've offered her a bed at the house,” San said with a smile in his voice, as if Hongjoong's thoughts were clearly written on his face. Jongho appeared on Hongjoong's other side, and the three of them began the slow walk toward the door. “I'm sure she would have gladly stayed the night.”

“And don't even try to deny it,” Jongho drawled. It was accompanied by a very long sigh. “I can see it in your eyes, hyung.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. “You cannot see 'it’ in my eyes.”

Jongho shrugged. “You underestimate me,” he said simply. “She liked the red hair; I could tell.”

San peered around to make eye contact with Jongho. “Y’know what? I noticed that, too.”

Heat started to crawl up Hongjoong's neck, and he had half the mind to shut them both up himself. His facial expression flattened into a deadpan, even if the organ in his chest raced at the thought that the red hair had an unintended, but fully acceptable, affect on you. “If I hear another word out of your mouths—”

“But we should probably talk about the elephant in the room.”

Right. As fun as it was teasing Hongjoong about the birdie he was growing far too attached to, there were much larger matters at hand. Particularly, the dead body they were having cremated and the live body they had locked up in the brig at headquarters.

And the bomb—goddamn it, why did it have to be another bomb? C4, based on the information Hongjoong collected, had been used during the bank explosion nearly two months ago. That seemed to confirm something for him, at least.

Hongjoong stuffed his hands into the pockets of pants. He suddenly felt an itch to grip his cane in his hands, to feel the hard wood and metal beneath his fingers. “Who killed our mystery troublemaker of the year?” he mused aloud with a light hum to himself.

Interesting how karma worked.

“I say the simplest answer is the answer,” he continued. “I think it was Joonseo. Or a member of the reincarnated Strictland.”

“He didn't seem to be connected to anyone else in particular,” San agreed.

As the three of them walked out of the warehouse and onto the marina, a cold winter chill hit them in the face. It was bound to snow in a couple weeks, if they were lucky.

Jongho hauled the door shut behind them. “The bullet went clean through the back of Young's skull, but we estimated the caliber, if that'll even be helpful—which is doubtful. Why would they have any reason to rid themselves of him though?”

“It's likely that Mr. Young outlived his usefulness,” Hongjoong said, “but we could always just ask Jung ourselves.”

San hopped into the front seat of the SUV parked on the dock, with Jongho riding in the passenger side and Hongjoong settled in the back. San glanced through the rearview mirror at Hongjoong as he revved up the engine. “Jung’s in the brig right now, isn't he?”

A smile, wickedly impish, curled onto the leader's face. “Yes, Seonghwa's in there with him now.”

Jongho coughed out a laugh. “Alone?”

“No,” Hongjoong hummed, gazing out the window, “Yunho's supervising.” As if that would be any help to Joonseo.

Mercifully, you were given a couple days off before you were expected to get back to work at the Shipwreck. Despite this, you were anxious to do something again after only a day of recuperation had passed. Processing all that you learned and all that happened to you alone was getting you nowhere but higher levels on the Tower of Anxiety.

“It's probably best that you stay out of the east corner for awhile,” Sakura's voice carried through your earbuds as you busied yourself around the kitchen.

Ryujin was at work, which left you the apartment. There were still a myriad of items for you to complete, but it felt odd to be working on normal things for once. School work had taken a back burner when you were too busy stressing over getting found out and killed at Dionysus; you were still able to complete most assignments, but now you had no excuse but to go back to your regularly scheduled program.

It was funny—two months ago, you would have liked nothing more than to be left alone to your very normal, mundane life. Now… well, now there was Hongjoong and Ateez.

“You're okay though?” you asked, washing off an apple to munch on and take back into your bedroom with you. Sakura was the one who lived in the powder keg, as Hongjoong had once called it. Jungwon mentioned before that he didn't live in the east corner, so it was Sakura who you thought needed to watch her back the most.

A small, affirming hum came from her side. “Yeah. The place was crawling with cops—still is, actually. But don't worry too much about me. You and Jungwon were the ones sticking your necks out.”

“I’m just glad we're all out now,” you replied with an exhale. You settled down at your desk and stared at the laptop screen in front of you. There were too many things on your mind to focus properly. Dead body, bomb, gunshots. How did you go from seeing next to no dead bodies in your life to two? Not to mention how many casualties there were from Dionysus that night—

Fuck. Sabine. You didn't have her number and there was no way to properly check up on her without showing up at her door like a creep.

“—Yn? You there?”

You jerked upright. “Yep, sorry, was lost in thought. What were you saying?”

“Nothing, just that I'm glad we're all out, too. I don't know what I would have done if I was in your place and the DDC burst in.”

Red hair and wild eyes flashed in the forefront of your mind. You shook the thought of him away. There was only one reason you really survived that night, and that was him.

“At least Jungwon knows what he's doing,” Sakura hummed.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. Though your doubts about Jungwon were largely quelled after that night, a part of you still remained on eggshells. It was something in your gut that churned like the deep sea.

Sakura's typing paused again. “You don't sound too sure,” she said with a small laugh, but you could hear the uptilt of her voice at the end, a question.

You waved your hand in dismissal, laying your cheek against your palm. “I mean, I definitely agree with you. It's—nothing,” you assured. “We had a disagreement, that's all.”

“A disagreement,” she parroted. The keyboard and mouse sounds had stopped entirely.

“I'm making a big deal out of nothing—really. It was a little tense between us for a couple days, but it's all good now. Just a misunderstanding.” Everyone was entitled to their bad days, right?

This was not a subject you wished to dawdle or expand upon. You cleared your throat, turning away from your desk and giving up on doing any work. “Did Wooyoung tell you, by the way?”

“Oh, wait. That Kyungmin guy, right? He asked me to help comb through records to find him, but no such luck.”

Kyungmin wasn't exactly the thing you were aiming for, but news of him still piqued your interest. You frowned. “Feels like the Mr. Young situation all over again.” Kyungmin couldn't have been a part of the original Strictland group, could he? Could people be born into the family?

“Yeah, it's easy to stay off the grid if people either think you're dead, you only use cash, or both.” She swore under her breath, which was followed by aggressive clicking from her end.

You chuckled under your breath, eyes going to the notification that appeared at the top of your phone screen. “Are you losing or something, Kkura?”

san: heyy have u ever wanted to learn how to bartend?

She groaned. “Something like that. Are you doing anything interesting with your day off?”

“Assignments,” you grumbled, sending San a reply back. Kind of, actually! Are you offering? “Though, I'm not sure I'll actually get to it.”

“Valid.”

san: well, yeah 😗

san: if u don't have class, u should come over and hang out

san: or even if u do have class…

You stood from your desk to assemble a bag. “I might head to the Shipwreck.”

your phone: don't you have a revenge scheme to put down?

san: yeah, but jung joonseo is being interrogated by someone who is /not/ me, and it's been way too quiet around here

“On your day off?”

san: …so is that a no?

your phone: u r a terrible influence. i'll be there in thirty

san: what can i say? i'm hard to resist 😂

You smiled. “Apparently.”

The trek into Hala Town was a familiar one. You spent the majority of the walk, train ride, and additional walk on the phone with Sakura, who continued to express her disbelief that you would go into work on your day off. Of course, you argued that you weren't really working. It was a casual hangout with some work-related learning involved.

As you landed on the street across from the Shipwreck, you buried the bottom half of your face further into the warm bed of your scarf. The Shipwreck's glorious sails blew gently in the dry and frigid breeze, standing staunch in the cold water of the marina. It was a welcome sight to see her glory in the daylight. For the last few weeks, if you ever caught a glimpse of her, it was always in the ungodly hours of the morning.

Fingers close to freezing off, you bid Sakura a chipper goodbye over the phone and practically ran to the lowered gangway.

Your footsteps thundered against the old wood. “San! I'm here—oh.”

You halted upon the threshold, hand clasping the side of the wall as you made eye contact with the only soul in the room.

Hongjoong was stationed behind the bar, his body half turned to see who had arrived, eyes widened in surprise and something else.

In the low, amber-ish lighting—LEDs dimmed to give the barroom a moody glow, the angles of his face were even more enunciated. The maraschino red of his hair became something closer to a darker cherry, sultry and slick.

“Hey,” you breathed out, smiling. The pulse in your chest thundered and your cheeks were feeling flushed, but it had to be from running and from the cold. Right?

He sent a small smile back and turned fully to face you. There was a bottle of bourbon in one hand, a crystal glass in the other. “Hey,” he said. “Can't say I'm displeased to see you, but I am surprised, dove.”

“Right, yeah.” You made your way inside and began to slip the strap of your bag off your shoulder. “I know it's my day off, but San invited me over to hang out.”

As you approached the bar, you could better make out the details of his expression. There was, perhaps, a strain in the way he looked at you. He set the bourbon and glass on the bar top, before folding his arms over his chest. “Ah,” he murmured, “I heard you call out to him.”

You coughed. “Yeah. He offered to teach me how to bartend. Is he—around?” Despite asking this, you couldn't take your eyes off of the man across the bar from you.

“He actually just went out to run some errands,” he replied, tucking his hands into his pockets. “But since you're here, I could teach you instead.”

Your heartbeat tripped over itself and a slow, teasing smile curled onto your lips. “You could? You don't just work in your office upstairs?”

Hongjoong leaned his forearms over the bartop and there was a challenging glint in his eyes. “Darlin’,” he drawled with a smirk that gave your heart a dangerous sort of thrill, “I taught San how to bartend.”

You made a show of looking him up and down, intrigued. “Alright, Captain. Show me what you've got.”

San frowned to himself as he peered out the window of the home warehouse. The sky was an unfriendly shade of heather gray, and it was unbearably cold outside, too. He couldn't believe he wasn't able to see the Shipwreck from here—had it always been like this? How annoying.

“Quit creasing your forehead. You're gonna make those wrinkles permanent,” Wooyoung chided from his perch across the room, feet swinging as he sat on the edge of the kitchen island.

Just behind him, Seonghwa was cracking open a pomegranate for himself to eat. The bloody red innards spilled over his fingers, running over the faded marks of bruised knuckles from the past thirty-two hours. Hongjoong had been right before—all he really needed was to get his hands dirty again.

San, pouting, smoothed his fingers over his forehead. “Don't talk about my forehead wrinkles when you—”

“Finish that sentence. I dare you.”

He only grinned in reply. “D'you think he caught on yet?” San swiveled on the ball of his foot to turn his head up toward the overcast sky once more.

A loud chuckle erupted from the inside hallway leading to the bedrooms. Yunho grinned in the reflection projected against the window. “What? That you rigged a date for them?”

“Well, yes.”

“He probably figured it out as soon as you left so quickly,” Wooyoung said with a shrug. He reached behind him and plucked a pomegranate seed from Seonghwa's hands, producing a raised brow from the latter.

“Just remind me to leave the room the next time he sees you,” Yunho snickered as he plopped down on one of the couch cushions.

It was a rare moment for so many of them to be home at the same time. With all of the recent conundrums and issues, the only time more than three or four of them were here was when they were all dead asleep. Perhaps this was the metaphorical eye of the storm, but at least there was some calm at all.

San scoffed and leaned his back against the window. “You all say this as if he won't be grateful for a little alone time with her.”

From his spot curled up in an armchair off to the side, Jongho made a face but didn't glance up from his mobile game. “You haven't been around when Yn dropped by after her shifts at Dionysus to see him,” he muttered. “They couldn't stay away from each other if they tried.”

“I mean, in a romantic setting.”

“The threat of being killed isn't romantic enough for you?” Yunho jested. He lifted his head with the likeness of a puppy, wide and round eyes going to the eldest stationed at the kitchen counter, attempting to peacefully suck on his pomegranate seeds. “What about you, hyung? What do you think?”

Seonghwa deadpanned. “I think you all need to get a life.”

“I agree,” Jongho chimed in, raising his finger.

“But since so many of you are here” —Seonghwa dumped the carcasses of the pomegranate in his hands into the compost bin and nudged the faucet on— “what progress have we made in locating a stash house?”

The next item on Ateez's agenda was scouring the city for the Strictland stash house that most of their members had to be using to hide their resources and hold meetings. This was likely where they were keeping the C4 you mentioned, if it hadn't already been planted. If the latter was so, that was what Yeosang and Mingi's people were out doing now—looking for the bomb.

Yunho coughed, scratching the side of his head. “Our best guess had been the Laundromat basement Jongho raided,” he said. “But we're sorting through some more intel that the DDC has passed along.”

“Also,” Wooyoung piped up and waved a hand like a flag, “can we talk about that? The DDC?”

Seonghwa leaned against the counter. “What about them, Woo?”

“Can we really trust them? I haven't found any proof, at least digitally, that they're holding anything back or wanting to double cross us, but…” He shook his head. Maybe it was just a cynicism that was ingrained into him since becoming a part of the crime world. Or maybe it wasn't. Cromer powder was not to be underestimated, from what he'd seen and experienced.

The five of them exchanged glances with one another. This wasn't an uncommon thought, as Seonghwa had a conversation almost exactly the same with Hongjoong several nights before.

But this was a decision Hongjoong had made for the safety and future of this family. Seonghwa, nor his brothers, were about to discount that careful move. It was a risk worth taking, but what fallout would follow?

“Well, at least Ruby's embedded security measures into the formula,” San offered, pursing his lips. “Something about adding a signature on the molecular level.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung muttered with a nod. “At least we have that safeguard in place.”

Yunho leaned his head against the back of the couch with his face scrunched up. “Why did the DDC want to raid Dionysus, anyway? I could see why Joong would want to, given who we got out of it, but…”

Seonghwa sighed, “It was retaliation against Strictland intruding on their property. A warning. Apparently Park Seongwon got away, so he lives to tell the tale.”

“You know what's really bothering me?” San walked forward and lowered himself onto the edge of a nearby ottoman, chin settled in his palm. “Who's the imposter Captain? We have Jung Joonseo, and Mr. Young is dead.”

The room quieted.

It was possible that Joonseo was the imposter Captain this whole time, but it all felt too… simple. Maybe Occam's razor was the right answer in this case, but only time would tell. One thing was clear though—if they wanted Strictland gone for good, they needed to be thorough in their extinction methods.

Quietly, Jongho said, “Kyungmin. Yn mentioned someone named Kyungmin at the meeting with Joonseo. He must play some significant role.”

Seonghwa's brows furrowed and he nodded. “Joong was looking into him, but I'm not sure how far he got. Wooyoung, let's pull up all the security footage of the imposter Captain—”

A loud chirp echoed through the room. While Wooyoung and Seonghwa discussed their next steps, Yunho bowed his head to peer down at the notification he just received.

As he opened the message from one of his soldiers, all of the warmth drained from his face.

San, seated closest to him, eyed his friend. “Yunho, what is it?”

Panic surged into Yunho's chest. “Some of my guys just finished putting together the shreds of paper we found at the Laundromat.” His fingers shook as he enlarged a picture to show to San. “They were blueprints for the subway system.”

“See? Not that bad, right?”

You grimaced at the bitter burn of liquor down your throat, a smile somehow making it through your expression. “It could definitely be better,” you rasped, setting down the glass.

Hongjoong's eyes glittered as he grinned at you. “You still finished it.”

“That's 'cause I'm a champ.”

“Fair enough,” he ceded, palms lifting. “You're pretty good at this though. I thought you said you were a beginner?”

Pleased, you said, “I am a beginner, but I still pay attention to what people do. I've been waitressing at bars for long enough. I had to have picked up something.”

For the past hour, Hongjoong had run you through a crash course in bartending. Enjoyed with a side of laughter, softened eyes and inhibitions, and you had one Hell of a time on your hands.

He hummed, nodding his head. “You like it though? If you do, you can split your time between waitressing and bartending. I don't mind.”

“That would be a lot of fun, thank you,” you said, leaning your hip against the bar to face him. Your face, once flush with the wintry cold, was now warm from whatever was being conducted between the two of you. (Mirth and merriment, of course.) “How'd you get started? With all this.”

It didn't seem like a natural route to go from mafia commander to opening a bar, or vice versa.

“Oh, well,” Hongjoong drawled, trailing off. He picked up his own glass and mindlessly swirled the liquid around before taking a sip. “It was something I thought about a lot when I was much younger. We all have dreams, y'know, that we would pursue if life didn't have its way.”

You softened. Oh.

“I would be sent on errands to some of the bars Strictland owned, and I would pick up a few things from the people working there.” He took the small paring knife on the nearby cutting board, reached for an uncut lime, and began idly carving pieces of it. “Bartending is an art form, a performance. It mesmerized me.”

He said this with an almost wistful smile. It didn't take long before he was sticking a slice of lime peel along the edge of your glass, the fruit carved into the shape of a flower.

You touched the end with the pad of your finger. You could understand the awe; he did all of this so effortlessly.

“You said,” you began, hoping you were about to go down the right path, “if life hadn't gotten in the way… do you mean joining Strictland?”

Hongjoong pursed his lips. “Kind of. When I was a kid, the only family I had was my older brother. He joined Strictland in hopes to provide for the two of us, and I joined because he did and I had nowhere else to go.” He picked up his glass again, this time, draining it to the bitter bottom. “Yunseok abused his power all the time, and my brother paid for that.”

You bit into your bottom lip, brows creasing together. “I'm sorry, Joong.”

“It's—alright,” he said with a small smile. “I still got my dream, didn't I? A chance at normalcy.”

Something stabbed you in the gut. Guilt was not a broad-edged sword, but a slim needle that pierced you at the most vital organs. You didn't know it was there until you couldn't stop the bleeding.

Once, you had accused him of being two different people. He had never wanted one half of his life to be his reality. This man before you—Kim Hongjoong, manager of the Shipwreck, bartender and businessman—was who he wanted to be. The other man—the Captain, feared leader of a criminal family—was not. It was out of necessity, something he was pushed toward to avenge the loved ones he had lost and to protect the loved ones he had gained.

Before you could stop yourself, you found the words spilling from your mouth: “It must be a blessing to be loved by you.”

His lips parted, as if speechless or stunned, but there was a tenderness to his features that not even the shadows could harden. He inched closer, one hand settling on the bar next to you. “And if I told you you were wrong?”

“Maybe from your perspective,” you said easily. “But from where I'm standing, it’s just what I see.”

Hongjoong's hand lifted and the faint smell of lime followed, but he stopped and withdrew before he could reach you. To see but never touch. (If Hongjoong was the type of man to go after what he wanted, then what divine strength did he wield to hold back from having you?) “Seonghwa was right.”

Your expression shuddered as the steel in his eyes melted into molten honey. “About?”

“That I've grown attached to you.”

There went your heartbeat. “Is that such a bad thing?”

His throat bobbed, and he rested his other hand on the other side of your body, standing before you. “You can still have your old life back,” he said suddenly. “If you told me it was all too much for you…” He would do it—he would pull any string, work in the shadows, all to ensure your life went back to normal. He would protect you from his world without you having to ever see him again, if that was what you wanted.

He would move Heaven and Earth for you. How did it get to this point in such a short amount of time? How did your heart begin to ache for his so quickly?

“You said it's hard to get out of this life.”

“I know,” he said, and there was a quiet solemnity to his words. He considered you for a moment, stare pensive but soft. “It’s difficult, but not impossible. It would take a lot of work, but…” You could fill in the blank—If that was what you wanted, I would do it.

You couldn't fathom why he would do all of that for you. He might as well enslave himself to this duty for the rest of his life or until you were dead. “Is this because of the life debt?” you asked as the memory returned to you.

His forehead creased. “No,” he said firmly. Then he was grasping your face between his palms, as if he was holding the world in his hands. “Forget about the life debt. Even if you had a million of those over my head, it wouldn't matter.”

He searched and searched your face, your eyes—for what, you didn't know. You yourself didn't know what to make of it. Did he want you gone? Was his being attached to you so bad?

You supposed it was. You were one more liability he had to keep track of, a weak link.

Wait…

“I have to go.” The words slipped from your tongue like bourbon from a bottle. Weak link, weak link, weak link—you needed to think—what if you were the weak lin—

Something cracked in Hongjoong's expression. “Wait—Yn.”

You opened your mouth as you stepped out of his hold, just as your phone buzzed on the bar counter. You scooped it up and skimmed the message, eyebrow lifting. “Okay, I really have to go.”

ryuu 💖: heyyy would u happen to be home or on ur way home? i just realized i forgot my keys and the landlord isn't picking up 😅

“Yn” —he grabbed your arm, and your eyes went wide as he whirled you around. “Is everything okay?” Are we okay?

(Could I be the one putting you in danger? You were the one who could be blacklisted, stalked, and manipulated. Despite all of the caution you claimed to have, so much of it had been thrown out the window as of late.)

You nodded, managing a smile that was reassuring enough. It had to be reassuring enough. He wouldn't let you leave if it wasn't. “Yeah,” you said, “Ryujin just forgot her keys, is all. I'm gonna run home and meet her there.”

“Let me drive you.”

“No, it's okay!” you inwardly winced at how quickly you said that. “I need some time to think. I'll be okay, but thank you.”

Hongjoong stood there with a look on his face you didn't have the heart to dissect. You swallowed a heaping teaspoon of your pride. With your free hand, you reached over to cup the side of his face so you could press a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

“We'll talk later,” you promised. Before he or you could change your mind, you rounded the bar, threw on your coat, and hurried out of the Shipwreck.

Same as how you arrived, you retreated from the boat with your pulse hammering in your throat and your mind elsewhere. How should you proceed? That foggy conscience continued to linger like the thick marine layer at the first signs of dawn upon the coastline. It clung to the cobblestones of your memories and the paths each question was taking you.

You made it to the Hala Town train station in one piece, your physical body destined for Sector 1; yet, your head remained in the belly of the Shipwreck, between the bar and a man you never knew could mean this much to you.

It could have just been paranoia far out of left field, but there was no such thing as fate.

What, or who, brought Hongjoong into the bar on Fifth Street that night?

You stood upon the platform, only raising your head when the train heading east arrived. Amongst the usual hustle and bustle, you weaved your way into the car, your thumbs flying over your phone's keyboard to send Ryujin a text back. I'm on my way! Just sit tight.

Your shoulder collided with someone else's, and you lifted your gaze to catch the person disappearing into the crowd. A strange flutter filled your stomach, déjà vu perhaps.

The doors closed with practiced ease, then pulled out of the station. “Next stop: 1st Street—”

BOOM.

The entire train car rocked with a violent lurch, your body pummeling into the person ahead of you. Your hands went out to put yourself upright again, an apology falling out of your mouth. A wave of gasps and shrieks flooded the car as everyone grabbed onto something to anchor them down.

Your eyes blew wide open and you pressed your face to the nearest door. What the Hell was that?

BOOM. BOOM.

“It's an earthquake!” someone exclaimed, the panic in their voice clear as day.

No. No, an earthquake didn't make that noise.

Fear seized your chest as you caught the searing light and heat making its way toward your car from further down the tunnel.

You pounced for the nearest emergency lever. “We need to get out of here,” you voiced aloud, your breathing becoming labored pants as the panic took over you.

The train had come to an automatic stop, but the more you and your peers tugged, yanked, heaved at the lever, the damned thing wouldn't budge.

The effort was in vain, however. Even if you had gotten the door open at this time, the next explosion went off and all you saw was white.

Lee Seokmin smiled as the makeup artist stationed in front of him finished touching up his foundation. “Thank you,” he said warmly, the two of them exchanging brief nods as she left.

The main set within the Teleparty Newsroom was particularly chaotic this fine afternoon. There had been plenty of thrilling and critical stories to share with the rest of the city as of late, ones that Seokmin was happy to disseminate to the public. Becoming the company's lead anchorman was an accumulation of all his hopes and dreams, even if they were tethered to the will of a mafia family.

“Breaking news in five, four…”

Seokmin straightened in his chair, eyes skimming the teleprompter across from him and behind the camera.

“We're live!”

“We’re going straight to the breaking news,” Seokmin began, his tone grave but dignified, and not a single hint of fear in his tone. But as he read and spoke, his heart catapulted into high gear, confusion and terror filling his chest like a gas. “Only fifteen minutes ago, a series of explosions devastated the public metro line near the Hala Town station.”

He couldn't even view the footage undoubtedly being played by his face on the television screen. What in the world was going on?

He raised one hand to gesture to the video. “Authorities report as many as twenty-two casualties and at least forty-seven injured. We are not yet certain of the culprits, and no group has come forward claiming this act of terrorism.”

Seokmin wondered, terribly, if this had been the work of his affiliates. Could the DDC have been involved? Was he complicit in so many deaths while simultaneously extending his sympathies to those injured and grieving?

He swallowed, eyes solemn as he looked directly into the camera. His heart weighed heavily in his ribcage.

Oh, the price of what we desired most.

“We will keep you, the viewer, updated as more information comes to light. As always, this has been Lee Seokmin, at your service.”

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !

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itsbeeble · 15 hours ago

Text

HONGJOONG THE MAN YOU AREEEEEEEE

BIRDS OF PREY — fifteen

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of death, violence (firing of guns, actual murder), mentions of a bomb, we talk to a hired hitman, i am a little shithead 💀, also barely proofread

▷ word count. 7.1k (i had a lot of ground to cover...)

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a/n: i did get carried away again but that's besides the point

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: GOOD FAITH

PLAZA VELVETINE WAS rather lovely in the daytime.

Its blushing granite face was carved with the likeness of roses, each petal etched into the hard stone to reflect the very flowers that lined its perimeter. The front entrance, a towering archway that leaned over the circular driveway, was in direct line to the three-tiered fountain at the center; this too was surrounded by carefully placed rows of crimson, thorned rose bushes.

It was one of those rare winter mornings where the sun gathered the strength to peer past the clouds blanketing the sky. Hongjoong gazed out the window in front of him, one leg crossed over the other, a hot cup of coffee in hand. The morning sunlight streamed over him and showered him in its buttery gold light. He wore his dark hair neat and swept out of his face; expression neutral and bored, a typical, rich client biding his time in the hotel's front parlor room.

It wasn't often that the Pirate King of Hala Town could be seen in civilian clothing and outside of his territory. Plaza Velvetine was located in Sector 1—technically, as long as he was Hongjoong, and not the Captain, he had every right to be here.

As he lifted the edge of the cup to his lip, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Just to his ten o'clock, legs spread casually, Choi San turned the page of the book in his hands. He nudged the glasses on his nose upward, eyes flickering between his leader and the words before him.

Of course, Seonghwa wasn't about to let Hongjoong be stupid without a trusted set of eyes around—especially considering who Hongjoong was being stupid about this time.

Hongjoong exhaled a soft sigh and turned his gaze back out toward the window. Maybe he should have brought a book, too…

Before his mind could wander, he glimpsed someone in the reflection of the window. The sunlight, as it beamed down from its perch and through the glass, reflected off the figure who just arrived behind Hongjoong. He was dressed in a similar manner as the mafia head, with a smart button-down, slacks, and dark hair swept out of his face.

There was a brief moment where his heart tripped over itself. But that was only normal when one met a man who could kill you in an instant.

The weight on his left ankle, beneath the hem of his pants, was a soothing presence. Realistically, he likely wouldn't be able to get to the pistol holstered there in time, but San was here; and Wooyoung was nearby, watching through the scope of his rifle.

“You must be Mr. Kim,” said the newcomer with a smile. As he did so, the corners of his mouth pressed dimples into his cheeks; how disarming. They reminded Hongjoong distinctly of Bang Chan, and his fingers twitched.

Though the man never took his eyes off Hongjoong, he had undoubtedly clocked San sitting not even a hundred feet away.

Hongjoong wore an easy smile. He leaned forward to set his coffee down on the table that now separated them. “And you must be Q. I've heard much about you.”

“And I, about you,” the assassin replied. His smile favored one side of his lips more to add a cheekiness to his demeanor. No one in their right mind would suspect what his true nature was.

“Would you like a drink?” Hongjoong asked, gesturing to the coffee table. “It's on me.”

Q shook his head. “Thanks, but I'm alright. To what do I owe this pleasure? I don't always get to meet the men in charge.” He grinned boyishly, marveling at Hongjoong akin to a boy gazing up at his idol on a TV screen. There was a sharpness hidden beneath all that innocent light, though. One could only pick it out if they were familiar with it.

Hongjoong lifted a brow. “Is that so? I would have thought your work called for face-to-face meetings.”

“Oh, so you've heard of my work?” If at all possible, Q's eyes seemed to sparkle.

Hongjoong couldn't tell if he feared the man's derangement or felt in him a kindred spirit. Nonetheless, he maintained his neutral body language as much as he could, neither frowning nor smiling too big. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“And so does yours,” he was quick to remark. He leaned onto one arm of the chair, a pensive furrow between his dark brows. “Tell me, Mr. Kim, are you afraid of death?”

What an odd question. One might think of that as a threat. “Only that it might hinder my work,” Hongjoong replied. It wasn't a complete lie; but this wasn't a therapy session and no Wings Express assassin was going to get anything more personal out of him than that.

“Ah.” Q leaned his cheek against his fist. “I can't say that I disagree completely with that sentiment, and you do seem like the type. What you don't seem like the type for is showing up here like this” —he gestured very lightly at his counterpart, the space, the coffee— “I'm surprised. I expected you of all people to be more… careful about your identity.”

Hongjoong smiled, though its insincerity wasn't hard to discern by the stillness in his eyes. “Well,” he said, “what can I say? It's about time people knew who they were dealing with.” If integrating his identities would prevent anymore of this imposter bullshit in the future, then so be it. Perhaps he had been foolish to think that he could keep his two worlds separate. It was a dangerous mindset to have, that being the arrogant belief that he could be two different people at once without consequences.

He shifted then, reaching for his coffee cup. “But enough about me. We have business to attend to.”

Q smiled knowingly. “Of course. You mentioned in your communication that there is some information that only I can give you. You do know that my clients are confidential, right?”

“Conditionally,” Hongjoong corrected him. “Your clients are conditionally confidential.”

Anything could be bought for the right price, and that was what Hongjoong was here, today, to do. Though the idea was stupid, arranging to meet with this paid hitman in particular had a greater purpose than putting himself in direct danger once again. If he wanted answers, sometimes all he had to do was ask. It was simply what was necessary.

The assassin before him seemed to have a penchant for smiling like a wolf in sheep's clothing. “Yes, conditionally. What condition would you like to pay?”

“Well, how much did you charge Jung Joonseo for his commission?”

“Oh, you almost got me there,” Q chuckled, tapping his index finger against his lips. No, I didn't, Hongjoong thought to himself. “How sly of you, Mr. Kim. I can neither confirm nor deny that Jung Joonseo ever reached out to my agency for our services.”

Hongjoong tilted his head to the side. He knew from rumor that Q was smart, quick as a whip, and sadistic to all Hell—it took one to know one, after all—but trying to ask that question was worth a shot. “Let me put it this way: someone three years ago commissioned the Express for the head of a mafia family. How much did you quote them?”

Q shrugged. “The head of a family is a risky figure to take down. I'd guess it was around a million: ten percent for the down payment, and the remainder after proof of success.”

“Then I'll offer double for your information.”

“I'd be insane to refuse,” he replied, smiling. He settled in his seat with one leg crossed over the other, a greedy gleam in his eyes. Out of his pocket, he retrieved a standard, white business card with a set of numbers on the front. He slid the card across the table for Hongjoong to pick up. “But since I like you, Mr. Kim, I'm willing to be generous. If you wire just one million to that account, then we can talk.”

Hongjoong pulled his phone out while skimming over the numbers on the card. He'd take losing a million over two million any day.

“After all,” Q continued, his tone airy and nonchalant, “I never did get the rest of that money back then.”

What Q just admitted to didn't slip past Hongjoong. He continued to type in the bank information as casually as possible, even as he mentally tucked away this knowledge and began synthesizing more questions out of it. “Apologies for beating you to the finish line,” he murmured. He pressed one last button, an action completed with finality as he raised his head, and tucked his phone and the card away. “Check your account.”

Q only smiled for a beat, then it widened. Someone was speaking in his ear; Hongjoong hadn't even noticed the tiny earpiece attached to the inside of his ear canal. “I'm never gonna complain about work being done for me,” he mused. “But I am getting my money in the end. Do tell me what you'd like to know.”

“Did Jung Joonseo put in an order for Lee Hyunseok?”

“Right to the good part,” Q laughed. “Yes.”

Hongjoong felt a spike in his pulse and he resisted the urge to lean forward. “Your agency is known for their efficiency and skill. Why wasn't the order completed sooner?” Before Hongjoong had been the one to take him out.

A shrug. “Mr. Jung kept telling me to wait. For someone so calculating, he seemed to be unable to follow through on this matter. Though, I did tell him that if he kept changing his mind on me, there would definitely be interest on his bill.” The latter was expressed with an ill-concealed amount of discontent; the assassin wrinkled his nose at the memory, eyes filled with something petulant.

Well, putting a hit out on a mafia head—let alone a mafia head who was also your boss—was a major decision to make. Joonseo had to be certain that everything would go to plan and that Hyunseok's death would be in his best interest. All of this seemed to at least verify what you and he had thought several nights ago.

(Speaking of you, the meeting was taking place tomorrow night. There was still far too much to prepare in the meantime. Was keeping you in the dark about his plan the right call? It had to be.)

“I seem to have lost you, Mr. Kim.”

Hongjoong blinked and his attention focused back on Q across from him. He maintained a bored facade, hoping his counterpart wouldn't take this as a sign of weakness. “You were saying?”

Q's tongue stuck between his teeth as he grinned, his arms folding over his chest. “Do I bore you, Mr. Kim? I must be off my game.”

“No, no,” Hongjoong dismissed with a flippant flick of his wrist, “I’ve just got business on the mind. Please, continue.”

“Business? Ah, I've heard of all the drama you've been dragged into recently.” Q leaned onto the left arm of his chair, then propped his legs over the other arm so he was draped over the piece of furniture. He closed his feline eyes for a moment, then opened them to look at Hongjoong. “What, with the imposter sightings, that Sector 1 bar, the alleged break-in…”

Hongjoong's eyes narrowed slightly. “Is there a point to this?”

“I merely wanted to ask if you had any leads.”

“And why would you be interested in that?”

Q shrugged his shoulders as best he could in his position, which basically constituted a jerky motion that looked as if his neck was broken and in a cast. “Maybe I have a vested interest in your success, Mr. Kim. I've always liked you much better than your predecessor.”

Hongjoong peered at his counterpart, his interiority at war with itself. It would always be good to have someone from the Wings Express on his side; but then again, they could be bought. It literally happened just now. He couldn't count on Q's allegiance anymore than he could count on Bang Chan's.

He snorted. “You don't even know me; how could you possibly know if you like me better than him?”

“Call it intuition.” The assassin suddenly maneuvered himself back into an upright position. “As a show of good faith, Mr. Kim, I'd like to offer you a gift, I guess you could say.”

“A gift?” Hongjoong deadpanned, unimpressed.

Q smiled. “A gift,” he verified. “Based on what I've heard, you never caught or killed Mr. Jung after Lee's fall, did you?” At Hongjoong's silence, Q took that as confirmation. “He’s never left the city, but he did go underground for a couple years. Only recently did one of my contacts catch wind of him reappearing.”

Hongjoong clasped his hands together, leaning in. Every thought from his head evaporated for the time being. “This better be going in a productive direction, Q. When and where?”

“Who knows?” Q replied, lifting his palms upward. “But he's out there, and you probably know him better than I do. He's working with someone.”

“Yes, a Mr. Young—”

“Nah, no,” he cut in with a shake of his head. “I hear this one goes by another name. I know this Mr. Young character, but I don't think that fucker is him.”

Hongjoong scrunched his brows together. Who could he possibly be talking about?

Q stood from his seat then, carefully smoothing the front of shirt and pants down, carding a hand through his hair. “I think that's all I wanted to say.” He paused, then snapped his fingers. “Oh, there is one more thing—I hear you've caught yourself a little birdie.”

Confusion, fear, then ire flashed through him in that order. They struck like triplet bolts of lightning, hard and fast, bruising. Nothing could have made him more defensive than that statement. Hongjoong cocked his head to the side with a terrifying stagnancy in his eyes, as dangerous as still-water; but his mouth twisted in a smile. “Who?” he asked, incredulous.

The assassin grinned with teeth, canines glinting, as he leaned his elbow over the back of his chair. “She must be pretty if you wanna pretend she doesn't even exist.”

Hongjoong could feel himself relax into his armchair. “And you must be obsessed with me if you're asking about the people in my life,” he quipped.

“So you're saying she wouldn't be interested?”

“In who? You?” Hongjoong barked a laugh, leaning his cheek against his fist. He wondered if knives could be teeth, or how this infidel would sound when he broke every bone in his body. Hongjoong hadn't felt the thrill of his knuckles against flesh in a long, long time. He was so done with playing games and chasing ghosts. “Not a chance.”

Q raised his brows, but by the infuriating smirk on his face, he didn't seem to be put-off at all. “Just thought I'd shoot my shot,” he replied airily, and began to step in the direction of the entrance.

And what if I shot a bullet through your face?

He patted the back of Hongjoong's chair as he passed. “It was nice doing business with you, Mr. Kim. They do say to keep your enemies closer, don't they?”

Crows never forgot a face. When wronged, they could distinguish the face of their aggressor amongst a crowd and warn others of the danger that came with that very face.

By all measures, you were ready for tonight's meeting. It was going to be like any other night at Dionysus: your task was to listen and make sure your smile was made of steel. You had gotten yourself this far already—one more night couldn't hurt.

From what you gathered during your very brief training course over the past thirty-two hours, the party tonight included a gallery of officials high up in the ladder of power, excluding the real reigning family in this territory. Among them were the leaders of the Lioncrest Society, the GV mafia, and others. The woman training you, Freddi, didn't seem to know their identities, only that if they had gotten a seat at the table, they were to be treated as such.

You brushed your hands down the sides of your dress, the hem suddenly an inch too short, the fabric a pinch too tight. The palms of your ice-cold hands began to sweat as you hurried out of the employee break room and through the kitchen. Because of the fast turnaround of your induction onto the VIP wait staff, you had yet to receive a locker in the respective break room. Apparently, Lilac still hadn't come in to claim her things, not that you minded.

The kitchen had been in full swing for several hours now; since you were on a different wait staff, you had different hours than you did before. Despite a party of very important people occurring tonight, business could not simply stop. There were plenty of exits and entrances for them to come and go without going through the main doors.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Jungwon at his usual station. He'd come in as normal, while Sakura dropped you off. To avoid suspicion, you'd all decided it would be best this way.

Dimples pressed into his cheeks as he smiled slightly, lifting two fingers in acknowledgement.

You managed a smile back, as well as a nod. There was a contingency plan in place should anything go wrong, plus a list full of protocols to amend the plan spontaneously. You had those practices drilled into your mind, just as long as Jungwon still had your back.

You didn't have any more reasons to think otherwise, though.

As you made your way out of the kitchen to swing up the VIP stairs, your eyes feverishly scanned the floor for Sabine. You caught a flash of her cherry red hair out by her regular tables, but she was far too busy to turn your way. You were running out of time—for some reason, this felt like the last time you would ever see her.

At the top of the stairs, the entrance was roped off with velvet and guarded by a pair of broad shoulders in sunglasses.

“Hey, how's it going?” you greeted. The words had tumbled out of your mouth even if you didn't expect him to respond anyway. They never usually did.

This one wasn't any different. Sunglasses recognized you from yesterday's training and immediately raised the metal scanner in his hand. With practiced grace, you lifted your arms up, gave a slow spin, then waited for his approval. As he waved the scanner over your earrings, you held your breath, holding… holding… holding…

“You're good,” said Sunglasses, followed by the clinking sound of the velvet rope being unclipped.

You nodded in thanks, ducking past to quickly take your place in the lineup and sucking in a deep breath. While you weren't able to bring anything but yourself into the room, Sakura had provided you with a pair of one-way transmitting earrings. When activated, they could send audio to the receivers—in this case, Jungwon and Sakura—but they could only be activated when needed to avoid detection by something like the guard's scanner.

(Sakura had also complained about the terrible battery life on the earrings. They're pretty, she'd grumbled, but as good as dead if they're overworked.)

Amongst the other six or so girls with you was Freddi, your mentor from yesterday. She wore a little, black dress like you, different in style, but short enough where your customers wouldn't care. It was a uniform of sorts, you'd been told, but it was one you already wore from your days down on the main floor.

“Hi,” you whispered to her as your new handler counted heads.

Freddi fussed with a stray, pink strand, her eyes darting between you and the handler. “Hey. Did I mention yesterday that it's crazy you got pulled in for tonight of all nights? I mean, talk about throwing you to the wolves.”

The irony wasn't lost on you. You gave a smile that was a genuine grimace hybrid. “Whatever keeps the money rolling, I guess,” you replied with a lame shrug. “Did he say anything before I got here?”

She shook her head.

Both yours and her attention snapped to the front as the handler began addressing all of you as a group. Tonight, he expressed, was an important night—not only for the club managers and their reputations, but for you all, too. The added emphasis on the latter made it so his meaning wasn't lost on any of you.

You swallowed down your nerves, your finger tapping against your thigh in replacement to pacing.

Soon, the seven of you were led into the meeting room. It was rather small, but not without its subtle luxuries. The centerpiece was a large, circular table; dark green like it was carved from emeralds, framed with a polished mahogany around the edges. Overhead, a chandelier sparkled with low light, its individual crystals reflecting in rainbow fractals around the room. There were seven chairs around the table, one man per waiter present.

The seven of you spread yourselves out, waiting by a seat to pull out for the person you were to attend to tonight.

And you didn't have to wait long to find out who it would be.

Your heart had gradually begun to beat louder and louder as time ticked onward, but it wasn't until tonight's guests began filing in that you almost choked on your heart as it catapulted into your throat.

You grappled onto the back of your assigned chair, slathered on a smile like it was just another swipe of Aurora. You willed your knees to hold like steel.

The faces that entered the room—there were some who were familiar, some who were completely unknown to you. Each man came with at least one guard, and there were undoubtedly more outside the door.

You could pick out Manager Cheung's voice before you even saw him. He blabbed noisily beside someone you didn't recognize, a man with annoyance engraved in his face, his salt and peppered hair swept back. Manager Ly seemed the less outspoken of the two. He strolled in beside two others—one of whom you recognized.

In fact, his face in particular set off your internal alarm bells. You had taken the liberty of familiarizing yourself with relevant faces and names, those that could be found on the internet, at least. It was all in preparation for whomever you were to see tonight. Surprises were not ideal in this situation, and it was a good thing you weren't surprised to see Jung Joonseo. There were a few things different from his old photographs, but the underlying features of his face remained the same.

Hongjoong had once described this man to you as shrewd and calculating. He had once controlled every piece of money Strictland owned. How many calculations had he performed in preparation to take revenge on Ateez?

You wondered what Hongjoong was doing now, wondered if he might miraculously waltz through that door as his suave alter ego, Jun. His yellow-tinted glasses and the plush feeling of his thumb against your lip played in the forefront of your mind. It wasn't the ideal image to see if you wanted to remain focused, that was for sure.

“Ah, Jinyoung! And I see you've brought your protégé,” Manager Cheung exclaimed as he exchanged hearty greetings with the remainder of tonight's guests.

Kang Jingyoung, head of the GV mafia family, and Bang Chan were the last to step through the door. Behind them, the guards posted outside sealed the entrance. The only other door was the one you and the wait staff came through—the service entrance.

Your eyes found Chan's from across the room, but neither of you looked any longer than a second. If anyone in this room caught on that you knew each other, you'd be dead. Maybe he'd get a slap on the wrist, but you…

He had a dark colored piece of fabric pulled over the lower half of his face, leaving only his eyes and the twin glints of his eyebrow piercing for you to see.

As you snapped back into focus, you nearly started at the sight of Joonseo, Manager Ly, and the third unknown member of their party making their way toward your side of the table.

The third man didn't boast a terribly remarkable face. There were no scars, birthmarks, or notable features. He had a straight nose, a slim jaw, and eyes so empty that you shuddered. He was quiet, even compared to Joonseo and Ly, who conversed only in hushed tones. But he was young, undoubtedly so. Perhaps even a little younger than yourself. Who was this guy?

If Joonseo was likely behind this entire mess, then why was he here without Mr. Young? What role could this other man be playing?

The man in question met your stare, something flashing across his face. You could have sworn his lip twitched, but you didn't have time to hyperanalyze him—you had a job to do.

You pulled out the chair in front of you, gesturing to the empty seat. “Would you like to sit down, sir?” you asked.

He slid into the offered seat, and he muttered a “Thank you,” to your pleasant surprise.

“Can I get you anything from the kitchen before the meeting begins?” You leaned around him to place a drink napkin before him.

“You look familiar.”

Ba-bump. You let out an easy laugh. “I get that a lot, actually,” you mused. You lifted your head, only to meet Chan's eyes from directly across the table.

“No, I mean,” the man continued as he watched you, “I've seen you before. Have you worked at other establishments around here?”

“Oh, no. Not around here,” you said. There was a distinct weight to his stare, you realized, as if a shroud had been placed over your shoulders and came to life just to crawl over every inch of your body. “Are you sure I couldn't get you a drink, Mr…?”

“Kyungmin.”

“Kyungmin,” you repeated. “Our bartenders are especially good at a classic martini.” He looked like a martini guy; you couldn't explain it.

He finally glanced away from you when Joonseo nudged him with a hand. The two men leaned close to one another, and you turned your head slightly in hopes to hear what they were saying.

It was over far too quickly, though, and Kyungmin was turning back to you. “I'll take a dirty martini with two olives then.”

“Right away,” you chirped and jetted off to fulfill that order.

When you returned with the martini in hand, the table had already begun discussion. You could hear the chatter like the buzz of white noise as you pushed through the swinging service door, passing by one of the other waiters on duty.

“Funny how you don't have a bar in the room,” Jinyoung remarked with a flippant wave of his hand. “The clubs I own always have a bar in the VIP rooms, even if they're small.”

Did Jinyoung make it a habit of insulting his hosts wherever he went? you thought. Your eyes went to Chan again, who's own face was blank as the drink napkin in front of him. Maybe if you knew him better, you'd be able to find exasperation in between the lines of his face; but every time you saw him now, you could only think of Ryujin. After that, all thoughts of getting to know him further than simply being across a table from him vanished.

The martini landed delicately on its targeted napkin, and you stepped into the shadows at the edges of the room, hands clasped in front of you to listen.

Manager Cheung's top lip curled upward in distaste, and he opened his mouth to undoubtedly fire a retort back at the mafia head.

The man whom Cheung had been speaking to before, and was now seated beside, raised his hand. Cheung's mouth snapped closed, his head bowing briefly in a deep nod. How interesting. “That’s enough. We've business, don't we?”

“Of course, Mr. Park,” Cheung said. “It is an honor that you've chosen mine and Manager Ly's club to host tonight's discussion.”

Mr. Park didn't react, expression-wise at least, to Cheung's pandering. If this was a different situation, you probably would have laughed. “Jung,” he grunted, nodding to the man to your right, “it’s been nearly four weeks and I don't see those punk 17’ers moving on Ateez.”

You blinked. Wow, no beating around the bush, it seemed.

There was a memory distant in your mind. From the Lioncrest gang members you had eavesdropped on weeks ago… could this be the Park they were referring to? He was certainly someone high up within their ranks.

“We have yet to see evidence of your plan's success.”

Joonseo laced his fingers over the table top. “Mr. Park, you've seen pieces of my plan succeed. Maybe not this particular motion, but the public's view of the Captain has diminished.”

Mr. Park narrowed his eyes at him, his face somehow becoming even stormier than before. “Public view?” he quite literally spat. “This isn't some prissy game of politics. You're not running for mayor. Aish.”

“Of course not.” To Joonseo's limited credit, he didn't shrink under Park's disapproval. He drummed his fingers against the table, took a sip of his drink, then laced them back together again. You wished you could see his face. “But it's all a part of the plan. We need to turn people against him, and my actions have been carefully calculated to make him seem like an unstable figure of power. Subtle acts of attack such as mine may not be within your realm of understanding.”

“Why, I could crush you between my two pinky—”

“Gentlemen,” Chan cut in brightly, “we're allies, are we not? Colleagues. We have our separate strengths, but they come together to help each other reach our goals. Let's not forget.”

Jinyoung nodded sagely, patting his protégé on the shoulder. “Well said. As for our portion of the plan, our men are in position at the docks. It's your move, Jung.”

You glanced over at Kyungmin. Was he an assistant to Joonseo? Why hadn't he said anything yet?

Joonseo was again the one to respond. “It's unimportant that the Diamond District hasn't waged war against Ateez; it's mildly annoying, but there are… other ways.”

“Like what?” Cheung blurted.

Park sent him a look, but inclined his chin. “Don't be coy now.”

Joonseo and Kyungmin exchanged a glance, and if you hadn't been paying attention, you would have missed the micro movement of Kyungmin's head.

He just shook his head. Was Kyungmin refusing to speak? He was far too young compared to your knowledge of what the length of Joonseo's experience was. (Who was this guy?)

“You mentioned before you had an inside man,” Manager Ly offered.

Joonseo nodded. “They are… not the conventional type of 'inside man’—”

Park slammed his hands against the table, rolling his eyes. “Do you or do you not have someone inside the Captain's circle? How many men do you truly have under your power, Jung? Are you wasting my time?”

“If you'd just be patient,” Joonseo said through gritted teeth.

Your eyes caught onto movement—Kyungmin. He raised two fingers to wave you over without moving his head. Your spine straightened as you shuffled over to his side.

He handed you his empty glass. “Get me another one of these.”

With a nod, you took the glass from him and hurried through the service door.

Your heart pumped almost as fast as your legs. Every second you were out of that room was another valuable piece of intel you were missing.

As you lingered at the VIP lounge's bar, you anxiously drummed your fingers against the surface. There was one other girl here before you, but the bartender on duty tonight just gave her the drink she came for. You cracked your knuckles, eyes feverishly watching the bartender begin to assemble the martini.

From your distant left, you swore you heard the faint sound of your faux name being called.

Your head went on a swivel to locate the sound.

Jungwon appeared at the far end of the lounge as he pushed a bussing cart across the empty room to where you were standing. “Hey, how's your night going so far?”

Grabbing the empty martini glass, you met him in the middle to pass it over to him. With some breathing room between you and the bartender, it would be easier to chat unheard. “I feel like I'm missing so much by just being here for five minutes.”

“It's okay. I mean, have you—y’know—heard anything?”

You paused. Jungwon didn't know about the inside man, and Hongjoong hadn't figured out who it could be yet. You swallowed, mentally sorting through your information for something else. “Most of it has just been validating things we already know. Oh—do you know anyone named Kyungmin?”

Jungwon frowned and scrunched up his nose. “Doesn't ring a bell. What does he look li—”

“Hey! Drink's ready.”

You swore under your breath. “Okay, I'll talk to you later.”

“Wait, Dove!”

You halted midstep with your hand already wrapped around the neck of the glass. His mouth opened to say something and you passed him an expectant look.

His expression shuddered and he bit his lip, waving it away. “Nevermind. 's not important. Good luck with the fat cats in there, and I got you if you need anything.”

“Thanks!” With not a moment to lose, you darted back toward the service door into the private room.

The door swung open at the force of your shoulder, and you were immediately met by Mr. Park's loud assertions.

“—want that land, Jung. If you can't get me the rest of Hala Town, then I'll find someone who can.”

The two men were standing at this point—a battle of the wills, so to speak. You winced to yourself, yikes, and made your way over to Kyungmin with his refill. As soon as the drink left your hands, you sank back into the safety of the dim shadows.

“You will have your real estate, Mr. Park, if you would just have faith,” Joonseo sneered. “Your small mind can't comprehend the fascinating way that my machinations have worked—”

“You're really beginning to get on my nerves, boy.” Park pressed his fingers against the table, staring openly with the dark eyes of a ghost.

A shiver tumbled down your spine. What was the signal for ‘gun’, again?

“We have C4.”

All eyes bolted over to the voice, and even your eyes widened in mild surprise. Kyungmin casually looked up from his martini glass as if he hadn't attracted everyone's attention like he was the opposite end to the room's magnetic pole.

Manager Cheung blinked, flabbergasted. “C4?”

Kyungmin nodded. “You should be satisfied to know that if it’s physical violence you want for results, we're planting a bomb at—”

BANG!

The sound was so akin to an explosion, that you threw yourself back against the wall as a reflex. The doors to the private room slammed open against their back walls and the room flooded with strangers. Shouts, clambering, the metallic cocking of firearms echoed throughout the space.

“Keep your guns away! Or be stupid, I don't really give a damn,” chuckled the one at the front. His blond hair was chopped in a short cropped style, and there was a tiger tattooed on his one exposed shoulder.

Your heart pounded up against your ribcage as you and the other waiters cowered against the edges of the room. The figures were mostly covered from head to toe, their mouths hidden behind masks; something turquoise—no, periwinkle, caught your eye. There was a geometric sign visible in the blur, vaguely familiar.

The maniac with the tiger tatt raised his rifle. “Which one of you broke onto Diamond District property?”

In the beat of silence, you and about a dozen others saw someone move. You saw the gleam of dark metal—a bodyguard's attempt to draw his gun.

The invaders were far quicker.

BANG! And it began what felt like the end of the fucking world.

More guns were drawn and bullets tore through air, fabric, flesh, bone. You had to slam your hands over your ears because you swore you felt the warmth of blood trickling from your eardrums.

Your fingers fumbled for the switch on your earrings and felt that telltale click. The signal for a room full of guns—

“Dove!” you managed to hear over the dissonance.

Your head whipped in their direction—fuck—your eyes widened as you clocked a figure running right at you.

Red hair, wild eyes, familiar? You had barely a second to think before he yelled at you to ‘duck’ and tackled you to the ground. His arms came around you, hand cradling the back of your head, rolling so he took the brunt of the fall.

A wave of serious déjà vu nearly knocked you over again.

In the split second you took to look him over, you saw the unmistakable glint of steel in his eyes. It was so familiar to you, like a siren's call, that there was no doubt in your mind of who this was.

When Hongjoong knew the realization hit you, he yanked you up to your feet and shoved you toward the service door. “Go find Jungwon.”

“But the others—”

He fixed you with that hard, burning stare. “Now!”

You had no choice but to obey. Crashing through the service entrance, you hesitated for only a moment on the other side before careening down the hall to find your ticket out of here.

The city air was flooded with sirens again tonight. It smelled particularly of gunpowder and rage. What transpired this evening, according to news sources, was a gang shootout gone wrong. A handful of bodies were recovered from the wreckage of the Dionysus night club in the southeastern area of Hala Town, but authorities were unsure as to how many got away or even survived the event.

You were hunched over in the front seat of Jungwon's car outside the Ateez commanders’ home. The ringing in your ears had yet to cease, and neither had the throbbing in the side of your skull.

In the deathly quiet, you attempted to piece together tonight as a whole. What the Hell even happened back there? How did people end up dead?

Yours and Jungwon's heads lifted in tandem at the sound of gravel beneath tires. The headlights of a black SUV sliced through the cold, winter night as it pulled up a little ways from Jungwon's car.

When the driver's door opened and a head of scarlet red hair appeared, you bumped Jungwon on the shoulder. “Thanks, Won. G'night.”

“Night,” he replied back softly. “You okay?”

You nodded. “I‘m fine. Get home safe.”

You broke out into the evening air and stormed over to Kim Hongjoong with the likeness of the thrashing winter waves less than a mile from you at the docks. Blood rushed in your ears like distant thunderstorms, and you couldn't get the distinct spike of fear in your heart to go the fuck away.

“What were you thinking?” you exclaimed as he met you halfway.

Hongjoong yanked the top of his mask down, the bandana pooling around his neck. A drop of something dark and red dribbled down the side of his face from the crown of his head, and your breath hitched. “Fuck, you're bleeding—”

“I'm not, I'm not,” he reassured you, but didn't push your hands away. “It's the hair dye.”

Oh. Your nostrils flared and you shoved at his chest. “What were you thinking? What was that? Don't tell me that was you guys.”

“No, I was tagging along with a bust that the DDC was doing tonight,” he explained, snatching your hand before you could attempt to hit him again. A smile grappled at the ends of his lips and he had to sink his teeth into his bottom lip to suppress it. “We discussed the chances of important figures from Strictland making an appearance tonight and thought we would kill two birds with one stone. It was a risk I was willing to take, but only because I knew I would be there to make sure nothin’ happened to you, doll.”

He leaned in close, hands still locked in yours. “Are you alright?”

You hated that his sweaty, red hair was making your heart palpitations worse. Hated that he still had your well-being in mind, despite almost always throwing himself into danger. Hated that he thought your wanting to punch him was cute. How did he sleep at night?

You had to look away before your eyes gave away every last one of your secrets. “I'm not hurt if that's what you're asking.”

“I care about that, too, but that's not what I'm asking.”

One hand loosened its grip, and you felt him guide your chin back in his direction. His eyes were dark as the sea on a cloudless night—you’d like to drown in them some day, any day. “Talk to me, dove.”

“You scared the fucking shit out of me. Is that what you wanted to hear?” you said finally. “Do you have no regard for your well-being at all, Joong? You could have gotten yourself killed. If anyone in that room knew who you were…”

“They didn't,” he said firmly. “I don't have a scratch on me, I swear.”

“Doesn't make you any less of an idiot.”

He let himself smile this time. “I'll take it. Now let's go inside. It's fuckin’ freezing and I have something I wanted to talk to you about.” His hands moved out of yours, but only to wrap around your waist to guide you inside.

The warmth and the weight of his arm around you was embarrassingly comforting, the kind of grounding that an anchor performed. Maybe even your headache was slowly fading away.

“Right,” you perked up as you both entered the warehouse, “there are things I wanted to discuss with you, too.”

Hongjoong glanced over at you, red dye dripping down his neck and cheekbones. He nodded, though the movement was dazed; and his eyes wandered downward to someplace below your eyes and nose, someplace you both knew he shouldn't be looking.

Your skin warmed at the realization and you glanced away again.

“Wait.” He drew you back to him, and you could feel your heart jamming into your throat again. Your mind went blank from the sensation of his breath fanning over your lips.

“Captain! Captain, we've got bad—oh.”

You jolted like a spooked horse, out of Hongjoong's hold and nearly five feet up in the air. Your hand flew up to press against your chest as your heart raced erratically in its cage. Good fucking grief.

Hongjoong shot a glare at Wooyoung, the figure who appeared at the top of the stairs, with enough power to level a city block. The latter had his phone held up in his hand, as if he was on a live call with someone, and his eyes were wider than a full moon as he was struck with what he just walked into and how much blow back he was about to get from his superior.

“Someone better be dying or dead, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong grumbled.

Wooyoung smiled through a grimace. “Well, that's just the thing, hyung. We just found Mr. Young's dead body in the marina.”

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !

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#itsbeeble #reese's recs 💌#reese's chats ✏️#reese's moots 🩵#ateez x reader #kim hongjoong x reader #ateez series #ateez imagines #ateez mafia au #ateez scenarios #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong series #hongjoong imagines

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itsbeeble · 16 hours ago

Text

"Do you trust me?" Sobbing

BIRDS OF PREY — fourteen

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of money laundering, workplace power dynamics and uncomfortable propositions, mentions of tracking devices, mentions of weed (reader does not smoke it, only inhales it secondhand bc of someone else in the room), one allusion to violent methods of extracting information (nothing is explicitly stated), barely proofread like idek if i can be considered conscious rn laskdfjndsk

▷ word count. 6.6k

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a/n: i finished this last night at abt the same time yn was crashing out at work in this chapter 🤡 also the way this chapter ended up this long... it was literally supposed to be so short.....

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: HOW TO KILL A HYDRA

“I FEEL LIKE I HAVEN'T seen you in forever,” groaned Ryujin as the two of you boisterously shouldered your way into the apartment, arms full of grocery bags for the week. Her face was flush from the sting of winter morning air, but a smile stretched across her mouth nonetheless.

You couldn't disagree with her. Your face was just as nipped by the winter cold, but you were undoubtedly aglow from the much needed girl time from this morning. “And apparently we live together,” you joked.

After all the tension and chaos your working at Dionysus brought you, a moment of normalcy was all you wanted. Lately, both you and Ryujin were mutually swamped with work and college, meaning it was nearly impossible to speak to one another besides the passing-by wave or a post-it note left on the door. But this morning had been yours and Ryujin's temporary strike in order to finally spend time together.

Ryujin wiped an invisible bead of sweat from her forehead after wrestling the bags in her hands onto the kitchen counter. “Phew. I… am so out of shape. How about you?”

You grunted in response, nearly flopping onto the counter with your own bags. “I'm doing great,” you replied in exaggerated panting, though some of it wasn't exaggerated. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

She snorted, turning to the fridge. “It was a good thing we got breakfast before we left,” she said, “but I can't believe it was so crowded this morning. On a weekday, too.”

“You’re not the only one who got today off, I guess,” you said with a shrug. You dug out items from the bags to pass along to Ryujin. The only reason why this morning was even possible was because it was one of those random national holidays that came up too quick for anyone to remember. It celebrated some distant figure from the country's past; you undoubtedly learned about him in school, but his only legacy today was giving some folks a day off from their 9-to-5.

She accepted a jug of dairy creamer from you with a hum. “Hm, you're right. I still think it's so foul that you have to go to work tonight. I mean—club workers should get national holidays off, too!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I wish. It's too bad there isn't a bartender or waiter union in this city.”

“You should start one.”

“If only I had the time,” you lamented. Even as you threw out jokes, your stomach twisted. There wasn’t much time left before the meeting at the end of this week, and if you didn’t leave work tonight with the news that you were hoping for, you feared there might be Hell to pay.

Your friend let out a noncommittal hum. “Well, at the very least, I could drop you off at work. I have lots of time today, anyways, so—”

The jar of maraschino cherries slipped from your grasp, and your hands fumbled to claw it back into the safety of your possession. The glass clunked noisily against the countertop as you used your front as an extra hand. “You don’t have to,” you said quickly.

Ryujin sent you a look, carefully taking the jar of cherries from you. “Oh. Are you sure? I never get to drop you off.”

“Really, you don’t have to,” you replied with feigned nonchalance. You glanced over at her briefly but pulled your eyes away just as fast. Your mind raced with the memory of Chan—he already knew who Ryujin was and interacted with her plenty. You needed to keep her out of this. “It’s getting a little more dangerous around here lately, especially with how dark it gets. And you know Jungwon comes to pick me up, so it’s all good.”

You wondered if she could hear your pulse, if she could see the guilt scrawled across your face like some glaring neon sign.

In times like these, a moment sometimes felt like five years.

“Right, I forgot.” Ryujin was turned away toward the fridge when your eyes darted back to her.

“I appreciate it though,” you were quick to add. It’s just better this way.

She shot you a smile; if you didn’t know her like you did, you might have been relieved to see it. “Maybe another time then. Just stay safe yourself, Yn.”

“I always am,” you hummed, a little too easily. Speaking of safety… “So, uhm, y'know Chan.”

In your periphery, Ryujin straightened like an arrow, perked up like a puppy. You realized your mistake far too late. “What about Chan?” she asked you with that teasing lilt at the end. She flounced over on the balls of her feet, plucking up the bundle of lettuce from your hands and wagging her brows.

You inwardly facepalmed. Oh, could you be more subtle today? You forced a laugh. “It's not like that,” you insisted, though to no avail. “I was just wondering if you'd seen him around the office lately.”

Yeah, like saying that wasn't any more suspicious.

Ryujin's expression practically screamed a similar sentiment, but she only cocked a brow at you and replied, “Now that I think about it, not really. He's swung by maybe once since the party, but he must be busy or something.”

Unfortunately, that only made it seem more plausible in your mind that Chan only sought Ryujin out to get to you, and ultimately, to Hongjoong. How did he know? And when? “Oh,” you said. “Must be, I guess. He mentioned something about the acquisitions industry.”

“Yeah,” your friend snorted. “Acquisitions is just a friendlier term for a less savory business.”

You paused. “Really.”

“Yeah.” Ryujin had her back to you as she shoved a box of ice cream sandwiches into the freezer. “One of my coworkers said it must be some kind of black market thing. Of course, it's not something that can be proven, but that's what people usually mean when they say 'acquisitions.’”

Great, so you had the answer glaring at you the entire time. There was still much you had left to learn. Your pulse still pounded against your throat though, unable to rid your mind of the dread seeping into your bones as you uncovered more information.

“And that doesn't change your mind about him?” you asked next, slowly, while gauging her reaction.

She shrugged. “Not particularly,” she said flippantly. Ryujin bumped the freezer closed with her hand as she turned to face you. “He's nice enough, but y'know, I like his friend Yeji a lot more.”

A sly smile curled onto your lips, and you felt a laugh bubble out of your chest as you noted Ryujin's own bashfulness began to peer through her nonchalance. “Yeah, forget about Chan. It's time for you to catch me up on her.”

When night casted its wide net over the city once more, you found yourself packing your bag for the work shift ahead of you. You quietly stuffed your small purse with the essentials: clothes tape, body tape, perfume, breath mints, pads, Band-Aids, and of course—

Before you let her join the rest, you swiped a bit of Aurora over your lips. As you massaged the color into an even spread, you stared at the slim, gold tube in your hand. Your reflection appeared on its surface, albeit distorted and gold-tinted.

Never in your wildest dreams had you ever thought you would end up doing this—playing spy for organized crime, as a bottle girl in a territory outside the gray areas. Perhaps the gravity of your situation had yet to catch up to you.

You pushed out an exhale through your mouth, mindlessly fidgeting with the tube while you waited for Jungwon's text… Then, there was him. After the other night, with his strange behavior, you admittedly felt your pulse rush in anticipation of the tension.

Maybe this Jjong hyung person was a sore spot, but regardless, you hoped this wouldn't put a damper on yours and Jungwon's working relationship. It was just—you’d never seen him act that way before. He didn't seem capable of reacting like that.

“You don't really know him that well though,” you muttered to yourself, now holding the sealed lipstick tube like a ballpoint pen. “You can't claim to know anything about anyone—”

Ca-schink!

You jolted.

Your thumb had pressed down upon the end of the tube and activated a mechanism. A soft red light now emitted from its apex.

You squinted at it, curious. When you pressed down on it again, the light disappeared, along with any trace of what you just saw, as if it had retracted back into the end of the tube.

The light itself was not nearly bright enough to act as a flashlight, nor was it some blacklight that could reveal invisible ink (you guessed). Could it be…

Your phone buzzed on the table.

jwon 😸: i'm here

This would have to wait until later.

You clicked the lipstick into the off position, shoved it into your bag, and headed out. With forecasts of snow on the horizon, the air had developed a sharper edge to it lately. You tugged the sides of your thick coat tighter around you, instinctively checking both ways before scurrying across the road to where Jungwon was parked. At least you could still count on him for this.

He was seated in the driver’s seat, as usual, his phone screen casting a white glow across his face and creating a glare over the lenses of his glasses.

Don’t make this awkward, you thought to yourself as you rounded to the passenger’s side of the car and let yourself in.

“Hey,” you chirped, huffing out a breath at the stark contrast between the warm air in here and the cold air outside.

“Hey.” He nodded back, clearing his throat as he placed his hands on the ten and two positions of the steering wheel, waiting for you to get settled.

You could feel the palpable stiffness. You hit an invisible wall every time you wanted to say something casual. Another apology sat locked and loaded on your tongue, but you stopped yourself. You’d already expressed that it was an accident and that you were sorry. Maybe you could try to pretend like the entire thing didn’t happen; maybe that would put you and him back to where you’d been before.

As Jungwon peeled his car away from the curb, he cleared his throat again. “Listen,” he started, “I’m sorry I snapped at you the other night. I guess I’m just… a little protective over my personal life.”

You swallowed, giving a small nod. “It’s okay, but really, I get it.” Bang Chan’s face from when you met in Dionysus for the second time—the first time you met his true self—flashed in the forefront of your mind. Something sour settled on your tastebuds. You understood Jungwon completely. “I wouldn’t want people from our line of work knowing about my private life either.”

He bobbed his head and sent you a thin smile. “Right.”

You both fell into silence after that with nothing left to say. There would eventually come a brief discussion over tonight’s goals and what to listen for, but other than that, the car was filled with nothing but the low hum of the radio. Your stomach continued to twist in a painful bind, that the conversation seemed to only widen the gap than resolve anything.

Hongjoong knew the feeling of disappointment all too well. It was less a sharp stab to the gut like betrayal, and more of a heavy shroud over his shoulders. Paired with an acute sense of failure, one would have one Hell of a frustration cocktail in their hands. He would do anything to get the looming shadow over him to back the fuck up.

The sound of the office door opening didn't break his attention away from the window. Up in the Crow's Nest, he could see everything and everyone, including their expressions. It was something that helped occupy his mind from simply imploding.

“Don't tell me—”

Seonghwa's voice, already soft, cut off abruptly at the end. In the reflection of the window, Hongjoong could see Yunho's head shake, his mouth pressed into a grave line.

When the door closed again, the second in command let out a sigh. “This isn't looking good.”

“How many addresses are left?” Hongjoong gripped the head of his cane as he watched Jongho's group come in through the warehouse doors. He made eye contact with his commander, who had a gleam in his eye and nodded his head. Finally.

A beat passed. “We still have a couple left. Jongho and San haven't reported back yet.”

“We're about to get good news, I hope,” Hongjoong replied, inclining his chin out the window and turning toward Seonghwa.

This day had been geared toward the list of addresses the DDC's Yoon Jeonghan had sent over. The addresses were possible locations where the Non-Captain and Mr. Young could be hiding out or making their base of operations. The list had been determined based upon intelligence collected from the men he had scattered all over the city, ranging from first person sightings to suspicious billings for said buildings.

While Hongjoong didn't exactly trust Jeonghan, he was eager to squash the virus before it got worse. And so far, Jeonghan had yet to let him down.

Well, until now. But hopefully, with whatever Jongho was returning with, it would all be worth it.

By the time Jongho arrived at the Crow's Nest, Hongjoong could feel the pent-up anxiety and anticipation buzz through him like the low hum of caffeine at the back of his head. The commander didn't look any worse for wear, fortunately, but he didn't exactly seem to be bringing great tidings either.

“What'd you find?” Hongjoong asked.

Jongho shut the door behind him before tucking his hands in front of him. “We have a lead.”

Music to his fucking ears. Hongjoong could feel his heart rate subside briefly, before the adrenaline rushed through in anticipation of what the lead was.

Seonghwa lowered his glasses onto his nose and began flipping through his property documents. “You had the basement off of 23rd street in Sector 2, correct?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “The building used to be an old Laundromat, but had never been sold or remodeled. It was rotting away, basically. We found empty take out containers, filled trash cans, and other signs that people had been there but left in a hurry. There weren't any forms of identification left behind, but we did find remnants of documents in the basket of their paper shredder.”

Hongjoong sucked the inside of his cheek in thought. It was something. He hoped it was something big. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling. “Good work, Jongho. Have the pieces sent over to be reassembled,” he said.

“Already done, Captain.”

“And we need to cross-reference the last known owner of that Laundromat with any known associations to Strictland or even one of Mr. Young's aliases. Wooyoung is still working on compiling any other sightings of him throughout the city over the past three years, but cross it with his results once he's finished.”

Jongho gave a sharp nod. “Aye, Captain. Should I have a group keep watch over the location?”

“Yes. That's all—thanks, Jongho.”

The commander ducked out of the room and left the two to themselves once again.

Hongjoong dragged a hand through his hair and leaned his weight onto his cane. It was something but not much. It would do no one good to be too optimistic at this point. They couldn't even be sure that the reincarnated Strictland had been in that basement, let alone if that had been their hideout all this time. How many members of Strictland were left? Did they have soldiers?

In the worst case scenario, if none of this led anywhere, then what would be the next step? And what would that mean for his partnership with the DDC? Jeonghan had exchanged their assistance in smoking out this invisible threat for first pass at cromer powder when it hit the streets. He wouldn't send Ateez on a wild goose chase if he knew he couldn't get access to cromer powder otherwise, right?

Mindlessly, he leaned back against the wall by Seonghwa's desk. What to do, what to do…

“What do you think?” Seonghwa voiced aloud suddenly. He peered up from the papers in front of him, turning in the office chair to face Hongjoong with his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you think we're being played?”

In his gut? No. But with the results?... Maybe. “I can't quite tell but it wouldn't make sense,” he admitted. “Yoon's too smart to do that.”

“He is smart,” Seonghwa agreed. “And that's exactly why we should reconsider everything that's happened up until now. They seemed so sure of themselves.”

Hongjoong snorted. “The Diamond District is always sure of themselves.” He knew it first-hand and at every interaction with them. Though, he couldn't shake the feeling prickling in the back of his mind. Of course, he knew that Seonghwa's suspicions had merit; Hongjoong harbored the very same ones, though he didn't say them aloud. There were always contingency plans in place, but that didn't mean he wanted to use them.

Really, if these were safe houses that members of Strictland were using, then tonight's work did have a productive purpose. After all, how did one go about killing a Hydra?

“We're sure that the product is under lock and key?”

“It's with Ruby, and Ruby is under Yeosang's watch,” he said in reply. It was almost guaranteed that nothing would happen to the product or its maker. If Yeosang lost her, there would be Hell to pay.

Hongjoong knew the feeling. Or at least, an inkling of it. There was a strange ache in his chest and he rubbed at it absentmindedly with his palm. Perhaps he should be cutting back on the bourbon.

“San still hasn't come back yet, and once Jongho's paper samples get reassembled and analyzed, there could be something,” Seonghwa stated, as if to console himself. “Maybe… maybe it's time to resort to different measures, Captain.”

He passed his right-hand a glance. He thumbed at his lip, already tasting the heady iron of blood on his tongue. He was itching to get this over with, and sometimes, civilized maneuvers weren't as fast as the alternative. “We’re gonna need to find someone to get information out of first. Any ideas?”

Something twitched over Seonghwa's lips. “I've got some.”

It was the first sign of excitement he'd seen from Seonghwa in a while. This would at least give him something physical to do with his hands.

“Anything on our other operation?”

Hongjoong raised a brow. “It hasn't been that long since our last update.” At Seonghwa's silence, he prodded, “What's on your mind? I said I was sorry, and I'm not planning on inserting myself there anytime soon.”

Seonghwa leveled a stare at him that would have made any grown man piss his pants, but Hongjoong had practically grown up with that stare by his side. “You better not. It's bad enough that we've got crazy ghosts hell-bent on revenge. I don't need you losing your mind either.”

He grinned at him, suppressing a laugh. “Aw, you think I'm crazy? I'm touched.”

“Oy vey,” he grunted, shaking his head. “What’s our backup plan if Yn doesn't get into the meeting?”

“Now who doesn't have faith?”

“So you admit to not having faith in her?” Seonghwa parried.

Hongjoong was not deterred. “I never said that,” he shrugged. “She'll get in. I have a feeling.”

“Is that what you're calling it now?”

Always with this, Hongjoong thought to himself. What else could that feeling be? It was normal to feel concerned over an asset or a liability. Sure, he cared a little more than what people might expect, but didn't he always? It was simply that he showed it a little more when it came to you.

(What did that say about how he felt? Well… he wasn't about to answer that question. There were more important things to worry about at the moment.)

Hongjoong pretended he didn't hear him. “In a couple nights, we'll have the answers we need.”

“And if we don't?”

Another shrug. “I have ideas.” There would always be cards Hongjoong could play. No one was going to get away with forcing him to play mouse, not without him having his turn as the cat.

Seonghwa held his face in one hand. “I hate that look.”

It was about that time of the night when your thoughts shook at the knees and wobbled down the path of no return.

Tonight's air coincided with the stress of one event on the near horizon. You could feel it among the floor managers, amongst your coworkers. You could feel the weight of their stares burn into you even if you knew they were looking, boring their judgment into your skull and branding you as an outsider, or a contender, or maybe neither.

You embedded the corners of your mouth deep into the apples of your cheek until you were unsure if you would ever smile again after tonight.

“Your pockets are full, hon, go take a break.” Sabine's presence was your desert oasis as you leaned against the bar counter for just a moment of weakness. You'd taken a dive off the deep end tonight, working so many tables, so many clients, you thought you could fill a ledger book with them.

“I've got about a dozen shots that need to go to table four—”

“Uh-huh, not until you sit down for like, two seconds. Y'know, long enough to breathe?”

There was a conveniently-placed stool at your three o'clock, and you slid right onto it, exhaling when you felt the pressure leave your soles. “Thanks,” you said just loud enough over the house music.

Sabine nodded. “Yeah… you need a pick-me-up? A shot of whiskey?”

You passed her a look, and she raised her hands in surrender. “It helps; I speak from experience.”

“No, no. I don't doubt you. I used to sip on one tall glass of apple martini the whole night.”

She gave a loud chortle that made you grin. “A martini lasted you the entire shift? What, were you drinking one dew drop at a time?”

“It was a tall glass,” you insisted. “Like a Sex on the Beach glass. Lean, sexy. And I was savoring it.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawled. “Well, superstar, I'll ask Ronni to whip you up one of those tall apple martinis or whatever. Go deposit your tips and shake some tail.”

You pressed a kiss to her cheek as you slid off the stool. “I appreciate you.”

“I know you do.”

You hurried off after you took a generous gulp of Ronni's apple martini, refueled and reenergized. As the alcohol zipped through you, it was almost as if getting injected with a shot of caffeine. You'd probably feel the crash a little later on, but it would at least make smiling easier.

If there was one thing you were going to miss about this gig at the Dionysus, it would be Sabine. More than once did you entertain the idea of referring her to work at the Shipwreck. You didn't know how open she would be to a slight change of scenery, but… y'know, maybe the journey home from the Shipwreck to her apartment wouldn't be as bad.

And maybe, then, you could still see her and be friends.

Was that against the mafia spy code or something? Did it make you soft? (Maybe that was a good thing.)

By the end of the night, the lights had become haloes and you were slightly buzzed. You'd ingested the drink slow enough that you were only tipsy, and nothing that a cold drink of water wouldn't fix.

All that mattered was that you had smashed your quota.

“Dove,” you heard Ha-yi say as she appeared around the corridor by the staff monitor. Your coworkers had largely disappeared into the break room, waiting for tips to be split. “I need to speak with you for a moment.”

You nodded, logging out of the monitor. “Sure.”

“In the managers’ office.”

The organ in your ribcage shot out of a cannon. You just barely nodded in time for it to look natural. “Uhm, sure. Yeah. Lead the way.”

Ha-yi beckoned you toward the back hallway with the flick of two of her fingers, turning and walking on. You went after her, rolling your shoulders back and counting to ten in your head, wringing your sweaty hands in front of you, and trying to keep your heels from folding beneath you.

You wondered if this was what a perp walk was like—like in those crime shows, where the cops walked the perpetrator out through the crowd like some backwards runway show.

You caught Jungwon's eyes as you went through the kitchen, his dark eyes widening only slightly at the sight of you trailing after your floor manager. Silently, you made a gesture, something simple to signal where you were going.

He sent you back a small nod, apprehensively turning back to the sink, but still watching you from his periphery.

As you and Ha-yi neared the back room, the buzz of chatter hit your ears. A wave of quiet washed over the room, but you kept your gaze straight in an effort to steel your nerves.

Nervous about speaking to the managers, you said in your head. Nervous about if I got promoted for promotion's sake, not because of anything else. Promotion, promotion, promotion, promotion—

If that was all you thought, then they couldn't possibly read anything else from you, right?

By the time you reached the managers’ office, you swore you could fill buckets with the sweat from your palms. You wiped them down on the sides of your dress, eying the gold sliver of light slicing into the hallway from beneath the door.

The door itself was a large slab of dark, polished wood. Two silver plates were drilled into its surface, reading Cheung Leon and Ly Caden, respectively.

Ha-yi gave a firm knock against its surface.

A muffled voice emerged from within, and Ha-yi replied by stating who she was and who she had with her.

When there came a second round of muffled voices, she nodded to you and opened the door.

Immediately, you held back from flinching at the smell of weed. There was a light, smoky film settled over the dimly lit room. It was rather spacious, with casual lounge seating and two large desks in different areas of the room. Something groovy, like jazz, filtered into the hazy air. Upon the two, L-shaped sofas at the center of the room sat only one man, of which you recognized as Cheung Leon of Cheung and Ly.

He was a sturdy man with broad shoulders and a pair of hands adorned in large, bejeweled rings. Even in the dim lighting, he had a pair of dark shades perched on his nose. He reminded you staunchly of the classic mobsters from several decades ago; all he needed was the over-the-top hat and leopard print suit.

He grinned from around his joint. “Ah! Well if it isn't my new star! Dolly, is it?”

“Dove,” Ha-yi coughed as she nudged the door closed with her foot.

“Dove!” He stood and opened his arms out wide in welcome. His eyes peered over the rim of his glasses, and you swore, you could feel them roll up the length of your body from the tips of your kitten heels to the hairs on your head.

You reined in a violent shiver, but plastered a smile on your face. The weed in the air was kind of helping, though you remained unnervingly alert.

“My,” he murmured with a smile that made you wish you owned a gun, “she is beautiful. Nice legs… very nice face. You've made quite a few men happy, little lady, including me. You know—with all the money you've raised, of course.”

When the urge to gag threatened to bubble out, you pretended to laugh. “All in a night's work, sir.”

Manager Cheung glanced over at Ha-yi. “I do like her. Why didn't we decide to make her a VIP girl sooner?”

“We weren't sure if Lilac would recover in time.”

“Bah! Cut her loose already! That dimwit has taken too many days off.” He turned on his heel and made his way back toward the couch. “You hear me, Ha-yi?”

Ha-yi nodded. “Right away, sir.”

Manager Cheung's smile returned to his face as he turned his attention back to you. You could feel your feet angling toward the door, ready to bolt, but you glued your heels to the floor. “Dove, come. Let's have a drink to celebrate!”

“I,” you coughed, “really shouldn't, sir. I don't think that would be very professional.”

Your heart dropped as his smile grew an edge. The shark had just flashed you his great whites, and they looked like they hurt. “It wouldn't be very professional for you to reject an innocent request from me, would it now?”

“Sir,” Ha-yi cut in, and suddenly, you could breathe again. “You haven't even told her what you are celebrating.”

The man blinked. “Oh! How silly of me. Well, if it wasn't obvious already, we would like you to join our VIP waitressing line.”

You smiled, inwardly pumping your fist at the ceiling and through this guy's teeth. “I would be honored, sir. When do I start?”

“Right to business,” he marveled. “We are hosting a very important meeting in two nights, with a handful of very important guests. You'll have to come in during daylight hours to train before then. Ha-yi will provide you with all the necessary details.”

“Understood.” You bit back a smile. Finally, a success that you could report back to Hongjoong—

“So,” Manager Cheung said, “how about that drink, hm? You know, this couch is incredibly comfortable, my dear. Do you like jazz?”

A bucket of cold water washed over you. “I, uhm, I do appreciate the invitation, sir, but—”

“Do you have a family you're providing for?” he asked airily before bringing the joint to his lips and inhaling deeply. A trail of smoke seeped from his mouth as he continued, “Or perhaps you enjoy luxury items? A string of pearls would look… divine around your neck.”

You stole a glance at Ha-yi, who looked about ready to say something herself. What did one do in this situation? Would he ruin any chance you had if you rejected his advances?

“I wouldn't be able to wake up in time for training if I spent more time here with you, sir,” you said sweetly. “I'm very eager to impress you even more with my performance on the VIP wait staff.”

You smiled, as pretty as you could manage, batting your eyelashes and folding your hands in front of you. All the while, every fiber of your being screamed to run.

The smoke was on the verge of suffocating you by the time he replied. A slow, appreciative smile curled onto his face. “I suppose I see your point. I'll look forward to your performance in two nights.”

Taking her chance, Ha-yi blurted a good-bye to her boss, then grabbed you by the arm to whisk you out of that hellhole.

The night was three drinks deep by the time you arrived on Hongjoong's doorstep.

Jungwon dropped you off as normal, and you waved good-bye to him briefly over your shoulder when the Captain hauled the warehouse door open. His silhouette against the lights inside made him into a lighthouse to the storm brewing in the horizon.

Or maybe that was from secondhand smoking. It wasn't your fault your only choice earlier had been to stop breathing or breathe exhaled weed air.

The sea breeze out here had been enough to clear your mind and lungs, at least. You couldn't be too sure about inhibitions, but you made it here, didn't you?

“Don't you ever bring pants?” were his greeting words to you as he fussed over the way your coat barely covered enough of your bare legs. “Aren't you ever cold?”

“I'm usually in the car the whole time anyway,” you said, dismissing his concerns. “I have good news though.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “It couldn't have been said in an email?”

“So you don't wanna see me?”

You had meant it as a joke, but the question seemed to stop him in his tracks. Heat crept up the back of your neck, spreading rapidly over your skin like a forest ablaze. “You don't have to answer that,” you chuckled, rubbing your arm.

He peered at you through his lashes. “Come on upstairs,” he said, nodding upward. He offered you his elbow, and you could have burst into a ball of flames then and there.

“I got it, by the way.” You held onto him as the pair of you made your way up the stairs. “I was promoted to the VIP line tonight.”

“If you think I ever doubted you—”

“You put a lot of faith in me,” you noted. “Not that I mind, it's just that, you're on someone's shit list, Joong.”

Hongjoong cocked an amused brow at you. “Am I on your shit list?”

“Not yet.”

You beamed at the sight of his smirk, the one he had to duck his head to hide, but couldn't suppress completely. Some mafia boss he made. For a second, it was way too easy to forget who he was.

He was just Hongjoong tonight, right now.

You cleared your throat. “I'm starting training right away—tomorrow morning, actually. Well, I guess it's this morning now. And the meeting is taking place in two nights,” you told him as he helped you onto the sofa.

“Drink?” he offered with a tip of bourbon decanter.

You shook your head. “I'm good, thanks.”

He set the glass down and settled on the edge of the table right in front of you, as always. Maybe it was the residual intoxication—was that how it worked?—but you swore his eyes grew even darker as he leaned over his knees just then.

“The DDC gave us a list of possible locations for Strictland's current base of operations,” he said. “Most of them didn't give us much, but we might have gotten something.”

You frowned. “Might have?”

He tilted his head to the side in a half shrug. “It's… something. Maybe. But you don't need to worry about that, dove; let's talk about you.”

I don't really wanna talk about me. The exhaustion was quickly seeping into your bones, water swimming up paper. He sounded like the rich, deep caramel notes of a bottle of bourbon. Didn't they say 'you are what you drink’ or something like that? “I guess whatever keeps you talking,” you blurted. “I like your voice.”

A low chuckle fell from his mouth and he closed the gap even further, but still not enough, to reach over and tap the space between your eyes. “I know you're tired, doll, so I'll make this quick.

“I know that we didn't get to talk about Chan fully, but he will be there at the meeting. He's on our side, so if something goes wrong with Jungwon—”

Your eyes shuddered. Should you tell him about Jungwon?

“—he’ll be there as a backup. Just focus on listening, but do what is expected of you for your job. But if”— he suddenly stopped himself, his mouth still open from the words he didn't push out through breath and sound.

It woke you up a little. “What?”

Hongjoong shook his head, and when you blinked, it was like nothing crossed his face. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You're not telling me something.”

“I just don't think it's something that is right to say now,” he replied, picking and stringing his words together carefully. “Aren't you supposed to be tired?”

“I'm tired, not blind,” you quipped and wrinkled your nose at him. “Does Seonghwa approve?”

“Does he ever?”

That made a giggle bubble out of your chest before you could stop it. You slapped a palm of your mouth, even if your eyes still narrowed into upturned crescents filled with mirth.

There was something in the way he looked at you then, chin resting in the palm of his hand.

Your pulse thrummed against your throat and you couldn't breathe again, but it wasn't because you were suffocating on secondhand smoke or nerves. This was something far more dangerous.

“Do you trust me?”

The question brought you back to the present. You sent him a strange look. “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong repeated the question.

You nodded. “I do.” Once upon a time, you would've said that it was against your better judgment.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Right. Your mind wandered to two nights from now, in the very near future. What role was Bang Chan going to play at this meeting? How would you know how to proceed with him if something went wrong with Jungwon?

And the latter—that was a can of worms on its own. Everytime you returned to this hesitation, you had to do backflips to convince yourself that Jungwon still had your back, one hundred percent. It was difficult to put your finger on it.

You felt a hand gently take your chin and bring your attention to the man in front of you. Hongjoong had a crease between his brows now, eyes roving over your facial expression. “Hey, what's wrong? What do I need to know?”

It's nothing. You shook your head, waving him off. “No, it's nothing,” you promised. “I'm just—it’s residual nerves.” You had become too good of a liar recently, but somehow, he could always see right through you.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Residual nerves still come from somewhere. Yn, what aren't you telling me?”

Perhaps you were making a mountain out of a molehill. Jungwon apologized, he seemed to be worried when you were being led by Ha-yi to the manager's office, and he hadn't abandoned you tonight. “Do you trust me?” you found yourself asking, fully aware that you were taking his exact road out.

“You're a sly one,” he grunted.

“I learn from the best.”

That made him break. “Agree to trust each other?” he said at last. He seemed resolved to leave it at that for the night, but part of you wished to believe he would have trusted you in any other context, too.

You didn't want to know what that meant, for him or for you.

You nodded. “Agree to trust each other.”

Before you left for the evening (truly, an ungodly hour of the morning, rather), you remembered the slim tube of lipstick stashed in your purse. You stood upon the threshold of the warehouse with Hongjoong, fishing the cosmetic out.

“I found this earlier today.” You demonstrated the pushing mechanism that turned on the red light.

Hongjoong's face flickered with light surprise. “Sakura didn't show you? Polaris is an investment for most people, so having a way to track down their lost or stolen item was built into the design,” he explained. He tapped the red light with the tip of his pointer finger, eyes still on you. “There's an app and code it comes with somewhere on the box, but I have it if you threw it out.”

You chuckled. “You have it, too?”

He smiled slightly, shrugging as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I did buy it for you, dove. Just promise you won't lose it.”

“I'll chain it to my wrist if I have to,” you said in partial jest.

“Atta girl.”

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !

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itsbeeble · 16 hours ago

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Hongjoong in his "she's MINE" era??? (me when im delusional i need him so bad)

THE SLOW BURN IS SLOW BURNINGGGG

BIRDS OF PREY — thirteen

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of money laundering, skfnskjdkdjd one intimate moment., mentions/thoughts of murder

▷ word count. 5.3k

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a/n: yk i didn't even plan for this to be released on fri the 13th, but here we are 💀

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: HONOR AMONG THE DISHONORABLE

KIM HONGJOONG HAD KILLED BEFORE, and he was not afraid to do it again, not even in front of a room full of people. But strangling Bang Chan in front of you wasn't on his bucket list, especially when your eyes were already as wide as a deer's, and he could see that you were reeling from all the new information thrown at you in the last fifteen minutes.

(But he was right about Aurora. It was definitely your shade, and he was going to be as smug about it as possible… once the man across from him was dealt with.)

Wooyoung had tracked Bang Chan's license plate to this location last night. It was almost too easy, he reported, but Hongjoong didn't have much choice but to insert himself anyway. He needed to pull some strings, and sometimes, the only way to do things right was to do them yourself.

What a fine coincidence to bump into Chan here, seated in your section, waiting—whether it was for you or for Hongjoong or both of you, he couldn't quite figure it out. But now, Hongjoong was certain what this all was; Chan wanted Hongjoong to pick up and follow his trail of breadcrumbs to lead him here. Chan knew who you were, knew who you were to him, and that in itself was dangerous.

There were several things on Hongjoong's mind, one of which was eliminating the glaring DANGER sign across from him. If Chan put you in jeopardy, he would have Hell to pay.

“I want to propose a partnership,” Chan said.

Hongjoong narrowed his eyes. “We have one.”

“You have one with Jinyoung, not me.” The heir idly swirled around the liquid and ice in his glass. “What I mean is I want to know how you… took over your predecessors, and to ask for your assistance in doing the same.”

The words were being absorbed, but not fast enough. Did Chan just say he wanted to forcibly take over the GV mafia family? Hongjoong's expression contorted into one of pure confusion. “Come again?”

“Aren't you literally inheriting the family business?” you piped up, equally incredulous as Hongjoong. He was glad you were both at least still on the same page.

Chan took a generous gulp of his whiskey and set the glass back down. The relaxed persona he had on earlier had given way to a tension in his posture. That was what conspiring toward mutiny did to a person. “I am,” he confirmed, his lips pressing into a grave line, “but Jinyoung doesn't plan to give me sole ownership. I'm sure you've been actively working on your own problems, but our problems are more linked than I'd like them to be.”

This was certainly not going in the direction Hongjoong was expecting. Then again, none of what happened thus far had. “You've gotta be shitting me.”

“Dove!”

Heads whipped upward. You turned, nearly jumping out of your skin, and Hongjoong warmed a hand on your lower back. A co-worker of yours was waving you over, gesturing to a large pile of dirty glasses on a table.

“Go,” Hongjoong murmured to you, “I'll catch up with you later, dove.”

You casted a weary glance over at Chan, then to Hongjoong beside you. With a small nod, you left to do your job; Hongjoong's fingers lingered on the fabric of your dress for as long as possible.

Hongjoong picked up the Calliope Sonata drink you'd gotten for him and took a ginger sip of it. He pulled the glass away with a pleasantly surprised lift of his brow. It was exactly as you described it, sultry rich with the right amount of burn. And gorgeous to look at. (It reminded him of someone he knew.)

As he placed the glass back down on the table, he grappled with the heavy conversation at hand. He bit his lip, carding a hand through his hair. He didn't want to confront the actual possibility of the pieces that clicked together in his head.

“So you're saying what I think you're saying?” Hongjoong asked Chan.

Chan nodded stiffly. “Your skeletons have risen, and my boss has made a deal with the devil.”

“Shit,” Hongjoong huffed. He and Chan both took another swig of their drinks. “So why do you want my help? What exactly did you mean when you said you weren't going to have sole ownership?”

“My boss has been getting nervous, especially with his looming desire to step down and escape,” he said. “This importing thing—the one through your ports—this was going to be his last hurrah, and his last bid for funds. He wasn't planning to split anything with you.”

The realization dawned over Hongjoong with a shadow over his face. “He struck a deal with my enemies that would lead to my downfall, and thus, relinquish any control I had over his importing and the ports.”

Chan nodded, and swallowed the rest of his whiskey. He shook his head. “In return,” he continued, “you-know-who would own part of the family. My family. I don't want his bullshit poisoning my ranks. You understand, don't you?”

Hongjoong rubbed his lips together, drumming his fingers against the side of his glass. “I do, unfortunately.”

“Good.” Chan knocked his knuckles against the table absentmindedly. “Then we have an agreement.”

“Not” —Hongjoong cut in, placing a palm on the table— “yet. We have much to discuss before we can come to a full arrangement, Bang. And I'll continue to hear you out—just not here.”

His counterpart bobbed his head. “Fair enough.”

“I'll have an address sent and we'll meet there.” Hongjoong began to stand up from the booth, chugging the remainder of Calliope Sonata to usher in the burn he needed to fuel him through the next hour or so. “Don’t try to double cross me, Bang.”

Chan lifted his palms in surrender. “Wasn't on my mind.”

“And don't fucking mess with her like that ever again.”

Hongjoong left a hefty tip on the table and disappeared into the crowd. Chan could fill in the blanks; he knew exactly who Hongjoong was talking about.

But with one problem temporarily dealt with, there was yet another giant looming in the mist. Hongjoong made his way toward the bar on the far side of the club in search of the hallway that would lead him toward the managers’ offices. The managers of a Lioncrest Society establishment wouldn't recognize Hongjoong as himself or as his alter ego; they were too low on the totem pole. If he could establish himself in the right light, he would be able to push things into motion.

The heavy bass in the room reverberated through his body, pulsing hard enough to affect the rhythm of his heart. He kept his gaze forward, stride confident. The thing about walking behind enemy lines was to act like you belonged.

As he stepped into the back hallway that led to the kitchen, he heard his name—no, the fake name he gave himself tonight—called from behind him. He threw a glance over his shoulder, steps slowing to a halt to allow you to catch up to him.

His eyes drew to a wad of bills rolled between your fingertips, and he glued his gaze to that instead of the lace around your leg, the smear of red painting your lips, the glazed-over glint in your eyes. Hongjoong tucked one hand into the pocket of his pants. “Dove, wasn't it?”

You stopped before him and held out the bills to him. “Yours.”

He bit his lip, only looking at the money—his money that he'd left on the table. “Yours,” he parroted. “You're not about to get caught returning money to a customer, are ya?”

You hesitated and your fingers curled around it slightly. With a glance behind you to check for witnesses, you stepped closer once.

Hongjoong swore he could count your eyelashes now, smell the tantalizing scent of orange blossom and vanilla bourbon. He didn't know where to look with the money out of direct sight.

“Play along?”

Gladly. He ran his tongue along his teeth, playing up a feigned interest. “Do you want me to talk loud or let people fill in the blanks?”

Your hand found his chest, lingering a painful breath away from the opening of his dress shirt. The money pressed between your palm and the fabric. “Are there people watching?” you asked with a smile. There was a flirty curl to the expression, one he hadn't seen on you before, and if he had been drunk, he wouldn't have been standing anymore.

Hongjoong's eyes flitted lazily past your head to the outer room. There were definitely people passing by the hallway opening to peek inside. Some curious clubgoers, others he guessed were your peers. “I'll make it interesting for them,” he said, and moved his hand to brace beside your head against the hallway wall. “Something wrong?”

“What're you doing here?”

He blinked. Well, that wasn't what he'd been expecting. He kept his face at careful ease and used his free hand to cover yours. Slowly, he turned your hand around and enclosed your fingers around the roll of bills. “I'm gonna make sure you get into that meeting,” he said.

Yours and his hands remained between your bodies, fingers entwined, palm over palm.

A microscopic crease formed between your brows. “By what? Walking straight into a danger zone? Somebody wants you dead, Joong.”

“I can take care of myself,” Hongjoong replied with a slight tightness in his mouth. “I told you I had an idea; don't worry about it.”

“No one's gonna recognize you?”

He shook his head. “They shouldn't. Not here, anyway.”

Your mouth quirked into a slight frown, and he brought his thumb to your bottom lip. He almost wanted to muse that it sounded like you cared about him, words you once said to him.

He leaned over to put his lips in line with your ear, his words only for you to hear. “This looks good on you,” he murmured. “And as for everything Chan said and did—I’ll take care of it.”

“I swear to god I had no idea that that was who he was,” you said lowly as he pulled back. There was a flash in your eyes, twin glints of steel. “Truly was, at least.”

Hongjoong pressed his lips together. “You act like I don't believe you. I trust my people, doll.” He took your hand again and pushed the money toward you; he took a step back, adjusting his lenses and flashing you an easy, flirty grin. “Take that as reimbursement for the new accessory.”

With nothing more than a slight wave goodbye, he turned on his heel and returned to his goal. When he had a hand against the back door, he glanced back. You were gone from the hallway, out of sight.

He pushed out a breath. Good.

He couldn't tell if the erraticness of his heartbeat was from that encounter or what lied ahead of him. Being the Captain didn't mean he didn't get nervous, because you were right—he shouldn't be here. But there were necessary evils, risks he had to take to ensure he could keep taking them.

By the end of your shift, your jitters from earlier had yet to settle. You spotted Hongjoong leaving a few hours ago, not long after he disappeared to “make sure you got into that meeting.” You assumed he would act a part—trust fund kid with too much money taking an interest in some bottle girl. That was the story you managed to concoct anyway. You hadn't been able to say anything to him before he left, but he had left in one piece, and that was all you could hope for, you supposed.

You stood by the staff desktop to clock out and lock in the remainder of the profit you racked in tonight. There were undoubtedly even more whispers after the stunt you and Hongjoong pulled in the hallway. They were as unavoidable as your colleagues avoided you, their shoulders just slightly more cold than usual.

You could imagine some of the things running past their mouths.

A presence arrived in your peripheral vision, their hip leaning against the wall beside you. “So about that guy earlier,” Sabine trailed off with a teasing twinkle in her eyes. She brushed a strand of wine colored hair out of her face so you could really see her impish grin.

You rolled your eyes, locking in your inputs. “I already told you,” you teased back. The two of you began making your way toward the kitchen and backrooms. “There is nothing about him; he didn't even give me his number.”

“But that tip—that tip money was probably the highest of the night. And that's saying something.”

The kitchen doors swung violently behind you as you both entered. Jungwon was by the large, industrial sink as usual, dish rag over his shoulder while he put washed glasses on a drying rack.

He raised a hand to you, finger flicking in the direction of the employee entrance out at the back.

You nodded with a thumb's up. “I guess you're right,” you replied to Sabine, feigning nonchalance. It was bad for business if you seemed to catch feelings for a customer. You'd been in this business long enough to at least have seen it happen.

Your counterpart lifted her brows at you. “He was kind of into you.”

“Nah,” you laughed, shaking your head. The back of your ears were inflamed, but you knew something she didn't. The image of him up close flashed in your mind, and the phantom sensation of his lips at your ear nearly made your knees buckle again. “They always talk big game but can never play it.”

“And isn't that the truth,” she snorted.

You turned into the break room with Sabine and your eyes snagged on Ha-yi lingering by the other hallway, her head buried in her phone as she typed something. When you and Sabine entered, however, she lifted her head up and beckoned you over with a pair of curled fingers.

Sabine clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Remember me when you're serving the VIP lounge.”

You sent her a playful shrug before bounding over to Ha-yi. Even if you could pretend to be Dove, this persona you had come up with—this caricature of yourself—the person beneath it all was the complete opposite at this moment. You needed this promotion for motives greater than this persona.

“You served Mr. Bang and his friend tonight, correct?” she asked, even though you were certain she knew the answer.

You nodded. “I did. His friend was… Jun, if I'm not mistaken.”

She gave a little inclination of her head. “Right, Mr. Kim Myungjun. He seemed to take a shine to you, Dove.”

Ah, well, maybe Hongjoong should have considered becoming an actor. You folded your arms over one another, tilting your head as if recalling him. “I'm guessing you saw me and him in the hallway, huh?” you asked with a little wince. “He left me a tip at the table already, but when I was cleaning up—y’know, I found an extra roll of bills on the seat and thought he might have left them by accident.”

“And then he let you keep them?”

You hummed. “Yeah, but I logged it into the computer, I swear—”

“I know,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know that I've been given permission to let you keep all of it.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. “Pardon?” You hadn't counted all the bills Hongjoong left you, but it was more than enough to cover the cost of your garter. You could have probably bought an entire season's worth of them.

Ha-yi's mouth lifted the slightest bit, and this was probably the closest to a smile that you would ever receive from her. “You heard me,” she confirmed. “Management says that you convinced Mr. Kim to become a VIP member of the club. Nice work, Dove.”

Huh. So that was Hongjoong's game.

You managed a smile. “Thanks.” It wasn't your efforts, though, that got him to do it. And you weren't walking out tonight with a promotion, just a bonus. How much longer would you have to wait for a decision to be made?

About half an hour later, you and Jungwon sat in the front seats of his sedan, the engine running and the radio playing at a low hum. The two of you waved to Sabine as she disappeared through the front door of her apartment complex, somewhere near Sakura's neighborhood.

The back of your head hit the headrest and a sigh loosened from your lips.

Jungwon chuckled as he grabbed his phone from the cupholder, tapping the screen awake to check for notifications. “Some night, right? I saw the Captain strolling through the kitchen and almost squirted soap in someone's eye.”

That at least got a laugh out of you. “Me too, except I'm glad I wasn't carrying drinks when I saw him,” you said.

“So he didn't tell you he was coming?”

You shook your head, pursing your lips. “No. He's the boss, dude—he’s not supposed to owe me an explanation, is he?”

Jungwon lifted his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug as he pulled the car away from the curb. “Guess you're right,” he said. “I just assumed since you two are pretty close—”

“Don't tell me the gossip mill got to you,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands.

“I can't help it—I hear what I hear!” he exclaimed helplessly, but guffawed at your embarrassment nonetheless. “Oh, by the way, I have to stop by Kkura's; she has a hard drive that needs to be passed along to Seonghwa.”

You lifted your palms. “I got you. Do what you gotta do, Won.”

The road to Sakura's apartment was a familiar one and you spent most of it with your dazed eyes out the window. Hongjoong's run at the Dionysus management was to use money and influence to get you on the VIP staff line; however, that was also what Chan did, and no progress was made. You wondered if your little, gallant act with the money would convince them—somehow.

But if you were being honest with yourself, it was likely just a matter of time. You didn't know why they were taking so long to make a decision with the meeting barrelling full speed head, but you were sure that you had made yourself the best possible candidate that you could.

Jungwon pulled up in the alleyway by Sakura's house and promised to be quick.

He left you in the silence and darkness of the car. You turned your head back to the front as the exhaustion from the night's shift weighed over you. You hoped Hongjoong got back okay; you hoped everything would be alright with Ryujin. Why had Chan even gone to those lengths to weasel his way in front of you? To make a statement?

He claimed it was reconnaissance, but he couldn't have been less invasive? Maybe it was his paranoia. After all, you thought as you rolled your head to the side to rest against your own shoulder, he was planning a mutiny—

The car lit up with the arrival of a text message on Jungwon's phone screen. Then came another, and another.

Your eyes blinked at the brightness, squinting. Just before the screen turned dark, you caught a glimpse of the contact name: “Jjong hyungie.”

Oh. You could have sworn Jungwon said he was an only child, but maybe it was just a close friend of his who was older than him.

The alley door opened, and Jungwon emerged from within. He threw himself into the front seat, tossing a plastic USB into the cupholder next to his phone. “Everything good out here?” he asked absentmindedly as he clicked his seatbelt into place.

“Yeah, 'm fine,” you said as the car's engine hummed beneath you. “I didn't know you had an older brother, by the way.”

Jungwon's body stiffened beside you. “You were looking at my phone.” It was less of a question and more of an accusation. His hand snatched the device up, his eyes flickering over the screen, before shoving it into the pocket on the other side of him.

You straightened in your seat, nerves on alert at his tone. “It wasn't on purpose,” you swore. “I just saw the name, that was all—”

“Just” —he pressed his lips together, eyes narrowed in a way that made him look like a stranger to you— “don't do that.”

“Sure,” you stammered. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Jungwon.”

He didn't say anything, and you sank in your seat and returned your gaze to the window.

If Park Seonghwa didn't have morals or respect for him, Hongjoong was certain his second in command would have had him swimming with the fish by now.

“Your infinite patience humbles me.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

Hongjoong pursed his lips, settling his hands over the head of his cane. His friend's tone was message enough—Hongjoong had crossed a great many lines recently. It didn't matter that Hongjoong was technically his superior; Seonghwa had every right to worry.

From beside where Hongjoong sat, Seonghwa stood as stiff as a statue, his hands pressed behind his back and his face settled into something stony. The two of them were in Jung Joonseo's old office in the abandoned Strictland stronghold. Hongjoong thought it would be an apt meeting place to discuss a possible arrangement with Chan. He would be here any minute.

“I can't believe you.”

There it was.

Hongjoong massaged his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “I don't know what I can say to convince you that I'm sorry,” he said. “It was important.”

“Do you not have faith in your own agent? Is that why it was so important?”

“That's not it,” Hongjoong insisted. He paused though. There wasn't a way he could articulate the feeling needling at the back of his mind about you. At least, not in a way that Seonghwa would understand. “Of course I trust her.”

Seonghwa's nostrils flared. “Then let her do what you assigned her to do.”

Hongjoong jammed his tongue in his cheek, hand fitting over his jaw. There simply wasn't enough time for you to establish trust with the Dionysus management the natural way. Plus, he never liked this idea of you being there in the first place. His active involvement was what kept him sane.

A sigh from above his head: “What exactly is the nature of your relationship with her, Joong?”

“What a funny question.”

“Answer it.”

Hongjoong's eyes skirted up to Seonghwa, then returned to face forward. “There's nothing.”

“You really can do far better than that.” A beat of silence passed, and the sound of the clock in the room ticked loudly. “Is it because you still owe her a life debt?”

The thought had him shaking his head furiously. “No,” he said. “We are far past that right now.” But if you did call upon that last debt… He pressed his lips together. Was it so terrible for him to admit that he hoped you had forgotten about that offer?

“Then admit that you like her. You've grown attached.”

Hongjoong scoffed. “That's ridiculous.”

“The part where you like her or that you've grown attached?”

He remained silent, and it was enough of an answer for Seonghwa. To him, if there was any reason for Hongjoong's hyper-involvement, it would have to be a damn good one. It wasn't as if Hongjoong had never been in danger before—but he was just asking for it, at this point. He might as well have slapped a big, red target on his back and frolicked out in the east corner.

Furthermore, what would happen once all of this was said and done? You boarded this ship with the intention to help Ateez smoke out their enemies, but once Strictland was gone for good, did that include you, too? If Hongjoong was becoming attached to you—no, that was something that needed to be addressed later. Thought about later—Hongjoong would decide how to shift his masts once the wind blew.

There came a knock at the office door, and Yunho appeared in the opening. “Cap'n,” he greeted with a nod, stepping aside to reveal Chan on the other side, as well as Jongho and Mingi taking up the back of the escort.

Chan's eyes swiveled about the new space. He was still in the suit from earlier, as Hongjoong was, the alcohol smell permeating the room. Hongjoong could imagine that Seonghwa wasn't too pleased, but they couldn't just prop a window open.

“Cozy,” Chan said as he took a seat across from him.

Yunho closed the door behind him, standing at Chan's back, his arms crossed in front of his body.

Hongjoong made a vague motion with his hand. “It's not mine,” he said, “but it'll do. My commanders have been brought up to speed on your proposal.”

Chan nodded, leaning forward to lock his fingers over the table top. “Alright then, what do you want to know?”

Helping Chan in this case would mean a combined effort against mutual enemies. Chan would be useful in passing along intel in regards to Jinyoung's moves and motivations, as well as anything they know about Strictland's possible next actions.

“How much do you know about Strictland and their revival?”

The heir made a small movement with his head. “I’m not allowed in the room where they have their meetings, but Jinyoung tells me about them afterward. But I recognized that man from the Kidult Company break-in; he's met with Jinyoung before.”

Hongjoong's brows creased. He must have meant Mr. Young. “They've met face to face?”

A nod. “Only once, but it was to discuss finances, because apparently the guy was well-versed in money in his past life,” Chan replied airily.

Mr. Young made sense then, in this case, especially if he recognized his face. And if Jinyoung wanted a smooth retirement with plenty of income, that meant he needed this deal with Strictland to go well—in the sense that Ateez didn't have a hold over them. How could Jinyoung want this so badly that he was willing to hand over partial control of his empire to a complete stranger over Chan? What an idiot.

“I believe Jinyoung was approached a few weeks ago about a partnership from Strictland,” he continued on. “The timing was… interesting. Jinyoung was getting nervous about you, Captain, I'll give you that. So much so that he fucked his family over.” Chan gave a disgruntled shake of his head, an indignant huff falling from his lips.

Hongjoong supposed he could spare an ounce of sympathy for Chan. If someone took him in and practically treated him like a son, only to pull a stunt like this, it would be a knife in the back. The only difference was Hongjoong was the one doing the stabbing, and he was about to teach someone else how to pull the knife out to use himself.

“So then what are their next moves? Do you know?” Hongjoong asked, his cheek still resting against his knuckles.

Chan pressed his lips together. “No, we don't know their exact, next moves. But I can tell you that it'll be discussed at their next meeting.”

Hongjoong heard the pianissimo-level scoff from his second above him. He lifted two of his fingers off his cane, a signal—wait. “And when is this next meeting?”

“I thought you already knew, seeing as you've got an agent there,” Chan replied, his brows arching. “It's at the Dionysus club only a few days from now.”

So you were right, not that he doubted your instincts or information. If the leaders of this ridiculous revival act were going to be at Dionysus to meet with the heads of the Lioncrest Society, it would be an opportunity too fruitful to miss.

Hongjoong made a small nod with his head. “Yes, we did know. The thing we need to confirm is who's coming to dinner.”

“I need to know you'll back me first,” Chan countered. He straightened in his chair, a move that made Yunho's hand slowly shift to the shadow beneath his coat. The heir had moxy—that much Hongjoong would give him—his chin was held up, shoulders confident. There was an air of authority that Hongjoong recognized. It was a shame that Jinyoung was a coward. “We make a pact of alliance, and when my people move on the head of the family, you'll support my bid.”

He had it all figured out, huh, Hongjoong thought. It was, unfortunately, a rather good move. Respectable, even.

Hongjoong flexed the fingers over the head of his cane. “Deal,” he said. He lifted his head off his fist and extended his hand across the table. “You'll pass us information and we'll back you.”

Chan's mouth lifted into a slight smile, relieved and satisfied, as he clasped his hand with Hongjoong's. “A fine-sounding deal to me.” When he withdrew his hand, he sighed. “Jinyoung and I will be at the meeting,” Chan said, his lips pressing against one another into a line, making a dimple press into the side of his cheek. “Allegedly, the top brass from Lioncrest will be there, as well as representatives from Strictland.”

Hongjoong furrowed his brows, leaning forward in his seat. “Representatives?”

“Right,” Chan confirmed, “that Mr. Young fellow and the imposter Captain find this kind of group meeting beneath them.” He rolled his eyes, adding, “At least that's what Jinyoung mutters about. They won't be there, but there will be people there with direct access to them.”

It wasn't exactly what Hongjoong was looking for—or hoping for—but it was something. If Jinyoung had interactions with the imposter before, then he must have deemed this meeting in particular a risk he didn't want to take. How frustrating.

“That's—fine,” Hongjoong said finally. “Nothing much we can do, but we'll work with it.”

Chan nodded in agreement. “Though, I should add that the GV and Strictland planned to move on you lot before our overseas shipment got to port.”

“Before? Then…” Hongjoong's voice trailed off. The last update he'd received from his soldiers planted in the GV's section of the dock was that the boat was about a week away. He suppressed any outward signs of concern; if Chan hadn't warned him, then the GV would have acted sometime soon with Ateez being none the wiser.

An uncomfortable bubble filled Hongjoong's chest for the moment. How had he not seen any of it coming? Where was his head? It was impossible to be fully prepared for anything, but his peace of mind almost always came from being over prepared.

There was much to do.

Chan retained his solemn expression. “I trust that you'll know how to prepare? We haven't been given marching orders yet.”

Hongjoong massaged his jawline. “There are only so many ways to prepare for the unknown,” he replied.

“True.” Chan seemed to mull something over, then inhale and ask, “You're planning to get Yn into the VIP staff to wait on the meeting, aren't you?”

“Yes, I thought you already knew that,” Hongjoong drawled.

“Well, yes, but… no one else knows who she is, right?”

Something in the room pulled taut. Hongjoong's gloved hand enclosed around the beak of his crow-headed cane, eyes narrowing even as a lump formed in his throat.

Seonghwa was the one to speak, though. “I suggest you tread carefully, Bang,” he said in a low voice. His hands remained behind his back, not a single falter in his stance.

“I just needed to make sure there weren't loose ends.”

“How thoughtful of you,” the Captain replied wryly. Hongjoong fixed his opposite with a stony stare that spoke volumes on its own. “But you need not concern yourself with Yn anymore.”

It was a clear message to the Gold Village heir—Ateez protected their own like blood, and he was not kin.

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !

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itsbeeble · 17 hours ago

Text

And so my suspicions are correct 😈

BIRDS OF PREY — twelve

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of money laundering, implications of an uncomfortable workplace situation, just sus feelings in general

▷ word count. 6.9k

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a/n: i literally just finished formatting this lol almost didn't make it to uploading in time, this week has been... woof. anyways, a much longer chapter this week as promised

CHAPTER TWELVE: THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY

LACE AGAINST BARE SKIN would never not be a thrilling sensation: the slight friction, the silken loops and designs, the delicate weight of material wrapped around a place it had never been before.

The thigh garter was your newest addition to your uniform at Dionysus. The day after your conversation with Hongjoong, you'd gone out to hunt for the most subtle and chic version of an unsubtle and sensual accessory. It rode around mid thigh, just slightly above your knee and slightly below the hemline of your dress. You let yourself into Sakura's apartment about an hour before your shift, a giddy skip in your heart rate.

Sakura twirled around in her chair, her legs criss-crossed beneath her, with a twinkle in her eye. “Well?” she asked expectantly.

You unbuttoned part of your coat and let your right leg slip through to give her a peek.

She squeaked, hands going to her mouth and eyes widened in doe-like wonder. “It's perfect.”

“Glad you think so,” you laughed, tucking your leg back beneath the coat fabric. “I had no idea what I was looking for, if I'm being honest.”

“Well, your subconscious must have known,” she offered. As you made your way over to her station, Sakura rotated herself around to grab a small box from her desk. She fiddled with it between her fingers—it was wrapped in dark wrapping paper and no bigger than the size of a phone. “I was entrusted to make sure this ended up in your hands, by the way.”

Your brows twisted into a cocktail of curiosity and confusion. It was clearly not something Sakura herself got you by how she presented it, but you also couldn't imagine what would be inside.

“Who's it from?” you asked as you took the box from her and inspected it. The wrapped paper hugged the edges of the box so tightly, it was as if the shiny paper was the box itself. It must have been professionally wrapped, like the complimentary wrapping that luxury brands did for their thousand-dollar perfumes. (You had an old coworker who used to work at a high-end perfume counter with stories galore.) There wasn't any real heft to the box, meaning it wasn't an actual phone inside, nor was it likely a perfume.

You began searching for a way to unwrap it without completely obliterating the expensive paper.

“The Captain.”

Riiip. Your hand slipped. “From him? What is it?” Your movements were slightly less careful now, more eager to find out what was inside rather than preserving the paper.

She shrugged. “Dunno. Wooyoung had it sent over and said it was important that you got it. He said it was for the assignment or something, but that's all I know.”

“He didn't bring it himself?” you joked. What a silly thing to ask, you thought. Of course, Hongjoong wouldn't bring it himself. What did you think you were, special?

With the paper discarded, you were met with a sleek paper box. You carefully began to lift the lid off the bottom half.

“They've got the GV mafia in town tonight,” Sakura said. “He must be busy.”

Right, you totally knew that. ('I could probably kiss you’ was only a spur of the moment phrase, of course.)

You and Sakura leaned over to both see what was inside the box. Upon a bed of black tissue paper sat a slim, golden tube. It glistened in the LED lights, winking up at you. The thought slid into your head then; there was only one thing this could be.

“Wow,” Sakura was the first to say. “That's expensive.”

Your eyes widened as you took the tube out and placed the empty box on the table. “How do you know?” you asked, running your thumb over the small engraving on the top side of the cap—an eight pointed star.

“It's from Polaris—y’know, that real subtle luxury brand that slides under everyone's radar,” she said while gesturing with her hand and nodding. “Their stuff is super nice, but it's really hard to get unless you've got pull in the Lunar Crossing.”

The Lunar Crossing was another section of the city you had yet to venture into. It was a smaller sector ruled by House Mun, but was by no means any less wealthy. From your own knowledge, most of the city’s wealthy made the Crossing their permanent residence. If Hongjoong was giving you something from Polaris, then it meant he did have connections spanning that far. Not to mention the fact that you only just spoke to him last night.

With great care, you slid the gold cap off its vessel. It was a slim tube of lipstick, the color a rich and dark red, bordering on a berry-like hue. You hadn’t gone out to find a new lip color to try yet; it was as if he read your mind.

You rubbed a bit of the product onto the back of your hand, and the two of you marveled at the glowy and smooth swatch of color. “Great formula,” you muttered, smudging the color around with your finger. You tipped the lipstick tube upside down to note the shade name, Aurora. Part of you didn’t want to know how much this little thing cost.

“And he knows your color,” Sakura pointed out while raising her index finger. She twisted around to grab a small pocket mirror, handing it to you. “He has excellent taste.”

It was hard to rein in your smile so you could properly apply the lip product to your lips, and in order to hide the flutter that was bubbling up in your chest. As you blurred out the product on the outer lines of your mouth, you wondered what he saw when he picked out this color for you, or if he already had this color in mind. Either way, this was yours now.

Aurora turned out to be a million-dollar investment. You were convinced that, no matter the price tag, this shade of Polaris lip product would be worth it for the amount of attention and tips you were receiving tonight. Or maybe it was the thigh garter and the way you batted your eyelashes, but either way, something was working.

Adrenaline bullied its way through your veins as your cheeks and calves ached. Though your pockets and tip pouch were heavy from the amount of rolled bills nearly spilling out of them, your skin was sticky and crawling from the sheer weight of eyes on you. The short hemline of your dress was one thing, but the added lace to that region meant that there would definitely be customers looking far below your eyes.

It was worth it, you reminded yourself as you unloaded your pockets briefly at the cash register and went to order another round of liquor for one of your tables. This had to be worth it, right? It wasn’t as if you had never been made uncomfortable by looks given to you in these work settings, but encouraging it was another thing. It was no longer just for the money, but for a promotion, for access.

As you made your way over to the nearest bartender, you felt a pair of eyes searing into the side of your head. You lifted your attention in that direction, eyes adjusting in the dim club lights—then recognition jerked through you and made your heart palpitate.

There was a man leaning against the far end of the bar. The first and last time you saw him, he was clad in a three-piece suit, but tonight, he only wore a dress shirt undone at the collar over a pair of slacks. But the piercings in his left eyebrow hadn’t changed, and neither had the dimples in his cheeks.

You felt blood rush up to your neck and face. Goddamn it, out of all the people to have stumbled into this place… You made your way over to him, slapping on a friendly smile. “Hi, handsome. New here?” Play along, play along, play along…

Chan’s expression flickered for a moment, and that confusion was still evident as he returned your greeting. “Hey. I didn’t know you worked here,” he said. You saw his eyes go to the name tag clipped to the left side of your dress. “Dove,” he read aloud. He slipped into an easy smile as the pieces clicked into place, whatever those pieces might have been. “Sorry, must have mistaken you for someone else.”

Relief washed over your shoulders. As long as he didn't address you by your actual name, you could deal with everything else. “I get that a lot,” you laughed. “Welcome to Dionysus—feel free to make yourself comfortable and let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” he said brightly.

You continued on your way to collect your next round. Armed with a bucket of ice and prosecco, fingers grasping four glasses with acrobatic precision and precariousness, you weaved your way through patrons and coworkers and lounges. As you went, you fought to not turn your head to search for Chan somewhere in the club. There wasn't much reason for you to be worried about him, only that he knew your real name, but that in itself could raise red flags with the managers.

Bumping into someone you knew at work was awkward enough. It was like seeing your grade school teacher at the grocery store. Ryujin would find this hilarious—

Ryujin. You nearly stopped cold. What if he told Ryujin, or mentioned it to her?

After taking a lap around your section to check on your customers, you began to trek back toward the bar. The flashing dark violet and white lights were something to get used to, but you could no longer see Chan. He must have been seated somewhere then, or maybe on the dance floor.

An arm brushed yours, and you snapped back to attention.

Sabine's service smile flickered. “You okay? You look frazzled.”

Déjà vu, much? You shook your head. “I'm fine,” you assured her. “Thought I saw someone I knew.”

“If anyone's giving you trouble—”

“It's nothing like that, don't worry,” you said. “If I'm worried, I'll call a bouncer.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together. “Good. By the way, Ha-yi wants to talk to you over by the front counter.”

Your brows creased together. “Oh, did she say what for?”

“Nothing bad, I'm sure,” she replied. Before she continued on her way, she nudged you with the side of a glass she was carrying. “You look good tonight, girl.”

“So do you!” you chirped back with a grin, the two of you departing.

As you made your way towards the front, dodging drunk clubgoers and trays of liquor, you caught the eyes of Lee Ha-yi, one of the floor managers. The floor managers didn’t do any bussing or waiting; their presence was usually to handle any rowdy customers, VIPs, or any other minor disasters. One might also call them your handlers, and the gatekeepers who held the key to the one thing you were after.

She flicked her hand at you to beckon you over to her, the other hand lifting to silence the voice in her earpiece.

“Dove,” she called out, meeting you in the middle. Over the pulse-pounding house music, you could only really understand her because you read her lips. When you were closer, she put her mouth to your ear. “We have a VIP who wanted to sit in your section and declined having us call down someone from the upstairs lounge.”

You pulled away from her for a moment, heart pounding in your chest. “They insisted?”

She nodded, her nose twitching and eyes darting between you and someplace behind you. It wasn't often you saw her anxious like this. “Yes. But he's on the list, so I don't really have a say in this situation.”

“Wait, if he's a VIP, then will I be keeping his tips?” From what you heard about the VIP lounge's protocol, tips given to individual waitresses were to be kept by the individual. Down here on the ground floor, tips were pooled and split amongst yourselves at the end of the night.

She touched her hand between your shoulder blades to guide you back to the floor. “The others will get cranky about it, so no. But I'll figure out a bonus for you if you get a stellar review.”

Damn, really? You weren't here for money, but you were aware of how much a VIP could tip. What a scam. You kept your mouth shut, though, because Ha-yi had brought you to the edge of the floor to subtly point out your new customer.

“Table fifteen.” Your eyes went to the circular lounge in the corner, at the outskirt of your section.

All thoughts of how you were getting scammed flew out the window. “You have got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath.

There was Chan, posture relaxed as he rested an arm over the back of the booth seat, eyes lazily drinking in the dancers on the floor.

You should have known.

“I trust you can handle this, Dove?”

Right. Your nod was convincing enough for Ha-yi to abandon you where you stood to return to her post. With a deep breath for sanity, you adjusted your posture and headed for table fifteen.

You clocked his eyes moving as you approached; though his shoulders and face were turned away from you, he knew you were coming over.

“Well, I see you took my advice and made yourself comfortable.”

It was then he chose to turn his full attention to you with an innocent grin on his face. “I hope you don't mind,” he replied, the corner of his lip twitching as he considered you. “VIP lounges can get so stuffy.”

“I understand. And I meant what I said about letting me know if I can help you with anything.” Not really. Maybe in another universe when you weren't working for a criminal organization and this really was just for the money.

He let out a small chuckle, lacing his fingers over the tabletop. “I can see my being here is stressing you out,” he said. There was a glint in his eye as you heard him even above all the music.

You could feel your heart jammed into your throat, your expression faltering. The smile on your face steeled its resolve a little. Ha-yi might have been watching.

“And that wasn't my intention,” he continued when you didn't say anything. “I only popped in to check this place out, but I didn't plan on spending a lot of time here tonight.”

The tension in your shoulders loosened slightly, but your eyes narrowed. Why was he telling you this? “So now you've decided to stay longer then?”

He shook his head with a helpless gesture. “Unfortunately, no. I'm on a time crunch” —he supplemented this with a glance at his gold watch— “but I know how these places work and that your handler's gonna want to know how my experience was here.”

A tingling sensation crept up your spine. It spider-crawled up each vertebrae and made your back go rigid. Why was this beginning to sound like you were walking into the lion's den? You weren't even the one talking.

But it was unfortunate that he knew exactly what to hit on. You needed that stellar review, not just for a bonus, but for the possibility of promotion.

You feigned casual ease, leaning your hip against the side of the table. “What's in it for you? You can't be so inclined to help me simply because I'm Ryujin's friend or out of the goodness of your heart.”

Chan made a scoffing sound, pressing his palm against his chest with mock offense. “So little faith!” he mused. “But… I suppose I expected this; you're a smart girl… Dove.” He looked pointedly at your name tag with a small, conspiratorial smile on his face. “When the time comes, all I need is for you to vouch for me.”

“Vouch for you?” You were beginning to sound like Hongjoong.

He hummed, nodding. “Vouch for me as I will vouch for you,” he said with a flourish of his wrist. “The opportunity will present itself to you in due time, don't worry.”

You could feel the sleeping lion's tail curl around your ankle as you meditated over his offer. It was incredibly vague—vouch for him? When, where, why, and to whom? You barely knew this man, but he held your success in the palm of his hand. A word from him could either mean sink or swim.

He was patient in waiting for your answer, but you didn't take much longer to decide.

You knocked once on the table, breathing out for sanity, then slipping on another smile. “How about I get you a drink in thanks?”

The wharf air was frigid tonight. It was the type of cold that permeated the threads of one's clothes and pierced the bones like a needle; the type of cold that froze the joints and forced even time to slow to a crawl. The dark ocean beyond the dock jostled in monstrous delight, the waves thrashing around each other beneath the drape of an equally dark night sky.

It still smelled like salt and seafoam. That much Hongjoong could count on. Unlike human beings.

“How degrading,” Seonghwa grumbled under his breath as he and Hongjoong watched from afar. The delegation from the Gold Village had arrived at the Ateez docks with the sad replacement for an official at its helm. According to the spineless leaf quivering in the salty wind, their true representative was “running late.” The man in question was to be Kang Jinyoung's protégé rather than the family head himself.

So not only were the leadership of Ateez forced to stand around babysitting the GV soldiers organizing their assigned station on the wharf; but the actual man in charge of them was so gracious as to be late.

Hongjoong didn't hide the nasty scowl beneath the brim of his hat. Kang had assured him that he would be present to oversee this matter, and yet, he decided at the last minute to send a replacement instead. Who did Kang Jinyoung think he was to Kim fucking Hongjoong?

No, Hongjoong knew exactly how Kang thought of him, and how he thought of himself in relation to Hongjoong.

Down on the wooden planks of the dock proper, Mingi leaned against one of the posts, an equally disgruntled glare settled into the grooves of his face. He crossed his arms over the other, and blew a bubble with the piece of gum in his mouth. He was an imposing force amongst the GV rats present—a reminder of who they were dealing with.

Three years, and still no goddamn respect.

Seonghwa let out a loud sigh above the crashing waves as he pulled up the sleeve of his coat to take a glimpse at the time. “It's been twenty minutes. We should go.”

Hongjoong drummed his fingers against the side of his cane. “Give it ten minutes.”

“We cannot be taking this kind of disrespect with a spoonful of sugar,” his second muttered under his breath, below the sound of the water.

“We're not,” Hongjoong replied firmly, “but I would much rather ensure that there's no funny business than to leave so soon.”

Seonghwa stuck his hands in his coat and measured a glare at one of the soldiers who dared a glance his way. “That's why Mingi is here, and why Yeosang's around.”

Hongjoong could feel the phantom eyes of his primary lookout somewhere in the shadows nearby. While Mingi was a more obvious sentinel, Yeosang could make sure they were aware of everything unseen. Of course Hongjoong trusted Mingi and Yeosang; he simply didn't trust the GV. There was a feeling pricking at the back of his mind…

Above the sounds of wind, wave, and work, Hongjoong's breath caught at the faint sound of a bird call, high and soft. He and Seonghwa quietly marked the trills—even down on the docks, Mingi's head turned slightly to hear better.

Their missing party had arrived.

It took a couple more minutes for anything else to change. The docks this time of night were usually rather quiet; all of the day-workers had gone home as they always did, and all of the noise came from their business here. But Hongjoong would be damned if he couldn't taste the shift in the briny ocean breeze when a rival was present.

In the distance, there came the quiet sound of tires approaching. Hongjoong lifted his head only subtly, acknowledging to his counterparts that he was well aware of who had finally come. Then it was the crunching of a car rolling over gravel just a ways behind them, a rupture like radio static.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa turned to greet the newcomer. He stepped out of a slick dark blue vehicle, his hands tucked into the pockets of his bomber jacket, and a piece of fabric pulled up over the lower half of his face.

In his periphery, the men on the dock gradually realized their real boss had arrived, and began to shout their greetings his way.

Bang Chan, Kang Jinyoung's protégé and the one present at the council meeting weeks ago, lifted a hand in silent dismissal. He stalked his way over to Hongjoong and Seonghwa, the latter of which did hardly anything to hide the unimpressed kink in his brow.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Chan said as if he wasn't nearly half an hour late.

Hongjoong kept his expression neutral. “Nice of you to finally join us. You've left your men in our care.”

He shrugged. “Mr. Gwang was here,” he replied, nodding his chin toward the official who had come in his place. Chan stopped when he was a few feet away from the leaders of Ateez, far enough to suggest lack of friendship, but close enough to be in the conversation. With the slight breeze tonight, it was also an apt distance to pick up the distinct scent of something Hongjoong was far too familiar with.

The Captain inwardly furrowed his brows. Why did Bang Chan smell like booze?

Seonghwa's nose crinkled from beneath his mask, his eyes narrowing. “You smell like a bar,” he drawled.

Hongjoong took a good look at the GV heir. He was standing with excellent posture, albeit relaxed in the shoulders and lower body; there were no nervous ticks that he could see, and neither were his eyes dilated. If he was drunk or tipsy, Hongjoong couldn't tell. But Chan had driven here on his own—what on Earth was he doing, and where?

“Errand I had to run,” Chan chuckled. “You know how it is. Apologies for running late though; it seems like everything's gone on smoothly.”

“You seem to assume that everything did,” Hongjoong replied.

“Well” —Hongjoong swore a muscle in his brow twitched when he saw the way Chan's eyes squinted slightly and his mask shifted, as if the bastard was smiling— “I hold much esteem for you lot, and that's not being sarcastic, Captain.”

Seonghwa's scowl seemed to intensify. “Take your condescension elsewhere, Bang.”

“Interpret it how you want,” he replied while raising his palms in surrender. “We've already made the deal for the use of your ports.”

“Speaking of which,” Hongjoong cut in, “you understand—and by that, I mean, Jinyoung understands—that permission to be here warrants our assessment of your imports.”

Bang Chan nodded. “Of course, it would only be fair. We have nothing to hide.” He considered his wording for a moment, then amended, “From certain eyes.”

“Of course.” The criminal activity conducted here was sealed beneath the bounds of a mutual vow of silence. One could use certain information against a rival group if they wished, but in this case, it would be mutually beneficial for both parties to keep their mouths shut. While the GV could ferry in their imported goods without the city's authorities stepping in, Ateez could keep tabs on a rival and tax them, too. It was just business.

Seonghwa glanced out toward the docks, muttering about checking on Mingi, before walking away. Hongjoong knew Seonghwa was itching to do something, if not go home already—Hongjoong was of the same mindset, but things with Chan were simply not adding up tonight. To think that he could have been in Hongjoong's territory, waltzing around doing whatever he was doing… That was something to stick around for.

“Y'know,” piped up the heir. He had his hands tucked behind his back as the two of them stood side by side staring onward at the sea. “Since Jinyoung is handing the mantle over to me, Captain, this will be good practice for working with one another.”

Hongjoong couldn't help the huff of air out of his nose. “Is it not premature for you to be speaking about your boss in such a way?”

“Not at all,” he replied with an air of ease. “Jinyoung can't wait to disappear to some seaside cottage across the country.”

If he wasn't mistaken, Hongjoong thought he heard a wryness to the latter half of the protégé's answer. Since he'd known Chan, and that wasn't very long, he came off as the perfect, dutiful heir-apparent to the GV family. This was something new, something intriguing—a development in the web of relationships Hongjoong kept stored in his head.

Finally, something interesting.

What grudge did Chan harbor against his head of the family? Hongjoong recalled briefly hearing about how Jinyoung treated Chan like a son, that after the death of his second-in-command, Jinyoung tapped Chan to be the up and coming head. Chan was essentially being handed a kingdom. There was much Hongjoong didn't know and only so much information that could be extracted by an outsider.

There was a beat of silence, before Chan was musing, “We'll get along, I'm sure. We have plenty in common.”

Hongjoong cocked a brow. “Is that right?”

“Well, we both like a good bar,” Chan said. He tipped his head to the side as if in thought. “Are you a fan of bourbon?”

What a strange question to ask. “I am. You?”

“Same here. A friend of a friend works at a club somewhere on your turf. She says their bourbon is alright, but there are better places.” Chan glanced at Hongjoong then, and the latter felt a slight jolt in his spine. A friend of a friend who worked on his soil?

Hongjoong was very aware that this could simply be a mind game, some wild goose chase. Or even worse, he was about to walk straight into the mouth of a lion, but he didn't get to where he was by letting bygones be bygones.

“I’m sure she has good taste,” Hongjoong replied airily. “Not every bar's gonna be a hit.”

Chan chuckled. “Yeah, well…” his voice trailed off to the point where even the wind might have carried away his last words. “You would know, wouldn't ya?”

Whatever the fuck was that supposed to mean?

By the time everyone called it a night, it was quickly approaching the ungodly hours of the morning. Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Mingi arrived at the doors of their home with muscles aching and limbs begging for sleep.

Unfortunately, their world never truly slept.

Yeosang waited for them at the foot of the staircase leading up to the living room. He had his arms crossed over his chest, a small envelope tucked between his fingers.

“Captain.” He pushed off the banister, nodding to Seonghwa and Mingi as they passed.

The door rattled shut behind Hongjoong, followed by the heavy locks clunking into place. “What do you have?” he asked, inclining his chin toward his commander.

Yeosang handed the envelope over. It was a standard cream-colored folder made of a paper with the texture of velvet. The flap was sealed shut via an aquamarine wax seal, embossed with a geometric design Hongjoong recognized instantly. “This was passed along from one of the DDC's people,” Yeosang said, affirming Hongjoong's suspicions.

After Ateez and the Diamond District's backdoor deal, the latter had been forwarding information any of their spies picked up about relevant activities on the streets. The last piece of correspondence confirmed the DDC's past deal with Lee Yunseok to buy the Kidult Company's building.

Hongjoong peeled the envelope open and tugged out the obnoxiously thick card inside. Jeonghan's loopy script greeted his eyes, and Hongjoong inhaled the words hastily. There were addresses listed after Jeonghan's brief message—addresses that could be corroborated with paper trails, and paired with dates of sightings.

After a moment, he returned the card back into its vessel and sealed the envelope.

“Good news?” Yeosang asked.

Hongjoong hooked his fingers over the hem of his mask to drag it down. He let out a sigh. “A possibility,” he said in response. “It won't be your responsibility though, Yeo. Good work tonight.”

His counterpart nodded. “Aye, Captain. I'm happy to do my job and do it well.”

The Captain smiled slightly, gesturing to the stairs for the two of them to begin making their way up. “Did you happen to see which way Bang drove in from?”

“Hm,” Yeosang hummed under his breath. “He came in from the south, as expected. He could've gone the long route to cover his tracks, though. He was late.”

“He was,” Hongjoong agreed.

They stopped on the landing of the stairs and Hongjoong leaned his weight onto his cane. Bang Chan's demeanor and words tonight still rang in Hongjoong's ears like a dissonant bell. He had come late, smelling like booze but wasn't tipsy in the slightest. He mentioned a friend of a friend who worked in Hala Town, and knew Hongjoong's drink of choice. It could have just been a guess, but it couldn't have just been a coincidence. These were breadcrumbs, and Chan was trying to get Hongjoong to do something.

He never liked playing mouse. (But some things were necessary evils. There was a storm beginning to brew in his gut.)

“Something on your mind, hyung?”

Hongjoong glanced over at Yeosang with a grave expression. “I have a feeling that there's even more going on that I don't know about.”

From his pocket, his phone went off with a high-pitched chirp. Hongjoong and Yeosang exchanged 'good nights’, and Hongjoong turned his attention to his phone.

you: i think i have a chance of making it onto the vip line

Hongjoong's chest jerked as he remembered. The lipstick did that much?, he texted back. He bit his lip; Polaris was not an easy brand to finagle in such a short amount of time, and he definitely owed his contact for it. He only wished he could affirm his choice by seeing you wear it.

you: there were other factors you: but thank u for the new color :) sakura tells me it was expensive

He made his way over to the couches, tossing his hat onto a cushion. You're telling me you've never heard of Polaris? We really have to change that.

you: if i was in a different tax bracket, i'd def be down to browse some more you: aurora's a beautiful shade

Words sat at the edge of Hongjoong's tongue—or rather, the edge of his finger tips. He bit his tongue instead of his lip this time, thumbing out an answer that wasn't his original thought.

hongjoong: glad we're on the same page. i thought it matched ur skin tone hongjoong: but u mentioned other factors?

you: right… i think i got a really good review today—one good enough to boost me up the list of candidates you: i won't know for a couple days, but the meeting will take place at the end of the week

That would mean the Dionysus management had to pick a person in a couple days time, at the latest. It simply wouldn't be enough.

He pressed his mouth against the palm of his hand, leaning over his knee. What to do, what to do… You needed more than just one good review, especially since you were new. What you needed was a track record for stellar service and raking in a shit ton of profit. Aurora wasn't enough, and as much as he put his money on your charm and your smile, there wasn't enough time.

An idea appeared in the forefront of his brain, and it smelled like a scheme that Seonghwa wouldn't like.

hongjoong: i have an idea, but don't worry too much abt it. just keep doing what u do best you: haha sure capt good night hongjoong: night

Hongjoong swiped out of your messages and dialed another number. His eyes flickered over to the decanter of bourbon on the side table, and an image of Chan flashed into his mind. What are you up to, Bang? He was going to get to the bottom of this.

Wooyoung picked up on the third ring, voice chipper as if he'd just drank his fifth cup of coffee today (which he probably had), “Aye Cap'n!”

“I need two favors.”

“What's the magic word?”

Hongjoong pulled his phone away to shoot an incredulous look at Wooyoung's caller ID. “Jung Wooyoung.”

“Fine, okay! But that was two words.”

He loosened a sigh from his mouth, pressing the phone back to his ear. “I need you to run a plate for me,” he paused, then added with the great reluctance of an exhausted parent, “please. And do you still have leftover black hair dye under your sink?”

On their second night out, Aurora and your new accessory continued to bring you success. You were beginning to think there was something about them that boosted your determination and confidence; your mind was geared toward your goal with blinders on. It was as if you had forgotten all of the nuance that led you here in the first place.

Dionysus's house music blasted from the speakers, pulsing through your body to the point you couldn't tell the difference between the bass and your own heartbeat. You strolled out from the kitchen doors after your break, a fresh layer of setting powder and lipstick over your face.

As you passed by the bar counter to grab a tray, Ha-yi flagged you down from where she stood at the desktop.

“Yes?” you asked, leaning over to give her your ear.

“Same guy from last night; he has company this time, though.”

You stilled for a microsecond. Chan was back? With a friend? Or rather 'company’, but that could have encompassed a great range of people, especially with the deal you made last night.

You straightened yourself out, nodding to Ha-yi in vague understanding, before setting off. The butterflies in your stomach were swarming in a panic. No one expected the consequences of their actions to come back to bite so quickly. Vouch for him, you thought to yourself as you weaved through the crowd—who did you possibly need to vouch for him to—

All movement in your head skidded to a halt.

What in the fresh fucking Hell.

There was Chan seated at table fifteen, as he had been just twenty-four hours ago. He had a casual arm draped along the back of the booth, but he sat on the far side of it to be positioned across from his counterpart.

Who else other than Kim Hongjoong in civilian clothes would be seated opposite? His hair was different, you realized—darker than before, a strand arched over his forehead in an artful swoop; a pair of yellow-tinted shades seated low on the slope of his nose; and his body clad in a classic suit, the white dress shirt collar undone and opened to display that beautiful collar bone beneath.

He was here, in a Lioncrest Society establishment, without a mask or hat, and without company.

Wait—your head swiveled—did he bring company?

You approached the table with apprehension, trying to keep the rhythm of your kitten heels steady and constant: tip, tap, tip, tap, tip, tap. The closer you got, the more you realized that Hongjoong didn't have a pleased look on his face. It was the complete opposite of Chan's relaxed posture. It unnerved you.

Both of their attentions flew to you when you came into view, and Hongjoong's eyes made a slow ascent from your ankles to your face. His expression eased only slightly.

You plastered on a service smile to cover the nervous pitter-patter of your heartbeat. “Pleasure to have you back with us, Chan—and I see you brought a friend tonight!” You slid a couple of square napkins onto the table, one for each. “Welcome to Dionysus—”

“You can just call me Jun,” Hongjoong replied with an easy smile.

“Jun,” you said with a nod. Your eyes flickered between the both of them, silently asking questions with fervor. What was going on? Why was Hongjoong here, and with Chan of all people? “Can I start you off with something to drink, boys?”

Chan lifted two of his fingers, eyes alight. “I'll get a whiskey on the rocks, please, Dove.”

“How good's your bourbon here, doll?” Hongjoong asked, leaning forward to press his chin against his fist.

This was something you were comfortable talking about—you took in a breath. “Ah, if you like bourbon, you should definitely try one of our house special cocktails with rye whiskey. Our bourbon is good,” you said with a light gesticulation, “but if you're up for trying something spectacular, you'll love the Calliope Sonata. Has just the right burn, a little bit of sweetness from the honey, that grit from the barley, and it's a gorgeous thing to look at.”

Hongjoong's brows lifted slightly, tongue darting out between his teeth. “Sounds incredible, sweetheart; you've convinced me.”

“Great, then I'll be right back with those drinks.”

During the time between ordering and picking up their beverages, you made your rounds about your assigned section. All the while, your heart had yet to sink down from its perch in your throat, your eyes always finding its way over to table fifteen. From your vantage point, you could only really make out Chan's expression—and he remained ever amused and at ease.

There had to be a connection between Hongjoong and Chan. How did they know one another, and why would Hongjoong walk straight into the lion's den when he knew they could be working with the enemy?

Given, they likely didn't know he was the Captain, but it was still something Seonghwa definitely would have vetoed.

When you returned to table fifteen with their drinks of choice, the tension between the two had yet to slacken.

“Alright, she's back,” Hongjoong said after both of them sent their thanks your way. He settled a narrowed gaze over the rim of his glasses at his counterpart. “State your business, Bang.”

Your smile faltered ever so slightly. “How do you both know each other?”

“He's the heir to the GV mafia,” your captain replied. This time, his eyes lifted up to meet your gaze, a steel glinting in those dark irises.

What the fuck? You swallowed, looking at Chan. The man in question crossed one leg over the other and spread his arms out. “Nice to properly meet you, Dove.”

That meant Chan, the heir to a mafia family, had interacted with your best friend and roommate, infiltrated a gray area event, and found you. The things he had said, his peculiar behavior, the awful feeling in your gut about him—everything clicked into place.

“He knows,” Hongjoong muttered under his breath as you unconsciously leaned toward his side of the curved booth, your hip resting against that backing. “So there's no pretense to this conversation.”

He knew about the criminal underworld, he knew who Hongjoong was, he knew who you and Hongjoong were to each other, and he knew that your success here had a lot more at stake than just paying rent.

You could feel the color drain from your face even after the realization hit you. “Why didn't you just say something?” you stammered to Chan. Ryujin… Oh god, he knew who Ryujin was.

Chan shrugged. “I had to do my own recon. Apologies if it came off unsavory; I have my own bases to cover. You understand, don't you?”

No, truly you did not. Wasn't there a treaty or something? Why did he involve Ryujin—

Hongjoong laced his fingers over the table with a glare to cut concrete. “What are you doing in my territory?”

“Since Dove's here now, I will ask first that you hear me out.”

“Absolutely not,” he snarled back. “You're lucky I don't feel like getting blood on this suit.”

Chan sent you a pointed look. I vouch for you, you vouch for me. Oh, this was that ‘opportunity,’ huh?

You coughed. “H—Jun, maybe just… hear him out.”

Hongjoong's head whipped over to you. “Excuse me?”

“You're not curious as to what he has to say?” you answered with a wince. It wasn't like you hadn't stood up to Hongjoong before; this context was different. You were still rattled from the new revelation, and all of the goddamn curve balls flying at you. “It must be important if he's willing to trespass here. You could sever the port agreement with the GV for this.”

You could see the gears turning in his head as he held eye contact with you. Whatever he saw in your eyes or heard from your mouth, it made him turn his attention to Bang Chan with an icy expression. “You have two minutes.”

a/n: ngl, this and the next chapter have been two of my favorites to write so far haha pls remember to reblog if you enjoyed !

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series taglist: @starriniqhts @hon3ysun @wooyouz @emotionallyanaemic @queenofdumbfuckery @ateezswonderland @angeleyes127 @sophie-mae-rose @asweetblueberry2 @miniverse-zen @dekyepunn

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itsbeeble · 19 hours ago

Text

I have suspicions about things

BIRDS OF PREY — ten

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of an injury, mentions of money laundering

▷ word count. 6.0k

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a/n: what was that line from matz? "wash it away, oh, make it rain now" or something... 🧐

CHAPTER TEN: A CONFIDENCE GAME

“WHAT DO YOU THINK the rain is washing away?”

You and Sakura glanced up from her monitor screens over to where Yang Jungwon lingered by the window, peering out at the rain drumming against the pane. “What do you mean?” you asked, standing up to join him in looking outside.

The lookout made a small humming noise, a dimple pressing into the side of his cheek as he did so. “It’s just that, y'know, rain is supposed to wash away the old and bring in the new,” he said, folding his arms over his chest with a shrug. “Wonder what the old would be.”

“Hopefully it's Strictland and the Lioncrest Society, if we're lucky,” Sakura murmured. Her fingers ran over her keyboard, creating nice, light clicking sounds.

“Then maybe we could think of this as a good sign,” you said, but as soon as the words came out of your mouth, all three of you found something wooden to knock on thrice.

A small chuckle filled Sakura's studio apartment and you exchanged amused glances with one another.

Four days ago, you were tasked with infiltrating Dionysus, a club owned and run by the Lioncrest Society, a gang that dominated much of the east corner going south toward Sector 2. Two days ago, you and Sakura officially met Yang Jungwon, the lookout under Seonghwa's tutelage. Between that time and now, pieces had been moved into place and you were invited to interview at Dionysus tomorrow at noon—today was Friday.

“Don't you have somewhere to be soon, Yn?” Sakura piped up as she turned toward you.

You peeked over at one of her monitor screens and your eyes almost fell out of your head. “Shit, you're right,” you swore. Ryujin was going to murder you.

“Oh.” Jungwon perked up. “That gala thing tonight, right? I can drive you to your apartment.”

You hustled over to the kitchen counter to grab your bag. “Thanks,” you said. “We'll see you tomorrow, Kkura.”

Sakura lifted a hand to wave. “Yeah. See ya!”

You and Jungwon left Sakura to her own devices, scurrying down the dark and winding stairway to reach the bottom. Though Seonghwa himself was a rather imposing figure, Jungwon was just the opposite—cat-like in nature, unassuming and extremely underestimated. He was intelligent and adept at his role, being an informant and “lookout” for his handler. The three of you were more alike than you originally thought and got along pleasantly well. Agreeing on strategies and emergency protocols were easy with Jungwon's and Sakura's combined experience, expertise, and skills.

Jungwon pushed open the door at the foot of the staircase out into the next-door alley, glancing at you from over his shoulder. “You'll have to let me know what rich-people champagne tastes like tomorrow,” he teased.

You let out a dry laugh. “Hah. Expensive or not, champagne is so ass, dude. Once I get this job, it'll be a glass on the house.”

“I'll hold you to it!”

Rain spattered across your faces in fat globs, and there was so much of it falling into your eyes that you almost thought you were seeing a mirage. There was a car running idly in the alley you and Jungwon emerged into, their windows tinted black, but the passenger's side rolled down as soon as you and Jungwon were in sight.

Jungwon was quicker to the draw than you, spine straightening. “Psst,” he muttered. “Captain on deck.”

So you weren't hallucinating.

You squinted through the heavy rainfall and were certain you didn't hallucinate Hongjoong making a slicing motion across his neck. Not here.

You nudged Jungwon with your elbow. “Not the place.”

His wide eyes shuttered as rain fell listlessly into them. “Oh, you're right,” he said, falling into a more relaxed, but still alert, posture.

Jongho was seated in the passenger side seat of the sedan, quietly watching the surroundings, as well as you and Jungwon.

“Hongjoong?” You stepped up to the window, holding a hand over your eyes as you furiously blinked rain out of them. “What're you doing here?”

Hongjoong leaned toward Jongho's side of the car. “Well, Jongho was bored—”

The man in question sent his superior an atrocious side eye, before that expression disappeared into his typical blank face. Though, you were sure it was a deadpan hiding in plain sight.

“—so we're here to check on how things are going over here.”

“We just finished, sir,” Jungwon piped up and stepped beside you. “I was going to drive Yn home for her event tonight.”

Hongjoong's brows creased together in mild interest, and you shot Jungwon a look. “An event?”

“It's nothing—my friend invited me out to this charity thing for her work,” you said airily, flicking your wrist in nonchalance. “But we do need to get going or I'm going to be late.”

“We'll drop you off.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the car chirped in response, the back door unlocking.

You and Jungwon exchanged a glance. All your counterpart could do was shrug and wish you a good night. There wasn't any reasonable refusal you or Jungwon could make, especially with the head of the family.

The leather of the back seat squeaked as your rain-drenched form slid into the car.

Jungwon waved to you from outside the door and quickly ducked back into the dry shelter of the apartment complex. You shook off some of the rain on your jacket, skin, and hair, shoving your hands toward the front center console that now blasted hot air. The car was filled with the light notes of a woodsy moss, jasmine, and patchouli—nothing too intense, but rather a subtle caress for your senses.

“You didn't have to come check up on us,” you said finally once you settled in. “Or drive me back. But thanks.”

Hongjoong gave a nod from the driver's seat, meeting your eyes briefly in the rearview mirror. “We were in the neighborhood.”

Jongho coughed, and you saw Hongjoong's head turn toward his copilot, but did not see his expression.

This was the first time you'd seen Hongjoong or any of his commanders in a couple days. You all agreed it would be better to minimize being seen together while you were on this task, which fueled your incredulity that he had even appeared at Sakura's apartment. There wasn't any real reason for him to be here, but you supposed he could be anxious about sending fresh meat like yourself to perform a highly crucial task.

You scratched the back of your neck and lifted your hand to wipe away the errant droplet of rain running down your forehead. “How's your injury, by the way?” you piped up. It had only been about a week since, but you hoped it wasn't bothering him too much. How much did bullet grazes like his hurt?

Hongjoong's eyes found yours again. “I'll manage,” he replied. “I've gotten more used to it.”

“More like Seonghwa hyung doesn't let him do anything physical besides walking,” Jongho muttered with a small snicker.

You snorted. Seonghwa's stare from that fateful night penetrated the back of your mind, and Hongjoong's words to you—you’re beginning to sound a lot like Seonghwa—echoed in your ears. You wondered how everyone else was doing. There was certainly a part of you that missed working at the Shipwreck despite the brief amount of time you were there. “Better to recover faster than to drag it out,” you said.

“Exactly.”

Hongjoong let out a sigh.

It wasn't too long afterwards that Hongjoong slid the sedan into an empty space along the curb across from your building. Rain continued to beat down against the car's windows and metal frame, and you mentally braced yourself to make a mad dash for the entrance.

“Sorry I couldn't get you closer,” Hongjoong murmured, half peering out at the weather and the other addressing you in the back.

You yanked up your hood and hugged your bag to your chest. “No worries. Thanks again for taking me back.”

“Sure,” he said. He glanced back at you, and for a flicker, there was that man you were used to, the one who didn't run one of the big five criminal families. There was the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Have a good night. Enjoy the gala.”

“No promises,” you said and shoved the car door open.

Within two breaths, the door slammed shut behind you, and your watery, blurry figure disappeared out into the rainstorm. Hongjoong and Jongho remained in that spot for a minute after they were sure you had made it into the apartment complex.

Jongho absentmindedly turned an empty shell casing around between his fingers, his gaze far off into the downpour. “I'm surprised you didn't ask more about the event, hyung.”

A short huff fell from Hongjoong's mouth, a scoff. He began to pull the car away from the curb to make the journey back to Hala Town. “Why would I do a silly thing like that?”

Jongho sent him a look that told him all that he intended to communicate, but the truth was, even if Hongjoong wanted to know who was hosting and where you'd be, he couldn't be there anyway. There was plenty of business that needed attending to tonight.

Lim & Wang Investments was a run-of-the-mill, cookie cutter corporate machine located downtown. Like many of its steel and glass-plated neighbors, its crisp edges scraped the dark gray sky, towering above all the rest in an attempt to out-skyscrape its peers. You had only been to their headquarters building at the southern edge of Sector 1 a few times, and it was usually to accompany Ryujin to an event or see her off. You didn't see this building often, but that was because it was in the complete opposite direction to where you used to work on Fifth. (Not that you were complaining. How Ryujin could stand working as a secretary here of all places was beside you.)

The ballroom on floor fifty-one overlooked the drowning city far below. Rain pummeled the floor-to-ceiling windows even from this height, but at least someone had the bright idea to light this vast room with warm-toned lights. It at least gave the illusion of warmth.

You lingered at a standing table off to the side, nursing a barely-touched flute of champagne while Ryujin's work laugh became ingrained in your ear drums. Your cheeks already hurt from the polite smiles you shot men in sharp suits, every introduction flying over your head faster than one could say Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me—

“Save me.” Ryujin barely stopped herself from falling flat against the table. The man she was just speaking to disappeared into the crowd, far out of earshot or range of witnessing the gravitational force exhibited on the corners of her mouth. “I want to die.”

You patted the back of her head in an attempt to soothe her. “Maybe I can sneak into the kitchen and find us a bottle of tequila.”

“Please,” she groaned and lifted her head so she could rub her temples with the points of her fingers.

“You're getting a bonus soon though, aren't you?”

She took her own flute of champagne and dumped it down her throat with a grimace. “Yeah,” she said, nodding her head. “I hope. I don't know. Supposedly, my boss is giving out bonuses for the quarterly reports this time around, but we'll see.”

You pursed your lips together and gave her arm a light squeeze. “You've worked hard; you'll get one. You deserve one.”

Ryujin shot you a small smile. “Thanks,” she murmured. “And thanks for coming. Sorry you have to go through this with me. The guy who was supposed to be here—I haven't even seen him, but he usually keeps his word.”

“Usually,” you mused.

“All men do is lie,” she replied airily. “I don't wanna be that kinda gal, but he did seem a little better behaved than all the rest.”

You leaned onto the table with your forearms, curiosity peeking through at the mention of the reason why Ryujin brought you here in the first place. “Is he another stockbroker?”

She shook her head, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “No, he's a client or something. I've seen him around the office and he certainly doesn't work here.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “A client? I was under the impression he was our age.”

“Oh, he definitely is.”

Double wow. Double rough. He had to come from money then, or maybe he was connected with an officer within the company.

You and Ryujin exchanged musings about a couple more things, excluding this mystery man, before she was called away by her boss. You settled at the table by your lonesome, happy with your half-empty glass of shitty champagne (that likely cost more than your rent) and shifting to watch the rest of the party. There were some partygoers who glanced your way, probably somewhat curious about the girl in the corner of the room whom nobody recognized from work. You didn't look rich either, despite how nicely you cleaned up, so you didn't come off as a wealthy investor, here to donate to charity.

A small smile bloomed on your lips at the thought and you swirled your glass around idly. Imagine that: you as a wealthy heiress with money to spend and invest. Truly something of another reality. Did Hongjoong have enough money to pose as a wealthy investor? He had to, right?

“Is this space taken?”

You perked up at the sound of a new voice sidling up beside you. You fully braced yourself for a Finance Bro to appear, but startled at the sight of a silver Rolex, dimples in his smile, and a left eyebrow pierced by twin silver studs. Definitely not a Finance Bro.

You shook your head, gesturing to the empty space where Ryujin had just been. “Oh, no. Go ahead.”

The newcomer didn't breach your personal space as he occupied part of the table. A waiter came by to deliver him a short glass of auburn-colored liquid, and your eyes couldn't help but follow it.

He chuckled at your expression, tipping it towards you. “You look like you've seen a unicorn or something,” he jested. “It's just bourbon.”

“Oh, I know,” you replied and blinked out of your slight stupor. “I just… didn't realize they had any.” Incredulous, you drained your champagne flute and pretended it was the rich, caramel notes of your counterpart's beverage.

“Trust me, they definitely do.” He shook his head, lifting the glass up to his lips for a sip. “You need something strong and decadent to get you through these things.”

You turned your gaze toward him again. “You're telling me this function isn't the highlight of your young adult life?”

He giggled at your sarcasm—giggled. It was a giddy, albeit charming sound. “Apologies, you're completely right. I should be flashing my profile around and networking” —he shook his head, dunking the bourbon back— “nah. I'm not one of them, actually.”

“Is that right? Then who are you?”

“Well, I've got the money,” he replied with a shrug. “They need to lure deep pockets to fill their own coffers now, don't they?”

You scrutinized the man standing beside you again. The subtle details screamed wealth, with the jewelry and touches of metal, the crisp silky suit, the posture. Though, he wore his dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar so unlike the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed investment stockbrokers with sharp ties and closed collars. His appearance was wealthy but also casual, something fresh off the yacht. In a way, it was beginning to make sense, but he couldn't have been that much older than yourself either.

Then the details clicked.

You tapped your finger against your bottom lip. “Tell me you know Shin Ryujin.”

He grinned, those dimples digging into the apples of his cheeks. “I do, indeed.” The man extended a hand out to you. “Bang Chan.”

You took his hand in a firm handshake, exchanging his name with yours.

“Well, it's good to meet a friend of Ryujin's,” Chan chirped. “She was bragging all about you the other day, if I recall.”

It seemed you had been talked about a lot these days, but at least you got your answer. “Ah, right. You're the reason she baked me raspberry scones to convince me to come with her tonight.”

His brows lifted, a cheeky expression. “Raspberry scones,” he gasped. “I didn't know she could bake.”

“Use that knowledge how you will,” you shrugged with a small smile. “So where's your other half? I mean, Ryujin mentioned you'd be bringing a friend, too.”

Chan raised his head, his eyes surveying the crowd. “I definitely came with one,” he mused. His gaze swept past faces at a nonchalant pace, and his mouth bloomed with another easy smile when he found who he was looking for. “Ah, there she is.”

He leaned toward you slightly so you could match his perspective, and you followed where he pointed toward.

There was a young woman with the grace of a feline introducing herself to Ryujin. Her hair was silky and inky as the night sky, body clad in an elegant stream of black silk. Even from here, you could feel that magnetism radiate and draw you in; you wondered what it felt like to stand next to her like Ryujin was.

“That's Yeji,” you heard Chan say beside you before he downed the remainder of his bourbon.

You blinked. “She's gorgeous,” you admitted. “You sure she's not just a friend?”

He sent you a cheeky look. “Nah, we're practically siblings. Her brother would murder me anyway.”

“Understandably,” you murmured. Your gaze turned back toward your friend and Chan's friend. There were plenty of wandering eyes that chose to walk themselves over to the pair of ladies, but Yeji and Ryujin seemed to be in their own world. And if you weren't mistaken, you realized with a sly smile, that was blush tinting the tips of her ears—

“So what do you do, Yn?”

You perked up, glancing over at Chan who leaned his forearms on the table, cheek pressed against his hand. “Oh, you mean for a living?”

He made a vague gesture. “Yeah, sure. For a living, for fun.”

Blood rushed to the back of your neck as you thought about the question. You were in a room full of people likely making six figures each, even the ones fresh out of college—in fact, the man you were speaking to must have had a net worth with a scary amount of zeroes. And who were you? A waitress at a bar, recently inducted into and working for a criminal organization. You weren't even technically a spy yet.

“I work in the service industry,” you said, finally. Then you winced. “That didn't sound like how I wanted it to.”

You gave an awkward laugh, but Chan took that in stride. “No, I get it. Nothing to be ashamed about—”

“I'm a waitress,” you cut in. “Not whatever you were thinking.”

His grin was teasing. “I don't know what you're talking about. I was about to say waitressing,” he insisted. “But I mean, I'm sure it's hard work. People can be fuckin’ assholes, so you must have infinite patience or something. Takes a lot of guts to put up with people.”

You couldn't tell if it was supposed to be condescending; you were always used to people tiptoeing around the subject of your job when they found out you weren't trying to make it big or go to medical school or whatever other options people strived for. It was strange how living a little life could be so counter to the ideal. But maybe you weren't giving this guy enough credit—his words and attitude didn't seem to be patronizing.

“That's one way to put it,” you said with a chuckle. “I'm just in the progress of getting my degree, so one of these days you might see me running a joint rather than being run.”

Chan's eyebrows lifted in interest. “If you ever need an investor” —he gestured to himself— “I've got the pockets.”

You let out a laugh. “Sure, I'll give you a call or something.”

“Well, won't you need my number for that?”

Ah. There was that telltale stir in your gut that said I told you so! Perhaps you were thinking too much into this; he could just be asking as a hopeful friend. Either way, it wasn't like you disliked chatting with the guy. He was pleasant and… cute. A disarming amount of cute.

(Dimples—why did the guy have to have dimples?)

Well, his smile was cute, but it was almost too charming. It wasn't like Hongjoong's—

Now, wait a minute.

“Was that too much?” Chan's voice became sheepish, near bashful. “I thought I was being smooth about it, but if I made you uncomfortable in any way…”

You shook your head. “No, it's okay. I will admit,” you said, “it was pretty smooth.”

He bit his lip through a smile. “Hey, I mean, if you're not interested then that's cool, too.” He raised his head and hand to flag down a waiter. “Why don't I get us both a bit of bourbon?”

“I can't possibly say no to that.”

He flashed you another grin and let a waiter know that the two of you would like something from the kitchen. Chan called out a thanks as they left, and he opened his mouth to say something to you when a loud tune erupted from his jacket.

There was a flash of exasperation across his features as he slipped his phone out from the inside pocket of his blazer. His dimples dug into his cheeks as he checked the caller ID. “I'm so sorry, it's my boss. I have to take this.”

He had a boss? “I get it; it's all good.”

His expression was apologetic as he stepped aside and pressed the phone up to his ear.

You curiously stared after him, his back facing you. If he had a boss, that meant he had a job—so what did he do to make that much money? If he wasn't a stockbroker like eighty-five percent of the people present, then there were only so many other possibilities left.

You wiped away the deeply thoughtful crease in your forehead as Chan made his way back over to you. He seemed less than bothered by whatever his boss must have said to him. “Everything alright?” you asked.

Chan nodded, replacing his phone back into its pocket. “Yeah no, all good. Just a couple updates about a new, ah, merger.”

“Merger,” you parroted, leaning your chin onto your fist. “So what do you do for a living, Chan?”

He smiled. “This and that. We'll call it acquisitions. Really boring stuff, actually.”

“I'm sure it is,” you said. The metal studs in his brow glinted sharply in the light, and his smile never faltered.

To Hongjoong, petrichor—gritty, metallic, heady—smelled a lot like blood. With the troves of rain that had washed over the city recently, the streets were flooded with that viscous, nostalgic scent. They were veins and arteries, pulsing with the lifeblood of this place. And Hala Town was its heart.

It made for the perfect night to excavate the dead, or what should have been dead.

“I can hear the final nail in my coffin,” Yunho muttered as he cupped a hand around the shell of his ear. “You hear that? Bam! Here lies Jeong Yunho; cause of death: Park Seonghwa.”

Hongjoong didn't hold back a roll of his eyes as he tugged the dark beanie over his head. “If I knew you were gonna be a diva about this, then I would have brought Jongho.”

“Jongho would still give you an attitude, just in less words,” San chimed in, sticking his head between the two front seats of Hongjoong's car. “Arguably, his judgment would be worse.”

There was a pause, then Hongjoong nodded. “Yeah, and I did drag him out yesterday…” To see—no—check up on your progress.

“Don’t tell me you're getting attached now,” Yunho said, purposely deepening and flattening his voice to mimic Seonghwa's deadpan tone.

Hongjoong grunted. “We have work to do,” he said and shouldered his way out of the car.

His two accomplices for the night snickered as he left, then swiftly joined him out into the chilly winter night. Their breaths materialized before them in light puffs of air, illuminated only by the eerie glow of a nearby streetlight. While Hongjoong liked to call all of Hala Town his home, the center region would never not make his spine tingle with dread.

Central Hala Town was as occupied as the rest of it, but it was a far cry from their home along the wharf. There was a reason Hongjoong chose to pick up the base of operations and move it somewhere far away. This was where Strictland reigned through terror, and tonight, the mausoleum of that ill-begotten past would be pried open.

If anything might give them a hint as to who remained of Strictland now or where they could possibly be or what they were planning; it would certainly be the remains of their stronghold.

It was no wonder Seonghwa was yet again uninformed of Hongjoong's whereabouts and activities.

This street in particular used to be a hub of activity. It was lined with large, office-like buildings on either side; lots of windows, rooftops that nearly touched… but inside, they were completely hollow, carved out to become the throne and operating rooms of a despot. Residents of this particular Hala Town neighborhood became superstitious about this street—the land was watered with blood and chained with ghosts. The old shells of the Strictland stronghold remained just that, shells.

Hongjoong strode up to an entryway on the side with Yunho and San flanking him. In the cold, quiet night, a stray dog's howl echoed.

From his pocket, he withdrew the only key to unlock every newly installed padlock on every door and window to these buildings. It was shiny and silver, small, threaded through with a small chain.

The breath in his lungs froze for a moment as he inserted the key into the lock. The padlock gave way with a metallic schick.

“Have one of your men watch this door,” he muttered under his breath, tucking both the key and padlock into the depths of his jacket pocket.

Yunho lingered behind to send out a command, and Hongjoong and San took their first steps into a tomb.

This building was the northwestern-most along the lane. This floor was much like the others, empty, save for the occasional pieces of furniture anchored into the floor or against the wall. All weapons and ammunition that could be of use to Ateez was taken; everything else was largely undisturbed.

Hongjoong stalked across the floor, ignoring the intense twisting sensation in his chest. He wasn't the only with memories here, but he was the highest officer amongst his inner circle. It was how he got so close to Lee Yunseok in the first place, and knew his movements, his face… Yunseok wasn't too keen on hiding his face from the public. He had money and power, and no one could touch him.

Even when Hongjoong became his judge, jury, and executioner, he only put a bullet between his eyes.

“Cap'n?”

Hongjoong reached the door on the furthest end of the floor. “Yes?”

“You haven't said anything,” said San.

He glanced back. Yunho had finished making his call, and the door behind him was shut. His counterparts made their way to him now, expressions set in careful neutrality, but he knew them too well for that.

“I'm fine,” Hongjoong replied, clearing his throat and unlocking the next door. “I just hate this place.”

“You're not alone,” Yunho murmured from behind him. His eyes wandered around the space as if seeing ghosts drift along the cement floors.

The three of them traversed the span of another building before climbing up a set of steel stairs. The rattle of metal echoed within the stairwell, their bodies spiraling up to the highest level. The topmost floors were reserved for high-ranking officials in the organization. Lee Yunseok himself had an office here, but it was largely just for show. He had a penthouse in an upscale building at the southernmost tip of the territory—it was essential that Hongjoong killed him on this soil, and not Sector soil, but Yunseok having shelter so close to the border required some planning to draw him out.

Hongjoong's own office—well…

The three of them broke out onto the landing of the top floor. It was a ghost town of opened doors, cabinets and drawers left gaping open, the floors drenched in knick knacks and papers. When Ateez took over, many of these higher officials were either killed in battle or got away. It was usually the lower ranking soldiers who turned their Z's into A's.

“What should we be looking for, Captain?” Yunho asked as they hustled down the hall toward the office at the end of the hall. The unmarked door at the end was the headquarters for Lee Yunseok's second in command, a shrewd, meticulous man named Jung Joonseo. The man couldn't fire a gun to save his life, but if anything, Hongjoong could count on at least one dead man who could tell a tale for him.

Hongjoong shoved the door open. “We're looking for anything with names, dates, locations, and numbers. Something that could tie Strictland to living people or documents, any property and assets that remain in their name.”

The three of them tore through the desk and filing cabinets, each of them taking a box of files to pour over in one corner of the office.

This was something that should have been done long ago—something to flush out the rats hiding in the walls. But three years wasn't as long a time as one may think. There was a running list of things Hongjoong had yet to complete; by every measure possible, he was as fresh as they came. But he was made of steel.

His past mistakes could and would be resolved. He would keep his people safe, his family safe. There were those counting on him.

The minutes ticked by. Files were flipped through, vision strained.

Hongjoong devoured each document with greedy abandon, his eyes scanning and his mind recognizing the information presented. He could remember this—and none of it was helpful.

“We should call in reinforcements,” San murmured at last. Three hours had passed and it was swiftly reaching the early throes of morning.

Hongjoong put his fingers against his temples and rubbed them gently to ease the growing migraine. “No,” he responded groggily, “we can finish this. There can't be much left to go.”

Yunho and San exchanged glances. “Why don't we haul some of this stuff back home then?”

“No.” He shook his head, then closed his eyes as he rolled the kinks out of his neck. “No, we can't leave without a lead. Seonghwa will actually kill me.”

An amused snort. “Since when have you ever listened to Seonghwa hyung?” San chuckled.

“Only when he gets slightly homicidal.”

“Touché.”

That was enough to boost morale for the next bout of searching. Hongjoong continued to rack his brain for what he could be missing. When Ateez took over, there were plenty of properties and assets that they claimed from Strictland ownership. All of the useful ones, at least. As well-prepared as most touted him for being, Hongjoong didn't have a plan for all the rest; he only took the ones he wanted.

He expected a paper trail or clues… But this was the dead he was talking about. He was digging up ghosts, and ghosts didn't leave trails. People saw them, but they could never explain their existence.

From his pocket, he felt his phone vibrate with an incoming notification. He pulled it out, the screen illuminating his face.

you: got the job

The corner of his mouth pulled upward. Never doubted you, he texted back. He had half the mind to ask you how yesterday's gala went, but stopped himself.

As he shut his phone off and tucked it away, the distinct feeling of eyes made him glance up. Yunho and San wagged their brows at him expectantly; everything they wanted to say had been said.

Hongjoong sent them a look, and they all resumed their work.

The box he had in his lap was a mishmash of assorted documents, ranging from electricity bills for this building to spam mail from local accountant agencies. Perhaps this was a dead end, even if he didn't want to admit it.

When he reached the bottom, there was only one document left. He picked it up with a sigh, eyebrows scrunching together as he skimmed over it—there were numbers. There were numbers, dollar signs, and an address that wasn't in Hala Town.

His heart rate picked up into a gallop. “What was the address for the Kidult Company?”

Yunho was quick to the draw. “Somewhere on 32nd Avenue, Sector 3—why? What did you find?”

Hope, that cruel thing, curled into his stomach. There it was on the document: 1724 32nd Avenue, Sector 3. This electricity bill was dated a little over three years ago, which meant Strictland used to own that building. When was it sold to the Chois?

“Can any of you find proof of a bill of sale for a property at 1724 32nd Avenue—”

Thunk! “Ow!”

Hongjoong and Yunho's attention whipped over to the desk. San emerged from beneath it, furiously rubbing the back of his head where he had collided with the underside of the table.

He hissed. “God, I fucking hate this office,” he muttered, eyes drifting down into the shadows he had crawled out from. His movements slowed, and his head cocked to the side. “Anyone got a set of lock picks?”

The other two scrambled over to San's position, knocking over stacks of papers and boxes on their way. There, hidden within the darkness beneath Jung Joonseo's desk, was a silver keyhole embedded into the wood backing. Hongjoong fished around in the inner lining of his coat and handed over a slim package.

San picked the lock, the metal scraping around the insides of the mechanism with careful precision. When they heard that telltale click sound, he withdrew.

A panel of the desk backing drifted open; it was a hidden safe.

Giddy as a trio of school boys, they dove in. There were some fake passports and identification cards—all of the identities were useless now—cash, and a small journal.

The journal, however, became something far more valuable when it was opened. Hongjoong recognized Jung Joonseo's scrawl on the pages in the same color of ink, type of pen, and line width. There were dates on one side, dollar amounts in the middle, abbreviations and phrases on the far side.

It was a personal ledger.

“Why in all Hell would Jung keep his personal shit here of all places?” San wondered aloud. “What do these phrases even mean?”

“It must be related to the work he did here then,” Yunho suggested. “But then why wouldn't he put it in his billion other ledger books?”

Hongjoong began to slowly flip through the book in search of dates around three years ago. “Because it was all off-book. He didn't want anybody, not even Lee Yunseok, to know what was happening.”

As he got closer and closer to the end of Strictland's reign, the plus signs and dollar amounts kept growing. A thought pricked at the back of his brain as he scrutinized the pattern.

He paused, glancing up from the ledger. His eyebrows lifted as if he was almost impressed with Jung Joonseo. “He was stealing money from Strictland right under everyone's noses.”

a/n: who can you trust in this biz?

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#if ur wondering why im so consistently rebloggong #i have a day off finally and am trying to catch up #and also i love beam #itsbeeble #reese's recs 💌#reese's chats ✏️#reese's moots 🩵#beam~ ⚡️

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itsbeeble · 19 hours ago

Text

"liability" say that to my face actually

BIRDS OF PREY — nine

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, brief mentions of drugs, drinking, allusions to death, mentions of espionage

▷ word count. 5.8k

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CHAPTER NINE: VALUE

CLOUDS HAD SWALLOWED the winter sun by the time you and San arrived at Ateez's place of living. You were swift to get yourselves into the warehouse to meet the others; Wooyoung had messaged along the way that the Captain was well aware that you had been in the east corner for the past couple hours, and that you and San had better haul ass like the building was on fire.

Mingi let you both in, his face wincing to signal to the two of you what to expect when you went up those stairs.

San swore under his breath, but you and he continued to march onward. “Chin up,” he murmured.

Upon reaching the landing, you noted Seonghwa pouring a generous helping of red wine into a glass and Hongjoong seated in one of the armchairs by the window. He nursed a crystal glass of bourbon on his hand, the other massaging the head of his cane absentmindedly. His hat and what you assumed was his mask was discarded on another seat.

“Cap'n,” San said, tucking his hands behind his back and coughing.

Hongjoong casted a cursory glance toward you and San, and the both of you grimaced. It was like being reprimanded by a parental authority. Who knew you could ever feel like that again? “Everyone out,” he said, taking a sip of liquor, “except for Yn.”

Seonghwa didn't hesitate, swiping his wine glass from the counter and striding for the stairs. He passed San a pointed glance before sweeping past him and down out of sight.

San lingered. “With all due respect, Captain, her intel is good—”

One look shut him up. San squeezed your shoulder as he left, following Mingi and Seonghwa out of the warehouse entirely. The sound of the door sliding and slamming shut reverberated through your bones, and it certainly didn't help to slow your pulse.

You gripped the strap of your bag, wringing it through your hands. Waiting.

Hongjoong finished his glass with a clean swig. “What were you thinking?”

You started. That wasn't the question you thought he was going to pose. “I'm sorry?”

“What were you thinking?” he asked again, leaning forward with the slightest wince to set his glass down. He leaned back in his seat again, dragging a hand down his face. “Wooyoung tells me that you saw the footage this morning and he told you that the Diamond District owns Kidult Company. That he told you we were waiting for retaliation.”

“Only after I got to Hala Town,” you amended his statement. “I came here to tell you guys that Mr. Young is in league with the imposter and so you know who he is.”

“And I thank you for that,” he said, though his voice was tight. “But tensions right now are high, and going to the east corner of all places will not help your chances of staying out of this business like you're so adamant about.”

You thought this conversation was going to go a lot differently. The reprimanding you could predict, but talking about safety was not on your list. “I'm doing what I thought was necessary—”

“Necessary?” he seemed to spit that word out. “You're putting yourself in harm's way out of necessity?”

“Yes, necessity,” you quipped back in defense. “I would like to remain a bystander, but based on what's happened recently, your enemies seem to have no qualms about crossing into gray area sectors. They've incited a mafia-on-mafia conflict. The gray areas lie between mafia territories for a reason, and when two heads are pitted against each other, the only direction to march is inward.”

Hongjoong pinched the space between his eyes, head hanging down toward his chest. You exhaled; he knew you had a point.

“What ever happened to just wanting to finish college?” he asked suddenly. “The first time we met—”

“Things change,” you said. “I do want to finish college and finally get a stupid degree, but this—it seems a little more urgent, don't you think?”

Hongjoong raised his head and there was steel glinting in his eyes again as he stared at you from across the room. “I don't understand you. The deeper you wade into the mud, the harder it becomes to pull yourself out. You still have a choice.”

As if you didn't already know. “Careful,” you drawled, words dripping with sarcasm, “you're starting to sound like you care.”

His eyes narrowed. “I care because you're a liability.”

Your breath caught at that little stab of truth.

Of course you knew that your lack of experience in this realm would put you at a disadvantage—it would certainly put them at a disadvantage. But you had information, things you could contribute that you gathered whether purposeful or by accident.

You're a liability.

Maybe you were expecting too much out of him. You saw his ability to care about the people around him, and that there was a mutual respect and trust between them. He seemed to care, what with his honor code and whatever, in the beginning. Then you found out his alter ego, the person he really was, or was trying to enforce the image of.

You were wading through muddy water, and you needed to learn to swim. If he thought the truth would make you shrink, he was wrong. “You know, they're toying with you,” you said at last, rubbing the fabric of your bag strap between your fingers. “They’re seeing how far you'll let them go and what you do in reaction to things. You're still in danger.”

“You don't think I already know that?” Hongjoong had the side of his head pressed against his knuckles, head tilted whilst pinning you down with that immovable stare. “This life makes it so you are constantly in danger—that’s why the Shipwreck and this business are separate. That's why I take measures to hide my identity in public. That's why me and the other guy” —he gestured to the hat— “have to act differently.”

You challenged that look in his eyes, or maybe it was just because you couldn't bring yourself to look away. “Who am I talking to now?”

He blinked, not seeming to understand or not having predicted your question. Perhaps what he said was just to make a point, but to you, it was beginning to feel like he really did try to become a different person when he put on the hat.

“I won't pretend to know you completely, neither you as Hongjoong nor you as the Captain,” you said in earnest, “but I like working at the Shipwreck and I don't regret helping you. And I'd like to continue helping you, because for some reason, I'm convinced that it's important you get out of this alive.”

“All of us,” he corrected. “We're all getting out of this alive.”

You nodded and took a breath, then went over to seat yourself across from him without invitation. You set your bag in your lap and steeled your nerves, trying to will yourself to see him as the generous manager of the new place you worked for, the one who respected your agency and took you in when you had nowhere else to run.

“You have to be absolutely sure about this,” he told you gravely.

“I have information and it's not going to waste,” you insisted. In your periphery, dark clouds were rolling in over the ocean waters. Rain was coming. “You act as if my giving you this info is the path toward membership.”

Hongjoong gripped the head of his cane and pushed himself up to his feet. “In a way, it is,” he said. He rounded the coffee table to your side of it and sat on the edge of the table directly in front of you. From this proximity, you could see the curl of his eyelashes, like ocean waves, and the ripples in his eyes—pools of dark, murky water; so deep you could drown in them. “I know what it's like to be pulled in without having a choice. You said you wanted to continue to help, so this isn't just about information.”

He knows what it's like? How did you get to where you are, Hongjoong? You nodded, taking your bottom lip between your teeth briefly. “I do want to help. And before you give me that bullshit lecture again, I know. I know that it'll be even harder to turn back, but if it means you'll trust me—”

“My trust in you has never been a question.”

“You called me a liability.”

He wrapped his hands around the throat of his cane, leaning forward ever so slightly. “You're a liability, but you're not untrustworthy,” he said. “I don't trust just anyone but… Like you said, for some reason, you're still here and you want to help me. For some odd reason, I feel inclined to trust you.”

You glanced away in an attempt to soak in this knowledge. Just a minute ago, the two of you were throwing punches and he was trying to push you away. But like the ebb and flow of the tide, you were now coming closer. You didn't know what to think.

They were all strange ways to say he cared. No matter if it was just because you were a liability or not.

You inhaled and turned back to him. “Deal me in.”

For once, you couldn't tell if that was still steel in his eyes or something harder. “We do this on my terms,” he told you, leaning back. “You report directly to me and I dispatch you.” For your safety, he wanted to say, but didn't.

“So I'm your… informant?”

“Correct,” he nodded with a small tilt of his head. “My commanders are usually my 'informants’, but they have informants of their own. Anything that you find out must be told to me, directly to me.”

You bobbed your head. “Understood.”

He gave you a once-over, pausing. “Good,” he murmured. “We'll talk more specifics later—there’s a whole ceremony. I'm sure Wooyoung yapped about it to you at some point.”

You held back a smile.

“So,” Hongjoong said whilst collecting himself, “tell me what happened and what you heard.”

Seonghwa, San, and Mingi lingered outside the door to their own home beneath a brewing storm in the sky. It wasn't completely unheard-of to catch wind of an incoming rainstorm first since they were on the coast, but it wasn't ideal to be standing out here, barred from going inside, while rain was imminent.

“They say rain is a sign of change,” San mused absentmindedly, crossing his arms over his chest and squinting up at the sky. “Change is approaching and bound for land.”

Seonghwa and Mingi followed his gaze. “Do you think they've killed each other yet?” Seonghwa asked in a half jest. He wasn't sure where the Captain's head was after today, but he wouldn't put it past Hongjoong to resort to injurious statements to keep you at a safe distance. He only hoped that some kind of peace could be made.

Mingi glanced over at him with parted lips. “Don't say that. I actually like her.” Despite not having much interaction with you since those first couple times, Mingi had heard all the stories, especially the ones from Wooyoung, Yeosang, and San who worked with you directly. Call it platonic envy, but he resolved to swing by the Shipwreck to introduce himself properly sometime.

As long as you and Hongjoong didn't kill each other.

“He won't kill her,” San reassured him.

Seonghwa shrugged. “He won't, but she might try to kill him depending on what he says.” The second in command shook his head with a sigh, “He just cares deeply.”

“About her?” Mingi asked.

“About everyone,” Seonghwa said. He raised his head and peered out at the dull horizon line far out in the distance with a frown. “He cares far too deeply about all of us.”

It wasn't enough that Hongjoong concocted the plan and took the initiative to rescue this place from Strictland's rule. There were still forces at work that were hell-bent on ensuring he fell hard, and thus, everyone around him was in danger, too. Once upon a time, he was also just a kid with dreams—before he was sucked into this world and unable to claw his way out.

What better use of his time than to save others like him? There would always be a need for someone in power; it was why he sat on the throne, so that someone else like Lee Yunseok couldn't.

The three of them all shifted as the rattle of the warehouse door thundered behind them. You and Hongjoong emerged from the other side, no cuts nor bruises to be seen. It seemed you both managed to keep from killing each other, as your counterparts outside joked might have happened.

“I'll be heading out,” you said to them—all of them—and ducked out of the way to start walking toward the station.

Mingi perked up and jogged after you. “Hey, wait! Lemme give you a ride!”

Hongjoong, San, and Seonghwa glanced after the two of you as Mingi pointed out which car was his. Seonghwa inclined his chin back toward his leader. “Everything okay in there?”

Hongjoong hummed, eyebrows lifting delicately as he turned his face toward Seonghwa but let his eyes linger on your form disappearing into Mingi's car. “Yeah, fine,” he muttered and turned his attention fully to his second and his other commander. “Let's call everyone in. We have some things to discuss.”

Seonghwa and San followed Hongjoong back into the warehouse, the latter of which sent a text to the members of their inner circle to meet at their home for an all-hands meeting once Mingi returned. San glanced up at the Captain's back as they climbed the stairs. “Did you hear her out, hyung?” he asked.

“Of course, I did.”

“Shouldn't we all hear it then?” Seonghwa piped up. “San, did she say anything to you in the car ride back?”

San nodded. “Yeah, she told me everything, but I thought it would be best if the Captain heard it from the source.”

Hongjoong strolled toward the couch again, picking up his empty glass from earlier and pouring out about a finger of bourbon. “She needed to go home and finish an assignment for her class tomorrow,” he replied simply. “We put some pieces together.”

San and Seonghwa exchanged glances. “We?”

“We,” confirmed Hongjoong with a half-hearted shrug. He lifted the glass up to his mouth to hide his conspiratorial smile. We.

Someone new walked into the Shipwreck on your next shift at work. There were always the same patrons that returned, lured to gamble like a fish with a hook in its mouth, and there were undoubtedly others who came to try a new bar on for size. New people weren't uncommon, but she was not who you pinned as fitting this type of establishment.

She climbed the gangway into the bowels of the ship, eyes flickering from one end to the other, looking for something—or someone. It seemed like she wasn't interested in finding an open seat or a drink. Rain streamed down the sides of her hood and coat, and she peeled off the outer garment on her way inward.

You were drumming your fingers against the counter of the bar, waiting for a lemon twist and whiskey on the rocks when you noticed her.

Before you could even think about approaching her, Yeosang quite literally leapt over the bar and bounded straight for her. You watched as he swept her in an embrace, mouth pressing to the side of her cheek as a smile blossomed on her face.

Your eyebrows flicked up, and you leaned toward San. “I did not know Yeosang was cuffed,” you said to him.

San let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “You're not supposed to,” he replied as he popped a large cube of ice into a glass and poured whiskey over it. He set the finished drinks onto the counter so you could slide them onto your tray. “They've been together for a couple years now. About two and a bit.”

“Mmh,” you hummed in acknowledgment. Yeosang and the girl were slowly making their way over to the bar, speaking quietly to one another. “They're really cute together. What's her name?”

“We call her Ruby around here.”

Ruby, huh? You wondered how she came to garner such a nickname, or if she knew about the underworld business her boyfriend dealt in. If they got together a little over two years ago, that would have been close to when Ateez defeated Strictland and won this territory.

You loitered around the bar for a couple seconds more, shamelessly wanting to be introduced to the newcomer.

Yeosang and Ruby arrived at the bar counter, with San and Ruby exchanging pleasantries like old friends. Yeosang nodded over to you, squeezing her shoulder. “And this is Yn—she’s the new girl I was talking to you about.”

“Oh,” you said with widened eyes. So you were talked about. “It's nice to meet you!”

Ruby's lips spread into a pretty smile. “Nice to finally meet you, too. I'm sure it's been, ah, overwhelming.”

Something itched at the back of your mind. She knew. She must know. “Definitely,” you let out a small laugh. “I should get back to work,” you admitted sheepishly with a gesture to your tray, “but I would love to get to know you.”

“Likewise,” she chirped. “Maybe during your break?”

You nodded an affirmative, then took off with your current order. Tonight's crowd wasn't terribly large; with the rainstorm that had swept in over this side of the coast, there were plenty of people who preferred to stay home instead of brave the winds and rain. Additionally, the night was waning toward the wee hours—about two hours until closing, give or take. Perhaps that was why Ruby had come at this time, knowing that traffic would be lighter and more time could be spent with her partner.

Yeosang was stationed behind the bar as always, but with a noticeably lighter countenance. He smiled more, eyes bright and cheeks darkening just the slightest bit. Ruby was perched on the stool in front of him, stirring around a drink with a slice of lemon on the side. It was strange, though, what San said earlier. You weren't supposed to know Yeosang had a significant other, let alone her identity. So why would she show up here of all places?

When your break came up and you swapped places with another waiter on shift, you tucked your tray under your arm and slid onto the stool beside Ruby at the bar.

Without even meaning to, you let out a sigh, your aching legs finally given reprieve.

“You deserve a drink,” she said with a sympathetic wince as you leaned over the counter with the posture of a shrimp.

San laughed. “Yn's just dramatic. She does this once every night.”

You contorted your face into playful offense. “Not cool,” you said, wrinkling your nose at him. You turned to Ruby to say, “These two don't get the grind.”

“They truly wouldn't,” she mused. You noticed that in certain angles of light, her dark hair seemed to come off the color of a deep garnet. “I can't say I have been in your shoes, but I am up on my feet for work, most of the time.”

“Ah, so what do you do?” you asked with interest, resting your fist against your cheek.

“I work in a greenhouse,” Ruby said, “and a lab. Mostly the lab, but the greenhouse is my preferred place. I develop drugs, mainly focusing and inspired by plant enzymes.”

You blinked at her, and to the side, you heard San and Yeosang muffle their laughs. “Sorry, that sounds really cool, but it's also definitely flying over my head.”

She let out a good-natured laugh, and it fortunately didn't sound condescending. “It's okay really,” she assured you. “Those two bozos are laughing because they never have any clue as to what I'm talking about.”

“Ohh, so we're laughing together in mutual stupidity,” you drawled, sending a pointed look toward your bartending coworkers.

The two men both gave you sheepish, boyish expressions in return, shrugging their shoulders.

Ruby smiled awkwardly and it reminded you of Sakura's mannerisms and humility. Smart, but certainly not braggarts. Her eyes narrowed into cute crescent moons when she smiled. “It's not stupidity,” she piped up. “I'm sure there are plenty of things you are far more knowledgeable about than I am.”

“That's exactly what a very smart and humble person would say.”

She flushed, and Yeosang gazed upon her with such tenderness that you wondered how he suppressed the urge to talk about her all the time. You'd never seen him so entranced by someone, even if you only knew him a short while.

“So what brings you here?” you asked finally. “Besides seeing your partner, of course.”

Ruby straightened, poking at the ice at the bottom of her glass with the straw. “Oh, I'm here to meet with Hongjoong. Yeo was just a bonus.”

Yeosang hung his head in mock defeat. “Yah, always losing to the boss,” he jested, pretending to wipe a tear away. San let out a giggle beside him.

“Shut up, you,” she laughed and reached across the bar to flick his chest. “But yeah, I was supposed to meet him at—y’know, the warehouse—but I thought swinging by here first wouldn't hurt. I'd just tag along on their way back after they close for the night.”

Interesting. You were tempted to prod at what business she would have to discuss with Hongjoong at the warehouse. If she worked in biochemistry, and specifically in the development and production of drugs, then what was Hongjoong up to? But this setting wasn't the appropriate one to be airing out dirty laundry. Furthermore, did you want to know what was going on? Probably. You were in this now, for better or for worse.

The phone behind the counter buzzed to life, a dull ringing that was still loud enough to hear over the chatter.

San leapt into action and answered the call promptly. His eyes flickered to you as he listened to the speaker. “Yn, Captain's calling you up,” he said, inclining his chin up toward the ceiling.

Speak of the Devil.

You nodded, slipping off from your stool and heading for the spiral stairs that wound up and out of sight.

When you arrived up above the lower decks, the night was shrouded in clouds of deep midnight blue. Speckles of rain splattered across the top of your head and the wooden deck below your shoes as you crossed over to the warm glow emitting from beneath the door of the captain's cabin. There were only a few things Hongjoong could have summoned you for, and you couldn't imagine it was because he already had an assignment to dispatch you for. Though he seemed willing to induct you into the family yesterday after all, there was undoubtedly some disapproval lurking beneath the surface of the water.

You gave a light knock to the door's surface, letting yourself in when you heard his voice beckon you inside.

Your eyes widened in surprise when you found that Hongjoong was not alone. Seonghwa flanked the Captain's side where he sat behind the desk, while Wooyoung was curled up in the armchair in the corner like a cat.

“How can I be of service?” you asked, your voice going up in pitch at the end, uncertain of what exactly the purpose of this meeting was. You slipped into the warmth of the cabin and closed the door behind you.

Hongjoong motioned to the seat across from him. “I have,” he began, “an assignment for you.”

Your eyebrows flicked up toward your hairline. “Already?”

“It was not my idea.”

Seonghwa didn't hold back the roll of his eyes. “We know.”

You wanted to raise your hand; you didn't know. Why was Hongjoong against this, and why had he changed his mind? “So what's the idea?”

Hongjoong laced his fingers over the surface of his desk with a carefully blank expression on his face. There was still steel in there somewhere, winking at you as if to say it knew that you knew where to look and what that look meant. “We want to pursue your lead on the Lioncrest Society by planting a team inside one of their establishments. While we work the DDC angle, you'll be working from the mole angle.”

“Wait. Me?” The first thing you were going to be dispatched for was an inside job? They did realize you were new to this, right?

A nod. “You won't be alone,” he assured you. “Sakura” —Hongjoong nodded toward Wooyoung— “has been contacted and will be working with you since she knows the area well and knows you. One of Seonghwa's lookouts will also be on the team with you. His name is Jungwon, but you likely won't meet him tonight. Your goal is to gather more evidence as to what extent Lioncrest intends to aid Strictland and to also find out what Strictland is offering in return.”

The Captain let out the smallest of sighs, one that could have only been noticed if one caught the parting of his lips. There was a muscle flickering in his jawline. “We have an idea as to what the latter is, but there could be more.”

You clasped your hands in your lap to keep the nervous jitters unnoticeable. “Alright,” you drawled with a slow nod. He seemed to be taking initiative with the information you passed on, and his counterparts also seemed to agree with him. You wondered if he told them about what you heard of a possible betrayal. It could quite possibly be one of the members of his inner circle. “When… do I start?”

“Not right away,” he said. He inched back in his seat to tug out a sheet of paper and slide it across the desk to you.

You leaned forward to skim over its contents, your eyes snagging on the word “application.”

A small cough erupted from the corner of the room. “Thisistheparthedoesn'tlike.” All eyes sliced over to Wooyoung, who twirled the end of his hair and looked anywhere else but Hongjoong as a glare pierced his soul.

Hongjoong drew his eyes back over to you, the scowl subduing considerably. “You'll be submitting an application as a bottle girl for one of their clubs. The invitation to apply was through referral only, so your background was already checked by one of their guys—but don't worry, we had Wooyoung cover all your personal bases, as well as any ties to us.

“You'll go through the interviewing process as normal, and be listening for any information that might be of use to us while you're there,” he continued. Hongjoong arched his brow at you. “Got it?”

You swept the document into your hand to take a closer look, and to simply have for when you needed to complete the application. “Aye, Captain,” you replied. Though, your heart was hammering in your throat by now. Bottle girl shit, you could do. But spying? This could get messy fast.

Seonghwa placed a hand on the back of the captain's chair. “If anything goes wrong,” he said as if reading your mind, “you'll have Jungwon to support you and Sakura to pull you out. The three of you can discuss emergency procedures once you properly meet.”

“And if you think, for any reason, that your cover is jeopardized,” Hongjoong cut in with the firmness of titanium, “get the Hell out of there. You don't need to snoop; you just have to listen.”

You nodded your understanding, clutching the application. You had no weapons training, no combat training, no espionage training in the slightest, but here you were, bound straight for the lion's den. “So I'll no longer be working here during the week?”

“No,” Hongjoong replied. “You've already got classes, and they'll likely have you on shift the same times we do.”

“Got it.” Your stomach churned like a deep ocean tide. How often would you see everyone once you started on this task?

He paused to give you a moment, but asked, “Any other questions?” There was something urgent in his eyes, something you couldn't quite articulate. Perhaps it was a silent extension of a lifeline, one that implored that you yanked on it if this was in any way out of your comfort zone. He would pull you out of the water and send someone else, should you change your mind—at least, that was what you garnered.

You shook your head, pursing your lips. “Not at the moment,” you murmured. “Also, Ruby is downstairs. Just wanted to let you know.”

Hongjoong's brows lifted slightly and he glanced up at Seonghwa. “Earlier than I expected.”

“She probably came to see Sangie,” Wooyoung chimed in from his corner. When you turned to look over at him, he was stretching his limbs out on the armchair like the big feline that he was, before curling back into a comfortable position.

Seonghwa's face contorted into a look of agreement. “Makes sense. Will you be off then, Joong?”

Hongjoong's eyes flickered from Seonghwa to you, then back to his second. “Yes,” he sighed. “Better to get this conversation over with, but I need a minute with Yn. Alone.”

A pointed look was sent to both Seonghwa and Wooyoung; though, it was mainly geared toward the latter. Both commanders slipped out of the cabin like two parting breezes, leaving you to Hongjoong.

He waited a beat, standing up from his desk with the guise of stretching, before rounding it to your side and leaning against the edge. “You're sure about this?” he asked.

There was not a flicker of insincerity on his face.

“I'm—I’m not experienced in the espionage part, but I'll do my best.”

“It needs to be better than that,” he countered, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know it's a lot to ask of you right out of the gate, but you must be at your best. The east corner could become a powder keg primed to explode if we don't play our hand correctly.”

You swallowed. “Aye.”

“Yn, listen to me.” He leaned forward slightly, eyes grasping onto yours and holding that eye contact in a vice. You couldn't look away from that dark steel. “I don't know who our weak link could be—the person who Strictland can turn against us, and that will put you in more danger than I'm comfortable with.”

Right. Maybe he hadn't told the others about what you said for that; you hadn't told San about it in the car, only mentioning that Strictland had a contingency plan. It was the one detail you left out.

Who could the person be? It was like waiting for the dominoes to fall and set off Ragnarok.

“What Wooyoung said about the part you didn't like…”

Hongjoong leaned back, glancing away for a moment. “You have my number now,” was all he said. “Use it.”

Your phone burned in your back pocket at the mention of it. Yesterday, a new contact had been entered into your phone under the name “KH.” You nodded to show your understanding. He was your lifeline should all go to shit.

When he had burned enough of his steel into your eyes, satisfied for the moment, he began to return to his place behind the desk. “That'll be all.”

You stood, folding the application into quarters to shove into your pocket. Before you went for the door, however, the memory of the individual downstairs came to mind again. “What business do you have with Ruby?”

Hongjoong glanced up from the documents he was filing away, eyebrows arching. He seemed to wait a second, as if deciding if it was something you needed to know. Eventually, he said, “Remember when I told you the DDC and I came to an agreement? They want in on our cromer powder. I have to discuss this development with its creator.”

You arrived home later that night to the decadent smells of Ryujin's schemes. Whenever your friend and roommate wanted something from you, the apartment always managed to become filled with baked goods. Not that you were complaining.

Case in point: you shut the door behind you, peering curiously (and suspiciously) at the array of chocolate chip muffins and raspberry scones on the countertop. Ryujin was strapped into an apron splattered with bits of batter, her hair tied up out of the very sheepish grin on her face.

“What do you want?” you asked with narrowed eyes, shelving your shoes.

She tucked her hands behind her back. “Nothing! I just thought I would make my favorite person in the world something” —she blissfully cut herself off at your unimpressed expression. “Okay, look. Maybe I have a gathering I got invited to at the end of the week. And maybe, I have a guy who I would like to introduce you to—”

Your face wrinkled into distaste and you turned to go to your room. “Ryujin!”

“I know, I know,” she whined, racing to squeeze herself between you and your room. “'No matchmaking.’ I know! But it's actually—me and this guy—I’m pretty sure he's somebody's nepo baby, but he's not really that bad. We have a bet that each of us has the best girl friends, so we're both gonna bring a friend to the charity gala on Friday.”

“And the friend you want to bring is me.”

She nodded with the gleam in her eyes of a kid seeing the first snow. “Mhm!”

The application sat in your bag. You weren't sure when the Lioncrest Society's club would get back to you, but you also didn't want to disappoint Ryujin. You pressed your lips together with a small scrunch of your nose. “Okay fine—”

“YAY!”

“—but if you're lying about the matchmaking thing,” you emphasized, “I'm leaving you there.”

Her head nodded vigorously. “You can even lock me out of the apartment!”

With her mission accomplished, she rushed out of your way and scurried back into the kitchen to clean up the storm of messy dishes in the sink. You let yourself into your room, closing the door behind you. This wouldn't be a problem, shouldn't be a problem.

You could hear Ryujin's muted humming from out in the main room and went on with settling in for the night. The smell of booze clung to your clothes like a second skin, sweat and rain matting your hair.

You pulled out the application form from your bag and seated yourself at your desk to scrutinize the questionnaire. This was doable, you assured yourself as you picked up a pen.

This application, the upcoming gathering on Friday—all of it was doable. Then, you would infiltrate the Lioncrest Society and hope you didn't die trying.

a/n: pls remember to reblog if u enjoyed !

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itsbeeble · 20 hours ago

Text

No matter the universe, Jeonghan must scheme. Love that for him.

BIRDS OF PREY — eight

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, mentions of drugs and selling drugs, mentions of weaponry/shots fired, mentions of gambling

▷ word count. 5.7k

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CHAPTER EIGHT: WHAT IS NECESSARY

KIM HONGJOONG NEVER ADMITTED that he was worried, concerned, or anxious. To some, this could be a sign of naivety or arrogance. Truly though, there were signs that the people closest to him could pick out where he put those emotions on full display. There was a subtle twitch in his eyebrow hidden beneath the shadow of his hat, a curling and uncurling of his gloved hands over the top of his cane.

The winds of the wicked were blowing past and they had no qualms over what destruction it laid. Even if Hongjoong was even the slightest bit concerned, his annoyance and determination to end this madness was far stronger. It had only been three years since the end of the last reign; he wasn't about to let everything he worked for wash down the drain.

It had been less than two weeks since the last time he entered into the shadows of the Sector 1 parking garage. Along with regular council meetings, the building could be used for impromptu meetings between family heads should things go awry.

Today's event was one of those awry circumstances.

“Choi's gonna be pissed,” Yunho muttered under his breath from the driver's seat. Yunho and Mingi were here for the meeting, but Seonghwa stayed behind at the compound to prepare for possible retaliation with the others. Jongho was here instead, and based on the nature of the situation, it was perhaps better for him to be here.

“He might be understanding,” Hongjoong drawled. “Once we lay down the facts.”

Mingi let out a huff of breath. “Will he even listen to the facts? By the way, what was the purpose of the Kidult Company? Money laundering?”

“Something like that,” Jongho muttered with his eyes peering out the windows to stay alert. He fidgeted with the full magazine of bullets in his hand, letting the weight ground him. “Don't know why they needed a whole ass building though.”

“Base of operations and legitimization,” Hongjoong offered.

Even if nothing was stolen from the building, the act of breaking into their property was a glaring message in itself. It mattered somewhat that the Chois had something set up in a gray area though. There would always be cards Hongjoong could play.

The car pulled up onto the designated meeting floor at the same time as another dark SUV arrived from the opposite end. Two cars, two groups.

The vehicle had barely come to a stop when Choi Seungcheol barreled out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound echoed violently in the quiet garage, like thunder restrained in a room, and it only served to heighten the tension brewing.

“Here we go,” Hongjoong muttered to himself beneath his mask, letting himself out of the car to meet the Choi Boss.

Seungcheol slammed his hands against the surface of the meeting table. “You wanna tell me what the fuck you're tryna pull, pirate?” he snarled, baring his teeth.

Hongjoong stopped at the opposite end of the table while both men's companies caught up. “You're a smart man, Choi. You know that that wasn't me.”

A man with pale, delicate hair framed around his face arrived at Seungcheol's side, even as the rest of his party lingered behind. This was Yoon Jeonghan, Choi's second in command, a mastermind of his own and as slippery as they came.

So, Hongjoong thought to himself, you're here to bargain.

“You do understand what this means, Captain?” Seungcheol continued on. “An eye for an eye—that beloved bridge of yours is coming down.”

Hongjoong's eyes narrowed, spine tensing. “You can't bring down a fucking bridge in response to a break-in, especially when it wasn't done by me.”

“What proof do you have that it wasn't you?”

“If you paid any attention,” the Captain drawled, “then you would have noticed that there are elements to his little charade that don't add up.” The cane, the coat. They were close enough, but not exact. And then there was that man beside him in the video—that face. None of his men did dirty work with their faces on display like that. “The second man in the footage also wasn't one of mine. How do I know you didn't fake this in order to try and play me?”

Seungcheol opened his mouth to retaliate verbally when Jeonghan placed a hand on his boss's shoulder. Show me your cards, Yoon Jeonghan. “As far as everyone else knows, Captain, that was you in the footage. We simply cannot sit back and allow our colleagues to think we'll be walked all over,” the second said with a diplomatic smile. “You understand that. It's just politics.”

What did they want then? It certainly wasn't to bring down the bridge, but that would send a message in kind. “If it's just politics, then you would understand if I simply let the right people know you've breached the gray area treaty.”

To his credit, Jeonghan didn't even twitch. “You must be very confident in your proof,” he said.

“I trust my men and their abilities,” Hongjoong replied with an air of nonchalance. “If you don't believe me, then I'll let my contacts in the police force know to dig a little deeper into the Kidult Corporation and Teleparty News.” He leaned forward, pressing one gloved hand against the table. “We're being manipulated by a third party, and this is simply playing right into their hands.”

Seungcheol and Jeonghan both reacted subtly, but there was a shift in their posture. “What do you mean 'we're being manipulated by a third party?’” Seungcheol queried, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Isn't it obvious?” Hongjoong tightened the grip he had on his cane. “You know I play by the rules, Choi. What purpose does my intruding on your property serve me other than to bring me more trouble than it's worth? Besides, you also know this isn't the first time there's been an imposter of me sighted.”

This very topic came up at the recent council meeting. Perhaps with this escalation in movement, Hongjoong could be more certain that one of the other mafia families was in on this. Then the question was which of them was responsible? Who stood to gain from a fight between Ateez and the Diamond District?

Jeonghan slipped his hands into his pockets. “Okay, I'll bite. Do you have any idea of who this third party might be and what their end game is?”

“I have some ideas,” Hongjoong said slowly. “Who would gain something by our families being at odds with one another?”

“Any of the other heads,” Jeonghan shrugged. “Smaller gangs who wish to fill power vacuums when we destroy each other. The list goes on.”

Beneath his mask, Hongjoong chewed his bottom lip. “Perhaps that's just their game.”

Seungcheol glanced between his second and Hongjoong. “I don't follow,” he said with a crease in his brows. “My immediate thought was Strictland, but aren't they as good as gone?”

Hongjoong somehow met Jeonghan's eyes at this moment. It seemed the right-hand to the Chois thought similarly to him. “Not necessarily.”

“Then the GV,” Seungcheol offered. “They want your ports, right? If we kicked your asses in a face-off, then—”

A snort. “Arrogant of you,” Hongjoong replied with narrowed eyes, a wry smile curling up his mouth. The Ateez mafia might have been the so-called new kids on the block, but they had experience in a turf war. The Chois inherited Sector 17 like old money. “In any case, you have a point. The GV could be interested in taking our territory for direct access to the ports themselves, but not for all this work.”

“I agree,” the head of house Choi nodded. “It wouldn't help their business if they pulled a stunt like last night's either. Catching the eye of the public and the city's authorities—no matter how corrupt or useless—would be counterintuitive.”

“Then we need to draw them out.”

“Go hunting,” Seungcheol agreed.

Jeonghan's expression lightened, and Hongjoong's attention snapped to the second. There was something perpetually sly in the man's eyes, an impish twinkle that taunted any of his opponents with the feeling that he knew plenty that you didn't. “Tell you what, Captain,” drawled Jeonghan with a smile, the smugness concealed by carefully constructed pleasantry.

Show me your cards.

“We'll help you draw out whoever is responsible for these misfortunes on your identity and crew, as well as give you access to some of our own resources.” Jeonghan met Seungcheol's eyes beside him, and there was a discreet, silent look passed between them. Seungcheol must have had immense trust in Jeonghan if he was letting him strategize right off the cuff.

Hongjoong raised a brow, returning both hands to the head of his cane. “How generous. And in return?”

Jeonghan made an open gesture with his hands, palms facing upward. “Why, in return, you simply need to let us in on your most closely kept secret.”

Ah. “And what might that be?” he asked, amused.

He saw the moment Jeonghan laid his metaphorical cards on the table; it wasn't all of them, but it was enough where Hongjoong could discern what needed to be done. He would do what was necessary.

“We want your cromer powder, Captain,” Jeonghan said, leaning forward and pressing his hand against the table. “I know it's in development, and we want the first batches when it hits the streets.”

How ironic that this supposed “closest kept secret” wasn't exactly a secret. The fact that Jeonghan knew about the existence of cromer powder was not surprising to Hongjoong; the man had eyes and ears everywhere, and Hongjoong suspected there were spies even his superior didn't know about. Cromer powder was somewhat of a legend—it didn't exist on the streets, on the black market, anywhere, because it was still being perfected by Ateez's own. The rumors of its greatness were not so greatly exaggerated, but Hongjoong was biased and it was currently in active development by a friend.

It was going to be their next biggest business venture. But now, the Diamond District wanted in.

“Cromer powder is a myth,” Hongjoong replied airily.

“We don't want the recipe, Captain,” Jeonghan insisted, “we just want the product. You'll get a cut of our profits, of course. You and whoever your developer is.” As if the Diamond District wouldn't try to reverse engineer the compound. Tch.

“Even if it did exist,” he drawled, “why in all Hell would I let someone else have a piece of my pie?”

It was Seungcheol who answered this time. “Because it's either you cut us in and we back you in your efforts to smoke out this hidden enemy, or we blow up your bridge.”

The bridge again? They knew real people commuted on that thing, right? Hongjoong suppressed a roll of his eyes, but in the end, he was getting what he needed. “Cromer powder is still a myth, but you have a deal.”

The two heads extended their hands across the table to one another to shake on it.

Jeonghan looked on with a satisfied gleam in his eye, arms folded delicately over his chest. “I'm sure it is just a myth, Captain, but I assure you, the benefits we'll both reap will be legendary.”

The winter cold bit at your nose and cheekbones as you pulled your coat tighter around you. You kept your earbuds in place, in hopes that it would allow you more room to eavesdrop on the people around you.

The problem with having let those two men get away was that you let them get away. With every business you stepped into, feigning a hunt for a catering service, a bathroom, or the best sandwich this side of the Lunar Crossing, defeat weighed heavier on your shoulders. Who said you needed permission from Wooyoung of all people to go after these guys? You shouldn't have waited, shouldn't have called.

You glanced up from the GPS app on your phone, squinting as the winter sunshine pierced your eyes. Your stomach growled for the fiftieth time this morning, begging you to actually buy and eat one of the things you've seen during your trek so far.

There was a small café to your left with decent ratings, and you caved into your survival needs. Besides, perhaps sitting for a little and observing would prove fruitful. If what Wooyoung said was true, this area—the east corner—was where the rumors of Strictland's return originated from. Plus, plenty of things had happened to you before without you necessarily going out to search for trouble.

With a hot chocolate and warm pastry in hand, you claimed one of the seats out on the patio. You shivered in your seat, pretending that the winter temperature didn't bother you through your layers. It was all in an effort to hear just as well as you could see.

There wasn't anything inherently suspicious about this place. The buzz this morning was about the footage revealed by Teleparty News, that perhaps another turf war was on the horizon, and so soon after the most recent ones. Electricity was in the air and it smelled like trouble. You couldn't imagine what it was like living in the midst of the Ateez coup; you had only been an outsider, barely keeping tabs on the action as it happened and turning a blind eye to what was occurring.

The guilt of doing so was catching up to you now. Was it karma coming to bite you for not caring enough in the first place? So much so that it thrust you into this situation? No, that was a lazy way of passing the blame—there was no such thing as fate, only coincidence and intention.

And you intended to care now.

You surveyed the people around you with a seemingly nonchalant gaze while sipping on your hot chocolate.

It was a few moments later that your eyes snagged on a passerby. He had a pair of headphones in, his hand lifting the microphone on the wire up to his mouth as his eyes darted between his phone and his surroundings. You couldn't read his lips because he was mumbling, but you watched him disappear into the narrow street around the other side of the café.

You shoveled the pastry into your mouth. Maybe you were making something out of nothing.

However, a minute later, a pair of young men who looked around your age hustled past. In the fashion of your targets from earlier, they kept their heads together, walking briskly and with anxious eyes. They went down the same street as the man before.

There was a third set of people moments later. Their demeanor was far less antsy—likely because they were in a group. They were less afraid of speaking quietly, and you thought you heard “late” and “meeting” amongst their words. From what you would see, they weren't businessmen of the conventional sense, and they followed the same path as their predecessors.

Not a coincidence, you thought to yourself, balling up your trash and hurrying after them.

The street you turned onto wasn't exactly an alleyway; it looked more like a back street in a residential neighborhood with garages and doors facing each other. This corridor didn't have any vehicle traffic, other than the cars parked in front of garage doors or motorbikes leaning against houses. It was closed in, the buildings towering on either side of you seeming to block out much of the weak sun.

You followed after the sound of voices as they turned down a street and into an alleyway between houses.

Pressing yourself up against a nearby wall, you lowered your body to hide behind the trash bin.

“Is everyone here?” asked a voice you didn't recognize, followed by jeering and mumbles and grunts in reply. “I need to make sure, alright. These orders are coming straight from the top.”

“Is Park being a pussy?” grumbled somebody else.

There was a small smattering of chuckles. Should you be recording this conversation? You inched closer, careful to keep yourself against a solid face of the wall with half your attention on your surroundings. What if someone came in late and right behind you?

You craned your ears, shoving your earbuds into your pocket.

“—We'll be moving soon if all goes well. Boss is counting on something to happen before he agrees to Lee's terms.”

“What's the hold up anyway?”

“Weren't you listening?” The following noise sounded like a dull thwack. “We're waiting. Once the DDC moves on Ateez, then we can be sure that everything's going to plan and those rich pricks will do all the heavy lifting for us.”

The voices relying and reacting to the man you assumed was the highest ranked lowered in volume considerably. You swore inwardly, crawling around the trash bin and toward the source. There was a door propped open at the foot of a small flight of stairs—a basement, probably.

You couldn't see the men's faces, but you could see their lower halves.

“And if the DDC doesn't move on Ateez for whatever reason?”

A hush. Then, “Lee says he has a contingency plan in play already. Someone who he can turn—”

He had someone he could convince to betray Ateez? Then it had to be either by bribery or blackmail… You racked your brain—who was susceptible to these methods of persuasion and could make enough waves to turn the tide? And why not make them betray the mafia from the get-go, and not only as a contingency plan?

There were too many unknowns, too many moving pieces to consider—

You braced your hand against the top of the nearby trash bin to stand up, but your hand slipped, sending a cardboard box resting on top tumbling to the ground. The action sent a dull clatter sound ricocheting against the walls.

All sound from the basement came to a screeching halt.

A cocking gun. “Who's there?”

You ran.

There was only one way that you remember coming in and you bolted in that direction. Behind you, sounds of clambering footsteps, shouts, and gunfire rained down hell upon you. Your heartbeat was trapped in your throat and in your ears, legs working overtime.

RUNRUNRUNRUNRUN—

Your only thought was to get to a crowded location. But would they stop shooting at you even in a crowd?

You couldn't think. Who were these guys?

“Come here, you little bitch!” BANGBANGBANG!

A shriek flew out of your mouth, hands flying up to your head as you ducked. You needed to take cover. If you ran out in the open like this for any longer, they would eventually hit you.

You dove headfirst into the nearest corridor, familiarity be damned. Pure adrenaline and fear crushed through your every system, willing you to keep pushing through.

You made it to the end of the alley, zipping to the right and down another mouth to the left. The deeper you ran, the further away their voices became.

At last, when the only sound was the ringing in your ears and the incessant pounding in your chest, you deflated against the slight curve of a doorway. You heaved for breath, dry gagging at the way your throat constricted from your own fear. You braced your hands on your knees and squeezed your eyes shut.

What a rush. And a close call.

You brought up your phone; once it was clear, you needed to find another way out of this maze of streets.

It seemed, however, that you stopped too soon.

“How can she run that fast? She couldn't have gotten that far.”

“How much do we think she even heard? We're dead if he finds out.”

“Fuck,” you muttered, tucking your phone back into the safety of your pocket. You couldn't quite gauge where they were or how far they were from your position—the alleyways here were good with acoustics and fucked with one's perspective. Maybe for safety, you should keep running.

Right as you were about to pick yourself up from the doorway, you felt the solid thing against your back disappear. You inhaled sharply, a small screech coming out of your mouth.

Somebody dragged you in through the door and slammed it shut, casting you in darkness.

Your heartbeat pummeled against your ribcage as a tiny hallway light flickered on above your head. Standing above you was a girl, about your age, with wide eyes and blueberry colored hair. She had a large pair of headphones hanging around her neck, her phone screen illuminating the deer-in-headlights expression on her face.

“Sorry,” she squeaked, extending a hand out to you.

You gratefully took it, standing up and clutching your bag to your chest.

“I saw you needed help,” she said. “Come with me.”

Wooyoung's warning suddenly flashed in your head like alarm bells. You shied away from her. “I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I think I'll just wait them out here and then go.”

The girl blinked at you, then seemed to figure out why you were hesitant. “I've been watching you from the CCTV footage.” At your reasonable reaction, she sputtered, backtracking. “I mean—Wooyoung asked me to keep an eye on you! I don't make it a habit to stalk random people like that. Well, it's my job, but it's not something I enjoy doing.”

You eyed her warily. Her stammering was charming, and her jitters were… relatable. And of course Wooyoung contacted her. Wait, who was she again? “So you're a member of the Ateez mafia,” you drawled. How could you verify this?

“Kind of. Essentially,” she said. “I'm, uh, Sakura.” Sakura stuck out her hand to you.

With great apprehension, you shook her hand, and you thought you heard her release a breath. “I'm…” Should you say it?

“I know who you are,” Sakura told you sheepishly, cupping the back of her head. “He sent me your profile.”

Your expression flattened. “Oh. I feel like that's definitely something Wooyoung would do.”

She nodded vigorously. “So,” she dragged out the last vowel. “Come with me to safety?”

Stuck between a maze of killer gunmen and a girl who stalked you via CCTV footage, you figured there weren't too many other ways to go. You'd been in worse situations before, right? You gestured for her to lead the way.

Sakura, who must have felt much better after you agreed to cooperate, exhaled and started walking toward the stairs at the very end of the hallway. You gripped your phone in your hand, pursing your lips together, then followed after her.

It was only a few flights of stairs before she led you into a hallway that led to an upstairs apartment unit. It was a small studio that looked out at the alleyway where you had been hiding, completed with a kitchenette, bed in the corner, wardrobe, and a desk space that probably took up most of the apartment. There were six—and you counted twice—monitors stacked so that three were on top and three were on the bottom. You recognized the different security camera angles on five of the screens, while one of them had a paused game screen.

You apprehensively stepped further into the apartment so that Sakura could close and lock the door behind you.

“Do you like tea? Or maybe water or coffee?” she asked, shuffling around the space and throwing things in boxes and drawers. You noticed her kick a box of yarn further beneath her bed before buzzing past you to the kitchenette.

“Oh, uhm, I'm okay.” You soaked in everything with wide eyes. “Thank you though.”

Sakura nodded and pulled a stool out from beneath her desk. “You can sit in my desk chair.”

“No, it's okay. I can take the stool.” The two of you switched places, and you found yourself perched on said stool. “So… how long should we wait until it's safe to go out?”

The two of you both glanced toward the security camera footage on the monitors. “They should give up in about an hour,” she replied. “We'll have to keep an eye on the area, of course, but yeah.”

“You said you were kind of a member of the family. What did you mean by that?”

“Well,” she said, pulling her knees up to her chest on the chair, “I'm like a freelance hacker, but I also work in Wooyoung's circle—if that makes sense.”

You made a small noise of acknowledgement. If Wooyoung had informants, having a freelance hacker as one of them would track. Cyber security and knowledge was his game. “But you've been inducted into the family? Ceremony and all?”

Sakura tilted her head from side to side. “Eh, yeah. I kind of fell into it by accident, and Wooyoung caught me by the tail while I was looking into their things when I was bored. And here I am.” She lifted her palms up and dropped them to her sides. “I don't do all the action and whatnot; Wooyoung lets me do whatever and calls me when there's something that he needs me to do. I just happened to be his agent in this part of town, so you're stuck with me.”

And it was a miracle you ended up exactly at her door.

It didn't seem to you like she was lying about any of this. She wasn't trying to hide anything on her monitor screens from you, and she answered your questions without doing loops around the truth.

You glanced out the window, into the alleyway and beyond that at the weak winter sun sitting at its perch in the sky. “Do you know who those men were?” you asked. If she lived here, then she would probably be familiar with all the suspicious acts nearby. And if she was Ateez, she would certainly be keeping tabs on the smaller gangs that occupied her space, friendly or not.

“They were with the Lioncrest Society,” Sakura replied, chewing her bottom lip. She then brought her notes app up on her phone and sketched something out with her finger. “This” —she showed you the screen with the drawing of a lion and a wave in a stylized symbol— “is their sign. It's a little more complex than most of the gangs from these parts, and they're probably the most organized, as far as petty gangs go.”

Sakura erased the symbol from her phone with her finger and tucked the device away. “They're usually just gambling in that basement, though,” she commented thoughtfully.

You began to disassemble your ensemble, bringing your bag strap over your head and peeling your jacket off. “They said some things,” you said quietly. “I think I need to tell the others.”

“Ah, well, I have a secure communication line with Wooyoung, but if it's really critical information, then maybe you should hold onto it until it's safe to return to home base.”

She didn't seem interested in knowing what said information was. You watched her nibble her fingernails, then drum them against her leg. “Are you… nervous?”

Sakura immediately stopped her fidgeting. “It's leftover adrenaline,” she said with an awkward laugh, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I don't really have direct contact with others from the mafia.”

“I'm not in the family,” you corrected her.

“Oh right, Wooyoung mentioned that in the profile.”

Of course, he did. The thought made your lip twitch in amusement. “Thanks for uhm, y'know, coming to my rescue.”

She nodded. “Sure! It was a little exciting, I guess. Plus, if the info you got had anything to do with the person stirring up trouble around here again, then I'm glad to help.”

“Do they cause a lot of trouble around here—the Lioncrest Society?”

“Not outright,” she replied with a shake of her head. “They mostly play nice around Ateez, but it's because there's no proof of their insubordination.” There was a small quirk in the side of her mouth, frustrated. “But there is proof of their declining profits as soon as Ateez came into power. The family's policies put a damper on their business.”

You slowly nodded as pieces clicked into place. “So it would motivate them to turn against Ateez,” you pondered aloud. “But that can't be enough, can it?”

“Greed does a lot of things to people,” Sakura said with a degree of defeat. “Their offshore accounts are something I can look at, but most criminal accounts are similar to theirs where they haul in large sums of money at irregular intervals.” She shrugged, though her brows furrowed. “It's just a shame we can't be sure of anything, and there is a delicate balance to keep in these kinds of territories.”

“The Captain can't just, I dunno, eliminate them?” You couldn't believe you said that out loud. But you did hear that they were planning to act against Ateez. They hadn't officially made any moves to betray the family yet. There was only discussion of their involvement with “Lee.” (But wasn't Lee Hyunseok dead?) And there was that comment about a contingency plan…

“He doesn't like burning any bridges until he's sure there's no more use for them,” she said. “Captain's careful. As much as they are just a gang compared to the entirety of the family, Lioncrest owns a lot of the illegal, underground shit from here and further south toward the second sector. Purging every one would be a headache. And Ateez gets a cut of their profits.”

You piped up, “But if you cut them off at the head?”

“They work similar to the Captain—only members closest to their boss know his identity.” She began idly drawing shapes on the arm of her desk chair with a solemn look on her face. “Besides, when you cut off the head, almost always two more will appear to replace him.”

When Hongjoong and his party returned home, they were relieved to find that the Treasure Island Bridge was still standing and that their territory hadn't been thrown into war with the DDC. Today's victory was hard won, but the battle was far from over.

Yunho pulled the car up to headquarters where other soldiers who had gone with them to the meeting followed. The warehouse had been on lockdown, preparing to depart at a moment's notice. Now that they had seen the safe return of their Captain, they could breathe.

Hongjoong stepped out of the car, his cane digging into the gravel of the wharf. Seonghwa came out of the warehouse to greet him, the words “Captain on deck” ringing through the air like a solemn whistle to signal troops.

“At ease,” Hongjoong commanded and fell into step with Seonghwa on his way back into the base. “Where’s Yeosang? I need to speak with Ruby.”

He passed through the large doors, glancing up into the rafters for one of his commanders. Soldiers of the family were everywhere, like ants, working to return everything to their proper place and deactivate the defense systems.

Yeosang appeared at the railing of the second floor and leaned over. “Captain.”

“Ruby, where is she?”

Something flashed across the commander's face. “She's—she’s safe and where she always is. But” —he gripped the railing, and Hongjoong stalled on his way toward the elevator— “Wooyoung has some things to debrief you on.”

Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Mingi, and Jongho traveled up to the second floor together. Seonghwa was swift to report that there were no sightings of the Diamond District's forces near Hala Town; it only served to confirm Hongjoong's speculations that the DDC really did intend to use the situation to their advantage and get something out of negotiations. But still, could they be the ones pulling the strings all along?

Wooyoung had an office tucked away in the confines of the second floor. He had the most hardware, so space to work and arrange all his technology was imperative. Yeosang led the way into the small corridor that fed into Wooyoung's cave.

One could feel the dampened silence as soon as the door was closed.

“What do you have for me?” Hongjoong asked—right down to business.

Wooyoung cleared his throat. “We have a lock on who Mr. Young is.”

A wave of pleasant surprise washed over him. “Good. How'd you get it?” He settled down onto the couch pushed against the wall, the injury in his side sighing with relief.

“Yn recognized him from the footage this morning with the imposter.”

“Yn?” he parroted. Hongjoong tugged down the cover over his mouth and pressed his lips together. “I guess that makes sense; the camera got a clear shot on him. Have you run him through facial rec yet?”

Wooyoung leaned back in his seat. “Yup. He's a former investor—well, he did Ponzi schemes for Strictland back in the day.”

The Captain tugged his gloves off in thought. “Huh, never heard of him. Probably changed his name five billion times though if he was doing that kind of work.”

“You're right. We're still tracking all his aliases.”

“But it would explain how Strictland got the funding to continue if Young kept some of that money,” Yeosang offered. “Unless he's just super butthurt that his biggest sponsor got murdered.”

Seonghwa settled on the arm of the couch beside Hongjoong, shrugging a shoulder. “I wouldn't put it past him.”

“So,” Mingi piped up from where he leaned against the door, “we're really saying this. They're back.”

The air seemed to tighten as they all exchanged glances with one another before turning to their leader. The latter had a tense jaw, a familiar storm brewing in his eyes. “It seems so,” he murmured. “I” —he stopped short, brows scrunching together as he scanned the room and counted the heads present. One, two, three, four— “Where's San?”

Wooyoung let out a telltale giggle, nervous. “He went to pick up Yn in the east corner.”

Hongjoong's eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Well… that's a long story…”

The Captain's gaze flew up at Seonghwa from beneath the deep shadow of his hat brim. “Did you know about this? Why is Yn in the goddamn east corner?”

“I did not know about this,” Seonghwa replied quietly, eyes settled on Wooyoung.

All eyes returned to the man in question. He cracked his knuckles in his lap, then lifted his palms in surrender. “Look, she came to Hala Town out of her own volition and maybe I did have a hand in encouraging her. They'll be home soon in any case; we can ask her all about it then.”

a/n: please remember to reblog if you enjoyed!

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series taglist: @starriniqhts @hon3ysun @wooyouz @emotionallyanaemic @queenofdumbfuckery @ateezswonderland @angeleyes127 @sophie-mae-rose @asweetblueberry2 @miniverse-zen

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itsbeeble · 20 hours ago

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I fear wooyoung is my favorite in this story. he's just so silly goofy

BIRDS OF PREY — seven

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, mentions of torture/pulling a fingernail, very small appearance of blood, criminal activity, mentions of death, ALSO JUST A LOT OF INFO DUMPING I'M SORRY I DON'T LIKE IT EITHER T_T

▷ word count. 5.5k

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CHAPTER SEVEN: WICKED BLOWS THE WIND

“CAPTAIN ON DECK!” The sound of boots stomping and spines snapping straight echoed up the cavernous rafters of the warehouse. There was home and there was headquarters; this warehouse building was one near their place of living, and was where the majority of soldiers and underlings were summoned when need be.

Tonight, the warehouse was alive. They had a shooter to catch.

If there was one good thing about the Captain's uniform, it was the crow-headed cane that Hongjoong now leaned on to walk faster. It wasn't an obvious crutch to most, though; it was still important that he demonstrated strength in front of his men.

“At ease, at ease,” Hongjoong dismissed, waving a gloved hand and scanning his immediate surroundings. There was another office in this warehouse, perched high up and dubbed the Crow's Nest, but Seonghwa was often the occupant rather than the Captain himself. Hongjoong would steadily make his way up there while collecting updates. “Where's Mingi? Where are we with the bullet casings?”

The tall brunet appeared seemingly out of thin air, standing up to his full height from where he had been crouched beside one of the desks, fixing a broken chair. “Aye, Captain,” he greeted and his mouth formed a grim line. “We've analyzed the bullet casings and… well, I sent them up with Seonghwa hyung for safe keeping, but you should know that it might be worse than we think.”

Hongjoong gestured with his hand for Mingi to walk with him. “Worse?” he parroted.

“Aye.” Mingi's head dipped low toward the Captain's ear as they passed by soldiers at work in order to reach the elevator at the far side of the floor. “It's them alright, but it's so obviously them that it worries me it's a copycat.”

“I see,” Hongjoong hummed lowly. “Did we get the shooters?”

His counterpart nodded and reached for the button to summon the elevator. “Yunho's in there with one of them now.”

“One of them.” It wasn't completely worrying that only one of them was caught, but it did mean one less person to shake information out of.

“We were lucky to even get to the bullet casings,” he quickly defended, stepping into the elevator after Hongjoong. “There was a fucking blue blood patrolling near the college library, and the casings were either collected for their ballistics report or scooped up by the shooter. But Jongho's guy at the precinct was able to retrieve them.”

The elevator rose with even speed, slowing in its ascent as it reached the topmost floor of the warehouse. On this level, it was mostly storage for the most critical evidence of their operations. Though they were all gathered in one place, it would make it easier for them to burn it all should a raid happen without warning.

“We traced the engravings on the shell casings to some guy from Sector 2,” Mingi continued on as the two of them made their way from the elevator to the door of the Crow’s Nest. “He’s saying that someone got in touch with him and gave him the tools to mark his casings with the Strictland seal, and if he killed you, he would get a hefty amount of cash on top of what he was paid upfront.”

Hongjoong pursed his lips at the information. It all seemed to make sense; the only thing that was truly worrying was whether the shooter was a copycat or was telling the truth about being contacted. “Where’s the accomplice?”

Mingi coughed, opening the door to the office for them to step through, “He disappeared. Yeosang’s out with his lookouts now.”

Seonghwa didn’t even look up from what he was hunched over at the desk. The Crow’s Nest office space was a decent size, similar to the captain’s quarters on the Shipwreck, but this one was far more industrial in build and aesthetic. There were touches of Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s personalizations, like a pair of comfortable armchairs in the corner, a small drink cart, and a bookshelf complete with little Lego figurine versions of Hongjoong and his inner circle (courtesy of his second in command). Hongjoong much preferred the Shipwreck office for the sound of the sea right at his ear, but it worked out nicely since this was Seonghwa’s preferred workspace.

The door shut, muffling any outside noise and effectively keeping their own conversation private from anyone outside of these walls.

“Well?” In the privacy of the Crow’s Nest, he could finally lean more weight on his cane, and he slowly made his way over to the desk.

Seonghwa had a crease etched into his brow. “Mingi-ah, get the Captain one of those pain relieving patches, please.”

“Aye-aye, hyung.” The door opened and shut once more, and then there were two.

Hongjoong peered over the desk where Seonghwa scrutinized a brass shell casing. As much as the former wanted to think positively, he didn’t get to where he was today by being optimistic. He plucked up one of the other casings and brought it to his eye, letting the lights hit the grooves embedded into the metal to form a stylized letter Z. To anyone else, it was an unassuming trademark; but to Hongjoong, it stood for everything he worked so hard to bury.

He set the bullet down onto the desk again and made his way over to the window to peer out at the warehouse below. The majority of those present today were here as extra hands on deck regarding the recent imposter cases and attempts on his life. Most of Ateez’s soldiers were out in the field, though, experts at slipping into shadows and opening their ears to any wicked whispers in the wind. Those who were here most of the time were busy with Ateez’s usual business operations: weapons, cromer powder, and accounting. (Accounting was in the sense of keeping track of the tribute and dues people paid to the pirate king—protection money for immunity against petty gangs and fees paid in order to keep the city’s government off a business's back for any certain reason, as long as they played by Ateez’s rules.)

Seonghwa finally voiced into the quiet, “I’m worried.”

Hongjoong rested his cane against the window and placed his hands behind his back. There weren’t many things he could think of at the moment to quell his friend’s concerns, especially if he himself had those same concerns. His fingers twitched behind his back. He could still feel the weight of the pistol in his hand that he used to put a bullet between Lee Yunseok’s eyes.

“I don’t think we’re going to get much out of the kid Yunho’s got in the brig,” Seonghwa added with a sigh. “I have this sinking feeling that his contact was fully anonymous and that this will be a dead end. How did we not destroy all of those engravers?”

The Captain turned around then, grabbing his cane to stand beside his friend at the desk. “Maybe we did, but there are excellent forgers in this city. This doesn’t have to be a dead end. Have we gotten anything on the Mr. Young character that Yn interacted with?”

“I’m still looking into him.” Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, then suddenly straightened and stood up. “You should be sitting.”

“I’m fine.”

“We need you at full health,” he insisted, practically shoving Hongjoong down into the office chair. “I need you at full health. The threat level has just increased, Joong, and they’re not even using their own guys anymore.”

Hongjoong cupped his jawline thoughtfully. “Why would they wait so long to have their revenge?”

Seonghwa shrugged. “They needed to count their numbers,” he suggested. “Recuperate to come back stronger than before. Plots take time; you of all people know that.”

That was the truth. It wasn’t too long ago that Hongjoong spent days and nights cracking out the most foolproof plan to overthrow Strictland that he could muster. Even with the others’ contributions, there were still cracks in it—but it worked. Every plan had their moving parts, chess pieces on a board that were moved to seem like completely different end goals, but were truly the groundwork for something larger.

He knew that the attempts on his life and the imposter sightings were related, but he was certain that whatever remained of Strictland had a plan for you, too. Hongjoong was back to that massive question mark in his head: what was your purpose? What effect were the coincidences intended to produce?

A knock at the office door announced Mingi’s return with a box of pain-relieving patches, as well as Yunho. The latter didn’t seem awfully worn or tired from his interrogation, but he did frown at a speck of blood on his leather jacket that he grumbled about washing out later.

“Here you are, Cap'n.” Mingi tossed the box across the office for Hongjoong to catch.

Yunho nudged the door shut with his foot. “Kid’s a dead end,” he said what Seonghwa had predicted. “I figured as much in the beginning, but I pulled a fingernail just in case. Shouldn’t have done it though, because I got his fucking blood on me.” He paired his complaint with a sigh and a shake of his head.

“Did you learn anything in particular though?” Hongjoong queried. “How was the information and tools passed along to him?”

“Snail mail,” Yunho said, collapsing into one of the armchairs in the corner of the room. “He found a package at his door and then he got a call from an unknown number with instructions. Fifteen thousand dollars were wired into his bank account upfront; it was forty-five thousand more for carrying out the scheme, and a hundred thousand if he killed you.”

Hongjoong's brows shot up. So that was what his head was worth, a hundred thousand. Huh. Not as much as he was hoping for really, but they were probably running on a budget. That provided another question then: who was funding them? It had to be one of the other families in the city, just as he suspected before. “We'll go from here. Have Wooyoung go through the kid's phone and scrape for that unknown number. It's probably a burner, but he might be able to trace it to a cell tower.”

“Speaking of,” Seonghwa piped up, “where is Wooyoung?”

Mingi had settled into the other armchair next to Yunho. “With San, probably.”

“He's driving Yn home,” Hongjoong said through half a sigh, carding a hand through his hair. He just remembered he asked Wooyoung to. There was simply a strange feeling in his chest that told him he shouldn't allow you to make the journey home alone anymore. It would be alright for you to come here on your own because it was in daylight amongst other people, but after last night…

A target on his back was one thing, but you wouldn't know what to do if Strictland showed up on your doorstep.

The thought alone made a lump form in his throat and he coughed to clear it away. He cared about you in the way he cared about any liability, of course. At least, that was what the Captain would think. Hongjoong, on the other hand—well, it didn't matter now. You took the vow of silence and you knew who he was. He wasn't just Hongjoong to you anymore.

For some reason, that felt like a loss.

Seonghwa released a sound of interest from his throat, walking away from where he stood beside his leader and toward the liquor cart. “How'd she take the offer?”

“What'd you offer her?” Mingi asked, eyes brightening at the new information. He had only just found out you took the vow of silence several hours ago.

“In exchange for her last life debt, I would siphon her away to someplace no one knew her, with a new identity,” Hongjoong explained. He began idly turning himself back and forth in the office chair. “She wanted to think about it. I imagine she has ties to this city, as most people do.”

“It's as you predicted,” his second said, gesturing with his glass before taking a generous sip of the whiskey. Seonghwa barely grimaced as the liquid burned its way down his throat. “You know, she could be useful.”

“I don't think she wants to be entangled in this anymore than she already is.”

Every man in that room knew that if Hongjoong wanted something, he wouldn't stop until he owned it. So if he was so dismissive about your further use to them, then they would drop the subject. You were a gray area resident through and through; he wasn't about to yank someone aboard a ship they didn't want to board.

For a beat, there was silence as they all mulled over the naive little sheep who unwittingly tied herself to a wolf. Yunho snorted suddenly, smiling to himself. “She's kind of funny,” he said.

“Don't tell me you're getting attached now,” Seonghwa quipped, lifting a single brow.

“I just think she's a good person.” Mingi's expression was sheepish as he shrugged, cupping the back of his neck. “For some reason, hyung, she can't stop saving your ass.”

Hongjoong's lip curled upward into the smallest of smiles that he hid behind his hand, pressing his knuckles to that corner of his mouth. “Maybe she has an instinct,” he threw out airily. He picked up one of the bullet casings again and held it up in the light as red flashed before his eyes and old blood splattered in the projector of his mind. “They say storm birds are heralds of destruction. When you see them perched nearby, you should run and take cover.”

You woke up to the news.

The sound of a news anchor's voice rang out loud and clear from beneath your bedroom door, streaming in from the living room TV. You glanced over at your phone with bleary eyes and a headache drilling into your skull—8:34AM. It was too early for you to be sentient. Five hours was not nearly enough sleep when it was your day off.

You yanked the cover over your head, content and determined to drift back to dreamland. It wasn't completely out of the ordinary to hear the TV on outside; you understood that Ryujin got antsy most mornings and needed to keep up with the latest in the city.

You, however, couldn't care less—

“—footage from an anonymous source. Hala Town's notorious Ateez mafia seems at it again, stepping out of their territory. This time, Ateez's leader, the Captain, has been seen breaking and entering into a Sector 3 business. Take a look—”

Alright. Maybe you did care a little.

The living room was cold when you opened the door, your hands and face hidden in the shadows of your hoodie. Ryujin started as she turned around from where she stood in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips.

But you didn't hear what she was saying. Your eyes were glued to the TV screen, watching a man with a black, wide-brimmed hat and coat, cane and mask, waltz into the Kidult Company building. The picture quality was grainy and had much room for improvement, but the uniform made it clear who it was on screen. If the goal was to make it look like Kim Hongjoong, the real Captain, was the perpetrator, then they succeeded.

(No normal person would care that this cane was not crow-headed, nor that his walk was off—there was no stiffness to his movements, not that the general populace knew Hongjoong had been shot.)

There was a person accompanying this Captain though, one who clearly turned his face toward the camera. In fact, he located the lens and peered directly into it. The newscaster zoomed in on this accomplice's face, describing what best he could see on screen.

Your blood ran cold. Surely that wasn't…

That face was difficult to scrub out of your memory. His voice spoke to you in thinly veiled threats from the back of your mind. To you, there was no doubt that the person with the fake Captain was Mr. Young.

“We have yet to identify this accomplice, but he is surely someone in league with the Captain and the Ateez mafia,” said the newsman. He nudged his glasses up and gestured toward you, the viewer. “We implore you to call the tip line on-screen if you have any information regarding this matter. This has been Lee Seokmin with Teleparty News; we'll be back after these messages.”

As the screen flickered to an advertisement for the newest revolutionary vacuum cleaner on the market, you stood stock-still in the doorway of your bedroom. Your hands had gone frigid. Mr. Young was associated with the imposter Captain that Hongjoong had mentioned two nights ago.

This changed… This changed a lot. It meant that Mr. Young was in league with this imposter, likely trying to smear Hongjoong's name. But why?

What was the motivation behind this?

And the night of the fire—that paper claiming the murder and arson was a tribute to him. It was sarcastic. It was a taunt. This was a game and Hongjoong was being toyed with.

To what end though? To what end would this continue and would it go even with the entire city caught in the crossfire? Or what about innocent civilians living in Hala Town and Ateez territory? The answer was that it wouldn't end until one side demolished the other.

“Yn… hey, Yn—”

You blinked rapidly as Ryujin frantically waved her hand in front of your face. Concern contorted her facial expression, and her hands found her hips again. “Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“Uh yeah,” you stammered, “I mean yeah, I'm fine.” You pressed a sweater paw up against your forehead as the decision came to you. “I just remembered I have to go to work—I mean! I have an errand to run.”

You swiftly turned back into your room, leaving Ryujin dumbfounded in the living room.

It was strange how fear and adrenaline worked in tandem with each other in moments like these. You swiftly got dressed, and five hours was suddenly enough sleep to go climb a mountain.

Or, make stupid decisions. The first time you steeled yourself to head into Ateez territory, it was to do what was necessary. There wasn't much difference this time.

Three years ago, there was a major shift in power. The city only knew about it until the dust settled, bodies were counted, and a new ruling family rose out of the ashes with blood on their hands. It was an event where you could only truly know what happened if you were a part of the coup itself. Anyone outside of Hala Town, or even civilians who resided there, would have no idea as to the true machinations of Kim Hongjoong's plans, why he decided to take over Strictland's reign, and what exactly he had in store for the territory.

It was no secret, however, that Lee Yunseok—former mafia head of Strictland—ruled Hala Town with an iron hand. It was no different from the cutthroat ecosystem of most concrete jungles, wherein the rich became richer and the poor ate shit. But it was, in general, unruly and a far more dangerous place to live because of his policies. From the testimonials in chatrooms and blog posts you found online, there were plenty of people who could certify that living in Hala Town had been like constantly waiting for something bad to happen. In the day, one kept their head down in hopes of avoiding trouble; in the night… Well, one of the users said to never go out at night.

Obviously, you couldn't trust just anything that someone said online, but the stories you furiously consumed on the subway ride to Hala Town corroborated each other's testimonies.

So where did Mr. Young and this imposter Captain fall into play here?

After the fall of Strictland, it seemed most of their members either scattered like shadows in the day, died during the fight, or turned Ateez. Either the latter people simply sided with the new group in power or had already been recruited to Ateez sometime during the coup.

Your eyes glanced up at the nearest screen that displayed the next stop. Through your wired earbuds, you could hear the robotic voice in the speakers announce the station you were approaching. Swiftly, you returned to what you were reading on your phone.

There was no information about Kim Hongjoong or the rest of his commanders. You once looked up his civilian name and the only establishment he was tied to was the Shipwreck. Had he assumed the title or nickname of Captain while as a member of Strictland's group?

It was not an unpopular rumor that, regarding the coup, the call had to have come from inside the house.

He might have turned on them and had their leader killed, chasing Strictland out of their former territory with their tails between their legs. Was this all an attempt to seek revenge?

Three years to come up with a convoluted and thorough run at revenge, as well as to gather resources and manpower—it made sense. They were ready. Why would they kill Ms. Iwazaki though? Were they afraid her loyalty to the Captain would cost them more than risking her loyalty to greed?

You swam with the current on your way out of the subway car at the only stop for Hala Town.

It was fast approaching 9:30AM as you ascended to ground level. Because it was a Sunday, there weren't as many commuters bustling to and fro, but plenty of people were on their way toward the wharf for the morning farmer's market. It was something Wooyoung mentioned to you offhandedly the past week.

There wasn't exactly a way you could look up the Ateez warehouse on a maps app, so you had to rack your brain to remember what the path Yunho drove looked like. It was definitely close to the—

A shoulder crashed against yours. “Hey!” you hollered after the offending party, ripping the earbuds out from your ears.

It was two men whose faces were close to one another, and one of them lifted his hand in apology. “Sorry!”

“Way to keep a low profile,” hissed his friend before tugging him along.

A low profile? You stepped out of the way of people walking past and slowly wandered after those two men, trailing behind by one or two people.

“—calling us all in though? It has to do with the news of the Captain this morning. Do you think they're going to accept Strictland's offer?”

“Don't say that name out loud around here! Don't you know anything?”

Your spine prickled with a feeling of dread. You were right that they were suspicious. There were plenty of suspicious things happening in this city, but it couldn't just be a coincidence that they needed a low profile after this morning's news and recent events.

Your determination kicked up a notch as you weaved your way through other pedestrians, your gaze locked onto your targets. Was it a stupid idea to follow them? You'd had worse ideas before.

They made a sharp turn to cross the street and headed directly for an alleyway.

“The boss is probably getting anxious to get a foothold in the port. Did you hear who’s moving in soon?”

You pressed your body against the brick wall of the alley, allowing them to get some distance first. It was lucky that you could pick up what they were saying from the acoustics in this corridor.

“The GV? What could he possibly gain by doing them a favor?” the man's voice was incredulous as he said this. “Whatever. I guess we should brace ourselves for new marching orders soon.”

They turned out of the alleyway soon after.

You scurried after them and stopped short at the very mouth. Just beyond this exit point laid a wide intersection filled with foot and vehicle traffic. It was decently busy, but the small shopping malls on different sides of the street certainly contributed to the hustle and bustle. You could spot the two men crossing the street and rounding the corner, but you remained in the shadows to contemplate your next move.

“We're really doing this, huh?” you muttered to yourself and turned to your phone. There was one new number you had saved in your contacts, and it just so happened to be the Ateez commander who was chronically online.

He didn't disappoint.

Within one and a half rings, he was in your ear. “Uhh, gonna be honest. Not a great time if you wanted to get brunch.”

“Why would I want brunch with you?” you asked, adjusting your earbud wires as the buds were plugged back in your ear. You peered out into the intersection one more time, then leaned back against the wall with an exhale.

“Wow, rude. I thought we were friends.” His words were accompanied by voices and sounds of movement. “And we mentioned brunch last night. Why else would you call? —Oy! Careful with her; she's my favorite scope!”

Your brows furrowed at all the excitement happening on the other end. “What's going on over there?”

There was a huff of indignation from Wooyoung, and you assumed (hoped) that it was directed toward the person handling his beloved scope and not you. “I will assume you've seen the news. We're preparing for retaliation and Joong hyung is preparing to meet the head of the Diamond District.”

“Retaliation?” you repeated, eyes going wide. Mentally, you performed cartwheels to remember where you'd heard Diamond District before. That was the nickname for the old Sector 17 gang, wasn't it? Now, they were known as the Diamond District Chois, a family reigned by blood, which was the more conventional relationship one saw within the mafia families.

“It's the natural response when your territory has been directly threatened by another—imposter figure or not.”

“Why would the Diamond District retaliate against us—I mean—you?”

A pause. “The Kidult Company is a shell corporation. Take a wild guess who owns it.”

Your brain filled in the gaps and you placed a hand over your mouth. “Yikes…”

“Mhm,” came Wooyoung's grim reply.

“I always thought it was some kind of institutionalized daycare,” you muttered with ill-concealed disappointment. It made a lot more sense why Non-Captain and Mr. Young chose to break into that building specifically. Was he trying to start a war?... Oh. Was that the end game?

“Would've been much better than this!” he said with a hysterical laugh. He sighed, and you could imagine him dragging a hand down his face in anxiety. “So I suggest you stay away from Hala Town, but it is your day off. By the way, why did you call again?”

“Oh, I'm in Hala Town.”

Another pause. Then you heard a smack. “Of course, you are. Murphy's Law.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, scrunching up your face. “Now that is rude. I came because I saw the news this morning and I wanna help.” Before Wooyoung could say anything in response to that, you rambled on, “Look, I—I don't know. I saw the news this morning, and the fallout of this revenge scheme could hurt a lot of people. I like this city, Wooyoung. I like living here, as much as it is counterintuitive, but now this matter's crossed into the gray areas.”

The background noise gradually decreased on his end, like he was walking away from the action. “I get that, I really do. And the fact that you're still here says a lot,” he told you. “But you should know that you're only getting yourself more involved.”

“I know,” you said, pursing your lips. “Maybe I'm stupid for following my gut instead of common sense by coming here… it's just that I came because I wanted to tell you guys that the man on the leaked security tape with the fake Captain is Mr. Young—the guy who was the last to see Iwazaki Rina.”

Wooyoung exhaled. “That… makes a lot of sense, and helps me a shit ton.” You could hear the click-clack of his fingers on a mechanical keyboard and you wondered how fast he had the security tape analyzed. “I'm gonna run this through facial rec. Thanks Yn, seriously. It's strange though that he chooses now to show his face. Any other footage has him strategically dodging cameras or blocking his features.”

You hummed under your breath, debating between snaking your way back to the station through the alleyway or remaining here for the duration of your call. You scanned your immediate surroundings just in case. “He's playing with you,” you offered. “At least, that's what I've come up with. He must be associated with Stri—”

“Ah,” he cut you off. “You're in public, Yn.”

“Okay, whatever. You know who I mean.” You poked your head out of the alleyway again to survey the nearby establishments. Those two men were off to attend a meeting of some kind. Was there somewhere nearby that they could gather? You pulled up the GPS app on your phone. “If he's associated with who we think he is, then it has to mean something that he had a hand in Ms. Iwazaki's death and the fire,” you continued. “Also, I'm on Paradigm Avenue. What's around here?”

“Why the fuck are you on Paradigm? That's almost the complete opposite direction of the pier. I didn't think your sense of direction was that bad.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was following two suspicious guys who were talking about you, you-know-who, and the GV mafia. Something about being called in and accepting a deal.”

He loosened a low whistle from his mouth. “Look at you! You're learning all our dirty secrets on your way to work today.”

“Oh, good. So it's important and I should follow them.” You didn't particularly care about what they were going to do with the GV mafia—actually, maybe you did care. The mafia family that ruled the Gold Village, a nearby section of the city, wasn't your favorite kind of people. You'd heard through the grapevine that they were into more unsavory businesses, and if those businesses were about to be funneled through Ateez's ports…

You had to stop yourself. You couldn't just sit down and have a conversation with Hongjoong about why they shouldn't go through with whatever deal they struck with the GV. This was just business. Their business.

“You didn't hear this from me, but I would follow them,” admitted Wooyoung. “Though, you should know that the way you're going is heading toward the east corner.”

Your foot stopped mid step as it crossed out of the alleyway and out onto the street. “What's in the east corner?” you asked, recovering your stride and heading for the crosswalk. There were a few restaurants and bars nearby that you could check. The Laundromat also looked somewhat suspicious to you with the happy-go-lucky laundry machine with googly eyes in the front window.

“We've been keeping an eye out over there lately. That's where the whispers of Strictland's reappearance first cropped up,” he explained. “Just err on the side of caution.”

Sure, you could do that.

“Oh, one last thing” —you stopped yourself from ending the call— “remember when I told you that you had major street cred around here?”

“Yeah,” you said. The first time you met Wooyoung a little over a week ago, it was the first time you ever stepped foot into Ateez territory. He mentioned to you at that first meeting that you had 'street cred’ around these parts and you still hadn't a clue what he meant.

“I wasn't kidding, y'know. Our soldiers and those who know them know your name and that you've saved the Captain. If you find the right person and tell them who you are, they could help get you out of trouble.”

The information came as a welcomed surprise to you. Perhaps saving a man you didn't know did have its perks, besides the originally unwanted IOUs he offered. Figuring out how to find the right people at the right time was a bridge you'd build when you got there though. “Wait, but if I told the wrong person who I am?”

“Well, that's just the thing,” he let out a sheepish chuckle. “There are probably a handful of people who'd want to hurt you for helping the Captain. Your name can either save you or kill you.”

Great.

As you crossed the street and ventured further away from the streets that you knew, you were armed with only a name—one that could be the breath of air you needed or the hand that snuffed the life out of you.

With the bodies on the chess board beginning to move with vigor and strategy, it was high time you moved your own chess piece.

a/n: pls remember to reblog if you enjoyed!

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series taglist: @starriniqhts @hon3ysun @wooyouz @emotionallyanaemic @queenofdumbfuckery @ateezswonderland @angeleyes127 @sophie-mae-rose @asweetblueberry2

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itsbeeble · 21 hours ago

Text

I think what i really love about this is the fact that y/n knows nothing. She doesn't know about the world these men are part of she doesn't know the customs or anything. A lot of stories just jump to them automatically knowing everything about the world which isn't bad but it kinda harms the set up for the grand scheme of things if that makes sense? I like the learning aspect

BIRDS OF PREY — six

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, consumption of alcohol, mentions of death and faking one's death, mentions of poison, mentions of an injury (gunshot wound)

▷ word count. 5.9k

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a/n: i distinctly remember feeling at least a little giddy while writing one particular part about this chapter... hmm

CHAPTER SIX: GOOD PEOPLE

THERE WERE SEVERAL internal alarm bells going off in your head. The lounge space you entered up into was vast with vaulted ceilings and warm lights that glowed out of large windows, the ones you spotted whilst coming in. The living room seemed, of all things, normal. If anything, it would be a lovely entertainment space, if only you didn't believe this was where your last breaths would be.

Hongjoong was seated on one of the sofa sectionals with a man you assumed to be a physician hunched next to him, closing up the bloody bullet graze in his side. He glanced up at your entrance, and you couldn't read what his face was telling you.

Yunho leaned against the wall by the windows with a glass of auburn colored liquid in hand. Your eye contact with him produced a more obvious reaction—he dunked the remainder of the bourbon down his throat.

“Let's get you that cup of tea first,” said Seonghwa as he came up behind you. He brushed past your body, stalking over to the kitchen on the other end with the confidence of a man who lived here.

You scurried after him. “Maybe I don't need that cup of tea,” you squeaked, loitering awkwardly between the invisible line where the living room became the kitchen.

Seonghwa paused his movements with the electric kettle. “If you're afraid I'm going to poison it, you can brew it yourself.”

Oh. “That's not exactly what I was…” No, that was definitely something you thought about. You winced. “Can I just… see what teas you have?”

He granted you that much and opened a cabinet for you to peer into. There was a variable selection of teas and coffees within, giving the cabinet space a fragrant aroma that kicked you in the face. You sorted through the boxes, picking out some to squint at and pretend your fingers weren't shaking.

You settled on an unassuming box of jasmine green tea, one you remembered seeing at the grocery store very often. The less unique the box, the less likely it would have some effect you weren't aware of. (But for good measure, you scanned the back of the box, the sides of the box, and the top of the box. It wasn't paranoia; it was self-preservation. If that was even possible at this stage.)

When you were satisfied with your choice, you watched Seonghwa pour tap water into the kettle, turn it on, and pick out a mug. With an arched brow, he tipped the opening toward you so you could inspect it. You carefully traced your finger around the inside—no powders. It was clean.

A sputtered laugh came from the far end. Yunho muffled the sounds of amusement with his free hand. “We do drink out of those, too, you know,” he said.

“They’re good habits,” Seonghwa replied in your defense. Then, he said to you, “Though, if we wanted you dead, you wouldn't have made it this far.”

A chill rocketed down your spine.

“Way to kill the mood, hyung,” Yunho coughed.

The man beside Hongjoong rose to his feet with a few murmured words to the mafia head. Hongjoong said his thanks, moving slightly to test the boundaries of his new injury.

When the physician disappeared down the stairs, Hongjoong stood up from the couch and inspected his bloodied shirt with a grimace. “I'll be back,” he said and headed for the hallway that extended behind the kitchen, out of sight.

Seonghwa sighed when the Captain disappeared, and you noted that sound seemed to happen often.

There was a long stretch of silence. Somewhere, someplace you couldn't quite find, a clock was tick-tocking away. Chk-chk-chk-chk…

Another sigh loosened into the air.

“He said he'd be back,” said Yunho, as if to reassure him.

Seonghwa passed him a pointed look that said everything that needed to be said. “He also said he would avoid going out alone.”

“And I also said 'No promises.’” Hongjoong reappeared with a fresh shirt and loose sweatpants. How he was able to change so quickly was a mystery to you, and you wanted it to remain a mystery to you for the foreseeable future. He rubbed the place between his eyes and headed for the fridge, where he fished an ice pack out of the freezer. There was a distinct stiffness to his movements—what were once graceful actions, bending down and reaching became a multi-step process.

The kettle clicked to signal that the water had boiled, and Seonghwa poured it out into the mug with your poison of choice.

With your beverage prepared, the lot of you moved over to the couches.

You settled on one of the lone armchairs with a decent breadth between you and the other three. The hot mug was nursed between your palms, the scalding heat an anchor for your senses.

“So what happened?” Seonghwa asked, leaning back and draping an arm over the back of the couch. He looked far too comfortable for this kind of conversation.

You instinctively glanced over at Hongjoong, and you nearly jolted when you realized his eyes were already on you. His face remained stoic, though, an unhelpful and silent prompt for you to answer his subordinate. “We were in Sector 1,” you said quietly, “by the bar on Fifth. He offered to walk me back to the station and on the way there we were shot at. We were able to call Yunho and rendezvous at the city college library. Hongjoong was shot on our way to the car.”

“I wish all my guys gave reports like that,” Yunho muttered under his breath.

“A-hem,” Seonghwa harrumphed with a reappearance of that pointed look over his glasses. He turned back to you. “What were you doing by the bar, Yn?”

“I was clearing my head, I dunno,” you stammered. “I never really got closure for her death—Ms. Iwazaki's. I wasn't really close to her, but she wasn't a horrible boss or anything.”

“And you didn't know Hongjoong was going to be there?”

You shook your head, eyebrows furrowing. “Definitely not. He scared the shit out of me when he materialized out of nowhere.”

“Who noticed the gunshots first—”

“Alright, that's enough.” Hongjoong had his forefinger pressed to the side of his head and his eyes fluttered open. “She's clean, Seonghwa.”

His counterpart cut his eyes across to his superior, but said nothing else.

You had yet to even touch your tea. The beverage was still warm, but you were in no mood to drink a drop of it. What did they mean by you being “clean?” It had to be something about connections to other criminal organizations, right? That would be something they'd care about. “I wasn't a part of this, if that's what you're trying to get at.”

Eyes whipped toward you.

“If anything, I should be more suspicious of you all,” you stumbled on. “How—how do I know that you weren't the ones who murdered Ms. Iwazaki?”

“You don't,” Hongjoong said bluntly. “It's the same as us having faith that you aren't a part of all the attempts on my life as of late.”

You paused as your brain caught up. “The attempts on your… no. I didn't even know you that night at the bar.” Maybe being a good person was a bad move. Maybe, if you hadn't taken Hongjoong out the alley door, if you hadn't been there at the bank that day, if you hadn't called about the threat from Mr. Young ahead of time, you wouldn't be here. But that was a whole lot of maybes, and it could have resulted in a lot more dead bodies.

“There have been a lot more attempts to kill me recently,” the mafia head told you. “Tonight was likely one of them. There have also been sightings of an imposter posing as me to make it seem like I've broken the rules of the criminal underground, especially in regards to gray areas.”

The headlines. You remembered looking up the Captain and finding headlines about crossing boundaries. The five men dead in the alley, the bank explosion…

You shouldn't be here.

You gave up on holding the tea and set it down on the coffee table. “I think I'd like you to take me home,” you murmured warily. There was still blood on your jacket that you needed to scrub out.

When the three men exchanged glances with one another, you added, “I'll keep my mouth shut, I promise. Just—just let me go home. I don't want any part of this.”

“Well,” Hongjoong said, straightening in his spot, “you can go home, but you can't not be a part of this.” Out of the pocket of his sweatpants, he removed something shiny. In the light, the silver band gleamed. Fitted at its apex was a coin-like crest with an engraving you couldn't see from where you sat. He fitted it onto his ring finger, sliding it down to touch his knuckle.

Dread pounded through your veins like a drug, and it was so loud, you could barely hear your own panic.

“It's called a vow of silence,” Seonghwa said as he shifted in his seat so he was no longer lounging, but leaning onto his knees. “You have to kiss the ring.”

“You can't be serious.”

Yunho shrugged. “I've kissed the ring. You have to kiss the ring.”

You were waiting for someone to laugh. They did not laugh. If you kissed that ring, what did it mean? How much silence would be enforced upon you? Could you sign something instead, something where you could scrutinize the fine print?

But this was not the type of situation to think too long. This was the mafia, not a company merger.

You swallowed down the strong palpitations of your heart and stood up from your seat. “I get to go home after this, right?” you asked, approaching where Hongjoong sat.

He nodded, resting his ringed hand on the side of the armchair for easier access. “You'll be driven home, and you'll go to work the next morning like nothing happened.”

Right. You nearly forgot you already worked for him.

Slowly, you knelt down by the arm of his chair. With this proximity, you could make out the crest on top of the band: it was a compass with a blood red ruby sitting at the very center. You held your breath as you leaned forward, afraid of even breathing on his hand.

Your lips grazed the metal. There was a sting of cold, like a brand, and you drew back to look up at the Captain. “Take me home now.”

Your mouth still tingled. A tension had settled over you, a cloud of uncertainty and dread at what you had just done. It was as if there was a physical bound on your tongue; you could feel the tightness in your chest, strangling your vocal chords. You didn't know what to make of it.

The car rolled to a gentle stop outside your apartment building. You noted that San, the one appointed with the job of chauffeuring you home, avoided parking beneath the street light and opted to remain in the shadows.

He didn't kill the engine, but he did meet your eyes in the rearview mirror from beneath the brim of his hat. “This is you,” he announced unceremoniously.

“Right,” you exhaled. You fiddled around for the door handle in the dark. “Thanks,” you said, once you found it and shoved the door open.

“Sure. Welcome to the family, Yn.”

You shuddered. “If I had a nickel…”

The night air was still armed with a sharp chill when you clambered out of the backseat. There was a faint ache in your bones, an existential exhaustion from the amount of excitement this night brought you. Though you were tired, you feared you would not sleep.

As you were about to walk away, you suddenly turned on your heel and stepped up to San's window. You waved at him with a wince, but he rolled his window down without complaint.

“What does it mean?” you whispered, glancing around you nervously.

“What does what mean?”

You held your tongue from saying the words aloud and only lifted your right hand, pointing to your ring finger.

Recognition sparked in his face and his eyebrows lifted. “Ah, well it just means you cannot talk about what you know.”

“What I know?”

A nod. “Yes, what you know. The things you were told tonight, the things you've seen tonight—no one but anyone in our family can know. Not your roommate, not your friends, not your blood relatives. You are, well, bound to silence.”

You swallowed and let that information sink in. You didn't need him to elaborate on what would happen if you broke that vow of silence. You imagined it distinctly had to do with a bullet between your eyes.

The image of Iwazaki Rina's dead body flashed in your mind and your blood ran cold.

“I'm gonna go now,” you managed to choke out.

San's eyes flitted over your face, interpreting your body language in one fell swoop. In your state, you didn't perceive that the lines of his facial expression had softened with something akin to sympathy. “We protect our own, Yn.”

Your nod was robotic and you turned back toward your apartment building, unable to fully understand if that was supposed to be a comforting statement.

Pushing into your apartment complex, you glanced over your shoulder and spotted the shadowed movement of San tipping his hat to you. He remained though, and you continued onward. By the time you reached your apartment unit's door, your heart rate had slowed but the trembling in your fingers had not.

A sigh tumbled from your mouth, heavy and burdened. Your key ring rattled as you let yourself in.

The lights from the main room glowed softly in the late hour accompanied by the low hum of the TV. Ryujin's curious eyes met yours from her position on the couch, her hair tied up out of her washed face, body clad in warm clothes to sleep in. Her hand stilled midair, the piece of popcorn freezing inches away from her mouth.

“You're awake,” you sputtered dumbly with your hand still gripping the door handle.

“So are you,” she replied. “I thought you were staying in tonight, hon.”

You closed and locked the door behind you, shelving your shoes in their proper place and making sure she couldn't see the bloodstains on the side of your jacket. It was a good thing it was black. “I, uhm, went for a walk. It turned out longer than I intended.”

“Oh… okay.”

You shuffled over to your bedroom door, only for her to pipe up, “You seem frazzled. Is everything okay?”

Your heartbeat returned to your throat and you could feel it in the hollow, that place where your body made the vibrations needed to produce words and sounds. That very place was slow to work. “Yeah, just” —you stopped yourself at the phantom coldness of metal on your lips— “I had a little scare coming home. How was—how was the dinner thing?”

Rather than retreating right away, you forced yourself to linger and act normal. It was difficult to act normal though when you knew full well that everything was not.

Ryujin stared at you with her head cocked to the side in that way you knew your friend could understand that something was wrong, but she couldn't decode what it was. “It was okay—just boring. Are you sure you're okay? Did you wanna talk about it maybe?”

Yes. But also, no. Not only would it all sound stupid, but it would be stupidly dangerous for you to say a word to her about what happened to you tonight.

“No, it's okay,” you brushed off with a feigned chuckle. “I think a hot shower will help. And maybe a long sleep.”

She frowned slightly. “Oh. Okay then.”

Guilt prickled over your skin in a thin layer of sweat. “Sorry for being so… I dunno. Thank you though.”

“No, it's okay!” she reassured you with a sweet smile. “You had a rough night, and you deserve space if you want it. It's all good, girl, I swear.”

You couldn't help but reciprocate her smile. You didn't deserve her care and consideration, and it tore you up inside being unable to tell her. “Love you, good night.” I hope my dumb actions don't blow back on you.

“Love you, too. Sweet dreams.”

With that, you let yourself into your room, clicking the lock behind you. In the safety of that darkness, you loosened a harsh exhale from your lips. The past few hours had been more than you needed; you really should not have gone out of the apartment tonight.

A mental rewind of the night's events played as you tore off your jacket, stained with someone else's blood, and you readied yourself for a shower. The scalding hot water hit your skin, like you were attempting to burn off all the evidence of your involvement with it. You had been in the clear your whole life—a life well-saturated in the gray area—how had it come to this? You could feel the stain of the vow of silence bleeding from over your lips, across your face, down your neck. It blanketed over your chest, seized your heart, owned you.

How did you get here?

When you stepped out of the shower, you pulled yourself into comfortable clothes and labored over the bloodstains on your jacket. It would have been easier to throw it in the washer, but it was safer if you scrubbed it out by hand. With soap and cold water, you hunched over the sink and began scraping.

Each swipe at the Captain's blood felt dirtier than the next. Were you even washing away the blood or were you making it worse?

You huffed with the garment half dripping out of your pruney fingers, your head hanging. There was that exhaustion again, crashing over you—roaring loud, until the water swallowed you whole and everything became muffled. You didn't want to cry; it wasn't the end of the world. But it felt damn near close to it. You had no idea what you pulled yourself into.

The blood washed away eventually. You laid the jacket out to dry overnight, hoping it would be done by tomorrow but with no true faith that it would be. It was getting colder.

You dried your hands and stepped back into the darkness of your room. Outside, the hum of the TV drifted in from beneath the door. You wondered if this was what people meant when they said ignorance was bliss.

Ryujin's head turned up when you walked out of your room, eyes sullen and spirits low. Wordlessly, she opened the blanket and set the popcorn aside to make room for you.

You dragged yourself over to her, carefully laying yourself on top of her body. Warmth enveloped you as the blanket was folded over and her hands settled loosely over your back.

“Bad, huh?” she asked quietly.

You could only nod.

Nothing had changed except for everything.

You arrived on Ateez soil via the subway, your Shipwreck uniform hidden beneath the warmth of your coat. Last night's winter jacket was still frigid and damp and you were forced to don another outer garment to brave the commute. Your coworkers—all members of the mafia family—greeted you with the same air as they always did, as if you hadn't kissed their master's ring last night.

Once the rush came in, it wasn't too difficult to let the current take hold of you. You fell into the rhythm of work far too easily, your mind welcoming the distraction to have some semblance of normalcy.

“Yn!” Yeosang flagged you down before you could rush away to serve another table. “Take a fifteen.”

You blinked at the bartender, your face twisting in confusion. “I just had my lunch, Yeo.”

He rounded the counter to your side, taking the serving tray out of your hands. “It's not too busy right now,” he said, doubling down. As he walked past you to take up your rounds, he leaned in close and murmured, “Cap'n wants to see you.”

There it was. Your muscles stiffened, and it didn't help when Yeosang clapped what was supposed to be a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Your eyes darted past where San was stationed behind the counter and toward the spiral stairs that curled up into the belly of the ship. They beckoned you, and you submitted to its call.

The sound of the dining floor muffled as you arrived on the upper decks of the Shipwreck. The night air was chilly, but with all the buzz and energy down below, it was a welcome reprieve to the sweat matting your skin. Golden yellow radiated from beneath the door of the captain's quarters and its accompanying starboard side porthole, and you walked toward it in a daze.

You knocked lightly on the door, listening for Hongjoong's permission to enter, before you swallowed your anxiety and opened the door.

Hongjoong glanced up from the desk that was laid out with documents that he was stacking together into a neat pile. “Close the door on your way in; it's chilly,” he said, adding a shiver to his latter comment.

It almost threw you off. This was a far cry from what you expected to be met with. It was just… Hongjoong.

Wordlessly, you stepped inside the warm cabin and shut the door behind you. The slow rocking of ocean waves lessened in volume.

“You wanted to see me,” you trailed off and took apprehensive steps toward the seat across from him.

He peered at you again once he had all his documents shoved into a file drawer in the desk. “Yes, I” —he paused, considering your stance that was very akin to a deer in headlights— “ah. Listen, Yn. Things don't have to change now that what's happened has happened.”

There was a scoff somewhere in your throat that you had to wrestle down. “That is really easy for you to say.”

“Okay, that's fair,” he replied with a nod.

Your eyes couldn't help but narrow in suspicion. Why was he being so… diplomatic? Was it because you were in a legal business setting? Was he really about to attempt to pretend that nothing happened last night?

Hongjoong pressed the pads of his fingers together. “I like to think I'm a fair person,” he said. He gestured for you to take the seat across from him, and only then did he continue, “Whether it's the Shipwreck business or the other one, I have my own values and principles. I know that you had no choice in taking the vow of silence and I know that you're working here because you also had no choice.”

He pursed his lips, leaning forward. The movement was stiff though, and you weren't oblivious to his micro-grimace. Perhaps you should follow up with him on his injury. “What I'd like to give you now is a choice.”

Well, this was certainly not what you were expecting. You furrowed your brows. “Give me a choice about what?”

“There aren't a lot of ways someone can 'get out’ of my line of work,” he said while making a vague gesture with hands. “You will always have ties even if you moved out of the city or country, unless you didn't exist.”

If it was possible, your confusion grew.

Hongjoong noted the additional crease between your brows. “What I'm offering is to move you out of this city, but with a new name, identity—all the works. You would be given substantial lodgings and money to start your life over somewhere new with no strings attached to your identity here.”

“What's the catch?” you asked. There was undoubtedly a level of attractiveness to this deal if it got you out of harm's way and out of this life. But what was in it for him?

“There isn't really a catch,” he shrugged. “I would be doing this in exchange for that third life debt I owe you; end of story.” He paused then, placing a finger against his lips. “Well, you would have to cut off all ties with this place though, meaning no one who knows you—Ln Yn—can know where you've gone or who your new identity is.”

Your heart sank. “Oh.”

“So it would be like faking your own death or something,” he said this with such ease as if he was suggesting you go make yourself a sandwich. “Thoughts?”

Thoughts? Your very first thought sang his offer's praises, but there were people here you could not bear to leave behind. There was Ryujin for one, and though you hardly spoke to your parents, you weren't entirely privy to them finding out you were dead.

“Can I think about it?”

Hongjoong blinked, then made a flourish with his wrist. “Sure.”

You cleared your throat, reaching up to hold the side of your arm. “Let's say I stayed…”

“If you stayed?” He slowly reclined himself backward to lean onto his chair. “I imagine it would be the same as it is now—you would be working here and you would still be associated with us.”

It was an answer you knew you would get, but didn't exactly hope to hear. What else did you expect? He said it himself, there weren't many ways to get out of the mafia line of work unless you no longer existed. Even then, your old identity would still be linked. You really had just fallen into the snake pit.

If anything, you had an option. It wasn't an easy option, but it was there in case of emergencies.

And if it didn't directly benefit Hongjoong, then why bring it to your attention in the first place? You imagined that life debt was hanging over his head, or something to that effect. You supposed any man of his caliber or principles would not particularly enjoy being in debt to someone. It was a selfish trade: something that benefited you to ease his own conscience. It wasn't about your safety to him; you had to remember that they were not good people.

Yet, you found yourself sparing even an inch of gratitude in your heart.

(Who defined what made a person “good” or “bad” anyway?)

You nodded to what he said, expecting as much. “Right, uhm—by the way, is your side okay? The injury?”

His eyebrows flew up to his hairline and he shifted his gaze down to the place a bullet grazed him last night. “Oh, it's fine. It'll be annoying for a while, but that's all it is.”

“Oh, okay. Cool,” you exhaled. “Well, if that's all—”

“Yeah, you're free to go back to work.”

Relief expelled out of your lungs and you were swift to your feet. You made it as far as the door handle when he called out to you one last time.

“Yn” —your head turned back and found him staring at you with that steel glint in his eyes. It was so similar to the way he looked at you in the car while you were panicking, and when he presented you with his ring. What did that look mean?

“Don't go home alone,” he said. “Find someone to take you back or accompany you, at least for the time being.”

Something warm curled over your shoulders. “Aye, Captain.”

His parting words stayed with you as you descended into the belly of the boat to return to your post. He must have suspected that whoever pursued you both last night could still come after you; this made the most sense. You resolved to figure out a way to ask one of your coworkers to either drive you home or make the journey with you by public transportation, but either option was a rather big ask.

This task was soon replaced by a myriad of other things. Another crush of customers flooded into the ship's hold, bombarding you with the problems of your present rather than your future.

By the time you and your coworkers were cleaning up for the night around 2AM, you had yet to secure an escort home.

The thought hit you like a cold gust of ocean wind as you descended the gangway amongst Wooyoung, San, Yeosang, and Jongho. The latter wasn't a usual face here at the Shipwreck, but he had come in tonight as extra hands on deck to wait and bus tables.

“Hey, Yn!” Déjà vu, much? “Need a ride?”

Wooyoung appeared at your side, flipping his wild bangs out from his eyes. Despite the long day and late hour, he seemed no worse for wear.

But this was a convenient offer. “Actually, yeah,” you replied. “I would really appreciate one.”

He grinned and inclined his chin toward the line of cars parked along the pier. “Alrighty, your chariot awaits!”

As he led you over to one of the sedans, he waved goodbye to his friends over his shoulder. None of them stopped to question his actions and only continued to walk toward their own vehicles. You wondered how normal all of this felt to them—working at a bar for half the day and spending the other half in the criminal underground. Truly though, the criminal underground was a lot less underground than one was led to believe.

You jammed your hands into the pocket of your coat as he stopped beside an unassuming silver car, the vehicle chirping as he pulled a key fob out from his pocket. “Did Hongjoong put you up to this?” you queried to satiate your curiosity.

From over the hood of his car, Wooyoung met your gaze. “Hm? Oh, well, sure. But I'm asking out of the goodness of my heart, too, you know,” he teased, yanking open his door.

You followed his lead and slipped into the passenger side. The vehicle smelled like a mixture of booze (you and him) and a woodsy, fruity cologne (him). A black cat keychain dangled from the rearview mirror, swinging wildly with all the new movement as you and your coworker got settled.

Wooyoung let out a hiss as he turned on the car, cranking the heat all the way up. “Oof, okay,” he muttered to himself and strapped the seatbelt over his chest. “I'm gonna need your address.”

“I'm half surprised you don't already have it.”

He glanced up from his phone with a side-eye. “Don't lie; you're completely surprised. And yes, I do have your address, but I thought I'd be courteous about it.”

You had opened your mouth in the middle of him speaking, but snapped your jaw closed at the last thing he said. Unfiltered incredulity plagued your face as you gawked at him.

“What?” He let out a half-nervous, half-impish giggle as he pulled out of the parking space. “It's my job to know things.”

There were still far too many puzzle pieces you were trying to put together in your mind, one of which being everyone's roles in the Ateez family organization. Seonghwa seemed to be Hongjoong's right-hand, but the Captain usually relied on Yunho in emergency situations or contexts he didn't want Seonghwa to know about. Jongho was almost a bodyguard-type figure, based on how he acted the other night. But Wooyoung… him knowing everything made sense.

“Elaborate on that,” you prompted, resting your head against the cool glass of the window.

He shrugged. “I am what you might call 'the man in the chair,’” he said simply. “Hyung usually dispatches everyone out to do tasks, but I unfortunately am stuck behind a monitor most of the time.”

You hummed. “Aren't you the most useful though?”

Wooyoung grinned, eyes skipping over to you before flicking back to the road. “Somebody knows how to flatter,” he preened, tossing his bangs back. “We all have the roles we play and our own importance.”

Briefly, your mind flashed back to that first night you were on the job here. There had been so many unknowns for you, and all those question marks were slowly being unveiled. “Are you allowed to be telling me all of this?”

“Well, you took the vow, didn't you?”

The lump in your throat returned, and you coughed. “Right.”

Wooyoung glanced over at you again with a small frown. The glare of the red traffic light above the intersection washed you both in crimson. “This won't get you into trouble, if that's what you're worried about,” he said. “The vow of silence encompasses all of this information—and I mean, I trust you.”

That made you perk up in your seat. “You trust me?”

“Well, yeah,” he laughed as if it was obvious. “You clearly have a natural affinity toward Hongjoong hyung—maybe affinity isn't the right word, but the way you've looked out for him without even really knowing him has put a lot of us at ease. Maybe you're not sworn into the family officially, but you still—”

“Pause,” you interjected. “I'm not officially a part of the family?”

Wooyoung shook his head, eyebrows reaching his hairline. “Uh no. Not that I'm aware of.”

“But I kissed the ring.”

“Everyone kisses the ring.”

You huffed. It was a petulant sound. All of this stress and worrying, and you weren't even an official member of the family? “But Seonghwa and San both said the 'Welcome to the family’ BS,” you contended.

He laughed, a bright sound that filled the car with warmth despite your confusion and indignation. “It's just something people say. Anyone who takes the vow of silence is at least associated with the criminal underworld, and thus, a part of the big web of crime.”

Well. You physically restrained yourself from crossing your arms like a toddler sulking in the corner. It wasn't that you were mad about not being an official member of Ateez—that was the complete opposite. Rather, you were under the impression that the vow of silence implied more than it actually did.

It didn't help that Wooyoung's company was so disarming that you nearly forgot that you were inwardly sulking about mafia membership. You needed to keep your head screwed on straight.

“The kissing of the ring is something all families do to invoke the vow of silence,” he supplied with an ill-concealed smile still on his face. “Admitting a new member to the family is an entirely separate ritual. We have ceremonies, y'know; we're not animals.”

That was fair. You truly were too quick to the draw, and you now let the curiosity burn inside you. Of course, it was natural to be curious about things unknown to you, but what if all this curiosity was dangerous? The smallest ember could easily catch flame; you'd be a man on fire.

The streets were expectedly barren at this time of night or ungodly morning. Streetlights casted halos of pale light against the road, large spots to illuminate a runway. The remainder of your ride home with Wooyoung was spent on less crime-related topics. He was easy to talk to, easy to get along with; if you didn't know what he was, you might have thought you could be real friends.

But as much as you enjoyed the time you spent around him, it was important for you to remember the reality of your situation… and that these were not good people.

a/n: pls remember to reblog if you enjoyed!

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series taglist: @starriniqhts @hon3ysun @wooyouz @emotionallyanaemic @queenofdumbfuckery @ateezswonderland

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itsbeeble · 22 hours ago

Text

HELLO??? THIS WAS SO CRAZY??

Mother Seonghwa how i love you

BIRDS OF PREY — five

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of death/murder, description of weaponry, gunfire, mentions of blood and injury, mentions of illegal activities

▷ word count. 5.4k

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CHAPTER FIVE: COINCIDENCE & INTENTION

CONTRARY TO WHAT MIGHT BE EXPECTED, council meetings between reigning mafia families took place in broad daylight. This was something that Hongjoong had grown used to, especially when having to go anywhere as the Captain during the day.

Yunho and Mingi were in the driver and passenger seats, respectively, of the black SUV they rode in. Hongjoong sat in the back with Seonghwa, the brim of Hongjoong's hat tipped down low over his eyes. He peered out the window beside him, gloved grip relaxed over the head of his crow-topped cane.

Today was the dreaded council meeting. It had been nearly a week since you were hired at the Shipwreck, and since then, Hongjoong had been busy preparing for this very event. He knew, when he first took on the mantle of Ateez's leader, that the neighboring families would not take a coup lightly. He was a threat—Strictland had been a powerful organization, and Ateez had managed to make them crumble like a house of cards.

He should've known that maintaining control wouldn't be easy. It made sense that Strictland might have run to a neighboring group for aid. All that was left was figuring out which one.

The rendezvous point for the meeting was an old parking garage tucked away in the heart of the city. Decades ago, the families who ruled the city came together to buy the property as a shared command center. It was located in a gray area to avoid anyone having the home court advantage of hosting a meeting on their own soil.

Patterns of light and shadow flickered across everyone's faces as Yunho directed the car into the northern entrance of the garage. They all simultaneously pulled their masks up over the lower halves of their faces. While they were here for the meeting, the other four in Hongjoong's inner circle were stationed nearby with backup in case of emergency. It would be unwise to go into anything regarding the other families without a failsafe.

“I’ve always hated this place,” Mingi mumbled under his breath, eyes narrowed as he lifted his sunglasses up on top of his head. Everyone here was carefully strapped in protective Kevlar, Hongjoong's being beneath his clothes while his counterparts didn't bother hiding theirs. Like clockwork, he began triple checking the ammunition in his pistols and the placement of his backup weaponry. He wouldn't be able to take these over to the meeting table, but it never hurt to have them ready in the car.

Yunho hummed beneath his bandana. “Don't we all,” he mused.

“Place gives me the creeps.”

“That's why Wooyoung never volunteers to come with us anymore,” Seonghwa added lightly. “Though, I think we should've at least brought Jongho this time—you know, intimidation measures.”

“We've got Giant 1 and Giant 2; how much more intimidation do we need?” Hongjoong teased.

The car filled with small chuckles, something to ease their nerves for the time being.

However, the lightheartedness dropped away soon enough as Yunho pulled the car up onto the third floor of the garage. The time on the center console read a sharp twelve o'clock, and all five families arrived at once, not a single one late. Untimeliness—earliness and tardiness—might suggest something unfavorable.

The center of the third floor was illuminated by a single lightbulb hanging from a black cord. Directly below it sat a large, circular table fit with five chairs, one for each head. The sounds of car doors opening and slamming shut echoed throughout the open space traveling to far ends of the floor before meshing with the natural sounds of the city beyond.

Hongjoong climbed out of his side of the car and was immediately flanked by his friends on either side of him, forming a protective triangle about his body. His eyes flickered from person to person—Lee Taeyong of the Lee clan, who ruled over N-City (the northern post of the city); Mun Eunji of the House of M, who made her kingdom in the Lunar Crossing; Choi Seungcheol of the Diamond District Chois; and finally, Kang Jinyoung, who’s power laid in the Gold Village. Four families, four suspects—who would Strictland run to?

There was someone new with Kang Jinyoung, however. The young man walking up to the table with him was someone Kim Hongjoong vaguely recognized from the GV mafia family files. He had hair the color of night, left eyebrow pierced by twin silver studs, and the lower half of his face covered in a black mask. Hongjoong caught the newcomer’s eyes—his name was Chan, and he was likely the next in line for the head of the family.

All five family heads took their seats at the table. Hongjoong grasped his cane to the side of him, taking on a relaxed posture as he had in the car, even if his mind continued to race as quickly as his heart. These were some of the most dangerous people in the city, and they were all gathered in one place.

“I see you’ve brought your protégé today, Jinyoung,” Eunji began with a pointed look from Hongjoong’s ten o’clock. “Are you trying to tell us something?”

Chan stood with perfect posture to the side of his mentor’s chair. Jinyoung waved a flippant hand in the air. “I just thought it was about time we made it official. He’s nearly ready to take over.”

Seungcheol was the next to speak up. “Retiring so soon, Kang?” he asked with raised brows.

“We’ve been doing so well over here that I have the luxury of retiring early.”

Eunji’s smile was something saccharine sweet, the type that snakes showed when telling a mouse it could leave its burrow unharmed. “Well, isn’t that nice?”

“I'd like it if we could get to business,” Taeyong drawled. He had his arms crossed over his chest, boots propped up onto the table. He inclined his chin in Hongjoong's direction. “You’ve been busy, Captain. The news absolutely loves you.”

Every pair of eyes settled on Hongjoong's side of the table. He wasn't surprised that this was brought up, though. It was only natural that his counterparts be suspicious of another leader supposedly making noise in a forbidden sector. “You know that I play by the rules, Lee,” Hongjoong said, lazily drawing his attention to the Lee clan head.

“It would be unwise for such an infant group to attempt a run at the gray areas,” Seungcheol shrugged. “But there have been more ambitious maneuvers attempted by even less competent groups.”

Eunji picked at her stiletto nails. “I'm inclined to agree. The Captain is more of a hermit than any one of us. Now the question remains of who would be so gutsy as to impersonate him?”

Hongjoong leaned his cheek against his fist. “My thoughts exactly, Madame Mun. It's a cheap trick, but does the job—I’ll give the bastard that.”

“That poor bar owner,” Jinyoung shook his head, “murdered in your false name. Is that how all your friends end up, Captain?”

Hongjoong didn't hide his incredulity, his eyebrows shooting up high enough that the brim of his hat covered them. “That’s rich coming from the man who requested to transport his goods through my port. No wonder you're retiring early, old man.”

Jinyoung's nostrils flared only slightly, but it was enough for everyone to know Hongjoong struck a nerve. “We had a deal, pirate.”

“And I expect good behavior if I'm to be so gracious in allowing you to conduct business on my land.”

“He's not wrong, Jinyoung,” Eunji mused. “You boys are so amusing.” The mafia donna leaned onto her clasped hands over the surface of the table. “I, for one, find this entire imposter situation rather entertaining. Only three years in power, and somebody threatens your seat, Captain.”

Hongjoong narrowed his eyes. “I'd hardly call it a threat.”

Taeyong shifted in his seat, setting his feet down onto the floor. “He's simply an easy target,” he raised. “Changes in power always attract trouble.”

“Easy?” Seungcheol scoffed. “He overthrew Strictland. I wouldn't call him an easy target.”

Hongjoong decided he was mildly impressed by that statement. It wasn't every day he was complimented by someone at this table.

“Yunseok was an arrogant leader.”

“Let's not speak ill of the dead now,” Hongjoong cut in. At the sound of the late head of Strictland's name slipping from Lee Taeyong's mouth, Hongjoong's chest tightened. He flexed his gloved fingers for a moment; Yunseok had been a coward—a tyrant, but a coward. Hongjoong had no problem putting a bullet through his head.

Jinyoung cocked a brow at him. “Haunted by the sins of your past?” he sneered, adjusting his posture. With a huffed sigh, he seemed almost reluctant as he choked out the words, “I—appreciate your generous permission to utilize your ports.”

Hongjoong wished Kang Jinyoung asphyxiated on his own words just then.

It wasn't as if Hongjoong didn't want to refuse Jinyoung to stick it to the man, but this was business. Plus, it presented the perfect opportunity to gain insight into what exactly Jinyoung was importing. “Why, of course,” Hongjoong replied, a dry smirk forming beneath his mask.

It was just business.

Fifth Street didn't smell as ashy as it had a few weeks ago. The fire had long since been put down, leaving the barren ruins of the bar you used to work at standing staunch in the winter night. Its charred remains rose to about the height of your hip, and the way some of the burnt pieces of metal infrastructure curled looked something out of a Tim Burton film.

You shivered, standing at the edge of the property with your hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket. It was probably not the smartest idea to come here at nearly ten in the evening—not to mention alone—but for some reason, the Shipwreck was closed today, so you had nothing better to do.

Ryujin had invited you to a work function she was required to attend tonight, but you'd been in a strange state of mind, and declined.

There hadn't been a funeral for your late boss; she didn't exactly have any family you knew of, or many close friends. That was largely why you found yourself here. Maybe it was to pay your respects. It was a tragic situation, being dead without a proper burial. You didn't know what came of Iwazaki Rina's body after you went home that night… the authorities must have found it though, if the news was able to report that she died by a shot to the head.

The hair on the back of your neck stood erect at the memory. It was a bad idea to be here alone and in the dark.

You wondered how hard it would be to attain a license to carry a weapon.

Your heart nearly fell out of your chest at the sound of gravel crunching from somewhere behind you. You whirled around, heart rate only easing the slightest amount when you recognized Hongjoong standing across the street.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you laughed nervously, the organ in your chest still hammering against your ribcage.

Hongjoong sent you a sheepish smile, his hands tucked into the pockets of his wool coat as he crossed the street to stand beside you in front of the building's remains. “I'm sorry,” he said, “I didn't expect anyone else to be here right now.”

“Same here.”

The two of you soaked in the visual before you as silence settled between the two of you. You could hear the sounds of the city in the distance: wailing sirens piercing through the frigid night, the creaks and moans of iron pipes and metal fire escapes. These background noises had gradually grown on you during your years in this city; they were signs of life.

You wondered what Hongjoong was doing here so late at night, especially alone. You supposed he could ask the same question of you, but he was the one in danger. You didn’t bring it up, however; there was a solemn expression on his face that you didn’t wish to disturb. He once told you Rina owed him something, but maybe they were—on some level—friends.

He must have sensed your curiosity, though, and cleared his throat. “Do you—do you visit this place often?”

“No, this is my first time here since the fire,” you admitted. “I was just doing a lot of thinking tonight and ended up here. What about you?”

He hummed under his breath, “Same here—the thinking part.”

“Does it have to do with why the Shipwreck was closed today?” The question was both out of genuine concern and nosy curiosity. You were so sure that there was more to Hongjoong than he and his friends were letting you in on. No—you were certain there was more to him. There had to be. In a way, you could convince yourself that your nosiness was for your own peace of mind.

“Ah… I guess you can say that.” His mouth pressed together, eyebrows creasing. “Just business things.”

What kind of business things, was what you wanted to ask, but bit your tongue this time.

Further ignoring the curiosities eating at you, you slipped your phone out from your pocket to take a glance at the time. You'd probably been here for around twenty minutes. “I think it's about time I headed home for the night,” you sighed.

Hongjoong glanced over at you, the corners of his lips curling upward into a small smile. “Can I walk you to the station then?”

“I’d appreciate that,” you said.

He gestured in the direction of the station a couple blocks from here, and you fell into step beside one another. Your perked instincts from being alone settled slightly from being with company, but they remained piqued nonetheless. If anything, since you were with Hongjoong, you needed to be on your guard.

The thought made you think of the life debts he “owed” you, and the fact that he had come alone. You couldn't escape the suspicions scratching at your brain, but perhaps he had needed this moment alone. Here, of all places, was somewhere he could maybe even remember a person from his past life in peace.

Or was that thinking too generously? You had no reason to think inhumanely of him; he had still taken you in and given you a job without so much as a blink.

“How's working at the Shipwreck so far?” he suddenly asked, as if reading your mind.

Your pulse stuttered. “Oh, uh, it's going well,” you said. “Though, I do think it's a conflict of interest for my boss to be asking this.”

“I suppose,” he drawled, turning his gaze up to the night sky, “but this would be an apt time to let me know if someone's bothering you. I'm close to my employees, but I try to look out for everyone, too.”

You could tell by their loyalty to him. Your small collection of memories over the past couple of days made you certain of that fact. Theirs was a small, but tightly knit crew. “No, no one's bothering me. Everyone's been more than welcoming.”

A small smile curled up into his cheeks and he glanced over at you with a nod. “Good. I—”

Hongjoong came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the walkway, his body freezing for half a second before leaping into action. His features hardened. “Get down!” he barked, tackling you to the ground.

BANGBANGBANGBANG—

All of the breath in your lungs flooded out, his arms wrapping around your middle, as your bodies tumbled into the nearby alleyway. He took the brunt of the fall, but while you remained frozen in shock, Hongjoong was already leaping up to his feet. Your eyes went wide—he clutched a gun between his hands as he shoved his back against the brick wall and waited for the gunfire to end.

Fear rattled the heart in your ribcage as each shot in the dark pierced through your emotional defenses. What was going on? Where had all of the shooting come from?

Hongjoong whipped his arm around the wall to fire shots of his own. His eyes were pinned to the window opposite him, where, in the darkness of the glass pane, he could at least have some idea of where his targets were.

Not long after, there was a break between shots, and Hongjoong dragged you to your feet. “We need to go,” he said—ordered. You could barely keep up with the ruthless pace he set, his hand squeezing your wrist with a vice.

The pair of you took off down the alleyway, blood thundering in your ears.

“What the Hell is happening?” you managed to voice out as you weaved through neighboring buildings. You couldn't hear any more shots being fired, but neither of you could stop the occasional glances over your shoulders. It was simply instinct.

“We were being shot at.”

You fired your own shot—a glare—at the back of his head. “Well, I could see that. But why—”

Hongjoong paused behind the shelter of a dumpster and let go of your hand to toss you his phone. “Call Yunho,” he said, then clasped his pistol between his two hands. His eyes turned to the skies and rooftops above with the sharp, calculating quality of a bird of prey.

The sequence of flying through his contact list was familiar to you. How the fuck were you in yet another perilous situation with this guy? The dots simply weren't connecting, but all you knew was that he was actively in danger more often than not. But why?

Your thumb swiped over Yunho's contact, and it rang for only half a beat before being picked up. “Aye.”

“Yunho, it's” —your speech broke off as you caught Hongjoong gesturing with a finger against his mouth, and you raised the phone up to your lips and lowered your voice— “I'm with Hongjoong. We're being shot at.”

Metallic rattling from the other side. “I'm on my way. Rendezvous point?”

Hongjoong's eyes were still turned up to the skies. What was he looking for? “Plaza Velvetine,” he said.

You glanced back at the phone screen in anticipation.

“Aye. I'm ten minutes out. Stay safe, you two.” The call cut there and you curled your fingers around the darkened device.

The alleyway was once more shrouded in silence. Somewhere in the distance, the sounds of the city murmured.

Hongjoong came back down to earth, lowering his firearm and nudging you forward. “Come on, we have a long way to go in ten minutes.”

You furrowed your brows. “But Plaza Velvetine is only a five minute walk from here.”

He sent you a look and in that beat of time, you finally arrived at the station he was at. “Oh,” you muttered. You were not going to Plaza Velvetine.

Your eyes shot upward to the rooftops as Hongjoong had done just moments ago. He had said Plaza Velvetine loud enough for anyone, not just Yunho, to hear. Your pursuers were likely to try and meet you there—if there were multiple, they likely sent people ahead. So where was 'Plaza Velvetine’ code for between Hongjoong and Yunho?

Hongjoong moved out of the alleyway first and gave not an inch when it came to caution. “Stay close,” he said lowly, but it was loud enough for you to pick up, and you immediately glued yourself to his back. He was the one with the gun and, clearly, the experience.

As soon as he deemed it safe, he set yet another ruthless pace to wind through the dark streets.

Every little noise, every bump in the night, made your fingers curl deeper into the fabric of his jacket and sent your heart into palpitations. You and Hongjoong said not a word to each other as you traveled, but he paid attention to you regardless. Whenever you stumbled or slowed, he reached behind him and tugged you along or steadied you. Fear and adrenaline kept you from falling to the ground and curling into a ball to cry; you understood that if you stopped moving, they would find you.

Indeed, it seemed that 'Plaza Velvetine’ did not mean Plaza Velvetine.

Rather than the city's premier five-star accommodation, you found yourself staring at the dark facade of your community college's library building.

The two locations were about twenty minutes apart, with Plaza Velvetine being closer to Hala Town than the latter. You wondered if that had been a factor when Hongjoong and Yunho decided on rendezvous code names.

“Maybe I should go home from here,” you said finally as Hongjoong looked for a place to hide out until Yunho arrived.

Hongjoong glanced at you over his shoulder. “That's how you get shot.”

You startled, not expecting him to say it so tersely. Your mouth snapped shut and stayed shut.

The two of you settled into the shadows of the alcove just off to the side of the main entrance. There weren't many places to hide in this area.

After a beat of silence, Hongjoong lifted his eyes from where he stood across from you. “They've already seen you with me,” he sighed, “so it's just safer if you come with us back to Hala Town, and then I'll have someone drive you home from there. If I let you walk back alone, it'll…”

“I can fill in the blank,” you replied, wringing your hands out in front of you. A puff of air drifted in front of your face, your breath materializing in the cold. The adrenaline kept the rest of your body warm, but your extremities trembled with the numb, cold touch of fear.

It was only a minute longer before you and Hongjoong both perked up at the sound of tires slowing against the street. Hongjoong stepped out in front of you, peering out into the dimly-lit dark to make sure it was the right car. When he was satisfied at whatever he found, he motioned to you.

“That's our ride,” he said, that grim determination returning to his face. It was starkly different from the Hongjoong you met at the remains on Fifth Street; this was the Kim Hongjoong in the bar fire, the Kim Hongjoong who could walk out of a five-on-one fight and emerge victorious. Did he even get a scratch?

You were eager to get to somewhere safe—defined as out of the range of a person who wanted you dead—and stepped out of the shadows of the library.

Together, you and Hongjoong began to cross the open danger zone from the library to the car at the curb.

BANG!

A shot rained down from overhead, and all sense flew out the window. Everything in you was pure fear and adrenaline.

Hongjoong swore under his breath and shoved you ahead of him, twisting over his shoulder to try and find someone to shoot—

BANG! BANGBANGBANG!

Your legs pumped faster and you yanked the closest car door open. You threw your body inside, Hongjoong's following right behind. Even as the door slammed shut, the car was already starting to move.

“Everyone in one piece?” came Yunho's voice from behind the wheel, his eyes flitting from the front windshield to the rearview mirror.

Your heart hammered so violently in your chest you could feel its incessant pulsing in your throat. “Y—”

A grimace and hiss from your right made you pause.

Your breath hitched, watching Hongjoong lift the side of his shirt up and touch the dark liquid seeping into his clothes and down to the car seat below him. “Oh my god,” you said without thinking. “Are you okay? We need to stop the bleeding.”

He shook his head. “I'm fine,” he grunted. “It's just a flesh wound.”

“Captain?”

Yunho and Hongjoong's eyes met in the rearview mirror while you still wrapped your head around the fact that Hongjoong had been shot.

“Take us home,” Hongjoong said. He groaned as he attempted to peel off his coat, and you rushed to help him.

“Home-home?”

“Yes.”

You applied pressure to the wound with a balled-up section of Hongjoong's coat, his eyes trained steadily out the front of the car but his knuckles clenched to whiteness. Your brain was slowly catching up with everything that had happened, everything that was just said…

“Captain?” you voiced aloud into the quiet. The ring of gunfire was beginning to peter out of your eardrums. “And where is 'home-home’?”

Neither of them answered you.

Your mind reeled. Maybe you were making assumptions. Wooyoung made plenty of jokes nudging at Hongjoong being a captain because he ran the Shipwreck, but that was a captain, not The Captain. And the bar burned down with a tribute to The Captain, but it almost killed Hongjoong in the process. They could not be the same person—

“Yn.”

The sound of your name brought your racing thoughts to a momentary halt. Your eyes were wide as saucers, breathing becoming more shallow than Hongjoong's.

Hongjoong's jaw clenched; he didn't offer you a reassuring smile. “You need to breathe.”

“Am I being kidnapped?”

“No.” This was Yunho.

Your head whipped forward, your hands still applying pressure. “Then I can leave? You'll take me home.”

“It's not safe.” Your head whipped back to Hongjoong, back to the Captain. “Like I said before, we'll have someone escort you home once we get back to Hala Town. We're not in the clear yet.”

You stared at something, anything, trying to ground yourself to reality. This was not happening—but it definitely was. Here you were, in the backseat of a car, staunching the bleeding of one of this city's Bosses. You were stupid. You had been so careful before, and there was no reason for you to be here, to be a part of this.

But if you went home now, whoever pursued you and Hongjoong tonight could easily follow you back and murder you in your sleep. It wasn't a matter of a want or need to be a part of this—you already were.

When the car passed beneath the Treasure Island Bridge into Hala Town, you had put together some possibilities. After you left the bar that night while it burned, you didn't see Hongjoong and his company leave. If Hongjoong was the Captain, he could have left that note there in the debris—he could've orchestrated the entire event. When you were trapped in there with him and Jongho, they could have been in control of the situation, and you would have been none the wiser.

Maybe he had gone to see Iwazaki Rina that night between the time you left and the time you returned for your phone. Maybe he confronted her about betraying him, the Captain, and put a bullet between her eyes. Maybe he didn't plan on you coming back, but what purpose did coming in serve when he knew the building would burn? To prove his own innocence?

Why weren't you dead yet?

You recognized the turn Yunho took toward the pier, only instead of heading toward the Shipwreck, he drove further onward to a private section of the wharf. Every nerve and muscle in your body was wired, your senses taking in every last bit of information you could cram into your skull—to remember your way back, to remember a way out.

The building he pulled up outside of was a large warehouse, typical for its size. There were windows at the very top beneath its domed roof, unlike the new warehouses being built along Sector 2’s much smaller pier with flat rooftops and a long span. There were lights in those very windows, warm to some degree, as if there were people inside. Were they working? Was this their “home” or was this your prison?

Yunho killed the engine. “Captain?”

You held back from startling again.

“Find me a medic. And don't tell Seonghwa,” said the man on your right.

Yunho muttered out an “aye,” before ducking out of the car and heading toward the warehouse door. Hongjoong was already shoving his car door open with a grunt, lips pale from how hard he pressed them together, hand shoved against his injury.

Your inner voice batted around your options. You were no doctor nor upstanding citizen, and you certainly never took an oath to help people in need, especially ones suspected to be the leader of a very dangerous criminal organization.

But then there was that voice in the back of your head. Damn it, you'd done it before. Even though you didn't know who he was then, how much did it change your mind now?

You appeared at Hongjoong's side, scooping his arm over your shoulders to help him over to the warehouse.

“You're helping me.” It was a question, not a statement.

You gritted your teeth. “Against my severely better judgment? Yes. By the way, have I ever told you that you're reckless and stupid?”

Hongjoong huffed out a wry laugh. “I could say the same thing about you. Do you know who you're helping?”

You pointedly ignored his question. “Someone is out to get you, and you thought you could just walk around alone at night, in a place that isn't even your territory?”

“You're beginning to sound a lot like Seonghwa,” he grunted as the two of you passed over the threshold.

“Well maybe Seonghwa is onto something!”

“Finally, someone with sense,” came a voice from above. Your head whipped up, just as the man beside you let out the quietest of sighs.

Stationed just in front of you was a set of industrial stairs that led up into an upper floor; there was a hallway that snaked further into the compound behind the stairs, as well. Yunho stood behind Seonghwa, the latter of whom soaked in the sight of Hongjoong half draped over you with an unimpressed glance from behind his glasses.

Yunho sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. “I was trying to be discreet.”

“186 centimeters and 'discreet’ don't exactly pair well,” droned Seonghwa as he descended the remainder of the stairs.

“I like you,” you blurted. His deadpan humor was something you needed at this moment.

Seonghwa spared a gracious smile for you. It was small, but it was a smile, nonetheless. “And I like you more than these bozos right now,” he said. He then turned, snapping his fingers at Yunho. “Bring the Captain upstairs to the living room.”

“I can bring myself upstairs perfectly fine,” Hongjoong bit out.

“You” —Seonghwa jabbed an accusing finger in his face— “have no right to make any decisions in the name of your well-being now. You can punish me for insubordination later, but as of now, you will listen.”

Hongjoong said nothing then, seemingly understanding the gravity of Seonghwa's words and tone. He allowed Yunho to help him up the stairs, and only spared you a glance when he was halfway up, as if remembering you were still there with Seonghwa.

You stood in the entryway uncertain of your next move. Seonghwa worked with a perpetual sigh on his lips, nudging his glasses up and shuffling behind you to haul the warehouse door shut. A loud clang rang out, followed by the chk-chk-clunk of a series of locks. It produced a haunting air of finality.

“You've got blood on you,” Seonghwa tutted quietly, peering at you with the hawk eyes of a mother hen. “It’s not yours, is it?” He cocked a brow.

Your eyes widened and you shook your head. You did not want to be reprimanded like Hongjoong had been. They must have been close if the Captain allowed his subordinate to lecture him that way, especially in front of other people. They all must have been close.

He nodded. “Good.” Seonghwa glanced up the stairs, then down the hallway—for what or whom, you weren't sure. “Yn, I'm going to ask you to tell me what happened, but first, do you need tea or a shot of whiskey?”

What a thoughtful question. Very peculiar, but thoughtful nonetheless. “Tea would be the smart choice,” you said.

Seonghwa tilted his head in agreement, and he gestured to the stairs. “I'm guessing you know.”

“I have my suspicions.” You didn't know how to feel about this, didn't know how to proceed. Were you going to die here? Would they kill you after tea, by tea? Your first step onto the stairs reverberated as the metal shook beneath your foot.

Seonghwa stepped up beside you. “There aren't many paths to go from here,” he murmured. For a moment, you thought you discerned sympathy in those dark irises. “He probably told you to let us take you home once you got here.”

A quiet nod. Would you ever go home after this?

He didn't seem surprised by this and inclined his chin upward for you to continue climbing. You heard him mutter under his breath just behind you, “Welcome to the family.”

a/n: pls remember to reblog if you enjoyed!

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series taglist: @starriniqhts @hon3ysun @wooyouz @emotionallyanaemic @queenofdumbfuckery @ateezswonderland

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itsbeeble · 23 hours ago

Text

I love how Wooyoung consistently almost drops the ball that is so accurate to who he is LMFAO

BIRDS OF PREY — four

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of death/murder, mentions of being blacklisted

▷ word count. 5.6k

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CHAPTER FOUR: WHERE DANGER FOLLOWS

HIS NAME WAS WOOYOUNG, the staff member who had come down from the upper decks of the Shipwreck and who received your request for parley. He told you as much because he didn't have a name tag, but he seemed to enjoy chatting.

“Yn, isn't it?” He peered over his shoulder from a couple steps ahead upon the metal, spiral staircase. He had a boyish grin splitting his face and it was an expression that made you feel at ease, but also uncertain, all at once.

You paused. Did everyone at this damn place know your name? “Uhm yeah…”

He had agreed to take you up to his boss, which meant coming behind the bar with him and up the stairs. His eyes seemed to turn upward even more at your response, if that was possible. “You're kinda famous around here,” he chirped, continuing up the stairs with you following after him.

Your eyes widened. “Famous?” What was that supposed to mean?

“Yeah,” he replied easily. He disappeared onto the floor above before he could continue, and you hurried up to catch his next words. “For saving our Ca—our boss's life three times. It's pretty crazy how much street cred you've racked up and this is only your first time in Hala Town.”

For a moment, you were at a loss of words. Then you fully processed what he said. “Wait… how do you know this is my first time in Hala Town?”

“I'm a great guesser,” he said, then threw a cheeky wink over his shoulder.

Though unconvinced, you said nothing else on the topic.

The spiral stairs led up onto a middle deck where a small kitchen was installed toward the bow of the boat, as well as a casual seating area on the stern side. At the center was a set of stairs that led up and out onto the main deck.

You brushed your hair out of your eyes as you and Wooyoung emerged onto the main deck. The sea breeze was front and center to your olfactory senses once more, and you glanced up at the sliver of sun peering through the overcast sky. You shivered when a particularly chilly gust of wind brushed past, and you wondered how Wooyoung looked so comfortable in his rather thin dress shirt.

“His office is the old captain's quarters” —another grin thrown over his shoulder, paired with a twinkling in his eyes— “fitting, right?”

“Yeah…” Why did it feel like everything he said came with an underlying message you weren't picking up? There was a massive piece of the puzzle missing from the context you were unaware of.

You swept the thought aside; perhaps that was just his nature of speaking.

Wooyoung walked you up to the door and promptly knocked on its wooden surface. It was only a courtesy knock, it seemed, because he invited himself in without waiting for a reply.

“You have a visitor, hyung,” Wooyoung said, holding the door open to present you to the room.

The voices that had been talking amongst themselves came to a halt. The person you recognized was Hongjoong, the one seated behind the grand mahogany desk at the center of the office. There was another man standing just beside him with dark, wavy hair that curtained around his sculpted face. He straightened from his position where he had leaned over to peer at whatever papers were on the desk.

Wait… you'd definitely seen this man before, too. Hadn't it been at the bank explosion?

You saw the recognition, followed by the curiosity, as it appeared on both their faces.

The man you didn't know was quick to sweep the papers off the desk before Hongjoong laced his fingers over the surface. “Yn, what a surprise.”

“Hi,” you murmured, taking an experimental step into the room. “Are we interrupting?”

Hongjoong waved his hand in dismissal. “Oh, no. Don't worry about it; just business things.” He gestured to the man at his side, who passed you a polite smile and nod. “This is my right-hand man, Seonghwa.”

“Hello, Yn,” Seonghwa greeted softly. “Nice to finally meet you.”

You decided to hold back on confronting him about being one of the security guards at the bank that day. Maybe he just worked multiple jobs. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Wooyoung-ah, we need to discuss some things,” Seonghwa said, straightening the papers against the desk before nodding his chin out toward the exit.

“Sure!” Wooyoung sent you one last reassuring grin. “See ya, Yn.”

You stepped aside to let Seonghwa walk past you out of the office, and he closed the door as he did so. That left you and Hongjoong.

You took this moment to soak in your surroundings. The captain's quarters were rather spacious with a bookshelf pressed up against the wall to your right, an armchair and coat rack to the left, and a large window making up most of the space behind Hongjoong looking out the ship's stern side. The man himself became even more regal behind the desk.

This was his domain, his kingdom, to some degree. You were on his turf now.

“Well,” Hongjoong drawled, leaning back in his seat and dragging a hand through his hair, “won't you please sit?” He gestured a hand toward the empty chair across the table. “I won't bite.”

Right. You willed yourself to move toward the seat, lowering yourself onto it and setting your bag onto the floor by your feet. A wave of déjà vu crested over you—this felt awfully familiar, him across the desk from you.

“I'm not sure if I should be pleasantly surprised to see you or worried,” he mused. “Usually when I see you, I'm in some kind of trouble.”

You let out a small laugh, half of it being at the irony as to why you were here in the first place. “Heh… yeah. But you don't have to worry. I'm not here because you're in any danger or anything—that I know of, at least.”

Hongjoong tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as the corners of his lips turned upward. “That's good to hear. I didn't think I'd ever hear from you again after that night. Are you holding up alright?”

“I, uh,” you stammered, fidgeting with the end of your scarf, before deeming that it was far too warm in here. You began unwrapping the fabric from around your neck, bundling up into a neat lump to hold in your lap. “That's actually why I'm here.”

“Oh?”

“I know you said that, uh—for saving your life, you would owe me?”

Understanding came onto his face. “Ah, I see. The life debt.”

“Yes, the life debt,” you said, as if those words tasted sour on your tongue. Why did saying it like that make it sound so much more unsavory? “After the bar burned down, I've been trying to look for alternate places of work, and I haven't had much luck.”

Hongjoong considered you for a moment, his hand coming up toward his chin to mindlessly massage his jaw. “You want money then.”

“I want a job,” you corrected. Then added, “Here, I mean. I have waitressing experience—you already know. And I brought a copy of my résumé if you need that. I just need something to keep me afloat for the time being.” You pressed your lips together and prayed you didn't sound as desperate as you thought you did. Or maybe sounding more desperate would help your case.

You watched him slowly nod his head. “Okay, I can do that. I trust that you'll be a great addition to our team here.”

You were still holding your breath, though, waiting for the other shoe to fall—if there was one. “You… you're just gonna hire me?” It couldn't be that easy.

“Yes,” he said simply. “For some reason, I feel like I can trust you. Maybe it's because you've saved me from certain death three times,” he chuckled. With a flick of his wrist, he continued, “I do have a question for you, Miss Yn.”

“Sure.”

Hongjoong licked his lips, then pressed them together. He laced his fingers together with his elbows against the table top. “Why here? Why all the way in Hala Town when I'm sure you are more than competent for the bars and restaurants in the gray areas.”

Oh.

Beneath the fabric of your scarf, your hands wrung each other out. Should you be honest or should you suck up to him? There was an itchy feeling at the back of your brain that it would help you more to be honest, in this case. Hongjoong didn't seem like the type of person to go back on his word.

You exhaled. “To be honest? It's not for lack of trying—as I mentioned before, I haven't had much luck anywhere in the gray areas. At this point, I think I've been blacklisted,” you added the comment at the end in a way you hoped sounded like a joke, even if you were dead serious.

His mouth curled down into a frown, and for a moment, your heartbeat slipped. Was that the wrong thing to say?

“Blacklisted?” he echoed.

“I'm sure it's something else entirely,” you quickly amended. “I don't—I’m still working on my college degree, and I—wait, no. I definitely wouldn't understand if that's a deal breaker; I am still just as capable as a person with a college degree for this position.”

Hongjoong dipped his head in another nod. “I agree, and no, it's not a deal breaker. When can you start?”

“Today—tonight. The sooner the better.”

His lips pulled into a smile. “Excellent. I'll call one of my staff members to get you started with our onboarding process.” He paused for a beat, like he was mentally debating something. His eyes flickered back to you. “I do have one more question.”

You nodded. “'Course.”

“The man you heard with Ms. Iwazaki that night—do you remember what he looked like? What he sounded like?”

You blinked; that was the last thing you expected to be asked. The image of your late boss's dead expression flickered into the forefront of your mind and you shuddered, then you shuddered again, recalling the Mr. Young character from that night. To the best of your ability, you recalled to Hongjoong what he looked like, what he sounded like, and what he had said. He hung onto every word you said, a pensive furrow between his brows.

At the end of your report, you queried, “But what can we even do with this info? I don't think the authorities would try to look for him either, especially if he's associated with the Captain.”

Something you said made Hongjoong's shoulders stiffen. The movement wasn't incredibly obvious, but you were focused wholly on him. “Right,” he drawled. “The Captain.”

“Yeah, the note the authorities found in the fire debris,” you said carefully. “It said ‘Tribute to the Pirate King.’ I figured Mr. Young might have been working for the Captain, but I can't understand why he was coming after you.”

Hongjoong relaxed his posture and his expression, carding a hand through his hair. “I'm sure it's nothing much to worry about.”

Your brows wrinkled together. “You could still be in danger, Hongjoong.”

“And I appreciate your concern,” he replied firmly, but not unkindly. There was a reassuring strength to his voice that made your chest warm. He shot you a small smile. “I'll be fine. And besides—now that you're here, I'll know danger as soon as it arrives.”

You weren't sure how he could be so relaxed about his life always being in danger, but you supposed it came with living in a non-gray area.

When you finalized logistical and red tape business regarding your employment at the Shipwreck, Hongjoong summoned one of his staff members, San, to begin your training.

That left Hongjoong alone in his office again, a headache beginning to manifest in his temples. He pushed out a breath from his lips—you were blacklisted from gray area establishments and you believed the Captain was behind the demise of your former workplace. Not to mention how you also thought Hongjoong's alter ego was trying to kill him.

Too much to think about.

Right before you'd come in, he and Seonghwa had been discussing certain locations of interest within the east corner to place infiltration groups. It was just to monitor the situation, especially with the council meeting approaching at the end of this week.

Hongjoong pressed his lips against his clasped hands to let himself think.

A moment later, he reached for the phone seated on the corner of his desk, picking up the receiver and dialing a certain number.

“Aye, Cap'n!” came Wooyoung's cheerful reply from the other end.

Hongjoong used his free hand to massage the space between his eyes. “Hey, could you look into the gray area business association's blacklist records for Ln Yn?”

A hum of confusion. “Ln Yn? Like the one we just met?”

“That's the one.” He had a sneaking suspicion this was partly his fault.

Truthfully, he didn't know why he cared so much—why he cared so much about your being blacklisted or why he cared so much about you.

It had to be because he still owed you. His conscience wouldn't leave him nor you alone until those two remaining life debts were taken care of.

He could hear the sounds of keys clacking from the other end of the receiver. Seonghwa must have finished discussing the plans with him if Hongjoong couldn't hear him there with Wooyoung.

“Ah, yeah,” he could hear the wince in his friend's voice. “She's there alright. How'd she get added to this thing anyway?” It took less than a minute for Wooyoung to pull up the brief file under your name, and he scoffed. “Oh, it's bullshit, hyung.”

Hongjoong straightened. “What? Tell me.”

“It just says 'Associated with the Ateez mafia—danger to the public.’ It's bullshit.”

He knew it.

Hongjoong jammed his tongue into his cheek, a chilling calm falling over him. “Okay. Thanks, Wooyoung. That'll be all.”

“Sure, Captain.”

The phone fell against the receiver and Hongjoong clasped his hands together once more. Whoever this Mr. Young was not only attempted to burn him, Jongho, and you alive, but also was pulling some kind of string to mess with your life. That had to be it.

As if this situation had befallen one of his own family, it made his jaw clench and blood simmer. In a way, you were a part of the family—

No. You were here out of necessity, not to join his mafia group. This was all a whole load of horseshit that was just unfortunate circumstances on your end. He wasn't about to make it worse. You didn't choose this.

But the more he thought about it, the more a sinking feeling began to pool in his gut… that the burned-down building, the blacklisting—all of it was still only the beginning of your involvement, whether either of you liked it or not.

Your first evening on the job, you were triple-managed by Wooyoung, San, and Yeosang, the latter of whom you met about three hours after you first arrived at the Shipwreck. San fixed you up with a company T-shirt with the logo on it and a waist apron for the time being, but promised that once you got more comfortable here, you would be switched into something closer to what he wore. His and his friends’ uniforms consisted of white dress shirts and dark colored vests and pants—garments a pirate or a cowboy or any racketeering bad boy from the past would supposedly wear.

Suffice to say, you stuck out like a sore thumb, dress-wise. But it didn't matter, as long as you could do your job well enough.

Yeosang was as beautifully built as his friends were, but much quieter. He mainly dipped his head in a cordial greeting at the beginning of his shift before joining San behind the bar. Like Seonghwa, it became apparent to you that you'd seen him before—at the bank, as a teller, the day of the explosion. Could it be a coincidence? Again, perhaps he was holding onto multiple jobs at once; who were you to pry despite your… curiosity?

You and Wooyoung were in charge of the floor for the night, which meant catering to the patrons seated on the gambling level below or the raised platform. Wooyoung, much more accustomed to the environment and the kinds of people who frequented the Shipwreck, spared you and let you stick to the people on the upper floor for the time being.

Once you got into the swing of things, the flow became much easier to navigate. The customers here weren’t so different from your previous job.

You were hurrying back over to the bar on the starboard side of the ship when you realized Hongjoong and Seonghwa now sat at the far end of the bar, chatting with San as he shook something in his cocktail shaker. It was about two-thirds of the way into the night since your shift would end at two tonight—had Hongjoong and Seonghwa both been upstairs this whole time? They had to be workaholics at heart or something.

As you approached their end of the bar, Hongjoong must have felt your eyes on him, and he lifted his head up to catch your gaze. He had been midway through a laugh, and you saw the way his eyes turned upward and his mouth stretched into a dazzling smile. If you didn’t have previous experience, you might have tripped over your own feet on your way over, but you were able to keep steady.

“Yn, this is for table seven,” San said in greeting, his chin inclining in the direction behind you where you had just come from. He strained the frothy clear liquid into a coup glass, nestling a lime along its edge.

You carefully transferred the drink onto your tray. “Thanks. Also, I need another round of dirty martinis for table two. Two olives for one and just one for the other.”

“You got it,” he nodded, already pulling a pair of clean martini glasses from the rack beneath the counter.

You exchanged glances with Hongjoong and Seonghwa once before heading over to table five with their beverage.

As you left, Hongjoong’s eyes followed, observing the natural service smile plastered on your face as you deftly set the coup glass onto the table for the customer. He and Seonghwa had only just come down from the upper decks to escape from work for just a moment. He blindly lifted his glass of whiskey on the rocks to his lips, the liquid burning a path down the back of his throat.

From what he could see thus far, you seemed to fit right in here. Maybe you thought you had something to prove with how hard you worked—or maybe that was thinking about it too much. You had a good work ethic; you’d worked in a similar environment before.

“She’s good at what she does, Captain,” San murmured under his breath, he and Seonghwa following Hongjoong’s gaze to where you immediately attended to the newcomers who just walked into the hold. “I see why you hired her.”

“She didn’t apply in the conventional way, though.” Seonghwa passed Hongjoong a sidelong glance. “Would you have let her stay if she was bad at it?” he mused.

Hongjoong lifted a shoulder nonchalantly, turning around on his barstool to face San again. “Who knows? But nothing to report to me about her, San? Nothing to be worried about?”

The bartender gave a shake of his head before setting the finished martini glasses onto the bar top. He raised a hand to catch your gaze and bring you back to the bar to pick them up. “Nothing alarming. As I’ve said, she’s good. So how did she come to be here? I thought the fire would have scared her off.”

“Necessity,” Hongjoong answered with an exhale. “Someone’s gotten her blacklisted from all of the gray area establishments, so she asked a favor of me.”

Something troubled creased between San’s brows, his movements wiping down a damp glass slowing but not stilling. “Blacklisted? Who the fuck…” Something like realization dawned in his eyes. “Poor kid,” he muttered, eyes shifting to the side just as you returned to the bar.

An easy smile came onto San’s lips to replace the look of concern that used to be there. “Anything else for the queue?” he asked, leaning across the bar to swap the dirty glasses you brought back with the fresh drinks.

“A rum and coke, and two beers,” you reported. You shook the hair from your eyes. “And they asked for a Blue Bird? Do we do those here?”

San nodded. “Oh yeah, it’s one of our specialities. I’ll have those ready for you in a few, Yn.”

Your eyes slipped over to Hongjoong and Seonghwa again, the two of them passing small nods in acknowledgment. “Thanks, San. I’ll be back.”

When you were out of earshot, Hongjoong dumped the remainder of the liquid in his glass down his throat. He hadn’t looked into your situation at all after that call to Wooyoung to confirm that you were in fact on the blacklist. The rest of the time he was holed up in his office, he’d spent completing administration tasks for the Shipwreck. If he wasn't here, he would have been at the warehouse or out on the streets to take care of his other occupation’s tasks.

What was he going to do about you?

He felt a light nudge in his side. San had shifted away to engage with a customer who’d come to sit a few stools away, so it left Hongjoong and Seonghwa to their own devices. “You seem in your head, Captain,” Seonghwa said as he lifted his glass to his mouth. “The girl will be fine here.”

“I’m not worried about that—well, not necessarily.” He sighed, then asked his friend, “Why did she end up here? What was the purpose?”

Seonghwa blinked. “You extended an offer of assistance to her in exchange for saving your life; she is now taking you up on that offer because she has nowhere else to go.”

“That, Hwa. That is what’s bothering me.” Hongjoong massaged his jawline in thought, his brows pursing together. It would be easy to target you, even inadvertently. You were vulnerable, as the blacklisting debacle proved. “Her hand was forced, Seonghwa. So what was the purpose of cornering her here?”

“‘Cornering’ is a strong word to use,” he replied with raised brows.

Hongjoong’s lips pressed together. “That’s just what this feels like.” He didn’t glance over at you when you came back to pick up your next order, only deigning to look up when your back was turned. He never liked getting civilians involved in their affairs, but was it really your fault that you ended up here? Only someone desperate would leave the safety of the gray area to run into the arms of a gang.

You had become his opponent’s pawn, but for what purpose?

Then there was the matter of your beliefs about the Captain. That was another headache on its own; it didn't bother him that some people might think of his alter ego negatively because that came with the job. Respect and fear sometimes worked in similar ways.

“Do you think she suspects who you are?” Seonghwa asked. “Especially after that first night?”

Hongjoong shook his head. “She thinks that we are two different people entirely, but I don't doubt that she's suspicious of me. She's likely more concerned about her own livelihood now though.” How much did you fear him? It at least seemed that you were concerned for his well being, based on your actions and questions. Why did you care? Why did he care?

Hongjoong cleared his throat and broke his gaze away from you. “Any news from the others about their statuses?”

With such an abrupt change of topic, Seonghwa knew not to press the previous subject any further, at least for the time being. He swallowed the rest of his drink, leaning his elbows against the countertop. “Nothing particular from my people yet. They’ll be moving into position around the east corner throughout the week. Jongho and Yunho say that the authorities haven’t heard anything interesting either. It’s strange… it’s almost too quiet.”

Hongjoong’s brows furrowed again. Though some claimed that no news was good news, this only muddied Hongjoong’s concerns even further. As he counted the days until this goddamn council meeting, he didn't need anything else to heighten the tension in his spine.

He watched you at the farther end of the bar out of the corner of his eye, requesting a flurry of drinks from both San and Yeosang's combined efforts. There was a certain quality to your instincts, he was slowly coming to realize.

Would it be so bad if you knew who he was? Would you not be an asset to him if you were by—on his side, where he had one more pair of eyes looking out for danger?

Hongjoong swirled the melting bits of ice at the bottom of his glass. He said to Seonghwa, as he gazed into the liquid like they were prophetic tea leaves, “I think I'm tipsy.”

“After one drink?” his counterpart chuckled.

“I have to be,” he muttered, now turning to watch you leave the bar again. This had to be the fifth time within the hour that he stole a glance your way. “Because I'm getting stupid, stupid ideas.”

When two in the morning rolled around, you were dismissed for the night. You smelled like a drunk man with all the booze smell clinging to your clothes, but for the first time in a week, the tension in your shoulders was from focus and not stress.

Your coworkers (because that was what they were to you now) bid you farewell after you all had a hand in cleaning and closing up together. Hongjoong and Seonghwa had departed from the premises a couple hours earlier, and you hadn't seen either of them since.

As your feet hit the pier below, you mustered up the energy and courage to make the trek home. Before, going home took much less time since you lived only a few metro stops away. Being deep into Hala Town was different. You didn't know these streets, let alone in the dark, and your commute would be at least double what it was before.

“Hey Yn!” You glanced back to find Wooyoung jogging down the gangway toward you with his hand raised. Behind him, San and Yeosang were locking up the door to access the hold. “Did you drive?”

You shook your head. “Nah, I took the train.”

He frowned slightly, falling into step with you. The direction of the small parking lot nearby and the metro station were in the same direction. “It's a long way home for you, isn't it, if you live in Sector 1? Do you want a ride back instead?”

The thought sounded appealing. You'd had a couple coworkers offer you rides before, but you usually declined. Sometimes train rides home were tiring, but you were just as tired. It allowed you time to sit with your thoughts. “Oh, uh, that's okay. Thanks for the offer though.”

“What if I walk you then? Just to the station.”

You didn't have any reason to deny him that, at least, and having someone you kind of knew would ease your worries until you got back onto familiar land.

Wooyoung shouted back to his friends that they shouldn't wait up for him, and you and he bounded across the street to the business district.

The night, as it was in the day, was chilly. You tugged your jacket closer to your body, the bottom half of your face shoved into the warmth of your scarf. Beside you, Wooyoung seemed more acclimated to it, wearing only a light hoodie with his hands tucked into his pockets.

“So,” he piped up, “what'd you think of your first night on the job?”

You hummed. “It was good. It's just relieving to know that I have a job again, I guess.”

“That's understandable,” he nodded in reply. “You seemed to be right in your element.”

“Thanks,” you chuckled. “It's an environment I'm definitely used to.”

“Hongjoong hyung seemed pleased with how you were getting on.”

Funny he should mention him… You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. “Are you… are you close to Hongjoong? You all seem to be pretty tightly-knit.”

Wooyoung glanced over at you. “Oh, yeah. I suppose you could say we're like found family,” he smiled slightly to himself. “He takes care of us.”

That seemed to be within his nature, you thought, especially with the way he came to you at the bar weeks ago to thank you for saving his life, and with his graciousness in giving you a position here in your desperation. You didn't know how you got so wrapped up in his affairs, but you were here nonetheless. You weren't quite sure what to make of it.

Your counterpart considered you again. “Is something on your mind?”

Should you ask him? It wouldn't hurt, right? “I think,” you began, “I'm concerned about Hongjoong. Earlier in the office, he dismissed my concern about his still being in danger and that the Captain might have something against him.”

“The Captain?” His tone was incredulous. “I don't think he has something against Hongjoong. They hardly” —he coughed— “they don't cross paths or anything.”

You turned your gaze toward him with your mouth twisted into a frown. “But the bar burned down as a tribute to him, and it would have only been saved in exchange for Hongjoong—whatever he wanted with him. I just can't understand why Hongjoong's so dismissive about his own safety.”

Though, when you thought back to the night you first met him, he likely could take care of himself. Those five men must have never seen him coming. You shivered, playing it off as a cold gust of wind making it past your outerwear.

Wooyoung sighed. “Yeah, hyung can be like that sometimes. Seonghwa also gets annoyed when Hongjoong dismisses his own safety, but that's just who he is.”

“That's not very reassuring.”

“I know,” he bit his cheek. “But Hongjoong can take care of himself.”

“That,” you said, staring pointedly at the sidewalk, “I know.”

Wooyoung laughed. “As for the Captain… don't believe every vile thing you hear about him.”

“Oh?”

His shoulders lifted and dropped in a half-hearted shrug. “Most of the people here feel better about him being in power than the previous reigning family. Maybe I'm just biased, but” —he stopped himself; you just arrived in front of the metro station entrance, yet he lingered. “I'm not saying he's a saint,” he amended carefully, “I'm just saying that there are people in this city who are far worse.”

You didn't know what to do with this information. This was coming from a man whom you only just met a little over twelve hours ago. You needed time to let all of this register in your exhausted brain before you could even begin to make any more judgments.

You shoved your cold hands into the warmth under your arms. “Do you know why Hongjoong's being targeted recently?” you asked quietly. That was what you should have cared more about.

He seemed a little surprised that you brought the conversation back to your boss, his eyes fluttering with a blink. “I'm not sure I should tell you, to be honest.”

Your forehead creased. “Ah…”

“It's just not for me to say,” he said helplessly.

“I'm guessing you won't tell me who he really is then either?”

Wooyoung cocked his head to the side. “I'm not sure I follow…”

You wanted to call bullshit, but the exhaustion was seeping into your joints now that the adrenaline was gone. After everything you witnessed regarding Kim Hongjoong, you couldn't possibly be expected to buy the fact that he was only the owner of a bar and miniature casino. There had to be something else to him, something that was making him attract danger like opposite poles of a magnet.

“Whatever,” you waved your question away with a tired huff. “What time should I be here tomorrow?”

That seemed to make Wooyoung's posture loosen. “If you could clock in at five, that'd be great.”

“Gotcha.” You began to turn toward the metro station. “Night, Wooyoung.”

“Night, Yn. Take care of yourself, alright?”

Your hand met the stairs railing as you peered over your shoulder at him. “You, too.”

You descended into the metro station proper without much else delay. There came an eagerness to your step at the thought of going home triumphant for once—that you were no longer unemployed. You no longer felt like a burden to Ryujin despite her constant reassurance that you weren't.

You'd been through much the last few weeks, and you couldn't wait until things got back to normal. (If that same level of “normal” could still be achieved.)

As you collapsed into a seat inside a subway car, you attempted to make sense of the amount of information you received today. There was a tie between Hongjoong and the Captain, one that Wooyoung refused to divulge and one that wasn't blatantly apparent to you just yet.

All of this made your head spin and your stomach twist uncomfortably. Maybe it was better if you didn't think about it.

When you arrived at your home stop, you picked yourself up off the bench and trudged up the stairs. The route to your apartment was a familiar one, so you strode through side streets and back ways to get home the fastest, not necessarily the safest and most illuminated.

You passed by a dark alleyway that always made your pulse leap, even if you knew the only dangerous thing in there were rats and fly larvae.

Thump.

You nearly tripped over your feet, heart stuttering in your chest.

The glance you stole down the alleyway was out of instinct. There was no one there that you could see, but even as you continued on your way home, you couldn't shake the feeling of something watching you from the shadows.

a/n: pls remember to reblog if you enjoyed!

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series taglist: @starriniqhts @hon3ysun @wooyouz @emotionallyanaemic @queenofdumbfuckery @ateezswonderland

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itsbeeble · 1 day ago

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OH! idk how y/n is recovering so fast i would be sobbing for days tbh but she's stronger than me i fear

BIRDS OF PREY — three

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst?, swearing, action, mentions of alcohol, murder and a dead body, mentions of weaponry, arson/nearly burning alive, mentions of blacklisting

▷ word count. 4.8k

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CHAPTER THREE: TRIBUTE TO THE PIRATE KING

YOU HAD NO CHOICE but to watch the clock, jumping at every phone ringtone, eyes checking the exits and searching the crowd for a particular familiar face. As you continued to work, you couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching you ever since you came back in from the phone call in the alleyway.

But as the night progressed into the early dredges of the morning, nothing happened.

You didn't know what time it was until your coworkers were kicking out the drunkards lingering on their stools and you were wiping down the front bar countertop with a wet rag. Your heart rate had calmed down considerably after letting the phone call and the hallway conversation slip from your mind. Nothing had happened during your shift; everyone was going to make it out alright.

As for Hongjoong… you neither saw him nor heard from him. You wondered what they ended up doing, if he was okay or not.

“Yn, we're locking up!”

You brushed a hand through your hair as you tossed the rag into the dirty bin beneath the counter. “Yeah, I'm coming.”

As you were just about to duck into the back kitchen where your coworkers were waiting, you felt a hand clamp down onto your shoulder. Every nerve in your body jolted, every muscle yanked taut. Your breath hitched as you turned to see who it was.

You didn't recognize the man standing there and you tried to reign in the panic filling you. There was something about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight. He was rather tall and lanky, not like a skyscraper, but enough to make you tilt your head up slightly to look him in the eyes. He wore a pair of glasses that, when the light hit them a specific way, had a distinct glare on the lenses that made you shiver.

“I'm sorry, can I help you?” you asked, not-so-subtly shifting so his hand would fall away from your shoulder.

“Aren't you forgetting something, Yn?” he asked.

That voice. This—he was the Mr. Young your boss was speaking to earlier.

You staunched the tremble in your fingers by shoving them into your armpits. It would look more like being standoffish than nervous. “I don't think so,” you said. “The bar is closed to guests, though, so if you'd please—”

“Mica says you have a delivery slip for Ms. Iwazaki. She never received it.”

“Oh.” Swiftly, you dug your hand into the pocket of your apron and passed it over to him. “Must have slipped my mind,” you admitted sheepishly, stepping back toward the kitchen.

He passed a small glance over the receipt contents before pocketing it. “Ah yes, when you stepped out to make that call, no?”

The blood drained out of your face.

“I don't particularly appreciate eavesdroppers,” he drawled, taking measured steps toward you.

“Then you're a hypocrite.”

He chuckled, the sound grating against your bones. “I've been called far worse than a hypocrite, Yn.”

You swallowed. “My coworkers are waiting,” you managed to say, steeling your nerves.

“Ah, but of course.” He gestured to the door behind you with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Have a nice night.”

You said nothing else as you slipped through the door and practically ran to grab your things. When you met your coworkers at the back door, they grumbled something about you taking too long. You brushed away their complaints; they were all exhausted like you were, but you were more shaken than worried about appeasing them.

In all your hurrying, you hadn't noticed your phone was no longer with you. As you sat in one corner of the near empty subway car, you patted down your pockets and rifled through your bag, but came up empty-handed. That spike of panic pierced through your chest again, but this time for another reason.

“Fucking hell,” you swore, storming out of the car at the next stop to take the line back to the bar.

In the ungodly hours of the morning, you kept your senses dialed as far as they could go with your feet moving swiftly. You prayed that your boss was still in her office, and that Mr. Young wasn't. A shiver slipped down your spine at the phantom feeling of his hand on your shoulder.

You came up to the back alleyway door as a chilly breeze swept by. From your bag, you fished out your ring of keys all attached to an old lanyard. Though you didn't usually find yourself using them often, your boss had given you a copy of the keys to the bar in case you were the person who was sent to open or close for the night. Again, you didn't find much use for them, but now seemed like a pretty damn good time.

You let yourself into the kitchen, the entire building swamped in darkness. Ms. Iwazaki likely would have let herself out through the door in her office, so you were probably the only person here.

A breath of relief escaped your lips when you went over to your locker and found that you had left your phone just sitting there. Cursing yourself for being scatterbrained, you checked for notifications, then pocketed the device to head out.

You halted.

There was a sound of shuffling coming from further within the building. It was something like rustling paper…

Your heart began thumping against your ribcage. “Hello?” you voiced into the quiet. “Ms. Iwazaki, is that you?”

The noises stopped.

It was an experience straight out of a horror film; you could hear an echo in your ear of someone yelling at you to not go into the hallway (or maybe that was your conscience screeching). But there shouldn't have been anyone else here, and based on what had been happening lately, maybe you should be running the other way.

But you poked your head into the back hallway anyway. To your surprise, you saw a sliver of light seeping out from under your boss's closed door.

Huh, she was still here then.

Should you confront her about the conversation you overheard earlier? You wondered how close she was to Kim Hongjoong if Mr. Young was relying on her to somehow summon him here.

Just when you made up your mind, you heard a rattling at the alleyway door before it opened behind you.

You froze, a deer in headlights, as you made eye contact with two newcomers. Your eyes widened just as surprise flickered across their faces.

“Hongjoong?” you whispered as the man behind him closed the door. Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinized the second man with him. You'd seen him before, but where? “What're you doing here?”

Hongjoong's brows furrowed as he took cautious steps toward you, as if placating a frightened lion. The both of them were clad in dark colors, easy to blend in with the night. “This is Jongho; he's a good friend of mine,” he said, gesturing to the broad-shouldered brunet behind him. “And we're here because of the call.”

“I told you not to come—”

“No, not that one. The one we just had fifteen minutes ago.”

A beat. “What call fifteen minutes ago? I didn't call you.”

He and Jongho exchanged confused glances before he addressed you again, “No, we called you. But when you picked up, the line was silent and then you hung up. We were afraid something happened to you, so we came as soon as we could.”

“I forgot my phone here when we were locking up.” You raised the device in your hand as a slow epiphany dawned on you. “I didn't have it for the past twenty minutes.”

Jongho stepped forward with his mouth pressed into a grave line. “We should get out of here,” he said. “This obviously was a trap, like she warned us earlier.”

“Wait, did Ms. Iwazaki ever call you?” you asked.

Hongjoong shook his head. “No. We were waiting for her to request I come over after you called ahead, but the call never came. We assumed that whatever it was had been called off.”

Interesting… had it been called off because Mr. Young knew you'd overheard him and went to warn Hongjoong?

“Well, uh,” you stepped aside to gesture vaguely in the direction of the back hallway, “I'm pretty sure she's still here. Her light's on, and I heard noises coming from the office.”

“Noises?”

Before Hongjoong could go forward, Jongho placed a hand on his shoulder, murmuring something to him. Then, he took the first steps into the hallway, as if checking for any triggers and ensuring the path forward was safe.

Hongjoong inclined his chin to you, silently prompting you to come along with him as he followed after his friend.

When Jongho reached the office door, he rapped his knuckles gently against the surface. “Ms. Iwazaki, are you in there?” he asked, then paused for a beat, and another… “Ms. Iwa—oh.” He tried the doorknob, and it gave way near immediately.

The door drifted open slowly and poured warm light into the hallway. You, Hongjoong, and Jongho peered into the office, and the sight that greeted you forced you backward, stumbling.

“Oh my god,” you choked, your hand fumbling for something to brace against.

An arm wrapped around your waist to anchor you upright. You grappled onto their shoulders—Hongjoong’s shoulders—as you fought the urge to double over.

Dead. Ms. Iwazaki was dead.

She sat upright in her desk chair, slightly reclined, with her hands lying on either of her armrests and a bullet hole between her eyes.

Jongho loosened a low curse from his mouth as he stepped inside; Hongjoong kept you standing and didn't move, but you didn't need to see his face to know that he was troubled. You pressed your mouth numbly against the fabric of his bomber jacket, eyes unable to unsee the utter nothingness in your former boss's stare.

“She's definitely gone,” Jongho murmured. He glanced up, making eye contact with his captain. “What do we do now?”

“We should find out who did this and what they were after.”

You drew your head up from Hongjoong's shoulder, but as you pulled away, his arm seemed reluctant to let you go until you took a physical step back. “I have an idea,” you said quietly, turning to face the room, but avoiding Iwazaki Rina's body.

“I overheard a conversation,” you explained, stepping into the room and scanning the slips of paper on the desk. The one delivery slip you'd passed along to Mr. Young earlier was among those in the pile. He'd been here again then. “There was this Mr. Young guy—he knew Ms. Iwazaki was paying dues to the Captain, and he offered that if she switched her loyalties, he would give her ownership over the Shipwreck.”

You heard Hongjoong come further into the office to stand beside you, eyes half skimming over the contents of the receipt and half glancing over at you. “Did he say anything else?” he asked.

“He said that if she didn't call you to the bar, he would burn this place to the ground with everyone in it,” you told them. “That was when I ran out of the hallway, but I think he knew I was the one who eavesdropped, because later on, he confronted me about making a phone call in the alleyway.”

“Yn,” Hongjoong said, making you draw your gaze over to him, “do you remember what he looks like? Any physical descriptors can help.”

Did you? You could probably remember enough to sketch the man; his ickiness was ingrained into the place he'd touched your shoulder. “He was—”

Your words were cut off by the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. In your line of work, that sound was like nails on a chalkboard. Drunk people were a handful.

But if there was glass breaking, then that could only mean that a bottle had been smashed. Someone else was in the building.

“Stay here,” was Hongjoong's command as he poked his head out into the hallway. “It smells like alcohol.”

“Well, we are in a bar, hyung,” Jongho drawled sarcastically.

You held in your snort; Hongjoong threw an unamused glare over his shoulder.

“No, I mean it's incredibly strong—concentrated. Maybe a bottle fell down or—holy fucking shit.” Hongjoong and the entire hallway illuminated in a brilliant orange glow as a stream of alcohol across the floor was set ablaze.

He leapt back into the safety of the office as you and Jongho scrambled to see what happened. Your jaw unhinged in horror at the sight of the entire corridor up in flames. It roared and clawed up the walls like vines, eating away at the cheap wood and varnish. Whoever had set this fire knew what they were doing—the flames blocked any path of getting back out through the alleyway.

You were trapped on this side of the building, and you would burn down with it if you didn't think fast.

“The door!” you exclaimed, lungs beginning to fill with smoke from the fire. You stuck your face into your elbow as you coughed, stumbling over to where Jongho was scrambling toward the office door on the other side.

Hongjoong raised the collar of his shirt up over his mouth and came over to join you two.

Jongho tried the door handle, growling as it merely rattled mockingly. “It's locked.”

“How could it be locked?” Hongjoong asked through coughs.

“Someone could have locked it—” you hacked out half a lung into your elbow, “—from the outside, maybe?”

“This place is filled with flammable shit,” Hongjoong grumbled as he scanned the room for something, anything, that could be of use. There was no fire extinguisher in the room—that had to be a building code violation, but it was a little late now to be thinking of that.

The fire did not need an invitation to encroach on your space.

Hongjoong took his phone out from his pocket and tossed it to you. “Call Yunho.”

You gawked at him, the phone lying in your palms. “Okay?” You began scrolling through his contacts, searching for this Yunho person.

“On three, Jongho—one, two, three!” When you glanced up, Hongjoong and Jongho simultaneously rammed their shoulders into the door in an attempt to knock it down with brute force.

Your fingers shook as you swiped the contact name “Yunho” and waited for the call to go through. Whoever was on the other side picked up immediately.

“Hyung, what's—”

“You're on speaker!” you shouted into the phone. “Also—THE BUILDING IS ON FIRE.”

“What?” Panicked shuffling came from the other side.

Sweat dripped down all three of your faces, and Hongjoong quite literally tore the collar of his shirt open because of the heat. “Yunho, come to the north side of the building and for god's sake, get Mingi to call the fucking fire department!”

Mingi? You would address that later.

“Aye, Ca—uhhh, I mean, yeah. We're on our way.”

You kept them on the line as Hongjoong and Jongho threw their bodies against the door once more. The wood rattled on its hinges but the damned thing would not move.

With the fire creeping into the office, you had no choice but to get behind the desk, as far away from the corridor as possible. Your eyes stung from the ash, and you couldn't tell if the feeling of your chest constricting was because you just saw your boss's dead body again or if it was from all the smoke. (Or, the prospect of dying. Either way, it was not a good time.)

“We found the door and the fire department is on its way,” reported Yunho from the other end. Why did his voice sound familiar too?

You could hear him from the opposite side of the door. “Can you unlock it?” you raised your voice, hoping he didn't need the phone to hear you.

“The metal doorknob is too hot!” he shouted through the door. “Wait! Stand back—we’re shooting the lock.”

Your eyes nearly bulged from your head. “You're going to what—?”

Hongjoong shoved you further away from the door as he and Jongho gave the emergency exit a wide berth. “Hurry!”

A loud bang went off, and moments later, the door fell like timber. A pair of tall, very familiar men stood on the other side, having just rammed the door down with their own bodies. You, Jongho, and Hongjoong wasted no time hustling out of the office.

You greedily sucked in the cool night air, and collapsed to the cold concrete sidewalk to get your skin to cool down. No doubt, you smelled akin to a dingy casino now.

Someone came by and helped you to your feet. You glanced up, and Mingi's small smile greeted you. “Long time, no see,” he said.

“How do you know—”

“They’re all old friends,” Hongjoong said, taking his phone back from you. All of your clothes were soaked through with sweat, and your faces were illuminated with the raging fire from within the bar. “And they work for me.”

“You mean—” You cut yourself off, taking unsubtle steps away from the group of men to put space between you and them. “Nevermind, I don't wanna know.”

Sirens pierced through the air to accompany the smoke drifting up into the atmosphere. Without all the smoke in your system, your head was finally clearing up. “I think—I need to go home. I'm going home now.”

“It's not safe; let one of us drive you.”

You narrowly dodged Mingi's hand that grazed against your elbow. “No,” you said firmly, your voice wavering. You almost died tonight. “I need—” you stammered, stumbling backwards away from them and back toward the metro, “—just stay away from me.”

As you began walking in the direction of the back alleyway, Hongjoong placed a hand on Mingi's arm. “Let her go,” he said. They had no choice but to let you.

In the morning, you stared intently at the television screen in your apartment, a news anchor's voice playing at a soft volume as she reported on the city's most recent tragedy. There was a burning building pictured on screen, one that you had grown accustomed to over the past year or so of working there.

It had taken you one long and hot shower, way too much soap, and a couple spritzes of perfume to get the smoke smell out of your skin and hair; but nothing could get the nightmare of Iwazaki Rina's dead eyes out of your head.

“Maybe we should get away for awhile.” This was a quiet suggestion from Ryujin as she came by and handed you a warm bowl of soup. She had found you in this same spot on the couch at around seven in the morning. You hadn't slept all night.

You mumbled out a small “thank you” and brought the rim of the bowl up to your lips.

“The fire department reports that the fire could have started by accident. A bottle or two of alcohol must have fallen from a shelf, and a leftover cigarette butt was there to light the liquid and start the fire. However, authorities found the owner of the establishment shot dead in her office, which would give the fire a more sinister purpose—more on this in a minute.”

Ryujin let out a pained exhale and she wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “I'm sorry, Yn.”

You didn't know what to say. You almost died a few hours ago.

“—did find something among the debris.—”

The screen changed to show a different picture. There was a piece of paper, grayed by soot and ash, but with words reading as clear as day: Tribute to the Pirate King.

You were out of a job. You were almost baked alive. You saw a dead person for the first time, a murder victim.

The latter two were things that could only be remedied and dealt with by time and perhaps a mental health professional. The very first one was at the top of your priority list. While you and Ryujin had money stashed away for rainy days like being suddenly out of a job, it wouldn't be enough to hold you up for more than a couple weeks. Even with Ryujin's steady secretary job, it wasn't going to be enough.

You had no choice but to furiously job hunt and shove all of the crazy shit that happened in the past week behind you. For whatever reason, the universe seemed inclined to put you in the face of danger whenever it came to Kim Hongjoong; it meant that you needed to avoid him like your life depended on it. Because it did. (But it wasn't like you could help bumping into him. Most of the time, it was all by chance.)

Day after day, you applied to job after job. They were all openings to cafés and other bars and retail shops in gray areas around the city, but with each one, you were met with utter rejection every time.

When you got in touch with former coworkers, they recommended you to the places they recently got hired at themselves, but even that didn't help. Were you suddenly underqualified for all these places? It simply didn't make sense as to why they refused to hire you.

You voiced your frustrations out to Ryujin, who sat with you on the couch for the second week in a row trying to help you job hunt. “I just don't understand it,” you groaned into your hands. The stress was slowly eating away at you.

“I know,” she sympathized. “I just don't understand what these wackos want from you. I think it's ridiculous.”

“Maybe I'm blacklisted,” you jested half-heartedly. Maybe I'm delusional!

Ryujin pressed her lips together and moved her laptop out of her lap and onto the coffee table. “I'm gonna make myself ramen. You want some?”

You sighed, leaning your cheek against your fist. “No, that's okay. I think I'm gonna go to bed.” It was nearing two in the morning at this point, and you were too tired for any more of this failure. Plus, you had to wake up to go to class tomorrow (today).

“Oh, okay.” Ryujin came by to place a soft pat on your head. “Good night, Yn. It's gonna be alright, okay? We'll figure this out.”

You replied with a quiet, unmotivated, “Yeah,” and slipped into your bedroom with your laptop.

With the bedroom door shut behind you, you padded your way over to your desk to deposit your laptop. You could hear the city's sounds from out of your window—all the sirens, late night chatter, and buildings rattling and thumping. Just outside your bedroom door, you heard the stove crackle to life.

For a moment, you stood there, uncertain of what to do. You were left abandoned at a crossroads but barred from any of the paths in front of you. It just didn't make sense as to why you suddenly couldn't get any jobs, especially in gray areas where it was near impossible to be blacklisted. Because there was no crooked organization ruling the gray areas besides maybe the government itself, there was no easy way for a nobody like you to be banned from being hired.

All of the hiring managers gave you similar excuses. It was either that they suddenly weren't hiring anymore, you didn't have a college degree, or you just didn't fit their requirements, period. It didn't make sense.

You let your frustrations rattle around in your brain, and you opened up the first desk drawer to get out a sticky note when something caught your eye.

There was the Shipwreck business card, lying on top of everything, waiting.

You plucked the card up and were tempted to rip it to shreds, but you withheld. It wasn't exactly Kim Hongjoong's fault you were here (actually it partly was, but you felt just a tad guilty for pinning all the blame on him), but… but he did owe you.

“No,” you murmured. “That's stupid.” To even think about stepping foot in a mafia territory? That spelled danger with a capital “D.”

But what choice did you have? Didn't he owe you three life debts now? What could someone even get in exchange for three life debts, or whatever wording Hongjoong had used?

You didn't know what you would do once you got there, but you set the business card on top of your laptop lid that night, resolving to make the trek into Hala Town the next day.

You would do what was necessary.

The next morning, you piled your materials into your backpack for class, then headed out. Class was thankfully not too long, as this particular professor didn't enjoy stretching out what she had prepared in order to fit the allotted two hour block. By the time it was over, it had yet to hit noon.

Public transportation didn't usually extend into the mafia territories through the gray areas, other than the metro station. There were taxis and shared riding apps that one could use other than the subway, but no buses or trolleys went past gray area borders. It was just a safety thing.

You descended into the metro and stared long and hard at the map on the wall to determine which line and which stop you needed to arrive as close as possible to the Shipwreck. The last thing you needed was to walk for a long time out in the open.

A bundle of nervousness manifested in your stomach and it twisted and churned as you tapped your card against the reader and entered the metro station proper. The closest stop to the Shipwreck was a fifteen minute walk away, located on the edge of the port-side business district. You fisted the business card in your pocket the entire ride there.

When you emerged out of the metro station, it was in Ateez territory. The air here was different; it tasted like the salty sea breeze, slightly chillier than it was further inland where you usually dwelled. You tightened your jacket around your frame and tucked your chin into your scarf, then began the fifteen minute walk.

For the most part, Hala Town was as normal as normal could be. People hustled and bustled past and with you, on their way to their differing destinations, wherever their routine took them. There were plenty of people on the streets who didn't pay you any mind, and didn't seem to be fazed by the fact that they lived in the place where the so-called Captain and his crew reigned. Based on what the investigators at the bar found, the person who had set fire to the building was the Captain, or someone associated with him.

You shuddered at the thought. The Captain had been the one to burn the building down with you and Hongjoong and Jongho in it. But why? Had he found out that Ms. Iwazaki might have betrayed him?

Oh, Ryujin would kill you if she found out you were here.

The Shipwreck, you discovered, was a literal shipwreck, hollowed out and renovated to ensure it wouldn't sink or drift from shore, and could fit an influx of patrons. You stood on its outside just staring up at its mighty sails and wood finishings. The gangway was several meters down the dock from you, and from what you saw, the opening into the ship's hold was wide open.

It seemed that even on a weekday morning they were open for business.

With little else to do at rock bottom, you went up.

“Hello?” you called out when you reached the top of the gangway and peered into the cavernous mouth of the hold. You swept your eyes over the room to take in all of the roulette and poker tables, the long bar installed on the starboard side of the ship. It smelled like a twinge of alcohol, but the sea spray covered up the rest. Though the lights were dim, you could still make out everything here.

The playing and gambling tables were on a sublevel, lowered slightly into the floor compared to the level you stood up on now. Leather booths littered the floor above to overlook the sublevel, along with standing tables and a railing to lean over. You could imagine the rowdy, lively nights that this ship saw—if only walls could talk…

“Can I help you?”

You jolted, eyes darting over to the corner of the bar where a man about your age descended down from a set of spiral stairs. He had a small mole beneath his eye and wore his dark hair tied half back in a ponytail. “Oh uh—”

“If you're lost, the pier is further down that way,” he said, though his eyes turned upward like he was amused or teasing.

“No, actually.” You slowly made your way across the hold to reach him at the bar. You removed the business card from your pocket and turned it to show the back side as if proving that you belonged here, that you were in the right place. His eyes didn't even flinch in that direction, like he knew exactly what it said and what you were going to ask.

“I'm here to request parley.”

a/n: pls remember to reblog if you enjoyed!

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series taglist: @starriniqhts @hon3ysun @wooyouz @emotionallyanaemic @queenofdumbfuckery

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itsbeeble · 1 day ago

Text

LOVEEEE a cliffhanger!!

BIRDS OF PREY — two

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst?, swearing, action, mentions of alcohol, mentions of dead bodies, mentions of injuries and violence, threats of committing arson

▷ word count. 4.3k

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CHAPTER TWO: FROM THE WITNESS

MINGI AND YUNHO PUSHED OFF the alleyway wall as Hongjoong emerged from the back employee entrance. With winter swiftly approaching, the days became shorter and nights even longer. The last time he was in this alley, he had been pretending to be inebriated as you slung him over your shoulder and told him where the nearest metro stop was. The last time he was here, the night had ended in five dead bodies and no answers to their questions.

That was a properly unproductive evening.

You had saved him that night by one, telling him where his stalkers were; and two, giving him a head start to surprise his attackers by shuttling him through the back exit. It would have ended the same way if he went through the main entrance, but with a few more injuries on his end. The night ended well for him because of you.

Then, there was the matter of the bomb at the bank.

“So?” Yunho asked as the two of them flanked their leader and fell into step with him. There was a car parked at the far end of the alley that was Hongjoong's. They would take it back into Ateez territory from here, back home.

“She took the card at the very least,” Hongjoong said as he unlocked his car with a bright chirp from the vehicle. He climbed into the driver's seat with Yunho in the passenger's side and Mingi in the back. “We don't need to pull anyone else into our problems though, so it's probably a good thing that she wants nothing to do with me.”

“Smart girl,” Yunho jested with a smile.

Hongjoong inclined his chin. He agreed.

“I don't think we're gonna get anything off her background check, hyung,” Mingi piped up, raising his phone screen where he had pulled up the group text chain amongst the close inner circle that ran the Ateez mafia. “She seems pretty damn clean to me.”

Yunho chuckled. “You say this as if we're clean ourselves.” However, Yunho knew well that “clean” meant you had no ties or affiliations to any of the other gangs or mafias in the city. That was quite rare to find, but it only meant that you had been born and raised in a gray area and were smart enough to keep it that way. Few people in this day and age could resist the siren song that some criminal groups sung, like riches and influence and safety.

But no prize came without a price.

That was something they had all learned during their time before they built this family, and they were still experiencing its drawbacks now.

“Have we got any hits on the bank security footage?” Hongjoong asked as he turned onto a street that passed beneath the Treasure Island bridge. Here marked the boundary between your gray area and Hala Town—Ateez territory—both unspoken and physical, as boasted by the scarlet red letter A in a circle, spray painted onto one of the lumbering support beams of the bridge.

Yunho scrolled through the updates from his people who were monitoring security feeds and broadcast channels. Everyone in the inner circle had their own “employees” working for them, like the departments in a company or, more appropriately, crews on a ship, with each high-ranking member the mate of said crew. “Nothing concrete yet,” he sighed, clicking his phone off and laying it in his lap.

“You would think someone stupid enough to impersonate you wouldn't be able to cover their tracks this well,” Mingi grumbled. He had no luck from any of his eyes and ears either.

Hongjoong's expression was schooled into careful neutrality, and the only sign of his annoyance from their situation came from the slight twitch in his jaw. “It's more like the opposite, I figure, Mingi-ah.”

Mingi hummed. “Ah, anyone with the guts to impersonate you must have a thorough plan not to get caught.”

“Mhm.”

As the more infamously known Captain, head of Ateez, Hongjoong only made choice appearances in public. When he was going out as the Captain, he was careful to wear the uniform—crow-headed cane, mask shielding the lower half of his face, and a hard glare. Oftentimes, he also brought along a hat to shield his eyes and the color of his hair. All of this was an effort to conceal his true features so he could still roam the world as Hongjoong without the burden of being Captain.

However, because he had an unmistakable uniform, someone thought themselves clever to impersonate him. This imposter had been their problem for the past couple of weeks as they attempted to track down this bastard, as well as the people who have constantly been trying to end the real Captain's life. Ateez's leaders believed them to be the same person attempting to accomplish these two crazy feats.

They were beginning to become more than just a thorn in Hongjoong's side.

The drive from the edge of Hala Town through the residential streets and business districts was a familiar one. It took about fifteen minutes to drive from the outskirts to the nearest harbor entrance. The main buzzing point of Hala Town was port-side, a club manifesting itself as an old shipwreck and fittingly called the Shipwreck, too.

The men of Ateez had bought the shipwreck and other properties along the water's edge when they were gathering up ranks and made a name for themselves, then fixed them all up. The Shipwreck was a small employee space on the upper decks, and a bar and gambling den on the lower decks. Patrons would enter through the gangway installed in the hold rather than boarding to the top deck.

As Hongjoong pulled his car up to a private area of the wharf, he killed the engine right outside the warehouse that Ateez marked as home. While the Shipwreck was their main place of legal business, this was where they had made their place of living.

“Yunho,” addressed Hongjoong as the three of them climbed out of the car and made their way to the warehouse entrance, “find out where Wooyoung is and get on that security footage. We need to crack down on that.”

Yunho gave a firm nod, “Aye, Captain.”

“And Mingi, round up the others. We have some matters to attend to regarding the council meeting in a few weeks.”

Mingi saluted him as he hauled the warehouse door open. “Aye, Captain.”

“Well, no need to come find us,” drawled Park Seonghwa from the other side of the door. It seemed that he was just unlocking the door from his end when Mingi opened it. There was a stiffness to the righthand's shoulders and jaw. “We've got some updates for you, Captain.”

Hongjoong nodded. “Yunho, Mingi—you’ll both come along then.”

With updated orders, everyone followed Seonghwa down the hall. Because they often did not handle official business in their home, the formal dining room was usually the room designated for any problems that arose. Seonghwa led them into the dining room outfitted with a long rectangular table, enough to fit about ten people. There was an empty hearth sitting at the far end, just below a mantle adorned in vases of flowers that Yeosang enjoyed maintaining.

There was someone seated at the closest end of the table to the entrance, surrounded by the remainder of Ateez's highest commanders. Hongjoong recognized him as one of the men under Seonghwa's specific section, a “lookout” named Jungwon. He seemed ashen with the blood drained from his face and his knee bouncing up and down with rapid pace.

From the looks of things, Hongjoong and the others’ entrance interrupted whatever hushed discussion Jungwon was having with Yeosang, San, Wooyoung, and Jongho.

“Captain on deck!” Seonghwa announced.

Everyone stood at attention, their spines yanked perfectly straight at the arrival of their captain. Usually, the members of Hongjoong's inner circle weren't so formal around him, but when others were present, it was imperative that an air of authority be established and maintained.

“At ease,” Hongjoong said, nodding for somebody to close the dining hall doors behind him. “Jungwon, isn't it?”

Jungwon bobbed his head. “Aye, Captain.”

“You can sit down.” The lookout obeyed. “Seonghwa tells me you've seen something of importance.”

Jungwon's eyes flickered between the right-hand and the captain. He swallowed. “Uh, aye. It was in—it was in the east corner, and I was there doing my rounds. I… I know this might sound crazy, but I overheard some whispers about—about Strictland.”

A wave of silence fell over the room. There was a distinct weight that came with that name—Strictland. It was a name that was only heard in hushed tones around here nowadays. Any other context was just asking for a fight or for the higher ups of Ateez to come knocking at your door. Strictland was the organization Hala Town used to be ruled by before Ateez won the turf war. Those from Strictland who weren't dead or turned to Ateez disappeared into the shadows.

Hongjoong was afraid of something like this—a return. It could only mean revenge and carnage much worse than the first round.

He didn't let his worry show on his face, however. It was important that he stayed calm and inspired the same careful confidence in his men. “Did you hear anything else, Jungwon? Or perhaps see anything?”

Jungwon fidgeted with the zipper of his hoodie. “Something about trying to proposition another family, another one of the groups in the city. But I could've heard incorrectly.” The latter was tacked on as a show of humility, but Hongjoong knew that there was a high chance the kid heard correctly; why else would Seonghwa take him so seriously?

Hongjoong trusted his people.

“Thank you, Jungwon. Your efforts won't go to waste.” Hongjoong clasped a reassuring hand on the lookout's shoulder, coaxing him up to his feet. “We'll make sure this gets addressed. In the meantime, have you eaten yet?”

A moment later, Hongjoong dismissed everyone from the room except for his second in command. As Hongjoong stood in the same place he had before, Seonghwa leaned back against the edge of the dining table, arms crossed firmly over his chest with a grave look on his face.

“How worried should we be?” Seonghwa murmured.

Hongjoong smoothed a hand over his jawline. There was a good chance that the imposter problems and attempts on his life were connected to the whisperings about Strictland's return. He couldn't shake the feeling clinging to his shoulders like a spiderweb. “We should be cautious,” he finally said. “I wouldn't be surprised if they tried to come back, so it's something we need to continue to be prepared for.”

Seonghwa nodded. “Aye,” he exhaled. He shook a strand of wavy, dark hair from his eyes. “And the girl? What happened there?”

“Nothing eventful,” Hongjoong sighed as the two of them began slowly walking out of the dining hall and toward the stairwell. “She wasn't interested in my business nor my help.”

His counterpart offered a small chuckle. They climbed the stairs up to the second floor of the warehouse, which was the main common area for the eight brothers-in-arms. “Good for her. She wasn't hurt from the explosion yesterday, was she?”

“Fortunately, she seemed alright.” Better to not involve innocent civilians in their mess. That was something Hongjoong hoped to avoid, but sometimes things happened that were out of his control.

“I do think it's interesting that she's appeared in the right place at the right time twice now,” Seonghwa mused. They ended up in the large living room space, and while Hongjoong collapsed into an armchair, Seonghwa went over to the liquor cart to pour out twin glasses of amber-colored liquid. “Do you believe in fate, Joong?” he asked this as he handed Hongjoong the second glass.

Hongjoong raised his eyebrows. “Fate? No. I believe in coincidence and intention.”

Seonghwa gestured toward him with his glass before he knocked back the liquid inside. He grimaced at the burn in his throat. “Ah, ever the romantic,” he teased.

The captain rolled his eyes good naturedly. “Forgive me for being a cynic. Now, the council meeting coming up—”

“Aish, always business with you.”

Hongjoong jammed his tongue into his cheek. “With the rumors about Strictland and their possible propositioning of other families, our game plan going into the meeting is all the more critical.”

Seonghwa sighed, nodding. “I know, I know.”

There had been a suspicion amongst the circle that the impersonator could be someone from an outside gang or mafia family attempting to gain control of Ateez land, as well as gray areas. Perhaps, an underlying worry was that it was Strictland instead, but with what Jungwon revealed, those underlying suspicions just became genuine concerns.

“Tell your people to watch their backs,” Hongjoong said quietly after a beat had passed. “Keep their eyes and ears open.”

Seonghwa pressed his lips together. “Aye, will do. You'll need to be careful, too, alright? No wandering around on your own, Joong. I'm serious.”

Hongjoong tipped his head back as he downed the alcohol sitting in the dregs of his glass. “No promises, but alright.”

You turned the business card between your hands for what felt like the one thousandth rotation. You sat on the couch in your apartment, your mug of coffee untouched on the coffee table and your mind blank. The card had fallen into your possession just last night when you met Kim Hongjoong, the man you apparently had saved not once, but twice.

A simple search online came up with nothing helpful. He didn't have an online presence, from what you could find, but the location of this Shipwreck place was not in a gray area—it was in Ateez territory. Not one to be privy to non-gray area locations, you knew nothing about Hala Town, only who ruled it.

Something you hadn't noticed last night, however, were the instructions on the back, reading simply: “Request for parley.” You didn't know what that meant either, but when you looked it up—parley—you learned that it was terminology used for discussions or conferences. Perhaps requesting for parley meant requesting an audience with someone, likely this Hongjoong character.

Though you pretty much rejected his offer of a double life debt, you still marinated on the possibilities. It was always good to have something to fall back on. You just weren't sure how trustworthy he was or what you would even ask of him.

Your head perked up at the sound of Ryujin emerging from her room, her pajamas swapped with business casual attire and her work bag slung over her shoulder. She shuffled over to you with a small smile. “Hey, how was work last night?” she asked quietly, squeezing your hand.

“It was good, fine,” you replied. You fisted the card in your lap, bringing your knees up to your chest. “Hey, have you ever been to the Shipwreck?”

You watched confusion flicker across your friend's face. She shook her head, her dark hair swaying as she did. “No, I don't think I recognize it, let alone have been there. What is it?”

“Just a club or a bar I think.” You gnawed your lip, glancing away to fib, “Y'know my coworker Leanne? She mentioned it last night offhandedly, I dunno. I think it's somewhere in Hala Town.”

Ryujin's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Hala Town? That's…” She hesitated, then settled on, “Just tell her to be safe if she goes over there. I've heard some things…”

“What things?”

She sighed, perching onto the couch armrest. “You know—it just underwent a turf war less than three years ago. It could still be a minefield with the fresh ruling family; you know how that stuff is.”

You hummed something noncommittal, hand warming around the card to the point you were sure your skin's oil was destroying the paper fibers in it. You wondered if the ink would smudge.

She stood up. “Well, I'm off to work now. D'you need anything before I head out?”

“No, I'm good.” You exchanged a warm smile with her, and you reached up to squeeze her hand again. “Stay safe, Ryu.”

“You, too. Oh, when's your shift today?”

“Oh, uhm, I think I'm gonna leave a little early tonight, but I'll leave dinner on the stove.” It was your turn to cook anyway.

Ryujin slipped her shoes on at the door, a grateful nod sent your way. “Gotcha. See ya, babe,” she sang with a wiggle of her fingers in goodbye.

When she was gone, the apartment descended into another bout of silence. You framed the card up in front of you between your thumbs and index fingers, thinking… thinking… thinking. You turned Ryujin's words over and over again in your head… recalled the strife you'd undergone just in this past week…

You stood up and walked into your bedroom, opening the first drawer of your desk and shoving the card inside.

It wasn't worth it.

The remainder of your day carried on rather uneventfully. You managed to finish up something for one of your classes, as well as look into jobs in your field to apply to once you graduated. While working at the bar was fine, it was just to fund you through getting a degree in business management. After working at the same place for over a year, you found that your boss wasn't the most open to letting you gain managerial experience, so you needed to move on soon.

By the time it hit six o'clock, you put one category of work aside, and got ready for the other.

Dinner was left on the stove as promised, and you shucked on a thicker coat over your work clothes before heading out into the crispening night.

You took the metro to where the bar was located as per usual.

Saturday nights were always quite busy, and tonight was no exception. As you hung your coat and bag up in your locker, you were already being herded into the main room for service. The bar was packed like a can of sardines with patrons standing shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow. You'd had plenty of practice sharing breathing air with a packed house of drunkards, but it didn't make it any more pleasant.

You tucked your serving tray under your arm as you passed by one of your coworkers. “Hey, I'm gonna take my fifteen.”

Your coworker nodded, but stopped you, fishing something out from his waist apron. “Could you pass this along to the boss lady? It's a delivery slip from earlier, but she wasn't there to take it.”

“Yeah, sure,” you said, taking the folded slip from him and heading into the back hallway. You breathed out a haggard exhale, exhaustion seeping into your muscles and joints now that you weren't in work mode.

For a moment, you stayed there in the darkness of the corridor, your back pressed against the wall and your head tilted back. The sounds from the main barroom were muffled with the door closed, but it provided ample white noise for you to take a breather.

Maybe a step out into the night air would do you some good, you thought, pushing off the wall and quietly stepping over to your boss's office at the end of the hallway. A sliver of warm light from beneath the closed door sliced through the hallway's darkness, and you followed it like a moth to a flame to find your way.

As you got closer, however, you realized that there were voices coming from inside the office. You recognized your boss's voice as one of them, but you didn't recognize the other. The latter was lower, more masculine.

“—I know you're paying dues to the pirate king.”

“If you're planning to blackmail me with this information,” your boss drawled, “then I'm afraid you're wasting your time. The Captain doesn't own this establishment, so it's perfectly in line with the rules.”

You pressed closer to the door, hoping to crane your ears and hear more. This wasn't a conversation you were supposed to hear, but your boss just admitted to paying tribute to Ateez's Captain in a gray area. This could likely endanger people's safety, including your own. (Why the Hell was this happening to you so often lately, and could it stop?)

“I'm not here to blackmail you; I'm here to make a proposal.”

A beat passed. “I'm listening.”

You held your breath as you waited for the other person to speak their mind. Your entire body was frozen there in the hallway, for fear that one small move might alert them to your eavesdropping.

“I am proposing an alliance, if you will, between you and my organization. In exchange for your loyalty, we will not only grant you protection but also the shares and ownership of the Shipwreck waterfront property. Prime real estate and good business.”

Your ears perked up at the familiar name. The Shipwreck? Was that not in Hala Town? That was a good distance away from this hole in the wall, but if he was offering ownership of the Shipwreck, then—no. No, that wasn't Kim Hongjoong's voice in that office, though. Who was this mystery person?

Your boss let out a small laugh. “And how do you plan on granting me ownership of the Shipwreck, Mr. Young?”

The Mr. Young character replied simply, “When we take over the Ateez territory.”

“A turf war? Are you crazy? The one there only just ended, and how do you plan on throwing out the current leadership?”

“We have our ways, Ms. Iwazaki.” Another moment passed, and you wondered if now would be a good time to finally knock on the door and get the Hell out of here, but Mr. Young continued onward. “Even if you do not wish to pledge loyalty—that is perfectly fine—my superior asks for one, small favor.”

Another laugh, this time drier. “A favor, hm?”

“I'm certain you will be able to complete it. You simply need to summon Kim Hongjoong to this location, and I will take care of the rest.”

Tension filled your shoulders. Hongjoong? Again? Was this guy always going to be in some kind of trouble?

“And why would I do you this favor?” your boss asked, her voice having dropped to something like a deadpan.

You leaned closer to the door.

“Because if you don't, my men and I will burn this building to the ground with you and everyone else in it.”

You barely caught your serving tray before it clattered to the ground, but the sound of your palm hitting the flat side created an unmistakable thump sound that fucking echoed. You swore, practically feeling the silence fill the hallway. Panic flooded your chest—

The office door was ripped open, light spilling into the darkness. The man who stood there glared out into the empty hallway, eyes narrowed on the door that led back into the main barroom that only just banged shut.

Meanwhile, you barrelled through the barroom toward the kitchen, weaving your way through coworkers and bar patrons alike. The receipt slip was the last thing on your mind—oh god, you had to get everyone out of here.

But… that was only if your boss didn't agree to do Mr. Young's favor.

What did they plan to do to Hongjoong? No doubt nothing good. You had to warn him somehow.

As you shoved yourself out into the cold evening, the temperature nipping at your skin and your breath manifesting into a physical form, you began to pace the alleyway proper.

“The card!” you gasped aloud, hands slapping against your pockets, only to realize that you weren't going to find the business card on your person. You groaned, hitting your palm against your forehead. “Idiot,” you swore.

You pulled your phone out from your back pocket and searched up the Shipwreck. There had to be some kind of phone number or contact information online.

You dialed the number listed there and chewed on your lip as it rang.

When someone picked up, you didn't recognize their voice. “This is the Shipwreck—San speaking. How may I help you?”

Anxiety bubbled in your chest. What if you just sounded stupid? What if this situation was handled? What if you were sticking your nose into business you weren't supposed to? Wasn't this how people got killed—

“Uh hello?”

San's voice snapped you out. “Shit,” you stammered. “Uhm, is Kim Hongjoong there?”

You could hear chatter and glass clatter in the background, all sounds normal to a bar. “Kim Hongjoong? And who may I say is calling?”

“Uh—a concerned, uhm, friend.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you screwed your eyes shut and repeatedly air-smacked your forehead.

A pause, then a chuckle. “A concerned friend,” he parroted. “Alright, what would his concerned friend like to say to him? I can pass along a message.”

Could you trust this guy? It didn't sound like he was going to take you seriously.

You had no other choice. Hongjoong had no other choice. “I just—if he gets a call from Iwazaki Rina, don't come to the bar on Fifth. It's a trap.”

It hit you then that you just endangered the entire building by making this call.

You leaned against the brick alley wall, guilt pouring through you. Why were you putting lives on the line for this man? You barely knew him, but your gut was urging you to save his goddamn life for the third time. Not that you were counting.

On the other side, San had gone quiet. Then he said, “Yn. This is Ln Yn, is it not?”

You straightened, your pulse lurching against your throat. “How do you know my name?”

“You said Hongjoong's in danger?” There was more shuffling, accompanied by muffled voices. You couldn't hear what he was saying or the voice he was speaking with. He returned to the phone a moment later, uncovering the speaker. “We're letting him know now. Thanks, Yn.”

“Wait!” you sputtered. “Wait, I—” Would they even care? “They're going to burn this building down with everyone in it if he doesn't show up. I—I don't know what to do—”

“Hey, it's okay, Yn,” San said softly, reassuringly. “You did the right thing. We'll take care of it.”

Panic was rising up in your throat again, rancid and bitter like bile. “What does that even mean—”

“We'll be in touch.” Then the line went dead.

a/n: pls remember to reblog if you enjoyed !!

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itsbeeble · 1 day ago

Text

BEAM. BEAM WHEN I CATCH YOU BEAM

I'm so so so like

god i don't have the words

this is absolutely INCREDIBLE. When i saw that you were writing a series i KNEWWWW it was gonna be good but this, just the first chapter, has blown my mind.

BIRDS OF PREY — one

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst?, swearing, action, explosion + mentions of a bomb/dynamite, mentions of death + murder, allusions to violence, mentions of sickness, mentions of alcohol

▷ word count. 5.1k

a/n: ahh here we go!! :'))

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CHAPTER ONE: THE WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING

“SIR, THEY'RE PLANNING TO KILL YOU,” were words you never expected to leave your mouth tonight, or ever, in fact.

The nervous stammer in your voice and in your heartbeat kicked up when the man perched on the stool in front of you tilted violently toward the floor. “Kill—me? No,” he slurred, hand slapping against the countertop to catch himself.

It hardly worked, and your breath hitched in your throat as you were forced to set your tray on the bar to physically catch him. You suppressed the urge to glance over in the direction of the group of men in the back corner of the bar you worked at, all of whom were most definitely watching your interaction with their target now. If you weren't careful, you were going to become their next target. But you couldn't let them murder this man, not when you had overheard them admit to it verbatim.

The least you could do was let this guy get a headstart.

“Sir,” you said through gritted teeth as you set him upright. “Please listen to me—”

“They can't kiiiiiill me,” he giggled, swaying. He bit his lip, placing his index finger against his grinning mouth like he was telling you to be quiet.

It didn't matter how handsome you thought this guy was ten minutes ago; he was about to get his ass beat. Not just beat—put down, was the better phrase. Exterminated, executed, kaput.

“You need to run,” you hissed. A curse tumbled out of your mouth as you saw the group of men all begin to stand up out of your periphery. “Please! I don't need this on my conscience, for fuck's sake. I just need to get through college, man.”

For a second, you thought you saw his eyes flash, but it must have been a trick of the dim lighting. There was no way using logic would work on a drunk man. His dark bangs hung in his eyes now as he let his head duck toward his chest like he was about to fall asleep. “Okaaay, just gimme two—twooo seconds.”

“One, two—two seconds are up,” you said, tugging him off the stool and half dragging him toward the back door. “I'm going to take you through the staff entrance and you're going to run, okay?”

Oh, you were fucked. Cooked. Dead as the rat you saw lying in the gutter on your way over here earlier.

“You're going to run, and not look back,” you continued to ramble to him as you shouldered your way through the employee entrance. You garnered plenty of strange glances from your coworkers who were in the back kitchen and storeroom, but what their opinions were didn't matter to you right now. Plus, they'd seen weirder shit. “The entrance to the metro is two blocks away on Third. You're probably not even listening to me, but—”

You broke through the back entrance and into the chilly evening. Your breath came out in sharp, visible puffs of air, and the alleyway from the looks of it seemed clear. You were still on the clock technically, so leaving wasn't an option. This was the farthest you could go.

You grappled the guy by his shoulders again. “Hey,” you said, patting his cheeks. “Look alive, man. You need to run and I need to make sure my face doesn't get bashed in. Good luck.”

There it was again. His expression seemed to shudder like a glitch—from drunk as Hell, to stone cold sober, then back to that dazed inebriation. It was unnerving; a chill crawled down your spine, but you thought perhaps the sleep deprivation was slowly catching up to you.

That had to be it.

“Byeee!” the man sang as he skipped down the alleyway, swaying from side to side as he did.

Your heart beat was still lodged in your throat, even after he was out of sight. Had you just saved the guy or doomed him further? You weren't sure, but you deluded yourself into thinking it was the former as you returned to your shift and responsibilities.

It wasn't easy, though.

As any normal person would proceed after the events you experienced tonight, you didn't proceed. In fact, you'd almost dropped about a dozen glasses, crashed into two coworkers, spilled a Bloody Mary, and sliced your hand while cutting up a lime wedge and subsequently getting lime juice in the cut. Your coworkers thought you'd gone crazy; you were never this clumsy.

When they practically shoved you out the door an hour earlier than usual with promises to cover you, you had nothing else to do but go home. You couldn't help that your mind was plagued by the consequences of your actions. Was there an easier way to handle tonight's catastrophe? One that would have ensured the guy got out of this safe and sound?

You weren't sure.

You held the side of your head as you yawned and walked down the street in the direction of the metro entrance on Third Street. Perhaps leaving early tonight was a good thing. You did have that one assignment you needed to finish up before…

The thought dissipated from your head like smoke in the night.

When you turned the corner, the metro entrance just across the road, you were met instead by flashing red and blue lights. There was a police barricade set up consisting of crisscrossing yellow tape and white and blue cruisers. Some civilians like yourself lingered to catch a glimpse of whatever had transpired, and for a pregnant moment, you thought this was the scene of the crime—the man from before… you'd failed.

An anchor of grief and distress sank in your gut. This… oh, fuck. This was all your fault. If you had handled it better, maybe sheltered him in the backroom instead—

But as you craned your neck to see past the officers, you realized that it wasn't one dead man lying on the pavement… It was five. In fact, you recognized their faces as the group of men who said they were going to be killing another man tonight. Instead, they were the ones who were dead.

What in all Hell happened here?

The memory of the lone man's eyes shuddered in the forefront of your mind. For a second, you humored the thought that he'd been pretending to be drunk off his face. There was no way, right?

Had he—had he even smelled like alcohol? A wave of cold realization washed over you. Maybe you'd thought it was because he was just a super lightweight drinker.

No. No, it wasn't possible for one man to take on five of them. Not when all those men who currently laid dead on the street were all at least double the size of him. The man hadn't been scrawny, just lean, but he was no heavyweight champion either.

“Miss?” An officer approached you at the barricade. “We'd like to ask you to please return home. It's not safe here.”

You swallowed. “Y—yes, of course,” you stammered, already backing away. You fisted your shaky hands in the pockets of your coat as you resumed your trek to the metro station.

But as you were about to descend the stairs into the station below, your eyes caught movement far across the street. Your mouth went dry.

There, leaning against the mouth of the alleyway a safe distance away from the crime scene, was the man you'd ferried out the back entrance of the bar. He looked nowhere near drunk with his eyes narrowed like twin daggers as he watched the EMTs shuttle the corpses into the back of the ambulance.

He must have felt your gaze on him then, because he turned his head to meet your eyes. He lifted a single finger up to his lips like earlier tonight—shh. When you blinked, he was gone, as if he hadn't been there at all.

You sprinted home after that, glancing over your shoulder and jumping at shadows too many times to count.

You didn't sleep well for three nights straight. After the third night, you trudged out of your room the next morning looking like you'd risen straight out of a corpse drawer at the morgue.

“Sheesh, Yn. You look like a fucking ghost, girl.”

You blinked from the bright lights as you slid onto the stool at the counter. “I wish I was a fucking ghost,” you muttered without thinking. Maybe then you wouldn't have to live in fear of that night. “Sorry, that wasn't worded right.”

Your roommate and good friend since freshman year of high school, Shin Ryujin, frowned at you as she shook her iced coffee in the aluminum drink shaker. “Babe, do you need a girl's night? You haven't been yourself since your last shift at work.”

Oh, right. And there was that thing where you were avoiding the bar and pretending to have a severely infectious case of Hand, Foot, Mouth Disease. You feared seeing that man again, whoever he was.

You shook your head. “I dunno, Ryu. I think I'm just scaring myself for no reason.”

“It's about that thing that happened near work, right? I thought you said you weren't there when it happened.”

That was technically right. You hadn't seen those men get killed, but you'd seen the bloody aftermath of that ballroom dance. It was enough to make bile creep up your throat again. “Yeah… I guess it's just grated on me the wrong way.”

For the most part, you attended school the same. You were currently registered with one of the city's community colleges, taking a mixture of classes online and in-person. Today, you somehow got yourself looking slightly more alive to attend one of your in-person classes. You decided, as you took the forty-five bus to class, that you would go back to work by the end of the week. A severe case of HFMD could be healed by then, right? You were sure your boss wouldn't know the difference, just as long as you were no longer contagious.

Bars weren't usually known for their top notch working conditions and treatment anyway.

When the bus's automated audio system announced your stop as the upcoming one, you reached over toward the window to gently tug the yellow cord down.

Like second nature, you called out a thank you to the bus driver as you hopped off the bus at your stop.

The main campus of your community college was located close to your apartment, and not quite in the heart of downtown. Where you were wasn't exactly the most affluent area either, but you got by to the point of contentment most days. Your class today was held in one of the buildings close to the college library, and you swiftly made your way there.

When you arrived, you sought out a seat that had its own area with a safe distance between you and everyone else. Sometimes it was just easier to keep your head down and focus on academics, rather than making friends or finding allies.

With the clock striking down to one minute until class began, you tugged your earbuds out to stash them in your backpack, only to catch the tail end of something your peers were discussing a few seats away.

“—saying it was the Captain.”

“The Captain? As in… that Captain? But this isn't even his territory; why is he here?”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Captain. Why did that sound familiar?

Your instructor arrived to start off the class, but instead of pulling up the reading on your laptop, you instead searched up the keywords “captain” and the name of your city. The first things that popped up from the search were dozens of headlines:

LEADER OF ATEEZ SEEN OUTSIDE TERRITORY; POSSIBLE TERRITORY DISPUTE?

SAFETY CONCERNS OVER FIVE MEN DEAD ON FIFTH. COULD BE HEIGHTENED GANG ACTIVITY.

WHO IS THE CAPTAIN OF ATEEZ & THE 'PIRATE KING’?—

You swiftly shut that tab down. That was enough ghost stories for the day. You didn't need anything else making your head spin other than what happened the other night. And if this Captain character had anything to do with that man and the five killings…

No, you definitely wanted nothing to do with all of this.

You had long since known that your city was run by a network of mafias. They were not all in league with each other—you were just lucky to have been born in an era where there were no longer constant turf wars taking place. You were also fortunate to have grown up in one of the gray area communities where mafias and gangs agreed to treaties and armistices. No one was allowed to lay claim to a gray area; there was a significance to having middle grounds like them, after all.

Of course, there would always be some bozo who wanted to expand his group's territory, and the first thought was always a gray area. Most of the time, those efforts were shut down by the other gangs.

Most of the time.

The mafia family Ateez was a new name to you. They had risen about three years ago, a dark horse amongst all the rest. They were one of the few, if not the only family you knew who climbed the ranks from absolutely nothing. They had built theirs from scratch; it wasn't inherited.

That was all you cared to find out about them, anyway. Most of the places you traveled to around the city were gray areas, and so the thought of interacting with any of the big five families never crossed your mind.

At least, until now. With the news of Ateez being spotted in a gray area, that could mean they had grown to seek out a territory expansion. And turf wars didn't just cost material resources—they cost blood and manpower.

You found yourself at the bank two days later. The line was long, but your patience was infinite. Your boss insisted you wait one more day before coming back in because she feared another food administration scandal, so you continued to keep your distance. With all the shit cropping up on the news though, you thought it best to have some physical funds on you in case you and Ryujin had to make a mad dash for the next city over.

You sighed under your breath as you shifted up in the long, taped-off line. A podcast played in your ears as you waited, your eyes wandering from potted plants, to the flat ceiling lined in fluorescent lighting panels, to people's faces, to service dogs on leashes, to—wait a minute.

Your eyes snagged onto someone's face. He was seated in the waiting area just slightly to your two o'clock. You thought you recognized him, but when you considered him for a moment longer, you snapped out of it—it was weird and rude to stare. For a moment, he almost looked like that drunk (or undrunk) man from several nights ago.

However, his hair wasn't that light brown shade before, and you couldn't quite see his face with those sunglasses on… nevermind.

A shiver crawled down your spine, and you shifted your eyes toward something else.

At last, when it was your turn to finally see a teller, you made your way to the open window. The person seated behind it was young and handsome, with dark brown hair curled around the nape of his neck, a red-pinkish birthmark at the corner of his left eye, and a pair of thin-wire frames perched upon his nose. The little, plastic name card on his desk read Yeosang K.

He smiled cordially at you. “Hello, how may I help you today?”

“Hi,” you chirped. “I was wondering if I could make a withdrawal?”

“Of course, may I have your name and the last four digits of your IDN?”

The remainder of the transaction carried over smoothly, and you thanked Yeosang as you tucked the packet of emergency cash into the safety of your backpack. You could hear Yeosang calling for the next client to step forward while you walked away toward the exit, your eyes not watching where you were going when your jacket sleeve got caught in your bag’s zipper.

“Agh—I’m so…” The words jammed in your throat when you saw a flash of red lights. You barely glanced up at the person you bumped into. “Sorry about that.”

“Just watch where you're going,” they bit out and continued on their way.

Sheesh. You threw a disgruntled look back at the person, noting the hood thrown over their head, their tense form—you were sure their backpack was left open for some reason and you would have told them it wasn't zipped if they hadn't been so terse with you.

With a huff, you resumed your walk back to the front door, stopping when you remembered you needed to grab a form from the counter for Ryujin.

“Shit,” you grumbled. The forms were back in the same direction that guy walked toward.

But as you made your way over to the far side of the room where the spare forms were, you noted that he had disappeared. Your head went on a swivel, frowning. Surely he couldn't have left the room so fast…?

Whatever. You pursed your lips as you skimmed through the forms to find the right one. All this red tape just to file for a new checking account. The new policies were beginning to become quite the nuisance—

Thump.

The toe of your shoe met something solid beneath the table as you shifted over to look at the forms at the far end. You frowned, peering beneath to see if it was just the table leg or the wall or… a backpack?

It was black and unassuming, left wide open, and—

You sucked in a breath and stumbled back from it. That… was that what you thought it was? You'd seen bright red, flashing numbers like a countdown on the screen; a flurry of four colored wires, and silver duct tape.

You shouldn't be snooping, but it was all right in front of you.

Your heartbeat drummed in your ears like a war cry as you carefully looked back inside the bag opening, and you confirmed that it was, in fact, a bomb.

At least, it appeared to be one.

You shot upright and spun around in frantic motions, trying to find a security guard or anyone to come help you or maybe even just tell you that you'd gone crazy. There, by the door!

As you speed-walked back over to the tall security guard stationed by the exit, you chanted nervously in your head: You shouldn't have snooped, you shouldn't have snooped, you shouldn't have snooped!

“Uhm, excuse me?”

The man hummed, eyebrows arching in question.

“I—I think there's an explosive in that backpack.” Great, so you really did sound insane.

For some reason, however, he didn't belittle you or try to convince you that you might have been wrong. His expression seemed to steel over in concern, and he followed you back over to where the backpack was left. You stood a few steps behind him as he squatted down and carefully inspected the outside, before looking inside.

You saw him stiffen, the thought flying to your head: RUN RUN RUN!

With one hand continuing to hold the bag still, the guard used his other to turn the walkie talkie attached to his right shoulder strap. He brought the speaker to his mouth and spoke into it lowly, “We've got a code 6036. Get everyone out of the building now.”

Somebody clicked back on the other side. “Copy that, Mingi. You know what to do.”

From one of the doors behind the teller booths, more security guards filed into the room to calmly urge people toward the exit doors. A wave of confusion washed over the entire building, but you were attempting to help get everyone toward the exit door with a nervous smile plastered on your face.

“Please, ma'am, I'm sure it's nothing to be concerned about!” Except it definitely was something to be concerned about. Your heart palpitated so violently in your chest, you thought it could burst out onto the linoleum floor at any moment now.

Within five minutes, you and the guards managed to chorale everyone into the parking lot a safe distance from the bank and the bomb. You stood nervously in the center of the group, teeth gnawing on the inside of your cheek, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you tried not to pace.

“Everyone, we understand that this is confusing at the moment,” said one guard who must have been the team leader. “But we have the authorities on the way, and this will only take a few moments. Thank you for your patience.”

More murmurs erupted around you. What were you supposed to say? That there was homemade-fucking-dynamite beneath the mortgage forms? Someone really didn't like this place.

But even so, it was odd to see something like this happen to a gray area bank. It was a relatively small branch, too, nothing corporate.

You hadn't seen the timer on the bomb, only the flickering numbers, so you hadn't a clue what time it was at now. You sucked in a breath of confidence and marched over to the guard, Mingi, from earlier. He was standing beside another security guard, a man slightly taller than himself, as the two spoke in grave, hushed tones.

“Excuse me? Hi, I'm the girl from earlier,” you said as you saw recognition flash in his eyes.

He nodded, the corner of his lips surging upward. “Yeah, I remember. Something I can help you with?”

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you saw how much time there was left on the countdown.”

Mingi's brows furrowed together, a frown settling on his mouth. “It was probably about eight or so minutes. Definitely enough for whoever set it down to get away from here.”

Ah, that made sense.

His friend beside him gestured toward you. Now that you thought about it, his face seemed familiar to you… where had you seen him before? “Did you happen to see who the backpack belonged to?”

“I did. They were, uhm, they were in a dark colored hoodie? Their stature was shorter than you guys, but they seemed very tense.” You frowned. “I didn't see their face though, sorry.”

The guard sent you a kind smile. “No worries. That's more than we could've asked for. When the time comes, we'll be able to comb through the security footage and—”

“EVERYBODY, GET DOWN! IT'S GONNA BLOW!”

Your eyes widened—what?—and even before your brain could catch up with you, both of the men you stood with shoved you behind them to shield you from the explosion.

You tucked your face into your arms and turned away, as a deafening BOOM erupted behind you.

There was a ringing in your ears, the air all around you hot and stifling. Cries and sirens filled the afternoon silence. When you pulled your face up and out of your arms, you saw what used to be the bank now a massive kindling for its own fire.

You took in the scene with horror on your face, glass and debris scattered across the ground, people helping other people to their feet, and your ears kept ringing and ringing.

Vaguely, you heard someone call out your name, but your eyes were glued to the scene of the once standing building before you.

Wasn't there more time on the countdown? Who could've done this?

“Yn—are—okay?” Was that voice real? “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, patting away the arm that was trying to get your attention. You stared at the ground for a long time, trying to get your bearings.

Everything kept ringing and ringing and—

You glanced up then, swallowing roughly. Your eyes just so happened to go across the lot to where a man stood with one of the security guards. You recognized him, both of them. The man was the one you thought was the undrunk one from earlier this week, and the security guard was who calmed everyone down outside.

They both looked over toward you when they felt your gaze, and the former hung his sunglasses on the collar of his shirt.

Your breath hitched in your throat. It was the man from several nights ago. You stumbled back as if you'd seen a ghost, but he merely inclined his chin to you with a gleam of respect in his eyes.

You didn't know what that meant—didn’t care what that meant. You just wanted to go the fuck home.

There were familiar faces in the crowd tonight as you tied your waist apron on and picked up a serving tray. It made your fingers shake as you pasted a customer service smile on your face to start off the night. It was the day after the bomb at the bank went off, and yet, here you were a little over twenty-four hours later.

The small television in the corner of the bar played a news broadcast that recapped the events from yesterday afternoon, reporting that the authorities still had no clues as to who could have planted the bomb inside. You had declined an interview from reporters yesterday, having gotten out of there as soon as the paramedics let you leave.

But as you scanned the barroom, you noticed the two security guards from yesterday, Mingi and his other tall friend, seated at one of the tables in the back corner. Your brows furrowed—it could have just been a coincidence that they ended up in a bar that just so happened to be your place of work.

You were about to head over to them to see how they were when one of your coworkers stopped you.

“Hey, uhm, Boss wants to see you in her office,” he said to you.

You blinked in surprise. “Oh. Did she say what for?”

He shook his head. “No, but I don't think it's anything bad. Good to have you back though, Yn.”

“Thanks, man,” you said, tucking your serving tray under your arm to head back through the service door to the back hallways. You were sure this had to be about you missing work for the past week. It was probably just some regulation things, maybe paperwork?

When you reached your manager's office, you gave the wooden surface a generous knock so she could hear it over the volume in the main room. You heard a muffled “come in” and paused. You were pretty sure that was not your manager's voice, but nonetheless, you let yourself in.

You froze in the doorway. Who you found behind the desk was definitely not your manager.

It was the man who had been haunting you seated at the desk, his hair a light brown and styled neatly, and he wore a dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. You were beginning to realize how many subtle touches of luxury he boasted, from his wristwatch to the chain on his collarbones and the diamond studs winking at you from his earlobes.

He arched a brow at you, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Yn? Please, take a seat.”

Oh no. Did he own this place? Was he a shareholder? Were you about to get chopped?

You gulped, closing the door behind you as you settled into the seat. “You're the man from—”

“I am,” he confirmed with a nod. There was a slight upward turn of his lips. “You have a knack for being in the right place at the right time, Yn.”

“More like the wrong place and the wrong time,” you muttered. “You were at the bank yesterday.”

“That I was.”

“Why—why are you here?”

He smiled then. “Ah, well, if you would afford me just a moment, I'll explain that to you. My name is Kim Hongjoong, but I don't expect you to know who I am. Just know that your boss owes me, which is why I'm able to meet with you here.”

Your boss owed him? There were so many questions going through your head at the moment. “Alright…” He was right though; you didn't recognize his name.

“You've saved my life twice now.”

You straightened.

His knuckles knocked against the desk as he threw one leg over the other and leaned back in the office chair. “And two life debts isn't something I can just forget about.”

Your eyes shuttered, then widened. “Uhm, respectfully sir, you could definitely just forget about it. I don't need anything from you.” You didn't want any more problems. No, you didn't need any more problems. If being connected to this man in any way meant you had to deal with what you had this past week, then you didn't want any part of it.

“I thought you might say that, and unfortunately, the honor code I live by makes it impossible for me to simply forget. However, if you do come up with something I can do for you, then you can find me here.” Hongjoong took something out of the top desk drawer and slid it across the table to you.

Curious, you reached forward to inspect it. It was a standard sized business card, but with what looked like a compass insignia embossed in the thick cardstock. Along with Hongjoong's name and contact information, there was also an address leading to someplace called the Shipwreck.

Who was this guy?

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stand up. You watched him round the desk to lean against the side closest to you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. “Thank you for saving my life, Yn.”

Flustered, you stammered out, “Oh, uh, it was nothing really. I actually thought I'd gotten you killed that night.” Not to mention that he definitely wasn't even drunk. What did he mean you'd saved his life?

You shoved the business card into the back pocket of your jeans and stood up. “If that's all, I'm on the clock.”

“By all means,” he said, raising his palms and gesturing to the door.

With nothing else left to say, you slipped out of the room and back down the hall with your serving tray. You shook your head as you entered the service floor again. What an odd week.

Your head darted in the direction Mingi and his friend had been seated, but where they were sat a new group of people. A frown flitted across your face. You must have missed them.

a/n: please remember to reblog if you enjoyed!

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#itsbeeble #reese's chats ✏️#reese's recs 💌#reese's moots 🩵#beam~ ⚡️#ateez x reader #kim hongjoong x reader #ateez series #ateez imagines #ateez mafia au #ateez scenarios #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong series

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